“Best edge we’ve ever been able to make on a surgical tool, Corey,” he told her with some pride. Had them tested at the abattoir. Cut through flesh and bone like going through cheese. Gotta keep ’em honed, though. And I’ve made eases for the blades so no-one slices off a finger by mistake.”
Surgeons were not the only ones with a ghoulish sense of humor, Corey decided.
Meanwhile, in the Great Hall of Fort Hold, with Lord Paulin seated in the front row, Kalvi himself was demonstrating to those who would form the Fort ground crews how to use and service the HNO3 cylinders, taking his audience from assembly of the parts and then a quick rundown of common problems likely to be encountered in the field, Every small holder within Fort’s authority was present; many had brought their elder children. All had come on foot, their own or on horseback. Fort Weyr, like the other five, was beginning to restrict dragon rides.
Lord Paulin understood and approved.
“We’ve had it far too easy, using the dragons the way our ancestors would have used the sleds and airborne vehicles,” he was heard to say when one of his holders complained that he had been denied his right to a dragon ride. “We haven’t been breeding horses just to run races, you know. And the dragon riders have been far too accommodating.
“Do us all good to walk or ride. You have, of course, extended your beast holds to shelter all your livestock?” There had been moaning over that necessity, too, with complaints that the engineers should really have spent more time trying to replicate the marvelous rock-cutting equipment with which their ancestors had wrested living quarters out of cliff-sides.
Kalvi had come in for considerable harangue over that, which he shrugged off.
“We have a list of priorities: that’s not one. Nor could be.”
“We still have two sleds in the north, but no power to run em.”
“Never did find out what they used,” he said. “No way of duplicating such power packs either, or I’m sure our ancestors would have. Otherwise why did they engineer the dragons?
“Anyway, renewable resources make more sense than erudite or exotic imports.”
When the main lecture was concluded, everyone was told to reassemble after the noon meal for target practice. This was vastly more interesting than having to listen to Kalvi waffle on about how to adjust the wands of the HNO3 throwers to give a long, narrow tongue of fire or a broader, shorter flame. Or how to clear the nozzle of clogged matter.
“You’ve got almost as much variation in flame as a dragon has…” Kalvi said as he slung the tanks to his back, his voice slightly muffled by his safety gear. “You, there, the hard hat has a purpose. Put it on your head! Lower the face screen!” The offender immediately complied, Kalvi scowling at him.
“The effective range of this equipment is six meters on the narrowest setting, two on the broader. You wouldn’t want it to get closer to you…” He was fiddling with his wand. “Damn thing’s stubborn.”
He took out a screwdriver and made a slight adjustment.
“ALWAYS…” he said loudly and firmly as he held the wand away from his body, “keep the nozzle of the wand pointed away from YOU and anyone in your immediate vicinity. We’re flaming Thread, not folks.
“NEVER…never… engage the flow of the two gases without looking in what direction the wand is pointing. You can also burn, scorch, sear things without meaning to. CAN’T YOU, Laland?” he said, aiming his remark at one of his students.
The man grinned and shifted his feet nervously, looking anywhere but at his Master.
“Now, signal the topside crews, will you, Paulin?” said Kalvi, setting himself firmly on both feet and aiming the wand up.
Paulin waved a red kerchief and suddenly a tangle of ‘something’ catapulted off the cliff, startling everyone in the crowd behind Kalvi.
Those with wands raised them defensively and others gasped as the tangle separated into long silver strands - some fine, some thick and falling at slightly different rates. As soon as they were within range, Kalvi activated his flame-thrower.
There was a brief second when the fire seemed to pause on the ends of the launched strands before the flame raced along the material and consumed it so that only bits of smoking char reached the ground and the rock that had been tied to the leading edge. There was a roar of approval and great applause.
“Not bad,” Paulin said, grinning as he noted the new alertness in the crowd.
“Well, we tried for the effect we just delivered,” said Kalvi, turning off both tanks. “Used a retardant on the rope, too. Had plenty of description of how Thread falls, and this is as near as we can get.
“Now,” and he turned back to his students, “it’s best to get Thread before it gets to you or to the ground. We know there are two kinds: first the ones that eat themselves dead - they’re not a problem, even if they are in the majority and messy.
“Records tell us that the second kind find something in what they ingest that allows them to progress to the second step of their life-cycle; our ancestors never could do much with investigating this type. They only knew that it existed. We know it existed, too, because there are areas here in the north which are still sterile two hundred-odd years since the last Fall. If this type gets the nourishment it needs, above and beyond organic materials, then it can propagate, or divide or whatever it is Thread does. This is what ground crews were needed for. This is the type we don’t want hanging around and burrowing out of sight. Our ancestors thought Thread had to have some trace minerals or elements in the dirt but, as they never figured out what, we’re not likely to now.” Kalvi heaved a sigh of regret.
“So,” and with a wide sweep of his arm, “we incinerate all the buggers the dragon riders miss!” He paused and looked up the cliff-side where the catapult crews were waiting.
“OK UP THERE?” he yelled, hands bracketing his mouth.
Immediately in response, red flags were waved at intervals along the cliff.
“All right, in groups of five, range yourself parallel to the red flags you now see. When we’re all in place - and out of range of anyone’s wand,” and Kalvi gave a wry grin, “I’ll give the signal and we’ll see how you manage.”
The results were somewhat erratic: some men seemed to get the hang of their equipment immediately, while others couldn’t even get the right mix on the gases to produce flame.
“Well, it happens,” Kalvi said in patient resignation. Should make ’em climb the thread back up the cliff he added.
“Do ’em good.”
“Take too much time. THROW DOWN THE NETS,” Kalvi roared and then grinned at Paulin. “Thought we’d have some trouble. We’ll get our mock threads back up and in use.” “How much did you bring?”
“Yards,” was all Kalvi said with another grin.
By the time the short winter afternoon was closing into darkness, all the holders had had a chance to sear thread despite hiccups and misses. The mock thread supply ran out before they lost interest in the practice.
“Now I don’t want you to overdo it on your own,” Paulin said to those nearest him as they walked back to the Hold.
The practice area had been some distance up the North Road from Fort Hold, where there were neither beasts nor cot holds that could be affected.
“HNO3 isn’t all that hard to manufacture, but the equipment is. Don’t wear it out before it’s needed.”
During their practice, the main Hall had been rearranged for the evening meal and the trainees were as hungry as gatherers.