Страница 63 из 114
"Please take positions at the microscopes," Aivas told them in a tone that meant they should listen carefully. "Not only has Master Morilton been able to deliver the petri dishes in which you may culture the bacteria of your choice, and the microscopes so that each of you may progress at your own speed, but Master Fandarel has contrived an ultrasound device by which we can break the bacteria up so that we may examine their structures chemically. Master Fandarel has put to good use his studies in electromagnetics. This is but one application-but, for you, a very important one.
"The bacteria collected for today's lesson come from wounds," Aivas went on, oblivious to or ignoring the grotesque face that Mirrim made. "Wounds that you will have seen in your independent areas. Wounds that become infected. By separating the bacteria, it is possible to discover the parasites, mostly symbiotic-which exist in the bacteria. By altering these symbiotic little parasites into pathogenic forms, making them like predators-you do recall the lesson on determining which is a predator and which is a parasite?"
"Yes, indeed, Aivas," Mirrim said, gri
"You can always be counted on to remember such distinctions, Mirrim. It is to be hoped that this skill will extend into this area of your studies." Mirrim wrinkled her nose impudently, but Aivas continued. "So, one can disimprove a symbiotic parasite, turning it into a predator, and have a useful organism to destroy that particular bacterium. This is often more useful than using antibiotics, as you will see."
"How many bacteria are there?" Brekke asked.
"More than there are grains of sand on all your beaches."
"And we have to find every one of them?" Mirrim was not the only one aghast at that prospect.
"You will have ample chance for independent study to do so if you desire. This is, however, one step to take along the road toward the reduction of bacterial infections. Now you will begin by culturing the efuent from a wound or a blood-containing medium, then isolating one kind of bacterium."
11
"I suppose we should be grateful that there are still so many youngsters who'd prefer to be dragonriders in spite of the competition from Landing," Lessa said wryly as she looked out over the sixty-two candidates standing in the Hatching Ground.
F'lar looked down at his diminutive weyrmate and gri
"He'll be insufferable if she Impresses the queen," Lessa said with a chuckle. "Such a pretty child. Wonder where she got her looks."
"Lessa!" F'lar said, pretending shock. "Groghe shouldn't expect a clean sweep of the honors. After all, Benelek was elected first Master of the Technical Hall, and Groghe's got another son and a daughter doing very well in Aivas's study group."
"At least Groghe keeps his sense of proportion. Here he comes now." She pointed to Lord Groghe, who was leading the Fort Hold contingent into the Hatching Ground. His attire was almost sober in the midst of the other gaudily dressed folk. Lessa nodded approval. "And he's sensibly wearing boots," she went on as she watched the sturdy Lord Holder striding out across the hot sands while others in his party minced, lifting their feet high in an effort to cool their leather soles. "The Dance of The Hatching Ground Sands," she added, stifling a laugh.
"Come, we'd better get to our seats," F'lar said, extending his arm to her. "And see if the insoles Master Ligand's so proud of really do insulate the foot against heat, as well as the cold of between."
Lessa spared a critically admiring look at her new red boots before she took his arm. "It's the plant fiber he used for the felt that provides the insulation for either extreme."
She had a complete new outfit in a deep wine-red for this Hatching-Ramoth's thirty-fifth-especially as this clutch included a queen egg, the first in twelve seasons. The great queen rarely laid fewer than twenty eggs; this clutch, appropriately, numbered thirty-five.
The eight Weyleaders had already agreed on the necessity of the foundation of a ninth Weyr. The existing eight were completely full, with some two-year-old dragons still living in the Weyrling cavern for lack of space. While Weyrleaders were proud to be flying at strength, dragon dignity required independent quartering. Not only were there no more suitable sites in the North, but since so many people were taking up holdings in the South, it was agreed that a new Weyr should be located in the vast Southern Continent, preferably equidistant between K'van's Southern Weyr and T'gellan's Eastern. The grubs might protect the land and vegetation, but dragons were still needed to repel Thread from human habitations and beastholds. A little reshuffling among the existing Weyrs and there would be plenty of older dragonriders to balance out the young ones: dragons and riders who would appreciate quarters in the South, where the climate was kind to aging bones and the stiffness of old injuries.
Lessa experienced a flush of pride for what had been achieved over the past Turns by an ex-drudge from Ruatha Hold and the bronze Benden rider whom no one had wanted to believe. She glanced up at her mate, noticing that even more silver strands had appeared in F'lar's crisp black hair. The sun creases around his eyes had deepened, additional touches of aging, though he seemed to have lost not a jot of his vitality. Maybe they should resign Benden to the energy of younger riders, she mused. With fewer responsibilities, they could devote more time to all the splendid projects at Landing. Not that she thought she had a chance of coaxing F'lar away from Benden until he had eradicated Thread from the skies forever.
F'lessan had spent sometime explaining to her that once there was a breathable atmosphere in the cargo bay on the Yokohama, even as big a dragon as Ramoth would be able to jump between to view Pern from space. Lessa wasn't sure either of them wanted to go that far, though she was more than pleased to find her ebullient son becoming a responsible and dedicated part of the Aivas team. She was genuinely fond of the only child she had been able to bear F'lar, but she had no illusions about him.
"Gone between in thought, love?" F'lar murmured, leaning down to her, amusement in his amber eyes. "Groghe's waving at us."
Spreading her best welcoming smile on her face as she stepped off the hot sands, Lessa located the Fort Holder and acknowledged his salute. The tiers were already packed with folk who had come to see a son or daughter Impress a dragon, or merely to attend what was invariably a magnificent occasion.
"Those new insoles work," F'lar said as he handed her up the stairs.
"Hmmm, don't they?" Then she noticed Larad and Asgenar with their wives and their older children on the second tier and waved cheerfully to them. Master Bendarek was on the same row as they were, but deep in a private dialogue with the recently appointed Masterprinter Tagetarl, he didn't see her.
She surveyed the ranks behind her, looking for Master Robinton and D'ram, a pair who rarely missed an Impression. Her eye picked them out easily, resplendent as they were in their Gather finery. Becoming so involved with the Aivas project had given them both, and Lytol, stimulation and new purpose. Why was it that these older men thrived on the challenge, while others, like Sangel, Norist, Corman, Nessel, and Begamon, rejected all that the new information provided Pern? No, not new: retrieved information. And just at the time of a Pass, when everyone needed such an infusion of hope.
Absently she responded to several other salutes before taking her place in the first tier.