A/N: The background for this alternate timeline can be found in "Can Do No Wrong." Anne McCaffrey created Pern and is kind enough to allow writers to live there for a while.
Cleared for Take-Off: Stories from StarStorm, Part III
By Natchez
StarStorm Weyr
Second Interval, 177.02.04
J'fren and Shimuth proudly stood outside the Weyrling barracks for inspection. At age 8 months, Shimuth was a handsome dragon, and growing larger every day. His rider was mighty particular about his dragon's looks and kept Shimuth's hide, the color of klah bark, slick with oil. As the pair stood in the sunshine, Shimuth gleamed with health and good care. J'fren looked a little older, as well. His chest was a bit broader with work and exercise and he might have gained a fingerlength in height, as well. He would never be tall or bulky, but neither did he look like a weyrbrat astride his dragon's back.
Sl'tren inspected every bit of Shimuth's hide for imperfections, looked at his wingspan and checked the musculature to make sure his wings were being strengthened properly. He checked the dragon's claws, his teeth, tongue, feet and legs. Shimuth was a grand dragon in the pink of health and obviously in prime condition. For all his faults, no one could say that J'fren did not take excellent care of his dragon.
The Weyrlingmaster made some notes on his slate. "He's looking fine, J'fren. He's absolutely perfect, from muzzle to tail. You've done a good job with him."
"Thank you, sir," J'fren replied. "I want him to be in the best of health."
"And he is. He's a good-looking beast. In fact, I'd say he's the best brown of this clutch. Really a first-rate dragon." Here, he looked intently at J'fren. "And his rider is coming along, too, finally."
J'fren grinned at his Weyrlingmaster. "Thank you sir—I think."
Sl'tren gestured to his office. "Come in and we'll finish your evaluation," he said.
The brownrider followed his Weyrlingmaster into the office and sat down.
Sl'tren seated himself as well, and looked over J'fren's training file. "The past two months have been your best so far," he began. "You're really starting to integrate some self-discipline into your personality, rather than pretending it when I'm around." J'fren grinned a little sheepishly. "I think you're finding it's crucial in becoming a good rider and that's important. There are no faults in your dragon care. Shimuth's appearance is a testament to that. He's got to be the cleanest dragon in the barracks. Even the girls don't have their greens as consistently clean, and they're usually the most reliable in that area. So there, you get full marks."
"Thank you, sir," J'fren replied.
"You had quite a jump on your peers in your lessons, since you were so well-educated when you arrived. It is a relief when we don't have to teach someone how to scribe a neat hand or keep an accurate Record. And you've been patience itself when you've been asked to help someone in these areas. However," and here Sl'tren looked seriously at his Weyrling, "you still have a long way to go where getting along with other riders is concerned. We've managed to break you from fistfights, and your pranks are not as frequent, but that acid tongue of yours needs some reining in. Now, there have been instances when you were justified in defending yourself, but there's no doubt you have a superior attitude where some of the riders are concerned. I realize it's difficult to be as intelligent as you are, and not correct people, but you've got to learn not to do it. In all likelihood, you will be spending a long life with these riders, and it does the Weyr no good if you have a constant antagonism among you. Do you understand this?"
"Yes sir, I understand. I'll make a real effort to curb my tongue," J'fren said. "But could you have a word with a couple of the bronzes? It gets old, listening to how inferior my dragon is, just because he's not a bronze."
Sl'tren nodded sympathetically. "I will. They are in the wrong for saying such. Every single dragon in this Weyr is vitally important. And they need to realize that. The worst offenders could certainly take some pointers from you on dragon care, no doubt. Listen to me, J'fren: I've not said anything before, because I didn't know how you were going to shake out. You have leadership potential. I think you will make an excellent Wingsecond in the future. But you've got to keep up the good work. You must keep making progress as a rider, and as a young man. I know you can do it."
"Thank you, Sl'tren. I appreciate the vote of confidence," J'fren smiled.
