Cold, dark and alone.

If T’mar looked past the bright metal of the structure she held onto, past the reflection of her face on her helmet, and into the darkness of space, she could imagine for just a moment that she was this way.

But only for a moment.

T’mar shivered as the cold bit into her EVA suit, despite the warm woolen cloth packed inside. As she climbed slowly along the outer wall of the SpaceHold, all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing.

Suddenly, a bright light flashed behind her. She turned around, just in time to see Rukbat rising over the curve of Pern’s atmosphere. The sun’s dazzling light drenched everything in gold.

T’mar smiled. She had performed dozens of EVAs at this point, and seen the same sight multiple times, but that didn’t make it any less breathtaking.

She watched the sunrise for another minute, until the crackling of the radio caught her attention. Mission Control, communicating with another dragonpair on the open channel. She turned back to her work, refusing to give the image that she was slacking off.

Are you finished laying down the cables on your end, Vazimath? T’mar asked.

From about 50 feet away along the SpaceHold’s outside wall, there was a flash of klah brown. A moment later, a pair of shining eyes looked her way.

Nearly, Vazimath replied. With a whap of his hand, he pushed a fat cylinder of wires into place along the outside wall, then carefully nudged a massive metal plate over it. Another push, and the plate clicked into place. There! His eyes whirled with excitement. Ready to plug in!

T’mar gave a thumbs-up in response, then made the final connections on the power relay. She slid the last wire into place, then placed her hand on the master switch.

“Mission Control, this is T’mar and Vazimath,” she said over the radio, “We’re ready to turn the power on in Section 5C.”

“Affirmative,” Mission Control answered. “You may proceed.”

Let there be light, T’mar thought as she pulled the breaker down. A burst of white light flowed through that section of the SpaceHold as millions of light bulbs flashed on. A gentle hum enveloped the area as thousands of machines powered on.

“Power is confirmed on,” Mission Control said, “Life support enabled. Ambient temperature is approaching 23 degrees Celsius. Give it another hour to stabilize and we can start moving in. Good work, you two.”

“No problem!” T’mar answered. “Permission to return to base?”

“Granted.”

You heard them, Vazimath, T’mar said, Let’s head back.

Vazimath pushed off of the SpaceHold’s wall and gracefully floated toward T’mar. As he approached, T’mar let go of the wall and reached out, grabbing hold of him and pulling herself up. When she strapped herself onto Vazimath’s back, she undid the tether attaching her to the wall, letting it float freely.

But before T’mar could give Vazimath the visual to go between, she was interrupted by a sudden, garbled crackle on the radio.

“...rnin...is...terdic… plan...”

“Say again, Mission Control,” she said, “Didn’t catch that.”

“It wasn’t us,” Mission Control replied, “That broadcast came from… somewhere else.”

T’mar could hear the question in the operator’s voice, and she looked over at Vazimath. His eyes whirled yellow in confusion. “Coordinates?” T’mar spoke up.

Mission Control gave a series of numbers as T’mar made adjustments to her radio. After a moment, the radio picked up the strange broadcast again.

“Warning! This is an interdicted planet. Do not proceed further without the express permission of the Federated Sentient Planets. Violation of this interdict will result in a heavy fine or imprisonment. Repeat. This is an interdicted planet-”

“It sounds like a recording of some kind,” T’mar remarked, “set to play back repeatedly.”

“Any chance you have a visual of where the recording is coming from?” Mission Control asked.

T’mar looked out at the vast blackness of space, peppered with a field of stars. “Negative. No visual.”

There was a sudden crackle, and a new voice came over the radio. “Brown rider,” a strong male voice said.

T’mar’s heart immediately leapt into her throat. “W-weyrleader, sir!” she stammered, “I didn’t know you were listening in!” Her cheeks went hot with embarrassment.

“Never mind that, brown rider,” the Weyrleader said sternly. “Return to base immediately. We need to talk.”

After what felt like hours, T’mar and Vazimath finally touched down in one of the SpaceHold’s landing bays. As the airlock cycled, T’mar wondered about the strange broadcast and what the Weyrleader had to say. The airlock door slid open, and T’mar’s eyes widened in surprise as all three members of the SpaceHold’s Trium had come to meet them.

The Trium was the SpaceHold’s governing body: The Weyrleader, elected from Pern’s highest-ranking bronze and brown riders. The Lord Governor, elected from Pern’s major Lord Holders. And the Craftmaster, elected from Pern’s Master Craftsmen. T’mar had never seen all three of them together in person until now.

T’mar immediately removed her helmet and bowed her head. “It’s an honor to meet you,” she said solemnly.

The Craftmaster, an older woman with graying hair, waved away the greeting. “Yes, yes, enough pleasantries. Let’s go to a meeting room and get down to business.” She almost sprinted down the hallway, leaving the other two behind. The Lord Governor, a younger man with long, luxuriant hair, glared in mock-annoyance. The Weyrleader, a middle-aged man with black hair and tanned skin, shook his head and laughed.

“At ease, brown rider,” the Weyrleader said, beckoning T’mar to follow them. “We won’t bite.”

