"Probe reports coming through, sir," Sallah Telgar announced without taking her eyes from the flickering lights on her terminal.

"On the screen, please, Mister Telgar," Admiral Paul Benden replied. Beside him, leaning against his command chair, Emily Boll kept her eyes steadily on the sunlit planet, scarcely aware of the activity around her.

The Pern Colonial Expedition had reached the most exciting moment of its fifteen-year voyage: the three colony ships, the Yokohama, the Bahrain, and the Buenos Aires were finally approaching their destination. In offices below the bridge deck, specialists eagerly awaited updates on the reports of the long-dead Exploration and Evaluation team that, 200 years earlier, had recommended Rukbat's third planet for colonization.

The long journey to the Sagittarian Sector had gone without a hitch, the only excitement being the surprise when the Oort cloud encircling the Rukbat system had been sighted. That phenomenon had continued to engross some of the space and scientific personnel, but Paul Benden had lost interest when Ezra Keroon, captain of the Bahrain and the expedition's astronomer, had assured him that the nebulous mass of deep-frozen meteorites was no more than an astronomical curiosity. They would keep an eye on it, Ezra had said, but although some comets might form and spin from its depths, he doubted that they would pose a serious threat to either the three colony ships or the planet the ships were fast approaching. After all, the Exploration and Evaluation team had not mentioned any unusual incidence of meteor strikes on the surface of Pern.

"Screening probe reports, sir," Sallah confirmed, "on two and five." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Admiral Benden smile slightly.

"This is sort of anticlimactic, isn't it?" Paul murmured to Emily Boll as the latest reports flashed onto the screens.

Arms folded across her chest, she hadn't moved since the probes had been launched, except for an occasional twiddling of fingers along her upper arms. She lifted her right eyebrow in a cynical twitch and kept her eyes on the screen.

"Oh, I don't know. It's one more procedure which gets us nearer to the surface. Of course," she added dryly, "we're sort of stuck with whatever's reported, but I expect we can cope."

"We'll have to, won't we?" Paul Benden replied a trifle grimly.

The trip was one-way -- it had to be, considering the cost of getting over six thousand colonists and supplies to such an out-of-the-way sector of the galaxy. Once they reached Pern the fuel left in the great transport ships would be enough only to achieve and maintain a synchronous orbit above their destination while people and cargo were shuttled down to the surface. To be sure, they had homing capsules that would reach the headquarters of the Federated Sentient Planets in a mere five years, but to a retired naval tactician like Paul Benden, a fragile homing capsule did not offer much in the way of an effective backup. The Pern expedition was composed of committed and resourceful people who had chosen to eschew the high-tech societies of the Federated Sentient Planets. They expected to manage on their own. And though their destination in the Rukbat system was rich enough in ores and minerals to support an agriculturally based society, it was poor enough and far enough from the center of the galaxy that it should escape the greed of the technocrats.

"Only a little while longer, Paul," Emily murmured, her voice reaching his ears alone, "and we'll both be able to lay down the weary load."

He grinned up at her, knowing that it had been as difficult for her as it had been for him to escape the blandishments of technocrats who had not wished to lose two such charismatic war heroes: the admiral who had prevailed in the Cygni Space Battle, and the governor-heroine of First Centauri. But no one could deny that the two were the ideal leaders for the Pern expedition.

"Speaking of loads," she went on more loudly, "I'd better be there to referee my team now the reports are coming in. I suppose specialists have to consider their own disciplines the most important ones, but such contentiousness!" She stifled a groan, then grinned, her blue eyes twinkling in her rather homely face. "Just a few more days of talking, and it'll be action stations, Admiral."

She knew him well. He hated the interminable debate over minor points that seemed to obsess those in charge of the landing operation. He preferred to make quick decisions and implement them immediately, instead of talking them to death.

"You're more patient with your teams than I am," the admiral said quietly. The last two months, as the three ships had decelerated into the Rukbat system, had been made tedious with meetings and discussions which seemed to Paul to be nitpicking over procedures that had been thoroughly thrashed out seventeen years before in the planning stages of the venture.