The Weyrlingmaster stood, and so did J'fren. "Get out of here now and go take the afternoon off. You and Shimuth are cleared for short out-of-Weyr flights. No betweening, but you know that. Go swimming or practice your music. I know you miss it."
"I do, sir, and thank you." J'fren inclined his head respectfully and left the office.
Sl'tren sighed. He had been truthful with J'fren, but thought, "Four more months and he's R'mef's problem!" R'mef led the Weyrling Wing.
J'fren came out of the office with a smile.
"You do keep me very clean," Shimuth remarked.
"You were listening in? Well, that's all right. His best words were for you, anyway."
"I AM a first-rate dragon," Shimuth was a little smug.
"Yes you are, but modest dragons are the easiest to live with," J'fren said as they walked back to the barracks.
Shimuth snorted at his rider, and J'fren smacked him affectionately on the neck.
As pairings went, J'fren's transition to having a mental link with his life partner was not as difficult as he'd been told it might be. He didn't experience the paranoia or feeling of being watched all the time that was common among new riders. He adapted readily to having a constant presence in his mind.
J'fren's human relationships, however, were a different story. He had to curtail his female companionship out of necessity, and his male peers tended to annoy him. J'fren did not suffer fools gladly. C'land, it seemed, was the only one who understood J'fren enough to make close friends with him.
Rider and beast entered the barracks and J'fren went immediately to his bunk to grab his gitar.
J'fren and C'land grinned at each other. T'mert was making a complete idiot of himself. How he Impressed a bronze, Jeff would never understand. Sl'tren was merely asking T'mert to name the major sections of a dragon's wing. The young bronzerider got up confidently, asked his dragon to extend a wing, and promptly went blank. There they were, Tuzoth patiently spreading a wing, and T'mert with an idiotic look on his face.
"Now T'mert, I'm telling Islith to tell Tuzoth not to give you any hints." Islith was Sl'tren's bronze.
Jeff and Coll sat in the rear of the room, chairs leaned back against the wall and grinning evilly at the rider. They both knew their dragons' anatomy.
T'mert continued to stand by his beast, totally puzzled. He looked at the wing, then at his dragon's face.
Jeff and Coll were having trouble not laughing outright. Their shoulders quivered as Coll's face turned a bit pink.
"Well, T'mert?" prodded Sl'tren.
"I can't think of anything with J'fren and C'land laughing at me!" he exclaimed.
Sl'tren shot a look at the boys. Naturally, both had looks of angelic innocence on their faces. How they managed to change expression so quickly, Sl'tren had no idea, but he could see mischief dancing in J'fren's black eyes. His face, however, showed nothing but polite interest. The Weyrlingmaster narrowed his eyes warningly at the boys and turned back to T'mert. The evil grins reappeared the second his head was turned.
"They're doing it again!" the boy said.
Sl'tren rolled his eyes and looked heavenward for patience. If he made it through this group's Weyrling training without murdering J'fren, or C'land, or both, he would be lucky. Without even looking in their direction, he said, "J'fren, since you obviously don't need to pay attention in class, come up here and identify these sections."
Coll elbowed Jeff as he lowered his chair to the floor and calmly walked to the front of the class. He took the pointer from T'mert. "You can sit down, now," he said, as the class erupted in laughter.
Tuzoth was still sitting, wing extended and J'fren began, "Mainsail, foresail, topsail, leading edge, trailing edge, primary joint, secondary joint," pointing out each.
Sl'tren cleared his throat. One of these days, he was going to catch J'fren out, and it was going to be sweet. "Thank you, J'fren. T'mert, tell Tuzoth he can fold his wing, now," he said. Tuzoth closed his wing with an obvious expression of relief.
Jeff sauntered back to his seat, a slight grin playing around his mouth. Coll winked at Jeff as he sat down.
Fighting an urge to wring the brownrider's neck, Sl'tren continued with the class.
