Dragonseye

by Anne McCaffrey

  “And money . . .” murmured the same heckler.

  “Precisely. Marks are hard enough to come by to waste them on the off chance—”

  “Off chance?” Tashvi erupted out of his chair. “You’ll have a revolt on your hands.”

  “I doubt that,” Chalkin said with a sly smile.

  “Because you haven’t bloody seen fit to warn your holders?” Tashvi demanded.

  “Lord Telgar,” Paulin said repressively, “I’m Chair.” He turned back to Chalkin. “If the rest of us, however misguidedly, do believe in the forewarnings—backed by irrefutable astronomical evidence of an imminent Pass, how can you deny them?”

  Chalkin’s grin was patronizing. “A spaceborne organism? That drops on a large planet and eats everything it touches? Why wasn’t Pern totally destroyed during previous visitations? Why is it every two hundred years? How come the Exploration Team that did a survey of the planet before it was released to our ancestors to colonize . . . how come they didn’t see any evidence? Ah, no,” Chalkin said, flicking the notion away from him with his beringed hands, “ridiculous!”

  “My calculations were confirmed by—” Clisser said, feeling that he was being maligned.

  “There was evidence of Threadfall,” Tashvi said, bouncing once more to his feet. “I’ve read the report. There were hundreds of circles where vegetation was just starting to grow . . .”

  “Inconclusive,” Chalkin said with another flap of a hand. “Could have been caused by one of the many fungus growths.”

  “Well, then, when this inconclusive evidence comes dropping out of the skies onto your hold, don’t bother us,” Bastom said.

  “Or come crying to my hold for help,” added Bridgely, completely disgusted by Chalkin’s attitude.

  “You may be sure of that,” Chalkin said, and with a mocking bow to Paulin, left the Hall with no further word.

  “What are we going to do about him?” Bridgely asked, “because sure as night follows day, he will come running for aid to Franco and me.”

  “There is provision in the Charter,” Paulin began.

  Jamson of the High Reaches stared with wide and disbelieving eyes at Paulin.

  “Only if he believes in the Charter . . .” Bastom said.

  “Oh, Chalkin believes in the Charter all right,” Paulin said sardonically. “The patent conferring the title of ‘Lord Holder’ on the original major northern stake-holders is what gives his line the right to hold. And he’s already used the Charter to substantiate his autonomous position. I wonder if he also knows the penalty for failing to prepare his hold. That constitutes a major breach of the trust . . .”

  “Who trusts Chalkin?” G’don asked.

  “. . . the trust that holders rest in the Lord of their hold in return for their labor.”

  “Ha!” said Bridgely. “I don’t think much of his holders either. Useless lot on the whole. Most of ’em kicked out of other holds for poor management or plain laziness.”

  “Bitra’s badly managed, too. Generally we have to return a full half of his tithings,” M’shall said. “Half the grain is moldy, the timber unseasoned, and hides improperly cured and often rancid. It’s a struggle every quarter to receive decent supplies from him.”

  “Really?” Paulin said, jotting notes down. “I hadn’t realized he shorted you on tithes.”

  M’shall shrugged. “Why should you know? It’s our problem. We keep at him. We’ll have to keep at him over this, too, you know. Can’t let him get away with a total disregard for the upcoming emergency. Not every holder in Bitra’s useless, you know, Bridgely.”

  Bridgely shrugged. “Good apples in every basket as well as bad. But I’d really hate to have to cope with the problem come springtime and Thread falls. Benden’s too near Bitra for my peace of mind.”

  “So what is the penalty for what Chalkin’s doing? Or, rather, not doing?” Franco asked.

  “Impeachment,” Paulin said flatly. “Impeachment!” Jamson was aghast. “I didn’t know—” “Article Fourteen, Jamson,” Paulin said. “Dereliction of Duty by Lord Holder. Can you give me a printout on that, Clisser? Perhaps we all should have our memory refreshed on that point.”

  “Certainly,” and the Head of the College made a note in his folder. “In your hands tomorrow.”

  “So your system’s still working?” Tashvi asked. “Copies of the most important official documents were made in quantity by my predecessor,” Clisser replied with a relieved smile. “I’ve a list if you need any handwritten but legible.”

