“I’d’ve thought Fandarel would at least have found the grubs efficient,” F’lar had remarked.
“He was struck dumb with amazement?” F’nor suggested.
“No,” and Lessa grimaced, “he was infuriated by inefficiency!”
They’d laughed and gone on to the next job. That evening a messenger arrived from the Smithcrafthall with the purloined hearthpan and a truly remarkable contrivance. It was bulbous in shape, secured to a long handle from the end of which its lid could be opened, operated by a trigger inside the tubular handle. The lid was the truly ingenious part for it fanned open upward and outward so that Thread would be guided down into the vessel and could not escape if the lid was reopened.
The messenger also confided to F’lar that the Mastersmith was having difficulties with his distance-writer. All wire must be covered with a protective tubing or Thread cut right through the thinly extruded metal. The Smith had experimented with ceramic and metal casings but he could turn neither out in great or quick enough quantity. With Threadfall coming so frequently now, his halls were besieged with demands to fix flame throwers which clogged or burned out. Ground crews panicked when equipment failed them mid-Fall and it was impossible not to accede to every urgent request for repair. The Lord Holders, promised the distance-writers, as links between help and isolated Holds, began to press for solutions. And for the ultimate – to them – solution: the proposed expedition to the Red Star.
F’lar had begun to call a council of his intimate advisors and Wing-seconds daily so that no facet of the over-all plan could be lost. They also decided which Lords and Mastercraftsmen could accept the radical knowledge, but had moved cautiously.
Asgenar told them that Larad of Telgar Hold was far more conservative in his thinking than they’d supposed and that the limited demonstration in the Rooms would not be as powerful a persuader as a protected field under full attack by Thread.
Unfortunately, Asgenar’s young bride, Famira, on a visit to her home, inadvertently made a reference to the project. She’d had the good sense to send her lizard for her Lord who had bodily forced his blood relative to Benden Weyr for a full explanation and demonstration. Larad had been unconvinced and furious with what he called “a cruel deception and treacherous breach of faith” by dragonmen. When Asgenar then insisted Larad come to the softwood tract that was being protected and had live Thread poured over a sapling, uprooting the young tree to prove that it had been adequately protected, the Telgar Lord Holder’s rage began to subside.
Telgar’s broad valleys had been hard hit by the almost constant Threadfalls. Telgar’s ground crews were disheartened by the prospect of ceaseless vigilance.
“Time is what we haven’t got,” Larad of Telgar had cried when he heard that grub protection would be a long-term project. “We lose fields of grain and root every other day. The men are already weary of fighting Thread interminably, they’ve little energy for anything. At best we’ve only the prospect of a lean winter, and I fear for the worst if these past months are any indication.”
“Yes, it’s hard to see help so close – and as far away as the life cycle of an insect no larger than the tip of your finger,” said Robinton, an integral part of any such confrontation. “He was stroking the little bronze fire lizard which he had Impressed a few days earlier.
“Or the length of that distance-viewer,” Larad said, his lips tight, his face lined with worry. “Has nothing been done about going to the Red Star?”
“Yes,” F’lar replied, holding firmly to an attitude of patient reasonableness. “It’s been viewed every clear night. Wansor has trained a wing of watchers and borrowed the most accurate draftsmen from Masterweaver Zurg and the Harper. They’ve made endless sketches of the masses on the planet. We know its faces now . . .”
“And . . .” Larad was adamant.
“We can see no feature distinct enough to guide the dragons.”
The Lord of Telgar sighed with resignation.
“We do believe,” and F’lar caught N’ton’s eyes since the young bronze rider did as much of the investigating as Wansor, “that these frequent Falls will taper off in a few more months.”
“Taper off? How can you tell that?” Hope conflicted with suspicion in the Telgar Lord’s face.
“Wansor is of the opinion that the other planets in our sky have been affecting the Red Star’s motion; slowing it, pulling it from several directions. We have near neighbors, you see; one is now slightly below the middle of our planet, two above and beyond the Red Star, a rare conjunction. Once the planets move away, Wansor believes the old routine of Threadfall will be established.”
“In a few months? But that won’t do us any good. And can you be sure?”
“No, we can’t be sure – which is why we have not announced Wansor’s theory. But we’ll be certain in a few more weeks.” F’lar held up his hand to interrupt Larad’s protests. “You’ve surely noticed the brightest stars, which are our sister planets, move from west to east during the year. Look tonight, you’ll see the blue one slightly above the green one, and very brilliant. And the Red Star below them. Now, remember the diagram in the Fort Weyr Council Room? We’re positive that that is the diagram of skies around our sun. And you’ve watched your fosterlings play stringball. You’ve played it yourself. Substitute the planets for the balls, the sun for the swinger, and you get the general idea. Some balls swing more rapidly than others, depending on the speed of the swing, the length and tension of the cord. Basically, the principle of the stars around the sun is the same.”
Robinton had been sketching on a leaf and passed the diagram over to Larad.
“I must see this in the skies for myself,” the Telgar Lord replied, not giving an inch.
“It’s a sight, I assure you,” Asgenar said. “I’ve become fascinated with the study and if,” he grinned, his thin face suddenly all creases and teeth, “Wansor ever has time to duplicate that distance-viewer, I want one on Lemos’ fire height. We’re at a good altitude to see the northern heavens. I’d like to see those showering stars we get every summer through a distance-viewer!”
Larad snorted at the notion.
“No, it’s fascinating,” Asgenar protested, his eyes dancing with enthusiasm. Then he added in a different tone, “Nor am I the only one beguiled by such studies. Every time I go to Fort I’m contending with Meron of Nabol for a chance to use the viewer.”
“Nabol?”
Asgenar was a little surprised at the impact of his casual remark.
“Yes, Nabol’s forever at the viewer. Apparently he’s more determined than any dragonrider to find coordinates.” No one else shared his amusement.
F’lar looked inquiringly at N’ton.
“Yes, he’s there all right. If he weren’t a Lord Holder – ” and N’ton shrugged
“Why? Does he say why?”
N’ton shrugged again “He says he’s looking for coordinates. But so are we. There aren’t any features distinct enough. Just shapeless masses of gray and dark gray-greens. They don’t change and while it’s obvious they’re stable, are they land? Or sea?” N’ton began to feel the accusatory tension in the room and shifted his feet. “So often the face is obscured by those heavy clouds. Discouraging.”
“Is Meron discouraged?” asked F’lar pointedly.
“I’m not sure I like your attitude, Benden,” Larad said, his expression hard. “You don’t appear eager to discover any coordinates.”
“F’lar looked Larad full in the eyes. “I thought we’d explained the problem involved. We have to know where we’re going before we can send the dragons.” He pointed to the green lizard perched on Larad’s shoulder. “You’ve been trying to train your fire lizard. You can appreciate the difficulty.” Larad stiffened defensively and his lizard hissed, its eyes rolling. F’lar was not put off. ‘The fact that no Records exist of any previous attempt to go there strongly indicates that the ancients – who built the distance-viewer, who knew enough to plot the neighbors in our sky – did not go. They must have had a reason, a valid reason. What would you have Me do, Larad?” F’lar demanded, pacing in his agitation. “Ask for volunteers? You, you and you,” F’lar whirled, jabbing a finger at an imaginary line of riders, “you go, jump between to the Red Star. Coordinates? Sorry, men, I have none. Tell your dragons to take a long look halfway there. If you don’t come back, we’ll keen to the Red Star for your deaths. But men, you’ll die knowing you’ve solved our problem. Men can’t go to the Red Star.” Larad flushed under F’lar’s sarcasm.