Just Bob
27th January 2005, 03:24 PM
This is a somewhat AU story, set about half a century after the end of the Final Pass. Enjoy, and please review.
When Espan arrived at the meeting room, his friend Orter was pacing frantically from one end of the long table to the other, frequently looking at his watch or straightening out imaginary creases in his suit. It did not take a dragon-bond to see that he was extremely nervous.
As Espan entered the room, he turned and sighed with relief. “Thank the Shell you’re here! What did the Weyrleader say?” he asked, and removed from his inside pocket a bottle of pills. With a shaking hand, he tried to remove the top.
Espan grabbed his wrist, intercepting the action. “More fellicin? Orter, I told you to stop taking those. I thought we agreed that you were going to at least ease off a bit.”
Orter looked slightly guilty. “It’s just to calm me down a little. I’ve been up since before dawn.”
Espan sighed. “This isn’t healthy, mate. You’re working far too hard, and you don’t know when to switch off. You drink caffeinated klah to stay awake till all hours, and then you take fellicin to get to sleep. And now you’re taking both to stop your hands shaking.” He glanced down at the hand in his grip, which still vibrated slightly.
Orter jerked free, looking slightly resentful. “It’s all the stress from this deal. Everything we’ve worked for, months of planning and pulling resources together, hangs on the next couple of days.”
“Speaking of which,” interjected Minermaster Olejnik, the only other occupant of the room, “would you mind telling us how it went? Come on now, lad, don’t keep us in suspense.”
Espan grinned. “The news is good, old man. They’ve agreed to the main thrust of our terms, and now we’re all going to Ista Weyrbowl tomorrow night to thrash out the last details.”
Now Orter was grinning as well. “Really? Who’s playing?”
“Shifted Incidence, supported by Us Tarts Rock. We’re using the suite attached to the Weyrleader’s own weyr, so the view should be incredible.”
“Wow! I’ve always meant to see them. I hear they’re really good live, which is unusual when you consider that none of the band are Harperhall-trained.”
“You’ve gotta love corporate hospitality.” Espan leaned casually on the table, satisfied with the results of a hard day’s bargaining.
Olejnik was still not entirely happy. “Why do we need the support of a Weyr so much, any way? Why can’t we just hire lots of free agents like young Dorado and Anweth?”
Orter sighed, and sat down. “We’ve been through this before. Ever since the New Boll disaster in Interval Turn 13, any off-planet installation has to have at least one dragonrider for every 3 inhabitants. Even if it weren’t the law, none of us want to risk being shorthanded in the case of an emergency evacuation. Now, the plans you yourself drew up were for 450 or more miners and associated staff, which means at least 150 dragons. There might be that many unaffiliated riders in existence, I suppose. I don’t think so, but there might. However, even if there are, getting them together would mean we couldn’t afford to be selective. Do you want to trust your life to the kind of cowboy-”
“Cowboy?” Olejnik interrupted, puzzled by the unfamiliar term.
“Sorry,” demurred Orter. “The kind of irresponsible, insubordinate malcontents who would accept a dragon, and the trust that goes with it, and then abandon their Weyr and run off to do their own thing.”
Olejnik bristled. “That’s a malicious cliché, and you know it.”
“Is it?” asked Espan rhetorically. “I’ve spoken with people who deal with them regularly, and although they all reckon the stereotype is an exaggeration, most of them also warned me – without prompting – that unattached dragonriders can be untrustworthy.”
“Still, even if you ignore that,” continued Orter, “there’s still the riders that don’t have space training, those that suffer from agoraphobia in space environments, those too young or too old, the green dragons too small to hold the quota of three people plus rider, those that catch on to how desperate we are and price themselves out of our range… I’m sure you can see our problem.”