Jeff thought about that incident, some five months before, as he saw T'mert outside the window, going over flight drills with Sl'tren. He chuckled to himself as he tuned his gitar and strummed a sweet chord. Pops sure had outdone himself when he constructed this instrument. Jeff sighed, thinking about his home at Rainy Shades and wishing he could talk to Pops right then. But it would be a long while before he could go home. He could contact Nana and Pops anytime, just by having Shimuth bespeak the watchdragon. And they sent him things, but it wasn't the same as being able to see them whenever he wanted to. He never knew how much he could miss them.
His hands drifted into an old, old song, one a thousand Turns old when the Ancients landed. "A hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles. You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles. Lord, I'm one, Lord I'm two, Lord, I'm three, Lord I'm four, Lord, I'm five hundred miles away from home." That segued naturally into, "I'm so lonesome I could cry."
"By the Egg, why don't you play something a little less depressing, Jeff?" That was Coll, who had come in as he was singing.
Jeff smiled at his friend. "I don't know. I was just feeling a little homesick and that's sort of what came out."
"You know more obscure, ancient, moldy songs than any Harper I've ever met," he remarked.
That got a chuckle. "But they're such wonderful songs. They're on every subject, and they've remained in our music lore. Why not sing them?"
"Sing them all you want to," Coll said, "But how about one that's a bit more cheerful?"
Jeff nodded. "All right. Let's see." He noodled a bit on the gitar, then struck a chord and sang, "Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun and I say, it's all right." Coll brightened and nodded approval and Jeff finished the song, his sweet tenor giving expression to the lyrics.
"How you stayed out of the Harper Hall, I'll never know," Coll remarked.
Jeff grinned. "Well, you know Pops. But my voice really isn't suited to a lot of the music they're writing now. Sagas, sweeping ballads -- it's all made for a bigger, better voice than mine."
"I thought they were writing so everyone could sing," Coll said.
"The Teaching Ballads and some other things, yes. But a lot of it, no. I don't have an operatic tenor, and that's what you've got to have to sing some of these most recent songs." Jeff was honest about his talents.
"I'd rather hear you sing than one of those showy singers," his friend said.
"Thanks. Oh! I had my 8-month evaluation today and Sl'tren gave me the afternoon off and short flight clearance. You want to go swimming or something?" he asked.
"Sounds fine. It's only a little ways, and Sl'tren cleared me and Jornith yesterday. Let me get a couple of towels!" Coll exclaimed.
He returned shortly and Jeff was ready to go, carisak in hand. "We'd better leave word, just in case," Jeff said, and left a note on Sl'tren's door.
T'mert happened by a few minutes later and saw the note. Hmm. What if the Weyrlingmaster never got it? He moved on, and the note disappeared.
"Shimuth, tell Islith where we're going, would you?"
"I have. He wonders why we did."
"Just to make sure," Jeff said.
The Weyrlings climbed aboard their dragons, secured helmets, gloves and fighting straps and gave their beasts the order to fly. The downsweep of wings kicked up dust, but they ascended neatly and circled the Bowl before banking toward the sea.
The flight was short, only 15 minutes or so, well within the limits Sl'tren prescribed for his weyrlings. But still, the thrill of flying alone, without the rest of the Weyrlings in the air, was exhilarating. The beach was more or less deserted, and it took the youths no time to strip off their flying gear and hit the ocean with their dragons behind them.
They spent the afternoon swimming and having splash fights. Finally, they collapsed on towels on the sand. Their dragons had given up long before and were basking in the sun, fast asleep.
Jeff looked at his arms. "I'll be brown as a berry tomorrow," he said. "You didn't burn, did you Coll?" Your face looks a little blistered."
Blond C'land touched his face and craned his neck to look at his shoulders. "Maybe a little. Not much. You're lucky. You never burn. You just tan darker and darker."
"Yeah, Pops is the same way. He never burns, either."
