“Hmm, yes, for life evolved from the seas here on Pern just as it did on Earth. With variations, of course.” Pol settled happily into his lecturing mode with an attentive if incredulous audience. “Yes, an aquatic eellike ancestor, in fact. With six limbs. The first pair—” He pointed at the dragonet still clutching his morsel in his front pincers. “—originally were nets for catching. See the action of the front claw against the stationary back pair? The dragonets dropped the net in favor of three digits. They opted for wings instead of stabilizing middle fins, while the hind pair are for propulsion. The dry-land adaptation, our tunnel snake, was to make the front pair diggers, the middle set remained balancers, especially when they have food in the front pair, and the rear limbs are for steering or holding on. Yes, I’m sure we’ll find that the plankton eaters are like the common ancestors of our good friends here.” Pol beamed warmly down at Duke, who was deliberating taking a fresh morsel from Sorka. “However …” He paused.

Sorka waited politely, knowing that the zoologist had some purpose in his visit.

“Would you happen to know of any undisturbed nests?” he asked finally.

“Yes, sir, but it’s not a big clutch, and the eggs are rather smaller than others I’ve seen.”

“Ah, yes, perhaps the eggs of the smaller green female,” Pol said, placatingly. “Well, since the green is not as protective of her nest as the gold, she will suffer no great pangs if we borrow a few. But I did want to ask you one other, greater favor. I particularly remember your mentioning seeing the body of a hatchling in the water. Is this a frequent hazard?”

Sorka considered that and replied in the same objective tone of voice. “I think so. Some of the hatchlings just don’t make it. Either they can’t feed themselves enough to make up for the hatching trauma,” she began to explain. She didn’t see the slight grin tugging at Pol Nietro’s mouth. “Or they are struck down by wherries. You see, just before hatching, the older dragonets bring seaweed to form a ring about the clutch, and offer fish and crawlies and anything else they can find to the hatchlings.”

“Hmm, definitely imprinting, then,” Pol murmured.

“By the time they’ve filled their stomachs, their wings have dried, and they can fly off with the rest of the fair. The older dragonets do a first-rate job of keeping off snakes and wherries, to give the babies a chance. One day, though, Sean spotted some eellike thing attacking from the sea during a high tide. The hatchling didn’t have a chance.”

“Sean is your elusive but oft-mentioned ally?”

“Yes, sir. He and I discovered the first nest together and kept watch on it.”

“Would he assist us in finding nests, and … the hatchlings?”