“Rogue riders like Dorado are great for small jobs, “Espan said diplomatically. “They are reasonably inexpensive, flexible and discreet, which recommends them for all sorts of situations, like the excellent surveying work Dorado did for us back when we started this project. The fact is, though, that the New Boll legislation means numbers, and that means Weyrs. True, self-sufficiency is becoming increasingly popular, and we might have another look at this in a few years, when the labour pool is larger, but we haven’t got a few years.”
“Trust the dragonriders; Thread’s gone for good only half a century ago, and they’ve already found a new way to make themselves indispensable to Pern. Old F’lar would have been proud. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’d arranged it all themselves.”
Orter looked disgusted. “Don’t you start! I get enough far-fetched conspiracy theories from him.” He jabbed a thumb towards Espan, who raised his hands in mute protest.
Olejnik harrumphed. “Well, that’s what you two get from learning useless facts from ancient history, instead of studying a proper Craft. What in Faranth’s name is ‘pre-Pern history’ good for anyway?”
“A degree from the University of Landing isn’t about the knowledge,” protested Espan matter-of-factly. “It’s about the skills, the intellectual tools and techniques used to analyze, assess and use source material without being misled. It’s about reason, logic, doubt and rational thinking to build up a picture that isn’t biased by the limitations of a single source. Because we had the AIVAS database at had, we were able to take the broadest of possible views and learn from the successes and failures of many civilizations on other planets, but I’ve been to enough seminars at Fort, Ruatha, Tillek, Nabol and many others to recognize that my colleagues focusing on our home in detail use the same techniques and gain that much clearer a picture for it.”
“If you want any more evidence, just look at the number of former Landing University journeymen and masters who are now in high positions of authority,” added Orter. “You remember the Keroon election a couple of sevendays ago? Hulehan, the best graduate of the Turn when Espan and I entered as apprentices, was democratically elected by a 50% majority over the Hereditarian Party candidate. Do you think over 70% of the Lord Holding population might know something you don’t?”
Espan laughed at the sarcasm. “To be fair though, Orter, that’s partly to do with the Old Boys network. There are widespread rumours of thousands of Harper marks thrown into his campaign by Harpermaster Lycett and Lord Antti of New Fishery Hold, both of whom have Landing University training in their CVs and plenty to gain from a supportive Lord Holder.”
“Shut up, Espan,” said Orter.
“My thoughts exactly,” added Olejnik.
“What? It’s not all that unlikely.” Espan tried to look more hurt than he really was.
Orter was not impressed. “Just drop it, mate.” Now that the stress was off slightly, they could return to their usual banter, and Orter was reminded what good friends they had always been. “I’m glad it’s you I’m in this enterprise with, Espan. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have with me when we break open the workable metals markets once and for all.”
“Equal partners, Orter. Equal partners…” Espan placed his hand on top of Orter’s in a symbol of solidarity.
Olejnik stood up and came over to them. “Just remember who’s putting up the marks for this. I’ve been with you two almost since the beginning, and I’m glad to say my trust wasn’t mislaid.” He placed his hand on top of theirs, and they shared a moment of companionship and satisfaction in their joint achievements. “Also don’t forget,” continued Olejnik, “that you can’t build a mining facility, be it on a moon, on Pern or anywhere else, without the expertise of a masterminer. You may have all your fancy logic and rational thinking, and all them obscure facts about old Earth, but I’ll be tickled by Thread if you can tell the difference between firestone and granite.”
They laughed, and separated. While Orter collected the papers he had left on the table, Espan mused.
“Have you ever wondered how the original Exploration and Evaluation team who visited Pern managed to miss the massive mineral deposits on one of our moons? Isn’t that what they were mostly out here for?”
“I expect it was an oversight,” replied Orter. “After all, you’ve got to be a bit mentally and emotionally unstable to propagate a tradition of naming planets after team members who died there. Also, look at Avril Bitra, the only relative we have detailed records on; she was a violent, manipulative, greedy sociopath who frequently ignored facts that didn’t fit in with her personal plans. That’s got to come from somewhere.