Go ahead to the Recovery section, Vazimath, T’mar said, I’m not sure how long this briefing will take!

I’ll be listening in, Vazimath replied. He leapt into the air and promptly disappeared between.

T’mar was filled with anxiety as they entered one of the meeting rooms and the Weyrleader promptly closed and sealed the door. He gestured toward a long table and chairs.

“Have a seat.”

T’mar sat, clasping her hands under the table nervously.

“All right,” the Craftmaster said energetically, “Now that we’re all situated…” She looked at T’mar pointedly. “I’m sure you’re wondering many things, most of all the radio broadcast, and why all the secrecy?”

T’mar slowly nodded.

“We were made aware of the broadcast’s existence about a month ago,” the Craftmaster said, “and requested the craftsmen at Landing to scour the AIVAS computer for information. It was just this sevenday that we received a reply. The broadcast is coming from an artificial satellite, placed at a wider orbit around Pern than the SpaceHold – just at the very edge of our radio capabilities.”

“What does the broadcast message mean?” T’mar asked.

“It’s called an ‘interdiction notice,’” the Lord Governor put in, “According to the AIVAS computer, it’s a notice sent out to warn people from other planets to stay away.”

T’mar gasped.

People from other planets. The idea wasn’t a new one – in fact, it was part of an astronaut’s basic training that other planets and their inhabitants existed – but to have that fact confirmed and not just be an abstract idea was mind-blowing.

The Lord Governor continued. “It’s possible that some time in Pern’s past, a starship from elsewhere, perhaps from this ‘Federated Sentient Planets’, visited us and was made aware of the extreme threat that Thread and the Red Star posed. They may have placed the satellite and the broadcast in orbit to ward off any other starships that came our way.”

T’mar looked back at the three of them, puzzled. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we have a very important task for you and Vazimath,” the Weyrleader said. He stared back at her shrewdly. “Tell me, brown rider. Are you and Vazimath familiar with kinesis?”

“Y-yes, sir… We’ve practiced moving objects around during EVAs and such…”

“Have you tried going between to a set of coordinates?”

T’mar swallowed nervously. “You mean… going between without a visual? Is that…”

“Possible?” the Weyrleader finished. “Yes, it is. By using Vazimath’s latent kinesis skills, the strength of your bond with him, and the coordinates of the broadcast, you should be able to go between and reach the satellite’s exact location.”

T’mar nodded slowly as the pieces fell into place. “So you need us to retrieve the satellite.”

The Weyrleader nodded. “Precisely.”

“But why us?” T’mar asked.

The Weyrleader laughed. “I’m surprised you would ask. Your service record here at the SpaceHold is impeccable. You and Vazimath hold the record for the most successful EVAs, and your work on the SpaceHold itself has always been done with care. You’ve done well despite what others have said or thought about you.”

T’mar could see where he was coming from. She had always dealt with criticism from other, more hidebound people, about being the only female brown rider on Pern. But she worked hard, and through that had proven them wrong time and again.

In the back of her mind, T’mar could feel Vazimath’s agreement and underlying excitement. She looked toward the Trium and answered, “We’re honored to accept.”

The Weyrleader nodded and replied, “The next window we have to communicate with the satellite is in 12 hours. Be sure you and Vazimath are ready by then.”

---

Cold, dark and alone.

Dressed in her spacesuit and strapped onto Vazimath’s back, T’mar looked out at the desolate reaches of space, and imagined going between across the starry expanse. Between through coldness and darkness deeper than a winter’s night. Between to nowhere…

T’mar shivered as her thoughts fixated on dragonriders who went between and never came out again. From Weyrwoman Moreta in the Ballad of Moreta’s Ride, down to a handful of her classmates during weyrling training. She swallowed, trying to push down her desire to vomit.

Ready, Vazimath? She thought shakily.

The Weyrleader said to relax, Vazimath replied, his presence a calming balm in her mind.

I’m trying, T’mar said. She took a deep breath and willed away the fluttering in her stomach. She reached a hand to her helmet and spoke into the radio.

“We’re ready.”

“You may proceed,” Mission Control answered.

T’mar closed her eyes and focused on the crackling interdiction message over the radio. She imagined a three-dimensional map with the satellite’s coordinates placed on it, and then imagined being pulled toward that point through the sound of the broadcast.

She could feel Vazimath’s mind connect with hers, and felt a curious energy fill them both. She opened her eyes and thought out a single word. Go.

With that, the dragonpair jumped between.

For what felt like hours, but may have been less than a minute, T’mar and Vazimath sat in black, cold darkness. The silence was palpable, or would have been if not for the radio broadcast echoing through their minds. The echo was muffled at first, then grew clearer and clearer. Then, with a flash of stars and a feeling of weightlessness, they reappeared into space.

T’mar quickly looked around, seeing nothing but stars and blackness. Then Vazimath nudged her with his muzzle and looked off into the distance. T’mar followed his gaze and saw a massive metal ball, scuffed and dented over centuries of spatial bombardment, with long metal rods protruding from it and a lone red light blinking on top.

