The others returned to stoking their dragons with renewed enthusiasm. An hour later, all the males had produced flame, but none of the females had; though the golds had chewed and chewed, one after the other they had regurgitated an awful gray pastelike substance.

“As I recall the program,” Sean said as the gold riders stood disconsolately about, “the queens aren’t mature until they’re nearly three. The males are … well …” Sean cast about for a diplomatic phrase.

“Functional now,” Tarrie finished for him, none too pleased.

“Even seven recruits are going to be well received at Fort,” Otto said, for once not trying to sound pompous.

Sorka was frowning, though, an expression unusual enough to her that Tarrie inquired as to its cause.

“I was just thinking. Kit Ping was such a traditionalist …” Sorka regarded her husband for a long moment, until he ducked his head, unable to maintain the eye contact. “All right, Sean, you know every symbol in that program. Did Kit Ping introduce a gender discrimination?”

“A what?” Tarrie asked. The other queen riders gathered close, while the young men took discreet backward steps.

“A gender inhibition … meaning the queens lay eggs, and the other colors fight!” Sorka was disgusted.

“It may just be that the queens aren’t mature enough yet,” Sean said, temporizing. “I haven’t been able to figure out some of Kit Ping’s equations. Maybe the flame production is a mature ability. I don’t know why the queens all barfed. We’ll have to ask Pol and Bay when we get to Fort. But I tell you what, there’s no reason you girls can’t use flamethrowers. With wands a bit longer, you wouldn’t singe your dragon by mistake.”

His suggestion did much to mollify the queen riders for the time being, but Sean hoped fervently that Pol and Bay could give a more acceptable verdict. Seventeen dragons made a more impressive display than seven. And he was determined to impress when the dragonriders flew into Fort Hold. The only burdens dragons should ever carry again were their riders and firestone!

“Actually, Paul,” Telgar said, glancing at Ozzie and Cobber, “those photophobes of Wind Blossom’s have proved to be extremely useful in subterranean explorations. Their instinct for hidden dangers—pitfalls, in fact, and blind tunnels—is infallible.” The geologist gave one of his humorless smiles. “I’d like to keep them now that Wind Blossom has abandoned them, so to speak.” Telgar turned to Pol and Bay.