Coll lay on his belly, chin on his arms. "Jeff?"
"Hmm?" His friend was dozing in the warmth of the sand.
"Do you think I'll ever have a weyrmate?" he asked.
Jeff opened his dark eyes lazily. "What makes you ask something like that?" he said.
"I just wonder. I see blueriders all the time, and they seem happy, but their dragons fly a different green every time, seems like. I want something permanent."
Jeff thought about this for a moment, then turned to face his friend. "Coll, you're a good person. Someone is bound to want a permanent relationship with you. Maybe not from this clutch, but StarStorm is a huge Weyr. Lots of people. Lots of possibilities."
He nodded slowly. "I guess. But I worry anyway. You know what a hard time I had at my home hold."
"I know. But this is the Weyr. Weyrfolk don't even think twice about it. And besides—you're at least a Turn or two away from a mating flight. Why worry yourself sick now?" Jeff's tone was utterly reasonable. Then a thought struck him. "Got your eye on someone, already?" he asked.
C'land ducked his head. "Well, sort of. It's been tough getting over you, you know." The bluerider had been attracted to J'fren from the moment they met.
Jeff just smiled at him.
Coll was silent a moment. "You still wouldn't consider…" his voice trailed off.
Jeff shook his head slowly. "Coll, if I were attracted to men, you'd be the first one I'd think about. But I'm not. Never have been. Never will be. You are the closest thing I've ever had to a brother, though. I'm glad we've been able to be good, close friends." His tone was sincere.
C'land sighed. "I know. I'm glad, too." He dropped his head again, then raised up as a thought struck him. "What if Jornith flies a green with a female rider?" He gave Jeff a stricken look.
The brownrider couldn't help laughing. "Don't knock the female persuasion until you've tried one, my friend."
"What's so wonderful about girls, anyway?" C'land grumped.
A dreamy look crossed Jeff's face. "Oh, just everything," he replied, sighing.
"Like what? I'm curious, never having had the urge," Coll said.
Jeff raised up on his elbows. "They're soft and warm and curvy," he said. "They smell good, they taste good, they –oh, they twitch their behinds when they walk, their legs are pretty…" Here, he sighed again and smacked his lips. Then he buried his face in his arms. "Shells! I wish I had one right now!" he said, much to Coll's amusement.
He snickered, "Feeling a little deprived, are you?"
"You could say that," Jeff replied.
"So, how old were you for your first time?"
"Just turned 15. With one of the older Hold girls. Shells, she was cute! Last letter I had from Pops, he told me she's espoused now and has a child on the way." He shook his head. "I'd been chasing girls since I was 11 or 12. But that was the first time."
"Hmm. Interesting," Coll answered.
Jeff was just about to ask Coll a question when Shimuth sat up, suddenly.
"I hear!" he said. Jornith did the same thing.
"What's up, Shimuth?" Jeff said.
"We are wanted at the Weyr. Immediately," he answered and sounded upset.
"Who bespoke you?"
"Dyarth." That was the Weyrlingmaster Second's dragon.
"Shards and Shells! What could have we possibly done sitting on the beach? Come on, Coll. Let's mount up and see what we're in trouble for, this go-round."
The youths packed up their gear and mounted their beasts. Jeff didn't know what under the moons was the problem, but he was sure he was innocent this time.
They took off and headed for the Weyr.
Landing near the weyrling barracks and Sl'tren's office, the riders dismounted to find A'sal, WM2, waiting on them. They saluted the bronzerider respectfully.
"What's happened, A'sal? Shimuth said we were to report back immediately," Jeff said politely.
"Where under the moons have you two been?" he said.
Jeff looked puzzled. "Well, I had my eight-month evaluation today and Sl'tren gave me the afternoon off. He said I could go swimming. C'land had finished training with his section, so we flew down to the beach to swim. I left a note on Sl'tren's office door."
