Anne McCaffrey draws the reader back in time to an earlier Pern to tell the story of one of Pern’s great and true heroines. An air of pleasant anticipation hung so thickly over the Halls, Holds and Weyrs of Pern that it had affected even the businesslike ways of Moreta, the Weyrwoman of Fort Weyr, where her dragon, Queen Orlith, would soon clutch.  Then without warning, a runnerbeast fell ill. Soon myriads of holders, craftsmen, and dragonriders were dying; and the mysterious ailment had spread to all but the most inaccessible holds. Pern was in mortal danger. For, if dragonriders did not rise to char Thread, the parasite would devour any and all organic life it encountered. The future of the planet rested in the hands of Moreta and the other deicated, lelfless Pernese leaders. But of all their problems, the most difficult to overcome was time. . . . There are dragons all over Anne McCaffrey's house. Some she's bought, but many have been made for her by adoring fans and given to her as gifts. I don't make dragons, of course. But whenever circumstances allow, I do try to bring her American bacon, something she can't get easily in Ireland, and something which she has taught all her friends there to love, as well! I remember the first time I went to visit her, when she was still living in her old, much smaller but very homey, house. My husband and I arrived at the doorstep, and she immediately began bustling about, frying up some of the bacon we'd brought and sharing a lovely late breakfast with us before sending us off to the hotel for a nap. She made us dinner that night, too--the one and only time in my life that I've actually liked shrimp cocktail. Maybe that's because if you squint your eyes and look sideways, shrimp are kind of dragonlike, and I was eating them in the right company! --Shelly Shapiro, Executive Editor Anne McCaffrey, one of the world’s most popular authors, is best known for her Dragonriders of Pern® series. She was the first woman to win the two top prizes for science fiction writing, the Hugo and Nebula awards. She was also given the American Library Association’s Margaret A. Edwards Award for Lifetime Literary Achievement in Young Adult Fiction, was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame, and was named a Science Fiction Writers of America Grand Master. Born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1926, McCaffrey relocated to Ireland in the 1970s, where she lived in a house of her own design, named Dragonhold-Underhill. She died in 2011. CHAPTER I   Fort Weyr, Present Pass, 3.10.43–1541, and Ruatha Hold   “Sh’gall is out on other Weyr business,” Moreta told Nesso for the third time, beginning to loosen her sweat- and oil-stained tunic as a hint.   “His Weyr business should be accompanying you to Ruatha Gather.” Nesso’s voice had a whining note to it in the best of her humors. Now the Fort Weyr Headwoman was filled with aggrieved indignation at the fancied slight to her Weyrwoman, and her voice grated like a bone saw in Moreta’s ear.   “He saw Lord Alessan yesterday. A Gather is not a time to discuss serious matters.”   Moreta rose, seeking to end an interview she hadn’t wanted to give, one that could continue as long as Nesso could dredge up complaints, real or imaginary, against Sh’gall. Their antagonism was mutual, and Moreta often found herself in the position of placating or explaining the one to the other. She could not change Sh’gall and was loathe to displace Nesso for, despite her faults, the woman was an exceedingly efficient and hard-working Headwoman. “I must bathe, Nesso, or I’ll be unpardonably late at Ruatha. I know you’ve arranged a good meal for those who remain. K’lon’s comfortable now that the fever has broken. Berchar will look in on him. Just leave him alone.”   Moreta fixed Nesso with an admonitory gaze, reinforcing her injunction. Nesso had an officious habit of “taking” Moreta’s place whenever the Weyrwoman was absent unless specifically ordered not to. “Away with you now, Nesso. You’ve enough to do, and I’m longing to be clean.” Moreta accompanied her words with a smile as she gave Nesso a gentle shove toward the exit from her sleeping room.   “Sh’gall should go with you. He should,” the irrepressible woman muttered as Moreta held aside the vivid door-curtain. Only when Nesso neared the sleeping queen dragon did she cease her imprecations.   Heavy with egg, Orlith dozed on, oblivious to the woman’s passing. The golden dragon had arranged herself on the stony couch so as not to mar the fine gleam of oil that Moreta had rubbed into her hide as part of the morning’s preparation for the Gather at Ruatha. Moreta was heading for her own much-needed wash when she was asked to examine K’lon, so she’d been late for her chat with Leri to be sure the old Weyrwoman had what she required for the day. Leri would have no ministrations from Nesso’s hands.   The interview with Nesso had proved unavoidable. The Headwoman had “heard” that Sh’gall and Moreta