S'ligar took a thick roll of hide from his pouch. With a deft flick of his wrist, the roll fell into five separate sections on the sand. Mindful to make no physical contact with the other Leaders, S'ligar slid a section to each of the other bronze riders.

"Here are the names of my wingleaders and seconds, since naming people seems to be a deficiency in our queens. I've listed my riders in order of their competence for assuming command of either wing or Weyr. B'lerion is my choice of a personal successor." Then a rare and brilliant smile crossed the High Reacher's face. "With Falga's complete accord."

K'dren roared with laughter. "Didn't she suggest him?"

S'ligar regarded K'dren with mild reproof. "It is the wise Leader who anticipates his Weyrwoman's mind."

"Enough!" M'tani called irritably. His dark eyes were angry under heavy black brows. He threw his lists down to join S'ligar's. "T'grel has always fancied himself a Leader. He reminded me that he hadn't been to either of the Gathers so I'll reward his virtue."

"You're fortunate," K'dren said with no humor in his voice. He added his lists to the others. "L'vin, W'ter, and H'grave attended both Gathers. I've recommended M'gent. He may be young but he's got a natural flair for leadership that one doesn't often see. He wasn't at the Gathers."

F'gal seemed unwilling to lose the sheets he unwound. "It's all on these," he said wearily, letting them flutter to the sand.

"Leri suggested me," S'peren said with a self-deprecating shrug, "though it's likely Sh'gall will make a change when he recovers. He was too fevered to be told of this meeting so Leri drew up the lists."

"Leri would know." K'dren nodded. He went down on his haunches to pick up the five slips of hide, aligning them at the top before rolling. "I shall be pleased if these can gather dust in my weyr." He stuffed the roll in his pouch. "It is, however, a comfort to have made plans, to have considered contingencies."

"Saves a lot of unnecessary worry," S'ligar agreed, bending to scoop up the scraps into his long-fingered hand. "I also recommend that we use entire wings as replacements, rather than send individuals as substitutes. Riders get used to their wingleaders and seconds." The recommendation found favor with the others.

"Full wings or substitutes is not the real worry." L'bol glowered at the lists as he assembled them in his hand. "It's the lack of ground crews."

K'dren snorted. "No worry. Not when the queens have already decided among themselves to do that job. We've all been informed, no doubt, that every queen who can fly will attend every Fall."

M'tani's scowl was sour and neither L'bol or F'gal appeared happy, but S'ligar shrugged diffidently. "They will arrange matters to suit themselves no matter what but queens keep promises." "Who suggested using weyrlings for ground crews?" M'tani asked. "We may have to resort to them," S'ligar said.

"Weyrlings don't have enough sense-" M'tani began. "Depends on their Weyrlingmaster, doesn't it?" K'dren asked. "The queens intend"-S'ligar put in before M'tani could take offense at K'dren's remark-"to keep the weyrlings under control. What other choice have we in the absence of ground crews?" "Well, I've never known a weyrling yet who would disobey a queen," F'gal admitted.

"S'peren, with Moreta ill, does Kamiana lead?"

"No. Leri." S'peren looked apprehensive. "After all, she's done it before."

The Weyrleaders murmured in surprised protest.

"Well, if any of your Weyrwomen can talk her out of it, we'd be very relieved." S'peren did not hide his distress. "She's more than done her duty by the Weyrs and Pern. On the other hand, she knows how to lead. With both Sh'gall and Moreta sick, the Weyr at least trusts her."

"How is Moreta?" S'ligar asked.

"Leri says Orlith doesn't seem worried. She carries her eggs well and she is very near clutching. It's as well Moreta is sick or they'd be out and about Pern. You know how keen Moreta is on runners."

M'tani snorted with disgust. "This is not the time to lose an eggheavy queen," he said. "This sickness hits so fast and kills so quickly, the dragons don't realize what's happening. And then they're gone between." He caught his breath, clenching his teeth and swallowing against tears. The other riders pretended not to see his evident distress.

"Once Orlith has clutched she won't go until they've hatched," S'ligar said gently to no one in particular. "S'peren, have you candidates safely at Fort Weyr?"

S'peren shook his head. "We'd that yet to do and thought there was worlds of time for Search."

"Pick carefully before you bring anyone new into your Weyr!" L'bol advised sourly.

"If the need arises. High Reaches has a few promising youngsters who are healthy. I'm sure an adequate number can be made up from the other Weyrs?" S'ligar waited for the murmur of assent to go round the circle. "You'll inform Leri?"

"Fort Weyr is grateful."

"Is that all?" L'bol demanded as he turned toward his dragon.

"Not quite. One more point while we are convened." S'ligar hitched up his belt. "I know that some of us have thought of exploring the Southern Continent once this Pass is over-"

"After this?" L'bol stared at S'ligar in total disbelief.

"My point. In spite of the Instructions left to us, we cannot risk further contagions. Southern must be left alone!" S'ligar made a cutting gesture with the flat of his huge hand. He looked to the Benden Weyrleader for comment.

"An eminently sensible prohibition," K'dren said.

M'tani flourished his hand curtly to show agreement and turned to S'peren.

"Of course, I cannot speak for Sh'gall but I cannot conceive why Fort would disagree."

"The continent will be interdicted by my Weyr, I assure you," F'gal said in a loud, strained voice.

"Then we shall leave it to the queens to communicate how many wings each Weyr supplies for Fall until this emergency is over. We've all the details we need to go on." S'ligar brandished his roll before he shoved it in his tunic. "Very well then, my friends. Good flying! May your Weyrs-" He caught himself, a flicker of uncertainty for his glib use of a courteous salutation not entirely appropriate.

"The Weyrs will prosper, S'ligar," K'dren said as he smiled confidently at the big man. "They always have!"

The bronze riders turned to their dragons, mounting with the ease and grace of long practice. Almost as one, the six dragons wheeled to the left and right of the red butte, to spring agilely into the air. Again, as if the unique maneuver had been many times rehearsed, on the third downstroke of six pairs of great wings, the dragons went between.

At about the time the bronze dragonriders were meeting at the Butte, Capiam had discovered that if he timed a fit of coughing, he could miss some of the incoming, more painful messages. Even after the thrumming of the great drums in the tower had ceased, the cadences played ring-a-round in his head and inhibited the sleep he yearned for. Not that sleep brought any rest. He would feel more tired when he roused from such brief naps as the drums permitted. And the nightmares! He was forever being harried by that tawny, speckle-coated, tuft-eared monster that had carried its peculiar germs to a vulnerable continent. The irony was that the Ancients had probably created the agency that threatened to exterminate their descendants.

If only those seamen had let the animal die on its tree trunk in the Eastern Current. If only it had died on the ship, succumbing to thirst and exhaustion-as Capiam felt he was likely to do at any moment– before it had contaminated more than the seamen. If only the nearby holders hadn't been so bloody curious to relieve the winter's tedium. If! If! If? If wishes were dragons, all Pern would fly!