A'sal narrowed his eyes at Jeff. "I didn't find a note. This isn't another one of your dodges is it, J'fren?"
"No sir. I did leave a note. I told Sl'tren where we'd be, and about when we'd be back."
"Hmm. Sl'tren has gone to visit his sister at Dragon's Gate Hold. I'll have to get Dyarth to bespeak Islith and see if we can get to the bottom of this." Weyrlings were not supposed to leave without advising a WM as to their whereabouts.
"Please do. I even had Shimuth tell Islith we were going," Jeff said.
A'sal nodded. "All right. Let me talk to Dyarth. I'll be right back. Neither of you move."
"Yes sir," the riders chorused.
They stood, quietly talking, wondering what had possibly gone awry.
A voice behind them said, "In trouble again, eh? This might be enough to demote you to an earlier section of training. With the baby dragons." It was T'mert.
The riders turned to see T'mert's smug face leering at them.
"Why don't you mind your own business, T'mert?" Jeff snapped.
"Because this is so interesting. I was wondering when you two would finally break the last rule, and looks like you've done it. A'sal was spewing fire when he couldn't locate you. He's really had it with you, this time. He's going to make sure Sl'tren will put the blocks to you now."
"And you're just here to offer your sympathy, right?" That was Coll.
T'mert snorted, "I'm here to gloat. I've had enough of you, myself. I'm tired of you two smirking at each other like you know so much more than anybody else. Acting like you're as good as I am, or that your dragons are anywhere close to a bronze. Little twerps. You'll find out just where you stand, now."
Jeff narrowed his eyes at the Weyrling. "You keep your comments about my dragon to yourself, you overgrown piece of wher crap! You're an insult to bronzeriders everywhere. I'm surprised poor Tuzoth hasn't gone between with humiliation at having you for a rider! Faranth knows how you managed to Impress him. And by the way, I could know my name and know more than you know about everything. Deadglow, numbwit--they don't even begin to describe how pitifully ignorant you are. I can't think of a word that does."
T'mert moved toward him, but Jeff stood his ground. The bronzerider might have been three handspans taller and four wider, but Jeff stared him down, his eyes flashing with rage.
"J'fren, you're nothing but a little boy with a big mouth. You think you're so big and bad," T'mert spat, "but you're just a runt of a tunnel snake with a smart mouth and an attitude. I guess it's up to me to show you how the big boys deal with sawed-off twits like you."
"Come on, T'mert. Come on after me," Jeff said, with quiet menace in his voice. "Whatever Sl'tren might do to me isn't going to be on the same page with what he'll do to you when he catches a weyrling in your section of training, picking a physical fight with another rider. You know if you put a mark on me, assuming Shimuth doesn't tear your arm off, that you'll be on short rations for two months, and grounded indefinitely. So you take your best shot. But make it a good one. You won't get a chance for a second one." A word to his dragon, and Shimuth appeared from around the building, eyes whirling red with anger, lashing his tail back and forth, a low rumble issuing from his throat.
"I protect my rider," the brown dragon said so T'mert could hear.
Coll stepped beside Jeff. "You want to take on two at a time?" he said. Coll was lean, but was gaining a powerful build, and was nearly as tall as T'mert. The bronze weyrling hesitated.
"Weyrlings!" bellowed A'sal as he came running back. "What in the name of the First Egg is going on here?" He saw T'mert. "I might have known. You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? Noooo--you had to come rub some salt in the wounds." A'sal was thoroughly disgusted.
"He called me a piece of wher crap!" T'mert said.
"Oh really? Well, we'd better take you home so you can tattle to your Mam and Da, since they're Lord and Lady Holders," A'sal snapped. "As for you two, when are you going to learn to leave a fight alone? Calling in your dragon? Shells, J'fren, I thought better of you."
"T'mert was physically threatening J'fren. What was he supposed to do?" C'land said.
