Wansor is as good as between, Craftmaster, Terry said gently, gesturing toward the sleeping body all but invisible under skins on the outsized couch in one corner.
Flar had always wondered where Fandarel slept, since the main Hall had long ago been given over to working space. No ordinary craft cot would be spacious enough to house the Craftmaster. Now he remembered seeing couches like this in most of the major buildings. Undoubtedly Fandarel slept anywhere and anytime he could no longer stay awake. The Smith thrived on what could burn out another man.
The Smith glanced crossly at the sleeper, grunted with resignation and only then noticed Lessa and Flar. He smiled down at the Weyrwoman with real pleasure.
You come early, and Id hoped to have some progress to report on a distance-viewer, he said, gesturing toward the sketch. Lessa and Flar obediently inspected the series of lines and ovals, innocently white on the black wall. It is regrettable that the construction of perfect equipment is dependent on the frailty of mens minds and bodies. I apologize …
Why? It is barely morning, Flar replied with a droll expression. I will give you until nightfall before I accuse you of inefficiency.
Terry tried to smother a laugh; what came out was a slightly hysterical giggle.
They were all somewhat startled to hear the booming gargle that was Fandarels laugh. He nearly knocked Flar down with a jovial slap on the shoulder blades as he whooped with mirth.
You give me … until nightfall … before … inefficiency … the Smith gasped between howls.
The mans gone mad. Weve put too much of a strain on him, Flar told the others.
Nonsense, Lessa replied, looking at the convulsed Smith with small sympathy. He hasnt slept and if I know his single-mindedness, he hasnt eaten. Has he, Terry?
Terry plainly had to search his mind for an answer.
Rouse your cooks, then. Even he, and Lessa jerked her thumb at the exasperating Smith, ought to stoke that hulk of his with food once a week.
Her insinuation that the Smith was a dragon was not lost on Terry, who this time began to laugh uncontrollably.
Ill rouse them myself. Youre all next to useless, you men, she complained and started for the door.
Terry intercepted her, masterfully suppressing his laughter, and reached for a button in the base of a square box on the wall. In a loud voice he bespoke a meal for the Smith and four others.
Whats that? Flar asked, fascinated. It didnt look capable of sending a message all the way to Telgar.
Oh, a loudspeaker. Very efficient, Terry said with a wry grin, if you cant bellow like the Craftmaster. We have them in every hall. Saves a lot of running around.
One day I will fix it so that we can channel the message to the one area we want to speak to. The Smith added, wiping his eyes, Ah, but a man can sleep anytime. A laugh restores the soul.
Is that the distance-writer youre going to demonstrate for us? asked the Weyrleader, frankly skeptical.
No, no, no, Fandarel reassured him, dismissing the accomplishment almost irritably and striding to a complex arrangement of wires and ceramic pots. This is my distance-writer!
It was difficult for Lessa and Flar to see anything to be proud of in that mystifying jumble.
The wallbox looks more efficient, Flar said at length, bending to test the mixture in a pot with a finger.
The Smith struck his hand away.
That would burn your skin as quick as pure agenothree, he exclaimed. Based on that solution, too. Now, observe. these tubs contain blocks of metal, one each of zinc and copper, in a watered solution of sulfuric acid which makes the metal dissolve in such a way that a chemical reaction occurs. This gives us a form of activity I have called chemical reaction energy. The c.r. produced can be controlled at this point, and he ran a finger down the metal arm which was poised over an expanse of thin grayish material, attached at both ends to rollers. The Smith turned a knob. The pots began to bubble gently He tapped the arm and a series of red marks of different lengths began to appear on the material which wound slowly forward. See, this is a message. The Harper adapted and expanded his drum code, a different sequence and length of lines for every sound. A little practice and you can read them as easily as written words.