“Besides, if they missed something as devastatingly key to the whole planetary ecosystem as Thread, they can probably miss the metallic chunk of a moon orbiting it.” He paused, then lifted the bundle of papers and turned to Espan. “I suppose you have a far more interesting and improbable theory, though.”
“I do indeed, and I’m glad you mentioned Ms. Bitra, because my idea arises from her behaviour. I suggest to you that the whole team were perfectly aware of the riches available in this star system … and decided to cover it up, then come back themselves to collect on it, as Avril did. Nobody would know except them, so the secret was safe, the party was depleted so there weren’t too many to divide up the spoils between, and the place was otherwise uninteresting, so people’s attention would not be attracted to the area. The R.N. in PERN stands for Resources Negligible: why did they feel the need to highlight a characteristic in the name which is an absence rather than a presence? Surely a lack of resources would just put it in with almost every other planet they found. I’ll tell you why: to cover their tracks!
Orter laughed again, causing Espan to bristle. “My, my, that’s quite a conspiracy theory. One of your less preposterous, at least. There’s a big hole in it, though. If they all intended to return and collect their bounty, why didn’t they?”
From Espan’s smugness, Orter realized that he’d chosen the wrong objection. “War,” he answered with satisfaction. “We have no records of what happened to those individuals during the Nathi War, but my guess is that every one of them was killed or otherwise incapacitated. Besides, it’s a long way, shipping activities had probably been scaled down by the war, and acquiring a permanent home or family can be a great disincentive to get-rich-quick adventures.”
“Not that big a disincentive,” mumbled Olejnik, thinking of his part in their project.
Espan ignored him. “I expect they assumed that civilization would continue its’ expansion in this and all other directions, giving them some nearer jumping-off point. Colonization was curtailed by the War, though, so it took a journey of several years, plus some canny legislative deals, for the Benden/Boll expedition to get here. In short, a fool-proof scheme eventually became fraught with obstacles, and so it had to be abandoned.”
“I like it,” responded Orter facetiously. “A bit of the human touch at the end there adds something to your story. So many conspiracy theories are all faceless organisations, without the mess of human error. Well, how’s this for human error: the EEC team were so dazzled by finding a life-bearing planet for once that they spent all the time they had on Pern, and barely spared a glance for Rukbat’s other ‘children’. Or maybe there’s something about the geological structure of that moon that interfered with their instruments. Maybe they did even spot the mineral deposits, but accidentally deleted the note from their report at some point, or maybe the concentrations are only high by our meagre planet-bound standards, and they felt it wasn’t worth mentioning when compared to all the anomalous planets they find made of trillions of dragonweights of precious metals that are more often mined by the Corporations. You see, Espan, you’re so busy spotting patterns that you fail to consider how much of the past and present is made up of funny little coincidences. I stopped paying attention to you years ago, when you decided that Lady Moreta was assassinated by a consortium of Holds and Halls.”
“It makes sense,” Espan replied defensively. “She was in a dangerous relationship with a Lord Holder that might have called the inheritance into question. Imagine if she had become pregnant, and the child had tried to claim the succession to Ruatha Hold? No, they made sure she died, and then put together a lovely little myth to cover up the truth and keep the Weyrs happy. They did the same for Kylara more recently, although they didn’t bother with writing a song about it this time.”
“Oh, and we mustn’t forget my personal favourite! Masterharper Robinton…”
“…Was the founder and first leader of the Abominators. So he was the only witness to the ‘voluntary’ shutdown of the AIVAS artificial intelligence, was he? That’s because he sabotaged it, safe in the assumption that his reputation made him invulnerable, but then he was killed by Smithcraft Special Forces before he could get at the database.” By now, he was obviously reciting an old, old argument straight from memory. “Come on, let’s go and have a drink while we go over our negotiating strategy. We’ll need to hurry, the last Weyr-Hold shuttle train will be leaving any minute and I don’t want to have to get another expensive dragon-ride.”