Most of the 2900 colonists on the Yokohama had passed the entire journey in deep sleep. Personnel essential to the operation and maintenance of the three great ships had stood five-year watches. Paul Benden had elected to stand the first and last five-year periods. Emily Boll had been revived shortly before the rest of the environmental specialists, who had spent their time railing at the superficiality of the Exploration and Evaluation Corps report. She saw no point in reminding them of their enthusiasm for the same words when they had signed up for the Pern expedition.

Paul continued to absorb the display information, eyes flicking from one screen to another, absently rubbing the thumb of his left hand across three fingers. Though not the sort of man Emily was attracted to, Paul Benden was undeniably handsome, and Emily much preferred him with his hair grown out of the spaceman's crop that had been his trademark. She thought that the thick blond mass softened the strong features: the blunt nose, the forceful jaw, and the wide thin-lipped mouth, just then pulled slightly to the left in a little smile.

The trip had done him good: he looked fit and well able to face the rigors of their next few months. Emily remembered how terribly thin he had been at the official ceremony commemorating his brilliant victory at Cygnus, where he and the Purple Sector Fleet had turned the tide of war against the Nathis. Legend said that he had remained awake and on duty for the entire seventy hours of the crucial battle. Emily believed it. She had done something of the sort herself during the height of the Nathis attack on her planet. There were many things a person could do if pushed, she knew from experience. She expected that one paid for such physical abuses later on in life, but Benden, well into his sixth decade, looked vigorously healthy. And she certainly felt no diminution of her own energies. Fourteen years of deep sleep seemed to have cured the terrible fatigue that had been the inevitable result of her defense of First Centauri.

And what a world they were now approaching! Emily sighed, still unable to look away from the main screen for more than a second. She knew that all those on duty on the bridge, along with those of the previous watch who had not left, were totally bemused by the magnificent sight of their destination.

Who had named it Pern, she did not recall -- quite probably the single letters blazoned across the published report had stood for something else entirely -- but it was Pern officially, and it was theirs. They were on an equatorial heading; as she watched, the planet's lazy rotation hid the northern continent and the spine of mountains up its coast, while the western desert of the southern landmass was revealed. The dominant topographical feature was the wide expanse of ocean, slightly greener than that of old Earth, with a ring of islands splattered across it. The atmosphere was currently decorated with the swirling cloud curl of a low-pressure area moving rapidly northeast. What a beautiful, beautiful world! She sighed again and caught Paul's quick glance. She smiled back at him without really taking her eyes from the screen.

A beautiful world! And theirs! By all the Holies, this time we won't botch it! she assured herself fervently. With all that magnificent, productive land, the old imperatives don't apply. No, she added in private cynicism, people are already discovering new ones. She thought of the friction she had sensed between the charterers, who had raised the staggering credits needed to finance the Pern expedition, and the contractors, the specialists hired to round out the basic skills required for the undertaking. Each could end up with a largeous amount of land or mineral rights on this new world, but the fact that the charterers would get first choice was a bone of contention.

Differences! Why did there always have to be distinctions, arrogantly displayed as superiorities, or derided as inferiorities? Everyone would have the same opportunity, no matter how many stake acres they could claim as charterer or had been granted as contractor. On Pern, it would truly be up to the individual to succeed, to prove his claim and to manage as much land as he and his cared for. That would be the catholic distinction. Once we've landed, everyone will be too bloody busy to fret over "differences," she consoled herself, and watched in fascination as a second low-pressure area began to spin down from the hidden north across the sea. If the two weather systems melded, there would be a tremendous storm over the eastern curve of the oceanic islands.

"Looking good," Commander Ongola murmured in his deep, sad bass voice. Emily had not seen him smile once in the six months she had been awake. Paul had told her that Ongola's wife, children, and entire family had been vaporized when the Nathis had attacked their service colony; Paul had specifically requested him to join the expedition. Stationed at the science desk, Ongola was monitoring the meteorology and atmospherics displays. "Atmospheric content as expected. Southern continent temperatures appear to be normal for this late winter season. Northern continent enjoying considerable precipitation due to low-pressure air masses. Analyses and temperatures consistent with EEC report."

