The messenger also confided to F’lar that the Mastersmith was having difficulties with his distance-writer. All wire must be covered with a protective tubing or Thread cut right through the thinly extruded metal. The Smith had experimented with ceramic and metal casings but he could turn neither out in great or quick enough quantity. With Threadfall coming so frequently now, his halls were besieged with demands to fix flame throwers which clogged or burned out. Ground crews panicked when equipment failed them mid-Fall and it was impossible not to accede to every urgent request for repair. The Lord Holders, promised the distance-writers, as links between help and isolated Holds, began to press for solutions. And for the ultimate—to them—solution: the proposed expedition to the Red Star.

F’lar had begun to call a council of his intimate advisors and Wing-seconds daily so that no facet of the over-all plan could be lost. They also decided which Lords and Mastercraftsmen could accept the radical knowledge, but had moved cautiously.

Asgenar told them that Larad of Telgar Hold was far more conservative in his thinking than they’d supposed and that the limited demonstration in the Rooms would not be as powerful a persuader as a protected field under full attack by Thread. Unfortunately, Asgenar’s young bride, Famira, on a visit to her home, inadvertently made a reference to the project. She’d had the good sense to send her lizard for her Lord who had bodily forced his blood relative to Benden Weyr for a full explanation and demonstration. Larad had been unconvinced and furious with what he called “a cruel deception and treacherous breach of faith” by dragonmen. When Asgenar then insisted Larad come to the softwood tract that was being protected and had live Thread poured over a sapling, uprooting the young tree to prove that it had been adequately protected, the Telgar Lord Holder’s rage began to subside.

Telgar’s broad valleys had been hard hit by the almost constant Threadfalls. Telgar’s ground crews were disheartened by the prospect of ceaseless vigilance.

“Time is what we haven’t got,” Larad of Telgar had cried when he heard that grub protection would be a long-term project. “We lose fields of grain and root every other day. The men are already weary of fighting Thread interminably, they’ve little energy for anything. At best we’ve only the prospect of a lean winter, and I fear for the worst if these past months are any indication.”

“Yes, it’s hard to see help so close—and as far away as the life cycle of an insect no larger than the tip of your finger,” said Robinton, an integral part of any such confrontation. He was stroking the little bronze fire-lizard which he had Impressed a few days earlier.

“Or the length of that distance-viewer,” Larad said, his lips tight, his face lined with worry. “Has nothing been done about going to the Red Star?”