Together, they left the chamber, fired up for the task ahead.
Please review! :bouncy:
When Espan arrived at the meeting room, his friend Orter was pacing frantically from one end of the long table to the other, frequently looking at his watch or straightening out imaginary creases in his suit. It did not take a dragon-bond to see that he was extremely nervous.
As Espan entered the room, he turned and sighed with relief. “Thank the Shell you’re here! What did the Weyrleader say?” he asked, and removed from his inside pocket a bottle of pills. With a shaking hand, he tried to remove the top.
Espan grabbed his wrist, intercepting the action. “More fellicin? Orter, I told you to stop taking those. I thought we agreed that you were going to at least ease off a bit.”
Orter looked slightly guilty. “It’s just to calm me down a little. I’ve been up since before dawn.”
Espan sighed. “This isn’t healthy, mate. You’re working far too hard, and you don’t know when to switch off. You drink caffeinated klah to stay awake till all hours, and then you take fellicin to get to sleep. And now you’re taking both to stop your hands shaking.” He glanced down at the hand in his grip, which still vibrated slightly.
Orter jerked free, looking slightly resentful. “It’s all the stress from this deal. Everything we’ve worked for, months of planning and pulling resources together, hangs on the next couple of days.”
“Speaking of which,” interjected Minermaster Olejnik, the only other occupant of the room, “would you mind telling us how it went? Come on now, lad, don’t keep us in suspense.”
Espan grinned. “The news is good, old man. They’ve agreed to the main thrust of our terms, and now we’re all going to Ista Weyrbowl tomorrow night to thrash out the last details.”
Now Orter was grinning as well. “Really? Who’s playing?”
“Shifted Incidence, supported by Us Tarts Rock. We’re using the suite attached to the Weyrleader’s own weyr, so the view should be incredible.”
“Wow! I’ve always meant to see them. I hear they’re really good live, which is unusual when you consider that none of the band are Harperhall-trained.”
“You’ve gotta love corporate hospitality.” Espan leaned casually on the table, satisfied with the results of a hard day’s bargaining.
Olejnik was still not entirely happy. “Why do we need the support of a Weyr so much, any way? Why can’t we just hire lots of free agents like young Dorado and Anweth?”
Orter sighed, and sat down. “We’ve been through this before. Ever since the New Boll disaster in Interval Turn 13, any off-planet installation has to have at least one dragonrider for every 3 inhabitants. Even if it weren’t the law, none of us want to risk being shorthanded in the case of an emergency evacuation. Now, the plans you yourself drew up were for 450 or more miners and associated staff, which means at least 150 dragons. There might be that many unaffiliated riders in existence, I suppose. I don’t think so, but there might. However, even if there are, getting them together would mean we couldn’t afford to be selective. Do you want to trust your life to the kind of cowboy-”
“Cowboy?” Olejnik interrupted, puzzled by the unfamiliar term.
“Sorry,” demurred Orter. “The kind of irresponsible, insubordinate malcontents who would accept a dragon, and the trust that goes with it, and then abandon their Weyr and run off to do their own thing.”
Olejnik bristled. “That’s a malicious cliché, and you know it.”
“Is it?” asked Espan rhetorically. “I’ve spoken with people who deal with them regularly, and although they all reckon the stereotype is an exaggeration, most of them also warned me – without prompting – that unattached dragonriders can be untrustworthy.”
“Still, even if you ignore that,” continued Orter, “there’s still the riders that don’t have space training, those that suffer from agoraphobia in space environments, those too young or too old, the green dragons too small to hold the quota of three people plus rider, those that catch on to how desperate we are and price themselves out of our range… I’m sure you can see our problem.”
“Rogue riders like Dorado are great for small jobs, “Espan said diplomatically. “They are reasonably inexpensive, flexible and discreet, which recommends them for all sorts of situations, like the excellent surveying work Dorado did for us back when we started this project. The fact is, though, that the New Boll legislation means numbers, and that means Weyrs. True, self-sufficiency is becoming increasingly popular, and we might have another look at this in a few years, when the labour pool is larger, but we haven’t got a few years.”
