Andemon opened and closed his mouth futilely. Robinton indicated the bottle in his hand, pantomimed a long swig. Dazedly the Farmer complied. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. Why, for Turn upon Turn, we’ve watched for those grubs—exterminating them, razing an entire field if it got infected. Spring’s when the larval sacks break and we’d be…”

He sat down suddenly, shaking his head from side to side.

“Get a grip on yourself, man,” F’lar said, but it was his attitude which caused Andemon the most distress.

“What—what will dragonmen do?”

“Get rid of Thread, of course. Get rid of Thread.”

Had F’lar been a feather less confident, F’nor would have had trouble maintaining his composure. But his half-brother must have some plan in mind. And Lessa looked as serene as—as Manora could.

Fortunately Andemon was not only an intelligent man, he was tenacious. He had been confronted with a series of disclosures that both confused and disturbed basic precepts. He must reverse a long-standing Craft practice. He must rid himself of an inborn, carefully instilled prejudice, and he must accept the eventual abdication of an authority which he had good reason to respect and more reason to wish to perpetuate.

He was determined to resolve these matters before he left the Weyr. He questioned F’lar, F’nor, the Harper, N’ton and Manora when he learned she’d been involved in the project. Andemon examined all the tubs particularly the one which had been left alone. He conquered his revulsion and even examined the grubs carefully, patiently uncoiling a large specimen, as if it were a new species entirely. In a certain respect, it was.

Andemon was very thoughtful as he watched the unharmed larva burrow quickly back into the tub dirt from which he’d extracted it.

“One wishes fervently,” he said, “to find a release from our long domination by Thread. It is just—just that the agency which frees us is…”

“Revolting?” the Harper suggested obligingly.

Andemon regarded Robinton a moment. “Aye, you’re the man with words, Master Robinton. It is rather leveling to think that one will have to be grateful to such a—such a lowly creature. I’d rather be grateful to dragons.” He gave F’lar a rather abashed grin.

“You’re not a Lord Holder!” said Lessa, wryly, drawing a chuckle from everyone.

“And yet,” Andemon went on, letting a handful of soil dribble from his fist, “we have taken the bounties of this rich earth too much for granted. We are from it, part of it, sustained by it. I suppose it is only mete that we are protected by it. If all goes well.”

He brushed his hand off on the wherhide trousers and with an air of decision turned to F’lar. “I’d like to run a few experiments of my own, Weyrleader. We’ve tubs and all at the Farmercrafthall…”