"Don't distract Aivas, Menolly," Piemur said, arranging his papers on the plate.

"Master Menolly is not a distraction," Aivas said mildly. "Next page please, Piemur."

"Could you really read those old moldy Records?" Menolly asked.

"The attempt should be made. The ink that was used to write the Records you were kind enough to bring last night is of an indelible type that will yield to certain techniques available to this facility. Outside manual assistance will be needed, however, to prepare the documents before they can be scanned. That is a project which has been put on hold."

"On hold?" Menolly was delighted by the unusual but descriptive phrase. "How explanatory!"

Then she heard the sounds of movement in the hall and saw a file of people, laden with cartons, striding purposefully toward her. She saw F'lessan and F'nor among them.

"I'd better leave," she said reluctantly.

"Hang about," Sebell told her.

"You seem to be bringing the cave here. Wouldn't it have been easier to move Aivas to the caves?" she asked.

"Negatory," Aivas said in as sharp a tone as Menolly had yet heard him utter." This installation must remain in its present position, or it cannot access Yokohama."

"I was being facetious, Aivas," Menolly said penitently, and rolled her eyes at Sebell.

As the dragonriders came in, Menolly moved to N'ton's earlier position against the wall and watched as carton after carton was displayed to Aivas, to be either dismissed or sent into the rooms where others were attempting to construct the devices that would permit wider access to Aivas's facilities. None of the dragonriders seemed at all surprised to see her there, and F'lessan's grin had lost nothing of his usual impudence in the presence of Aivas. But then the son of F'lar and Lessa took nothing very seriously except his dragon, Golanth. Mirrim followed close on T'gellan's heels; the two from the Eastern Weyr were never far apart since they had declared themselves weyrmates. Mirrim had certainly bloomed and relaxed in the warmth of his preference, Menolly reflected.

"I didn't see you here earlier," Mirrim said in an aside to Menolly while waiting for her burden to be assessed by Aivas.

"Oh, I arrived here late last night with the Records of this Pass," Menolly replied. "Then Lessa grabbed me for some drudgery." She extended her strong hands, her callused fingers still showing water-wrinkles.

Mirrim rolled her eyes. "I'm just as glad we got in on the fetch-and-carry end of things. Let's compare notes later, huh? I'd better go," she added with a smug grin, "T'gellan's waving at me." She hefted the carton over to Aivas's screen.

When Aivas had delivered a verdict and the riders had left, Sebell gestured for the Craftmasters to come in and be introduced. Again they were all courteously, if briefly, addressed, and Aivas issued the request to see their craft Records. When they had left, Menolly slipped over to Sebell.

"How on earth will Aivas find time to look at so many Records?" she asked, whispering in his ear.

"He doesn't need sleep, only power," Sebell replied. "If we can supply that when the solar panels falter, he'll go on all day and night. You don't sleep, do you, Aivas?"

"This facility operates as long as it has sufficient power to do so. Sleep is a human requirement."

Sebell winked at Menolly.

"And you have none?" she demanded, jamming her fists into her belt as she faced the screen squarely.

"This facility is programmed to give optimum use at human convenience."

"Do I hear a tinge of apology in your tone, Aivas?" she asked.

"This facility is programmed not to give offense."

Menolly had to chuckle. Later she realized that that was when she began to accept Aivas as an individual entity and not as an awesome relic of her ancestors' contrivance.

"Menolly?" the Masterharper called from the far end of the corridor, which was, for the first time, empty of importunate visitors. "Is Sebell there with you?"

Sebell moved to where he could be seen.

"Take over from him, will you, Menolly?" Robinton asked. "We've got enough here for a conference."

Sebell put his hand on Menolly's upper arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You saw how I conducted the encounters," he said. "If anyone else shows up, just introduce them."

"That didn't work last night when Piemur tried it," Menolly said.

Sebell grinned, squeezing her arm again. "Master Robinton and F'lar worked out a necessary alteration in the protocol."

"Another new word?"

"Aivas's for convention or courtesy." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "You won't be missing anything in the conference, you know."

"I do, and I'm relieved not to have to sit through another one," she called after him as he hurried down the hall to Master Robinton. Sebell knew how she hated formal ceremonies. Or would they now be called protocols? She smiled to herself, then realized that she was alone with Aivas.

"Aivas, would you be able to give me an example of ancestral music?"

"Vocal, instrumental, orchestral?"

"Vocal;" Menolly replied without hesitation, promising herself that she would hear the other categories, too, when there was a chance.

"Classical, ancient, or modern; contemporary folk or popular; with or without instrumental accompaniment?"

"Anything, while we've got a free moment."

"Anything is too vague a category. Specify."

"Vocal, popular, with instruments."

"This was recorded at the Landing celebration." And suddenly the room was filled with music. Menolly immediately identified several of the instruments: a gitar, a fiddle, and something with a pipelike sound; and then voices, untrained but enthusiastic and musical. The melody was hauntingly familiar to her; the words, though clearly sung, were not. The quality of the sound, however, was incredible. These voices and instruments had not been heard for centuries, and yet the sounds were as unblurred by time as if the musicians were present. When the song ended, she couldn't speak for the wonder of it.

"Was that not satisfactory, Master Menolly?"

She shook herself. "It was immensely and incredibly satisfying. I know that tune, too. What did the... settlers"-yes, she thought, Lessa was right to call them by that less intimidating noun-"call it?"

"'Home on the Range.' It is classified as American Western folk music. Several variations were included when the music library was installed in the memory banks."

She would have asked for more, but Piemur came striding into the room carrying a strange contraption, a thin wide ribbon of colored strings hanging from one side. The front of it resembled part of the Aivas worktop, a series of depressions in five ordered ranks under a dark sheet of what looked to be more plastic.

"Kindly hold it over the view panel, Piemur. Level with your head, please." There was a long pause for assessment. "It seems to be correctly assembled. A final check will be its installation and activation, but that must wait on a power source and connections to this board. How is Master Terry progressing with the wiring?"

"I don't know. He's in another room. I'll just go and check for you. Here, Menolly, hang on to this. I don't want to risk dropping it." With an encouraging grin, Piemur deposited his load in her arms and half ran down the corridor.

"Why do you have that?" Jancis asked, arriving with a similar object in her hands.

Menolly told her and watched while Jancis repeated Piemur's antics. Right behind her came Benelek, Lord Groghe's clever son, who was now a smith journeyman. Fandarel had found him so extremely inventive that Menolly was not at all surprised to see him taking an active part here.

When Aivas had approved their efforts, Benelek wanted to know when they could hook up.

"When there is power available. So, Journeyman Benelek, you may as well assemble another keyboard while you're waiting," Aivas replied. "Ten are possible with the parts in hand. Two need replacement screens, if the Glassmaster will oblige."