The first probe was doing a high-altitude circumnavigation in a pattern that would allow it to photograph the entire planet. The second, taking a low-level course, could reexamine any portion required. The third probe was programmed for topographical features.

"Probes four and six have landed, sir. Five is on hold," Sallah went on, as she interpreted the new lights that had begun to flash. "Scuttlebugs deployed."

"Show them on the screens, Mister Telgar," the admiral said. She transferred the displays to screens three, four, and six.

Pern's image continued to dominate the main screen as the planet rotated slowly to the east, from night to day. The southern continent's coastline was day-lit; the spinal range of mountains and the tracks of several rivers were visible. The thermal scan was showing the effect of daylight on the late winter season of the southern continent.

Probe scuttlebugs had been landed at three not-yet-visible specific points in the southern hemisphere and were relaying updates on current conditions and terrain. The southern continent had always been favored as the landing site: the surveyteam report mentioned the more clement weather patterns on the high plateaus; a wider variety of plant life, some of it edible by humans; eminently suitable farmland; and good harbors for the tough siliplex fishing vessels that existed as numbered pieces in the holds of the Buenos Aires and the Bahrain. The seas of Pern teemed with aquatic life, and at least a few of the species could be safely consumed by humans. The marine biologists had high hopes of populating the bays and estuaries with Terran piscine types without harming the present ecological balance. The deep-freeze tanks of the Bahrain contained twenty-five dolphins who had volunteered to come along. Pern's seas were eminently suitable for the support of the intelligent mammals, who enjoyed sea-shepherding as well as the opportunity to see new worlds.

Soil analyses had indicated that Terran cereals and legumes, which had already adapted well to Centauran soil, should flourish on Pern, a necessity as the native grasses were unsuitable for Terran animals. One of the first tasks facing the agronomists would be to plant fodder crops to sustain the variety of herbivores and ruminants that had been brought as fertilized ova from the Animal Reproduction Banks of Terra.

In order that the colonists could ensure the adaptability of Terran animals to Pern, permission to use certain of the advanced biogenetic techniques of the Eridanis -- mainly mentasynth, gene paring, and chromosome enhancements -- had been grudgingly granted. Even though Pern was in an isolated area of the galaxy, the Federated Sentient Planets wanted no further disasters like the bio-alts, which had aroused the strong Pure Human Life Group.

Emily Boll repressed a shudder. Those memories belonged to the past. Displayed on the screen in front of her was the future -- and she had best get down and help the specialists organize it. "I've dallied long enough," she murmured to Paul Benden, touching his shoulder in farewell.

Paul pulled his gaze from the screen and smiled at her, giving her hand a friendly pat. "Eat first!" He waggled a stern finger at her. "You keep forgetting we're not rationed on board the Yoko." She gave him a startled look. "I will. I promise."

"The next few weeks are going to be rough."

"Hmm, but so stimulating!" Her blue eyes twinkled. Then her stomach audibly rumbled. "Gotcha, Admiral." She winked again and left.

He watched her as she walked to the nearest exit off the bridge, a lean, almost bony woman, with gray and naturally wavy hair which she wore shoulder length. What Paul liked most about her was her wiry strength, both moral and physical, which was combined with a ruthlessness that sometimes startled him. She had tremendous personal vitality -- just being in her presence gave one's spirits a lift. Together they would make something of their new world.

He looked back to the main screen and the enthralling vista of Pern.

The large lounge had been set up as an office for the heads of the various teams of exobiology, agronomy, botany, and ecology, along with six representatives of the professional farmers, who were still a bit groggy from their term in deep sleep. The room was ringed by multiple screens displaying a constantly altering range of microbiology reports, statistics, comparisons, and analyses. There was much debate going on. Those hunched over desk monitors, busily collating reports, tried to ignore the tension emanating from the departmental heads who occupied the very center of the room in a tight knot, each one with an eye out for the screens displaying reports on his or her specialty.