“Trust the dragonriders; Thread’s gone for good only half a century ago, and they’ve already found a new way to make themselves indispensable to Pern. Old F’lar would have been proud. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’d arranged it all themselves.”
Orter looked disgusted. “Don’t you start! I get enough far-fetched conspiracy theories from him.” He jabbed a thumb towards Espan, who raised his hands in mute protest.
Olejnik harrumphed. “Well, that’s what you two get from learning useless facts from ancient history, instead of studying a proper Craft. What in Faranth’s name is ‘pre-Pern history’ good for anyway?”
“A degree from the University of Landing isn’t about the knowledge,” protested Espan matter-of-factly. “It’s about the skills, the intellectual tools and techniques used to analyze, assess and use source material without being misled. It’s about reason, logic, doubt and rational thinking to build up a picture that isn’t biased by the limitations of a single source. Because we had the AIVAS database at had, we were able to take the broadest of possible views and learn from the successes and failures of many civilizations on other planets, but I’ve been to enough seminars at Fort, Ruatha, Tillek, Nabol and many others to recognize that my colleagues focusing on our home in detail use the same techniques and gain that much clearer a picture for it.”
“If you want any more evidence, just look at the number of former Landing University journeymen and masters who are now in high positions of authority,” added Orter. “You remember the Keroon election a couple of sevendays ago? Hulehan, the best graduate of the Turn when Espan and I entered as apprentices, was democratically elected by a 50% majority over the Hereditarian Party candidate. Do you think over 70% of the Lord Holding population might know something you don’t?”
Espan laughed at the sarcasm. “To be fair though, Orter, that’s partly to do with the Old Boys network. There are widespread rumours of thousands of Harper marks thrown into his campaign by Harpermaster Lycett and Lord Antti of New Fishery Hold, both of whom have Landing University training in their CVs and plenty to gain from a supportive Lord Holder.”
“Shut up, Espan,” said Orter.
“My thoughts exactly,” added Olejnik.
“What? It’s not all that unlikely.” Espan tried to look more hurt than he really was.
Orter was not impressed. “Just drop it, mate.” Now that the stress was off slightly, they could return to their usual banter, and Orter was reminded what good friends they had always been. “I’m glad it’s you I’m in this enterprise with, Espan. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have with me when we break open the workable metals markets once and for all.”
“Equal partners, Orter. Equal partners…” Espan placed his hand on top of Orter’s in a symbol of solidarity.
Olejnik stood up and came over to them. “Just remember who’s putting up the marks for this. I’ve been with you two almost since the beginning, and I’m glad to say my trust wasn’t mislaid.” He placed his hand on top of theirs, and they shared a moment of companionship and satisfaction in their joint achievements. “Also don’t forget,” continued Olejnik, “that you can’t build a mining facility, be it on a moon, on Pern or anywhere else, without the expertise of a masterminer. You may have all your fancy logic and rational thinking, and all them obscure facts about old Earth, but I’ll be tickled by Thread if you can tell the difference between firestone and granite.”
They laughed, and separated. While Orter collected the papers he had left on the table, Espan mused.
“Have you ever wondered how the original Exploration and Evaluation team who visited Pern managed to miss the massive mineral deposits on one of our moons? Isn’t that what they were mostly out here for?”
“I expect it was an oversight,” replied Orter. “After all, you’ve got to be a bit mentally and emotionally unstable to propagate a tradition of naming planets after team members who died there. Also, look at Avril Bitra, the only relative we have detailed records on; she was a violent, manipulative, greedy sociopath who frequently ignored facts that didn’t fit in with her personal plans. That’s got to come from somewhere.