"Ever hear of walking away? It works. Try it sometime," said the WM2. "But I know it takes more than one to start a fight. And T'mert, you were a little premature. Turns out J'fren did the right thing. Islith confirmed Shimuth bespoke him this afternoon. They had left word where they'd be."
"But the note..." T'mert said, before he realized the words were out of his mouth.
"How did you know there was a note?" A'sal said. "I didn't know about it until J'fren told me he wrote one. Might you have had something to do with its disappearance?"
"Me? No sir. Why would I?" T'mert stammered.
"Yes, why would you, indeed? Perhaps Dyarth needs to have a word with Tuzoth. J'fren, C'land, kitchen duty for you two tonight. Grow up, the both of you. As for you, T'mert, we'll just have to see what's to be done with you." A'sal had T'mert firmly by the shoulder as he walked him to the Weyrlingmaster's office.
The riders looked at each other in amazement, mouths open.
Coll was the first to regain his speech. "Well, I'm gobsmacked. We were in the right, for once!"
"Yeah. And kitchen duty's a picnic compared to what T'mert's gonna get," Jeff said with an evil chuckle. Both weyrlings had been on kitchen duty so often, they considered it more or less a semi-permanent situation.
"Really. T'mert's Da is going to blink out when he finds out about this. 'He called me a piece of wher crap!'" Coll imitated T'mert's whine. "Makes you sick to see a rider--and a bronze at that-- his size, whining like one of the weyrbrats. I thought only girls were tattle-tales. You might have been spoiled rotten, but you're no tattler," Coll said.
"Hmph. Mam's boys like T'mert are worse than girls by a dragonlength when it comes to 'telling.' Lord Randel is going to be up here, ready to beat the mess out of T'mert, and his Mam is going to be right behind him, howling. Well, Nana did the same thing the last time Pops thrashed me," Jeff said a little ruefully.
"What'd he get you for? I never knew he ever laid a hand on you," C'land said.
"I think that was the only time he ever did. It was the morning I was Searched, in fact, and I was so pissed, I went to the Search dragon myself. I'd been hanging around the older Hold boys, doing some drinking and gambling and a lot of womanizing. I got in a fistfight with one, and Pops hauled me out of the fight, and the boy told him everything I'd been into. So he thrashed me. You got here about a sevenday after I did, so my black eye and the stripes on my back had faded by then." Jeff recounted the story a little soberly.
"Shells and shards, Jeff, you've got the worst temper. Is there anyone or anything you won't fight with?" he said. Jeff just shrugged at him. "What was the fight about?" At Jeff's grin, Coll groaned. "Let me guess--a female?" Jeff's grin widened, but he didn't answer. "Good grief. You're a mess, you know that? Just a mess."
"I'm trying to get a handle on my temper. I thought I was doing better," Jeff said.
"Well, you are, really, but I didn't know you came to the Weyr with a black eye!" Coll exclaimed.
Jeff laughed. "So--what do you think A'sal is going to do to T'mert?"
Coll looked pensive a moment. "I dunno--but I'll bet it's creative. A'sal's good at making the punishment fit the crime."
Jeff nodded. "Yeah. You scheduled for betweening tomorrow?"
"Oh yeah. I guess I'll find out then, since T'mert's in my section. You?"
"Mmm-hmm. You know, it doesn't bother me now, but I was scared glowless when I had to do it the first time," Jeff mused.
Coll chuckled. "Me, too." He shuddered. "All I could think about was what might go wrong. But then, I just asked Jornith if he had the coordinates, he said he did, I gave the word, and there we were! Right over the Star Stones! Nothing to it. I mean, there is, but it's not that tough."
"I know it, but when I gave the word to Shimuth the first time, I held on to the riding straps so hard, my fingers would hardly come uncurled."
Coll laughed. "Well, I'd put my hand over my eyes just as we transferred, and when we came out, I was peeking through my fingers!"
Jeff howled with laughter at this admission and the friends went into the Lower Caverns for their stint at the sinks.