Mar Dook, head agronomist, was a small man whose Earth Asiatic ancestry was evident in features, skin tone, and physiology: he was wiry, lean, and slightly bowed in the shoulders, but his black eyes gleamed with eager intelligence and the excitement of the challenge.

"The schedule has long been decided, my dear colleagues. We're in the first wave down. The probes do not contradict any of the information we already have. The dirt and vegetation samples match. There's the same sort of red and green algae reported along the shoreline. Marine life has been sighted by the sea probe. One of the low probes has caught a comforting variety of insects, which the EEC also found. The aerial fax that came up with that flyer reported -- what did the team call them? -- wherries."

"Why 'wherries"?" Phas Radamanth asked. He scrolled through the report searching for that particular annotation. "Ah," he said when he found it. "Because they resemble airborne barges -- squat, fat and full." He allowed himself a little smile for the whimsy of that long-dead term.

"Yeah, but I don't see mention of any other predators," Kwan Marceau said, his rather high forehead creased, as usual, with a frown.

"There's sure to be something that eats them," Phas replied confidently.

"Or they eat each other," Mar Dook suggested. He received a stern frown from Kwan. Suddenly Mar Dook pointed excitedly to a new fax coming up on one screen. "Ah, look! The scuttlebug got a reptiloid. Rather a large specimen, ten centimeters thick and seven meters long. There's your wherry eater, Kwan."

"Another scuttle has just run through a puddle of excretal matter, semiliquid, which contains intestinal parasites and bacteria," Pol Nietro said, hurriedly tagging the report for later reference. "There do seem to be plenty of wormlike soil dwellers, too. Rather a significant variety, if you ask me. Worms like nematodes, insectoids, mites that really wouldn't be out of place in a Terran compost heap. Ted, here's something for you: plants like our mycorrhizas -- tree fungi. Speaking of that, I wonder where the EEC team found that luminous mycelium."

Ted Tubberman, one of the colony botanists, gave a contemptuous snort. He was a big man, not carrying any extra flesh after nearly fifteen years in deep sleep, who tended to be overbearing. "Luminous organisms are usually found in deep caves, Nietro, as they use their light to attract their victims, generally insects. The mycelium reported by that team was in a cave system on that large island south of the northern continent. This planet seems to have a considerable number of cave systems. Why weren't any scuttles scheduled for subterranean investigations?" he asked in an aggrieved tone.

"There were only so many available, Ted," Mar Dook said placatingly.

"Ah, look! Now, this is what I've been waiting for," Kwan said, his usually solemn face lighting up as he bent until his nose almost touched the small screen before him. "There are reef systems. And yes, a balanced if fragile marine ecology along the ring islands. I'm much encouraged. Possibly those polka dots they saw are from a meteorite storm."

Ted dismissed that instantly. "No. No impact, and the formation of new growth does not parallel that sort of phenomenon. I intend looking into that problem the first moment I can."

"What we have to do first," Mar Dook said, his tone gently reproving, "is select the appropriate sites, plow, test, and, where necessary, introduce the symbiotic bacteria and fungi, even beetles, needed for pastureland."

"But we still don't know which landing site will be chosen." Ted's face was flushed with irritation.

"The three that are now being surveyed are much of a muchness," Mar Dook replied with a tolerant smile. He found Tubberman's petulant restlessness tedious. "All three give us ample scope for experimental and control fields. Our basic tasks will be the same no matter where we land. The essential point is not to miss this first vital growing season."

"The brood animals must be revived as soon as possible," Pol Nietro said. The head zoologist was as eager as everyone else to plunge into the practical work ahead. "And reliance on the alfalfa trays for fodder is not going to adjust their digestions to a new environment. We must begin as we mean to go on, and let Pern supply our needs."

There was a murmur of assent to his statement.

