“He was up all last night too,” N’ton said, grinning affectionately after Wansor.

“There is no way to go between to the Red Star?”

N’ton shook his head slowly. “Not that we could see tonight—last night. The same features of dark, reddish masses were turned toward us most of the time we watched. Just before we decided you should know about the other planets, I took a final look and that Nerat-like promontory had disappeared, leaving only the dullish gray-red coloration.”

“There must be some way to get to the Red Star.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it, sir, when you’re feeling better.”

F’lar grimaced, thinking that “unobtrusive” was an apt description of this young man. He had deftly expressed confidence in his superior, that only ill-health prevented immediate action, and that the ill-health was a passing thing.

“Since that’s the way matters stand in that direction, let us proceed in another. Lessa said that you procured Thread for us. Did you see how those swampgrubs dealt with Thread?”

N’ton nodded slowly, his eyes glittering.

“If we hadn’t had to cede the dissidents the continent, I’d’ve had a straight-flown Search discover the boundaries of the southern lands. We still don’t know its extent. Exploration was stopped on the west by the deserts, and on the east by the sea. But it can’t be just the swampy area that is infested with these grubs.” F’lar shook his head. He sounded querulous to himself. He took a breath, forcing himself to speak more slowly and therefore less emotionally. “There’s been Threadfall in the Southern Weyr for seven Turns and not a single burrow. The ground crews have never had to flame out anything. Now, even with the most careful, most experienced, sharpest-eyed riders, some Thread gets to the ground. T’bor insists there were never any burrows to be found anywhere after a Threadfall.” F’lar grimaced. “His wings are efficient and Threadfall is light in the south, but I wish I’d known.”

“And what would you have thought?” asked Lessa with her usual asperity as she rejoined them. “Nothing. Because until Thread started falling out of phase, and you had been at the swampfall, you’d never have correlated the information.”

She was right, of course, but N’ton didn’t have to look so torn between agreement with her and sympathy for him. Silently F’lar railed at this infuriating debility. He ought to be up and around, not forced to rely on the observations of others at a crucial time like this.