  Paulin cleared his throat, calling them to order. “So, my Lord Holders, should we proceed against Chalkin?”

  “You’ve heard him. What option do we have?” M’shall wanted to know, glancing about the table.

  “Now, wait a minute,” Jamson began, scowling. “I’d want to have incontrovertible proof of his inefficiency as a Lord Holder as well as his failure to respond to this emergency. I mean, impeachment’s an extreme step.”

  “Yes, and Chalkin’ll do everything he can to slide out of it,” Bastom said cynically.

  “Surely there’s a trial procedure for such a contingency?” Jamson asked, looking anxiously about. “You certainly can’t act without allowing him the chance to respond to any charges.”

  “In the matter of impeachment I believe that a unanimous agreement of all major holders and leaders is sufficient to deprive him of his position,” Paulin said.

  “Are you sure?” Jamson asked.

  “If he isn’t, I am,” Bridgely said, bringing one fist down firmly on the table. His spouse, Lady Jane, nodded her head emphatically. “I haven’t wanted to bring it up in a Council before—” Bridgely began.

  “He’s very difficult to confront at the best of times,” Irene said, setting her lips in a thin line of frustrations long borne.

  Bridgely nodded sharply in her direction and continued. “He’s come as near to bending, or breaking for that matter, what few laws we do have on Pern. Shady dealings, punitive contracts, unusual harsh conditions for his holders . . .”

  “We’ve had some refugees from Bitra with stories that would curl your hair,” Jane, Benden’s Lady Holder, said, wringing her hands in distress. “I’ve kept records . . .”

  “Have you?” Paulin said. “I’d very much like to see them. Autonomy is a privilege and a responsibility, but not a license for authoritarianism or despotic rule. Certainly autonomy does not give anyone the right to deprive his constituents of basic needs. Such as protection from Threadfall.”

  “I don’t know about going so far as to impeach him,” Jamson said, his reluctance deepening. “I mean, such an extreme remedy could have a demoralizing effect on all the holds.”

  “Possibl . . .” Paulin said.

  “Not being prepared for Thread will certainly demoralize Bitra!” Tashvi said.

  Paulin held up his hand as he turned to M’shall. “Please give me specific instances in which Bitra Hold has failed to supply the Weyr. Jane, I’d like to look at the records you’ve kept.”

  “I’ve some, too,” Irene added.

  Paulin nodded and looked around the table. “Since his dereliction of primary duty in regard to preparation against Threadfall could jeopardize not only his own hold but those of his neighbors, I feel we must examine the problem as quickly as possible and indict him—” Jamson jammed an arm up in protest, but Paulin held up a placatory hand. “If, that is, we do find just cause to do so. Just now, he was acting as if he’d had too much of Hegmon’s new wine.”

  “Ha!” was Irene’s immediate response, a cynical response echoed by others around the table.

  “We cannot allow personal feelings to color this matter,” Paulin said firmly.

  “Wait till you read my notes,” was her wry answer.

  “And mine,” said Bridgely.

  “But who could take his place?” Jamson asked, now querulous with anxiety.

  “Not a task I’d like so soon to Thread,” Bastom admitted.

  Paulin grimace
d. “But it may have to be done.”

  “Ah, if I may,” and Clisser raised his hand. “The Charter requires us to find a suitable candidate from the incumbent’s Bloodline—” he began.

  “He has relatives?” Bridgely asked, mimicking surprise and consternation.

  “I believe so,” Franco said, “beyond his children. An uncle . . .”

  “If they’re of the same Blood as Chalkin, would that be an improvement?” Tashvi wanted to know.

  “They do say a new broom sweeps clean,” Irene remarked. “I heard that Chalkin did his uncle out of succession by giving him an isolated hold . . .”

  “He got him out of the way fast enough, that’s sure,” Bridgely said. “Some mountain place, back of beyond.”

  “All of Bitra is back of beyond,” Azury of Boll remarked, grinning.

  “A replacement is not the most immediate concern,” Paulin said, taking charge again, “if we can persuade Chalkin that all of us can’t be wrong about Threadfall.”

  Zulaya this time snorted at that unlikelihood. “He’ll admit he’s wrong only when Thread is eating him . . . which might solve the problem in the most effective way. Bitra’s in the path of the First Fall.”

  “Remiss as Chalkin appears to be,” Jamson said, “Bitra Hold may be better off with than without him. You don’t learn the management of a hold overnight, you know.”

  Paulin gave the High Reaches Lord a long look. “That is very true, but if he hasn’t even told his people that Thread is coming . . .” and he opened up his hands to show dismay at such an omission. “That’s a dereliction of duty right there. His prime duty and the primary reason for having a Leader during a crisis. As a group we also have a responsibility to be sure each of us is performing duties inherent to our rank and position.”

  Zulaya shrugged. “It’d serve him right to be caught out in the First Fall.”

  “Yes, well,” and Paulin rattled papers. “I’ll accept reports of malfeasance and irregularities in his conduct of Bitra Hold. We’ll do this properly, gathering evidence and making a full report on the problem. Now, let’s finish up today’s agenda. Kalvi, you wish to broach the subject of new mines?”

  The lean, hawk-nosed engineer sprang to his feet. “I sure do. We’ve got fifty years of Fall and we’re going to need more ore: ore that’s closer to the surface than the Telgar deposits.”

  “Thought they would last us a millennium,” Bridgely of Benden said.

  “Oh, there’s certainly more ore down the main shafts, but it’s not as accessible as these mountain deposits, which could be worked more efficiently.” He unrolled an opaque plastic map of the Great Western Range where he had circled an area beyond Ruatha’s borders. “Here! High-grade ore and almost waiting to leap into carts. We’ll need that quality if we’re to replace flamethrower equipment. And we’ll have to.” He said that with a degree of resignation. “I’ve the personnel trained and ready to move up there—which I’d like to do to get the mines going before Threadfall starts. All I need is your okay.”

  “You’re asking to start a hold up there? Or just a mine?” asked Paulin.

  Kalvi scratched the side of his nose and grinned. “Well, it’d be a long way to travel after the shift is over, especially if the dragons are all busy fighting Thread.” He unrolled another diagram. “One reason I’ve backed this site is that there’s a good cave system available for living quarters, as well as coal nearby for processing the ore. The finished ingots could be shipped downriver.”

  There were murmurs among the others as the project was discussed.

  “Good thing Chalkin left,” Bridgely remarked. “He’s got those mines in Steng Valley he’s been trying to reactivate.”

  “They’re unsafe,” Kalvi said scornfully. “I surveyed them myself and we’d have to spend too much time shoring up shafts and replacing equipment. The ore’s second rate, too. There isn’t time to restore the mine much less argue with Chalkin over a contract. You know how he can be, haggling over minor details for weeks before he’ll make a decision.” He contorted his long face into a grimace. “If you,” and he turned to the others at the table, “grant this permission, I’ll have a chance to noise it about the Gather this evening and see who’d be interested in going along in support capacity and necessary Crafts.”

  “I’ll second it,” said Tashvi magnanimously, raising his hand.

  “Good. Moved and seconded. Now, all in favor of the formation of a mining hold?” Hands shot up and were dutifully counted by Paulin.

  “Chalkin’s going to say this was rigged,” Bastom remarked caustically, “and we drove him out of the meeting before the subject came up.”

  “So?” Paulin said. “No one asked him to leave, and he has a copy of the agenda same as everyone else.” He brought his fist down on the table. “Motion carried. Tell your engineer he may start his project. High Reaches Weyr,” and he turned to G’don, “Telgar,” and he included K’vin now, “can you supply transport?”

  Both Weyrleaders agreed. If a new hold was to be established, as many riders as possible from their Weyrs should become familiar with its landmarks.

  “There won’t be that much extra to protect against Threadfall,” Kalvi said with a grin for the dragonriders. “It’s all underground or within the cliff caverns. We’ll use hydroponics for fresh food from the start.”

  “Any more new business?” Paulin asked.