"The only new factor in these reports," Phas Radamanth, the xenobiologist, said encouragingly, without turning his eyes from his screens, "is the density of vegetation. We may have to clear more than we thought in the forty-five south eleven site. See here--" He gestured to the disparate images. "Where the EEC pic showed sparse ground cover, we now have heavy vegetation, some of it of respectable size."

"There should be at least that, after two-hundred-odd years," Ted Tubberman said irritably. "I never was happy about the barrenness. Smacked of a depauperate ecology. Hey, most of those circular features are overgrown. Felicia, run up the EEC pics that correspond." He bent his big frame to peer over her shoulder at the double screen below the probe broadcast. "See, those circles are barely discernible now. The team was right about botanical succession. And that isn't a grassoid. If that's mutant vegetation..." He trailed off, shaking his head and jutting his chin out. He had loudly and frequently insisted that the success of Pern as a colony would depend on botanical health.

"I, too, am happier to see succession, but according to the EEC reports, it's--" Mar Dook began.

"Shove the EEC reports. They didn't tell us the half of what we really need to know," Ted exclaimed. "Survey, they called it. Quick dip at the trot. No depth to it at all. The most superficial survey I've ever read."

"I quite agree," said the calm voice of Emily Boll, who had entered while the botanist was ranting. "The initial EEC report does seem to have been less than complete now that we can compare it to our new home. But the most crucial, salient points were covered for us. We know what we needed to know, and the FSP was quite happy to turn the planet over to us because it certainly doesn't have anything to interest them. And it's not a planet that the syndicates would fight over. Which is why we were allowed to have it. I think we have to be grateful to that team, not critical." Her smile swept everyone in the crowded room. "The important elements -- atmosphere, water, arable soil, ores, minerals, bacteria, insects, marine life -- are all present, and Pern is eminently suitable for human habitation. The gaps, the in-depth investigations that report did not contain, are what we shall spend a lifetime filling in. A challenge for each and every one of us, and our children!" Her low-pitched voice rang in the crowded room. "Let's not worry at this very late date about what we weren't told. We'll find the answers soon enough. Let's concentrate now on the great work we have to begin in just two days' time. We're ready for any surprises Pern might have for us. Now, Mar Dook, have you seen anything in the updates to suggest we must alter the schedule?"

"Nothing," Mar Dook replied, warily glancing at Ted Tubberman, who was frowning at Emily Boll. "But those soil and vegetation matter samples would occupy us usefully."

"I'm sure they would." Emily grinned broadly at him. "We'll be busy enough -- ah, here's the information you need. And what a bumper crop to digest."

"We still don't know where we're landing," Ted complained.

"The admiral is discussing that right now, Ted," Emily replied equably. "We'll be among the first to know."

Agronomists were to be in the first shuttleloads to reach the surface, for it was vital to the colony's future to break land for crops as soon as possible. Even while the engineers were setting up the landing grids, agronomists would be plowing fields, and Ted Tubberman and his group would be setting up sheds and seeding the precious soil brought from Earth. Pat Hempenstall would set up a control shed using indigenous dirt, to see if Earth or colonial variants would thrive unassisted in an alien soil. Sufficient packaged organisms had also been brought to introduce symbiotic bacteria.

"I will be very glad," Pol Nietro murmured, "if the reports confirm those insectoids, winged and subterranean, reported by the EEC team. If they should prove sufficient to do the work of dung beetles and flies on our Terran-style detritus, agronomy will be off to a good start. We've got to get nutrients back into the soil and introduce the rumen bacteria, protozoans, and yeasts for our cows, sheep, goats, and horses so they'll thrive."

"If not, Pol," Emily replied, "we can ask Kitti to work a bit of her micro-magic and rearrange innards that can deal with what Pern has to offer." She smiled with great deference at the tiny lady seated in the center of the little cluster.

"Soil samples coming up," Ju Adjai said into the pause. "And here's vegetable mash for you, Ted. Get your teeth in that."