This must be it, T’mar thought, looking the satellite over. The ball was comparable to the size of Vazimath’s head, and the legs as thick as one of his forearms. The red light continued to blink uninterrupted. Do you think you can carry this thing back to base? She asked Vazimath.

Vazimath’s eyes whirled blue in amusement. I can do it, he replied, grabbing two of the satellite’s legs with his claws.

T’mar nodded, remembering that dragons could lift as much or as little as they thought they could.

“We’ve found and secured the satellite,” she radioed Mission Control, “Preparing to return to base.”

There was a beat, then a response came. “Thank Faranth,” the Weyrleader replied, “You did it! We’ll be waiting for you.”

In no time at all, T’mar and Vazimath winked back into the SpaceHold’s landing bay. Vazimath slowly and carefully placed the satellite down onto the floor, then stepped back as a group of spacesuited Craftspeople arrived and surrounded the satellite.

“Good work,” the Weyrleader said, thumping T’mar on the shoulder and looking up at Vazimath with a smile. “I knew we could count on you.”

T’mar smiled shyly, then looked over at the Craftspeople who were now transporting the satellite further inside the SpaceHold. “What do you plan on doing with the satellite?” she asked.

“We will attempt to reverse engineer the satellite, to determine how it works,” the Craftmaster replied. “Once we’ve done that, we plan to reprogram the satellite. To send out a message of our own. An… introduction, of sorts.”

T’mar’s eyes widened. “An introduction? But that means-”

“It means that we have decided to end Pern’s isolation,” the Lord Governor replied, “It wasn’t a unanimous vote, but the majority of Pern’s Weyrs, Holds and Crafts have agreed to reintroduce ourselves to the Federated Sentient Planets, if they still exist.”

There was silence as the statement sank in.

“That’s… a massive undertaking,” T’mar said, her mind reeling from the revelation.

“Indeed,” the Weyrleader noted. “I’ll make sure you’re notified periodically on our progress, in case we may need you again.”

T’mar nodded gratefully. “I appreciate it.”

An entire month passed without T’mar and Vazimath hearing anything further about the satellite.

T’mar sat at the communications console in the SpaceHold’s control room, acting as Mission Control for several dragonpairs performing tasks outside. In an attempt to stave off boredom, she thought back to the latest report she had received about the satellite. The Starcrafters had finally finished reverse engineering the satellite and managed to turn off the interdiction signal. It was likely not much longer until they could send off a message of their own. T’mar looked forward to it.

She sighed and closed her eyes, listening to the chatter between dragonriders, when suddenly there were gasps and shouts.

“Shards!”

“What the shaff…”

T’mar looked up sharply upon hearing the outbursts. She focused her eyes on the viewscreen, and her mouth fell open at the impossible sight in front of her. A small fleet of what looked like starships had appeared, shining silver against the darkness of space.

“By the Egg…” T’mar’s mouth went dry, and after a single panicked second, she pressed several buttons on the console.

“All dragonpairs return to base immediately,” she called across the open channel, “Repeat, all dragonpairs return to base!”

Vazimath, let Mtanth know what’s happening at Mission Control, she said next, referring to the Weyrleader’s bronze dragon. The Trium needs to be notified.

After a few long moments, Vazimath answered. They’re coming.

Minutes later, the Weyrleader, Craftmaster and Lord Governor entered the control room, breathing heavily as if they had been running. They turned their attention to the viewscreen, watching as the starship fleet sat idle in space, keeping their distance from the SpaceHold’s perimeter.

“They’ve been hailing us continuously for the past fifteen minutes,” T’mar reported nervously, looking over at the console. “We haven’t dared reply.”

“So it begins,” the Craftmaster said.

“Are you disappointed they came before you sent your welcoming committee?” the Lord Governor asked her jokingly.

“Of course not,” the Craftmaster retorted, “Regardless of how it happens, Pern’s isolation ends today. And a new era of communication and friendship will begin.”

T’mar looked at the viewscreen again, out into the black sea of stars, and the multitude of silver ships floating within it.

It was cold, and dark. But they were no longer alone.

“Open a channel,” the Weyrleader told T’mar.

T’mar turned to the console, and taking a deep breath, she pressed a button.

There was a loud crackle, then a cacophony of voices came over the radio.

“They’re hailing us!”

“Finally!”

“Another minute more, and we’d have shot them down!”

“Shut your trap! They could be listening in!”

T’mar and the Trium looked at each other in amusement. Then the voices on the radio cleared, and a single voice boomed out.

“This is Admiral Benden of the Federated Sentient Planets,” the stern, grizzled voice replied.

Everyone in the room looked at each other, awestruck. Benden!

“We’ve received word that this system’s interdiction edict has been broken,” the voice continued, “Care to explain yourselves?”

The Craftmaster looked over to T’mar. “Would you like to do the honors?” she asked with a playful smile.

T’mar stared back at her in surprise, then smiled. She moved closer to the communicator, cleared her throat, and replied:

“This is the planet Pern.”

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