“Besides, if they missed something as devastatingly key to the whole planetary ecosystem as Thread, they can probably miss the metallic chunk of a moon orbiting it.” He paused, then lifted the bundle of papers and turned to Espan. “I suppose you have a far more interesting and improbable theory, though.”
“I do indeed, and I’m glad you mentioned Ms. Bitra, because my idea arises from her behaviour. I suggest to you that the whole team were perfectly aware of the riches available in this star system … and decided to cover it up, then come back themselves to collect on it, as Avril did. Nobody would know except them, so the secret was safe, the party was depleted so there weren’t too many to divide up the spoils between, and the place was otherwise uninteresting, so people’s attention would not be attracted to the area. The R.N. in PERN stands for Resources Negligible: why did they feel the need to highlight a characteristic in the name which is an absence rather than a presence? Surely a lack of resources would just put it in with almost every other planet they found. I’ll tell you why: to cover their tracks!
Orter laughed again, causing Espan to bristle. “My, my, that’s quite a conspiracy theory. One of your less preposterous, at least. There’s a big hole in it, though. If they all intended to return and collect their bounty, why didn’t they?”
From Espan’s smugness, Orter realized that he’d chosen the wrong objection. “War,” he answered with satisfaction. “We have no records of what happened to those individuals during the Nathi War, but my guess is that every one of them was killed or otherwise incapacitated. Besides, it’s a long way, shipping activities had probably been scaled down by the war, and acquiring a permanent home or family can be a great disincentive to get-rich-quick adventures.”
“Not that big a disincentive,” mumbled Olejnik, thinking of his part in their project.
Espan ignored him. “I expect they assumed that civilization would continue its’ expansion in this and all other directions, giving them some nearer jumping-off point. Colonization was curtailed by the War, though, so it took a journey of several years, plus some canny legislative deals, for the Benden/Boll expedition to get here. In short, a fool-proof scheme eventually became fraught with obstacles, and so it had to be abandoned.”
“I like it,” responded Orter facetiously. “A bit of the human touch at the end there adds something to your story. So many conspiracy theories are all faceless organisations, without the mess of human error. Well, how’s this for human error: the EEC team were so dazzled by finding a life-bearing planet for once that they spent all the time they had on Pern, and barely spared a glance for Rukbat’s other ‘children’. Or maybe there’s something about the geological structure of that moon that interfered with their instruments. Maybe they did even spot the mineral deposits, but accidentally deleted the note from their report at some point, or maybe the concentrations are only high by our meagre planet-bound standards, and they felt it wasn’t worth mentioning when compared to all the anomalous planets they find made of trillions of dragonweights of precious metals that are more often mined by the Corporations. You see, Espan, you’re so busy spotting patterns that you fail to consider how much of the past and present is made up of funny little coincidences. I stopped paying attention to you years ago, when you decided that Lady Moreta was assassinated by a consortium of Holds and Halls.”
“It makes sense,” Espan replied defensively. “She was in a dangerous relationship with a Lord Holder that might have called the inheritance into question. Imagine if she had become pregnant, and the child had tried to claim the succession to Ruatha Hold? No, they made sure she died, and then put together a lovely little myth to cover up the truth and keep the Weyrs happy. They did the same for Kylara more recently, although they didn’t bother with writing a song about it this time.”
“Oh, and we mustn’t forget my personal favourite! Masterharper Robinton…”
“…Was the founder and first leader of the Abominators. So he was the only witness to the ‘voluntary’ shutdown of the AIVAS artificial intelligence, was he? That’s because he sabotaged it, safe in the assumption that his reputation made him invulnerable, but then he was killed by Smithcraft Special Forces before he could get at the database.” By now, he was obviously reciting an old, old argument straight from memory. “Come on, let’s go and have a drink while we go over our negotiating strategy. We’ll need to hurry, the last Weyr-Hold shuttle train will be leaving any minute and I don’t want to have to get another expensive dragon-ride.”
Together, they left the chamber, fired up for the task ahead.
Please review! :bouncy: