His outburst started a sullen, murmurous roll in the audience. Sean, sitting with Sorka to the edge of the crowd, was indignant.
“Damn fool loud mouth charterer,” Sean murmured to Sorka. “He knew this was a one-way trip, only now everything’s not running smooth enough for him, it has to be someone’s fault.” Sean snorted his contempt.
Sorka shushed him to hear Cabot’s rebuttal.
“I don’t look at our situation as hopeless, Tubberman,” Cabot began, his trained voice drowning the murmurs in a firm, confident and determined tone. “Far from it! I prefer to think positively. I see this as a challenge to our ingenuity, to our adaptability. Mankind has survived more dangerous environments than Pern. We’ve got a problem and we must cope with it. We must solve it to survive. And survive we will!” When Cabot saw the big botanist gathering breath, he raised his voice. “When we signed the charter, we all knew there was no turning back. Even if we could, I, for one, wouldn’t consider running home.” His voice became rich with contempt for the faint of heart, the coward, and the quitter. “For there’s more on this planet for me than First or Earth ever held! I’m not going to let this phenomenon do me out of the home I’ve built, the stock I plan to raise, the quality of life I enjoy!” With a contemptuous sweep of his hand, he dismissed the menace as a minor inconvenience. “I’ll fight it every time it strikes my stake or my neighbors’, with every ounce of strength, and every resource I possess.
“Now,” he went on in a less fervent tone, “this meeting has been called, in the democratic manner outlined by our charter, to make plans on how best to sustain our colony during this emergency. We are, in effect, under siege by this mycorrhizoid. So we must initiate measures and develop the necessary strategy by which to minimize it’s effect on our lives and property.”
“Are you suggesting martial law, Cabot?” Rudi Shwartz demanded, rising to his feet, his expression carefully guarded.
Cabot gave a wry chuckle. “As there is no army on Pern, Rudi, martial law is impossible. However, circumstances force us to consider suspending our present autonomy in order to reduce the damage which this Thread apparently can – and will – do to both the ecology of the planet and the economy of this colony. I’m suggesting that a reversion to the centralized government of our first year on Pern be considered at this point in time.” His next words rose to a near bellow to drown out the protests. “And whatever measures are required to ensure the survival of the colony, unpalatable though they may be to us as individuals who have enjoyed our autonomy.”
“And these measures have already been decided?” someone asked.
“By no means,” Cabot assured the woman. “We don’t even yet know that much about our – adversary – but plans must be made now, for every possible contingency. We know that Thread falls on a worldwide scale, so sooner or later it will affect every stake. We have to minimize that danger. That will mean centralization of existing food supplies and materiel, and a return to hydroponics. It definitely means that some of you technicians will be asked to return to Landing, since your particular skills can be best exercised here. It means we’re all going to have to work together again instead of going our separate ways.”
“What option do we have?” another woman asked in the slight pause that followed. She sounded resigned.
“Some of you have fairly large common stakes,” Cabot answered in the most reasonable of tones. “You could probably do quite well on your own. Any central organization here at Landing would have to consider the needs of its population first, but it wouldn’t be the case of ‘Never Darken Our Doorstep Again.’ “ He gave a brief reassuring smile in her general direction. “That’s why we meet here tonight. To discuss all the options as thoroughly as the charter’s conditions and the colony’s prospects were initially discussed.”
Wait just a minute!” Ted Tubberman cried, jumping to his feet again, spreading out his arms and looking around, his chin jutting forward aggressively. “We’ve got a surefire option, a realistic one. We can send a homing capsule to Earth and ask for assistance. This is a state of emergency. We need help!”
“I told ya,” Sean murmured to Sorka, “squealing like a stuck pig. Earth lands here, girl, and we make for the Barrier Range and stay lost!”
“I wouldn’t bet on Earth sending any,” Joel Lilienkamp said from the front of the audience, his words drowned by the cries of colonists agreeing with Ted.
“We don’t need Earth mucking about Pern,” Sean cried, jumping to his feet and flourishing his arm. “This is our planet!”
Cabot called for order, but very little of the commotion subsided. Ezra Keroon got to his feet, trying to help. Finally, making a megaphone of his hands, he bellowed his message. “Hold it down, now, friends. I have to remind you all – listen to me! – it’d be over ten years before we got a reply. Of any kind.”
“Well, I for one don’t want old Terra,” Jim Tillek said over the loud reaction to that, “or even First, poking their noses in our business. That is, if they’d bother to respond. For sure, if they condescended to help, they’d mortgage all of us to the hilt for aid. And end up owning all the mineral rights and most of the arable land. Or have you all forgotten Ceti III? I also don’t see why a central administration during this emergency is such a big deal. Makes sense to me. Share and share alike!”
A low murmur of agreement could be clearly heard, although many faces wore discouraged or sullen expressions.
“He’s right, Sorka,” Sean said in a voice loud enough for others around him to hear.
“Dad and Mother think so, too,” Sorka added, pointing to her parents, who were sitting several rows ahead.
“We’ve got to send a message,” Ted Tubberman shouted, shaking off the attempts of his immediate neighbors to make him sit down. “We’ve got to tell them we’re in trouble. We’ve a right to help! What’s wrong in sending a message?”
“What’s wrong?” Wade Lorenzo shouted from the back of the audience. “We need help right now, Tubberman, not ten to thirty years from now. Why, by then, we’d probably have the thing licked. A Fall’s not all that bad,” he added with the confidence of experience. He sat down amid hoots and shouts of dissent, mainly from those who had been at Landing during the tragedy.
“And don’t forget that it took half a century before Earth went to Ceti III’s assistance,” Betty Musgrave-Blake said, jumping to her feet.
Other comments were voiced.
“Yeah, Captain Tillek’s right. We’ve got to solve our own problems. We can’t wait for Earth.”
“Forget it, Tubberman.”
“Sit down and shut up, Tubberman.”
“Cabot, call him to order. Let’s get on with this meeting.”
Similar sentiments rose from all sides.
His neighbors forced the botanist down and, dismayed by the lack of support, Ted shook off the compelling hands and crossed his arms defiantly on his chest. Tarvi Andiyar and Fulmar Stone moved to stand nearby. Sallah watched apprehensively, although she knew full well the strength belied by Tarvi’s lean frame.
Sean nudged Sorka. “They’ll shut him up, and then we can get to the meat of all this talking,” he said. “I hate meetings like this with people sounding off just to make a noise and act big when they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
Raising a hand to be recognized, Rudi Shwartz again got to his feet. “If, as you’ve suggested, Cabot, the larger stakes could remain self governing, how would a central government be organized? Would the large stakes be at all responsible to it?”
“It’s more a matter of the fair allocation of food, materials, and shelter, Rudi,” Joel Lilienkamp said, rising, “rather than – ”
“You mean, we don’t have enough food?” an anxious voice broke in.