F’lar began to pace, one hand absently scratching his ribs where the scar tissues itched.

“I need someone to keep an eye on Nabol, too.”

Robinton let out a snort of amusement. “We do seem beholden to the oddest agencies. Grub life. Meron. Oh yes,” and he chuckled at their irritation. “He may yet prove to be an asset. Let him strain his eyes and crick his neck nightly watching the Red Star. As long as he is occupied that way, we’ll know we have time. The eyes of a vengeful man miss few details he can turn to advantage.”

“Good point, Robinton. N’ton,” and F’lar turned to the young bronze rider. “I want to know every remark that man makes, which aspects of the Red Star he views, what he could possibly see, what his reactions are. We’ve ignored that man too often to our regret. We might even be grateful to him.”

“I’d rather be grateful to grubs,” N’ton replied with some fervor. “Frankly, sir,” he added, hesitant for the first time about any assignment since he’d been included in the council, “I’d rather hunt grubs or catch Thread.”

F’lar eyed the young rider thoughtfully for a moment. “Think of this assignment then, N’ton, as the ultimate Thread catch.”

—

Brekke had insisted on taking over the care of the plants in the Rooms once she was stronger. She argued that she was farmcraftbred and capable of such duties. She preferred not to be present during the demonstrations. In fact she went out of her way to avoid seeing anyone but weyrfolk. She could abide their sympathy but the pity of outsiders was repugnant to her.

This did not affect her curiosity and she would get F’nor to tell her every detail of what she termed the best-known Craft secret on Pern. When F’nor narrated the Telgar Lord’s bitter repudiation of what the Weyrs were trying to accomplish, she was visibly disturbed.

“Larad’s wrong,” she said in the slow deliberate way she’d adopted lately. “The grubs are the solution, the right one. But it’s true that the best solution is not always easy to accept. And an expedition to the Red Star is not a solution, even if it’s the one Pernese instinctively crave. It’s obvious. Just as two thousand dragons over Telgar Hold was rather obvious seven Turns ago.” She surprised F’nor with a little smile, the first since Wirenth’s death. “I myself, like Robinton, would prefer to rely on grubs. They present fewer problems. But then I’m craftbred.”

“You use that phrase a lot lately,” F’nor remarked, turning her face toward him, searching her green eyes. They were serious, as always, and clear in the candid gaze was the shadow of a sorrow that would never lift.