  Clisser raised his hand, was acknowledged and stood, glancing at the assembled: falling into his lecture mode, K’vin thought.

  “Lord Chalkin’s attitude may not be that unusual,” he began, startling them into attention to his words. “At least, not in times to come. We, here and now, are not too distanced from the events of the First Pass. We have actual visual records from that time with which to check on the approach of the rogue planet. We know it is a rogue because we know from the excellent and exhaustive reports done by Captains Keroon and Tillek that the planet was unlikely to have emerged from our sun. Its orbit alone substantiates that theory since it is not on the same elliptical plane as the rest of Rukbat’s satellites.

  “I am assiduous in training at least six students in every class in the rudiments of astronomy and the use of the sextant, as well as being certain that they have the requisite mathematics to compute declension and ascension and figure accurately the hour circle of any star. We still have three usable telescopes with which to observe the skies, but we once had more.” He paused. “We are, as I’m sure we all must honestly admit, losing more and more of the technology bequeathed us by our ancestors. Not through mishandling,” and he raised a hand against objections, “but from the attritions of age and an inability, however much we may strive to compensate, to reach the same technical level our ancestors enjoyed.”

  Kalvi grimaced in reluctant agreement to that fact.

  “Therefore, I suggest that we somehow, in some fashion, with what technology we have left at our disposal, leave as permanent and indestructible a record as possible for future generations. I know that some of us . . .” Clisser paused, glancing significantly to the door through which Chalkin had so recently passed. “. . . entertain the notion that our ancestors were mistaken in thinking that Threadfall will occur whenever the Red Planet passes Pern. But we can scarcely ignore the perturbations already obvious on the surface of our planet—the extreme weather, the volcanic eruptions, the other cosmic clues. Should it so happen in centuries to come that too many doubt—not wishing to destroy a flourishing economy and happy existence—that Thread will return, all that we have striven to achieve, all we have built with our bare hands,” and dramatically he lifted his, “all we have around us today,” and he gestured toward the music faintly heard outside the Hall, “would perish.”

  The denials were loud.

  “Ah,” and he held one hand over his head, “but it could happen. Lord Chalkin is proof of that. We’ve already lost so much of our technology. Valuable and skilled men and women we could ill-afford to lose because of their know
ledge and skills have succumbed to disease or old age. We must have a fail-safe against Thread! Something that will last and remind our descendants to prepare, be ready, and to survive.”

  “Is there any chance we could find that administration building then?” Paulin asked S’nan.

  “Too close to Threadfall now,” M’shall answered. “And it’s going into the hot season down there, which makes digging anything enervating. However, I most emphatically agree with Clisser. We need some sort of a safeguard. Something that would prove to doubters like Chalkin that Thread isn’t just a myth our ancestors thought up.”

  “But we keep records . . .” said Laura of Ista Weyr.

  “How much plasfilm do you have left?” Paulin asked pointedly. “I know Fort’s stock is running low. And you all know what happened to our Repository.”

  “True. But we’ve paper . . .” and she looked over at the Telgar Holders, Tashvi and Salda.

  “Look, how can we estimate how many forestry acres will survive Threadfall?” Tashvi asked, raising his hands in doubt. “I’ve the timberjacks working nonstop, cutting, and the mill’s turning out as much lumber and pulp as it can.”

  “You know we’ll do our best to protect the forests,” K’vin said, though privately he wondered how good their best could be since even one Thread burrow could devastate a wide swath of timbered land in minutes.

  “Of course you will,” Salda said warmly, “and we will stockpile as much paper as we can beforehand. Old rags are always welcome.” Then her expression sobered. “But I don’t think any of us can know what will or will not survive. Tarvi Andiyar’s survey when he took hold indicated that most of the slopes were denuded. Ten years before Threadfall ceased, he had seedlings in every corner of the hold, ready to plant out. We were just lucky that natural succession also occurred in the three decades after the end of First Pass.”

  “That is yet another item we must record for future generations,” Clisser said.

  “The ultimate how-to,” said Mari of High Reaches.

  “I beg pardon?”

  “What to do when Threadfall has Passed is even more important than what to do while it’s happening,” she said as if that should be obvious.