Tubberman launched himself to the position next to Felicia, his big fingers nimble and accurate over the keyboard.

In moments the rattling of keys, punctuated by assorted mutters and other monosyllables of concentration, filled the room. Emily and Kit Ping exchanged glances tinged with amused condescension for the vagaries of their younger colleagues. Kit Ping then turned her eyes back to the main screen and continued her contemplation of the world they were rapidly approaching.

As Emily sat down at her workspace, she wondered how under the suns the expedition had lucked out enough to include the most eminent geneticist in the Federated Sentient Planets -- the only human who had ever been trained by the Eridanis. Emily had only seen pics of the altered humans who had made the first abortive mission to Eridani. She suppressed a shudder. Pern wouldn't ever require that kind of abominable tinkering. Maybe that's why Kit Ping was willing to come to the edge of the galaxy -- to end what had already been a long and incredible life in a quiet backwater where she, too, could practice selective amnesia. There were many on the colony's roll who had come to forget what they had seen and done.

"The grassoid on that eastern landing site is going to be hell to cut through," Ted Tubberman said, scowling. "High boron content. It'll dull cutting edges and foul gear."

"It'd cushion the landing." Pat Hempenstall said with a chuckle.

"Our landing craft have landed safely on far more inhospitable terrain than that," Emily reminded the others.

"Felicia, run a comparison on the botanical succession around those crazy polka dots," Ted Tubberman went on, staring at his own screens. "There's something about that configuration that still bothers me. The phenomenon is all over the planet. And I'd be happier if we could get an opinion from that geologist whiz, Tarzan--" He paused.

"Tarvi Andiyar," Felicia supplied, accustomed to Ted's memory lapses.

"Well, memo him to meet me when he's revived. Damn it, Mar, how can we function with only half the specialists awake?"

"We're doing fine, Ted. Pern is coming up roses for us. Not a joggle off the report data."

"That's almost worrying," Pol Nietro said blandly.

Tubberman snorted, Mar Dook shrugged, and Kitti Ping smiled.

Admiral Benden's chrono tingled against his wrist, reminding him that it was time for his own meeting.

"Commander Ongola, take the conn." Reluctantly, his eyes focusing on the main screen until the access panel of the exit closed, Paul left the bridge.

The corridors of the great colony ship were becoming more crowded by the hour, Paul noticed as he made his way to the wardroom. Newly revived people, clutching the handrails, were jerkily exercising stiff limbs and trying to focus body and mind on the suddenly hazardous task of remaining upright. The old Yoko would be packed tighter than reserve rations while colonists awaited their turns to reach the surface. But with the promise of the freedom of a whole new world as the reward of patience, the crowding could be endured.

Having paid close attention to the various probe reports, Paul had already decided which of the three recommended landing sites he would choose. Naturally he would accord his staff and the other two captains the courtesy of a hearing, but the obvious choice was the vast plateau below a group of strato volcanoes. The current weather there was clement, and the nearly level expanse was adequate to accommodate all six shuttles. The updates had only confirmed a tentative preference made seventeen years ago when he had first studied the EEC reports. He had never anticipated much difficulty with landing; it was a smooth and accident-free debarkation that caused him anxiety. There was no rescue backup hovering solicitously in the skies of Pern, nor disaster teams on its surface.

In organizing the debarkation, Paul had chosen as flight officer Fulmar Stone, a man who had served with him throughout the Cygnus campaign. For the past two weeks, Fulmar's crews had been all over the Yoko's three shuttle vehicles and the admiral's gig, ensuring that there would be no malfunction after fifteen years in the cold storage of the flight deck. The Yoko's twelve pilots, under Kenjo Fusaiyuki, had gone through rigorous simulator drills well spiced with the most bizarre landing emergencies. Most of the pilots had been combat fighters, and were fit and fully experienced at extricating themselves from tricky situations, but none had quite the record of Kenjo Fusaiyuki. Some of the less experienced shuttle pilots had complained about Kenjo's methods; Paul Benden had courteously listened to the complaints -- and ignored them.