“No, it’s fascinating,” Asgenar protested, his eyes dancing with enthusiasm. Then he added in a different tone, “Nor am I the only one beguiled by such studies. Every time I go to Fort I’m contending with Meron of Nabol for a chance to use the viewer.”

“Nabol?”

Asgenar was a little surprised at the impact of his casual remark.

“Yes, Nabol’s forever at the viewer. Apparently he’s more determined than any dragonrider to find coordinates.” No one else shared his amusement.

F’lar looked inquiringly at N’ton.

“Yes, he’s there all right. If he weren’t a Lord Holder—” and N’ton shrugged.

“Why? Does he say why?”

N’ton shrugged again. “He says he’s looking for coordinates. But so are we. There aren’t any features distinct enough. Just shapeless masses of gray and dark gray-greens. They don’t change and while it’s obvious they’re stable, are they land? Or sea?” N’ton began to feel the accusatory tension in the room and shifted his feet. “So often the face is obscured by those heavy clouds. Discouraging.”

“Is Meron discouraged?” asked F’lar pointedly.

“I’m not sure I like your attitude, Benden,” Larad said, his expression hard. “You don’t appear eager to discover any coordinates.”

F’lar looked Larad full in the eyes. “I thought we’d explained the problem involved. We have to know where we’re going before we can send the dragons.” He pointed to the green lizard perched on Larad’s shoulder. “You’ve been trying to train your fire-lizard. You can appreciate the difficulty.” Larad stiffened defensively and his lizard hissed, its eyes rolling. F’lar was not put off. “The fact that no Records exist of any previous attempt to go there strongly indicates that the ancients—who built the distance-viewer, who knew enough to plot the neighbors in our sky—did not go. They must have had a reason, a valid reason. What would you have me do, Larad?” F’lar demanded, pacing in his agitation. “Ask for volunteers? You, you and you,” F’lar whirled, jabbing a finger at an imaginary line of riders, “you go, jump between to the Red Star. Coordinates? Sorry, men, I have none. Tell your dragons to take a long look halfway there. If you don’t come back, we’ll keen to the Red Star for your deaths. But men, you’ll die knowing you’ve solved our problem. Men can’t go to the Red Star.”

Larad flushed under F’lar’s sarcasm.

“If the ancients didn’t record any intimate knowledge of the Red Star,” said Robinton quietly into the charged silence, “they did provide domestic solutions. The dragons, and the grubs.”

“Neither proves to be effective protection right now, when we need it,” Larad replied in a bitter, discouraged voice. “Pern needs something more conclusive than promises—and insects!” He abruptly left the Rooms.