Dragons Dawn

by Anne McCaffrey

  Fire was the top choice for weapon. As one wit said, since no one had ever figured out how to make rain on demand, fire was the only reliable defense. Even the most ardent supporters of the dragonets did not wish to rely totally on their continued assistance.

  There were not hands enough to do all the jobs required. Twice Paul and Emily were called in to arbitrate labor-pirating. The agronomists and veterinarians hastily reinforced livestock shelters. Caves were explored as possible alternate accommodations. Empty warehouses at Landing were made into shelters for any stakeholders who wished to house stock for safety’s sake. Joel Lilienkamp insisted that due to the worker shortage the holders themselves would have to reinforce any buildings they preempted. Many stakeholders felt that that was Landing’s job; some were unwilling to leave their stakes unless, and until, assured of safe quarters. In eight years, the population of the settlers had increased far beyond the point where the original site could house even half the current numbers.

  Porrig Connell remained in his cave, having discovered that there were sufficient interlinking chambers to accommodate his entire extended family and their livestock. In addition to stabling for his mares and foals, he had also constructed a stallion box in which Cricket had been made very comfortable. Magnanimously, he allowed the survivors of some other families to remain in his cavesite until they found their own.

  Because they had been the colony’s leaders, Paul Benden and Emily Boll – as well as Jim Tillek, Ezra Keroon, and Ongola – found that many decisions were being referred to them, despite the fact that they had stepped down from their previous administrative duties.

  “I’d far rather they came to me than to Ted Tubberman.” Paul remarked wearily to Ongola when the former communications officer brought him the latest urgent queries from outlying stakes. He turned to the psychologist Tom Patrick, who had come to report on the latest round of gripes and rumors. “Tom?”

  “I don’t think you can stall a showdown much longer,” he said, “or you and Emily will lose all credibility. That would be a big error. You two may not want to take command, but someone will have to. Tubberman’s constantly undermining community effort and spirit. He’s so totally negative that you ought to be thankful that most of the time he’s out trying single-handedly to clear the continent of rotting Threadshell. Grief has totally distorted his perceptions and judgment.”

  “Surely no one believes his ranting?” Emily asked.

  “There’re just enough long-buried gripes and resentments, and good honest gut-fear, right now that some people do listen to him. Especially in the absence of authorized versions,” Tom replied. “Tubberman’s complaints have a certain factual basis. Warped, to be sure.” The psychologist shrugged, raising both hands, palms up. “In time, he’ll work against himself – I hope. Meanwhile he’s roused a substantial undercurrent of resentment which had better be countered soon. Preferably by you gentlemen and Emily and the other captains. They still trust you, you know, in spite of Tubberman’s accusations.”

  “So The Rubicon must be crossed again,” Paul said whimsically, and exhaled. He caught himself rubbing his left thumb against the insensitive skin of his replacement fingers and stopped. Leaning wearily back in his chair, he put both hands behind his head as if supporting an extra weight.

  I can lead a meeting, Paul,” Cabot said when Paul contacted him on a secured comm channel, “but they subconsciously consider you and Emily their leaders. Force of habit.”

  “Any decision to reinstate us must be spontaneous,” Paul replied after a long and thoughtful pause. Slowly Emily nodded. The last days had aged both admiral and governor. “The matter must be handled strictly on the charter protocol, though by all that’s holy, I never anticipated having to invoke those contingency clauses.”

  “Thank all the powers that be that they’re there,” Cabot said fervently. “It’ll take an hour or two to organize things here. Oh, by the way, we also had a few messages across the river early yesterday morning. Didn’t notice until about noon today. Hit the southern edge of Bordeaux. We gave Pat and his crew a hand. All’s safe here.” With that, he rang off, leaving Paul dumbfounded.

  “After our little brush with the stuff,” Cabot said when he arrived in person, “I’m beginning to appreciate the gravity of the colony’s situation.” A hopeful smile, not echoed by the expression in his keen gray eyes, curved his strong mouth. “Is it as bad as rumor has it?”

  “Probably. Depends on the source of the rumor,” Paul answered with an honest grimace.

  “Depends on whether you’re an optimist or pessimist,” Jim Tillek added. “I’ve been in worse fixes on the asteroid runs and come out with life and lung. I prefer to have a planet to maneuver in, on, over. And the seas.”

  Cabot’s smile faded as he regarded the five people gathered discreetly in the met tower.

  “Most of what we know, “ Paul said, “is negative. But – ” He began to refute the prevalent rumors by ticking them off on his strong work-stained fingers. “The Threads are unlikely to be the forerunner of an alien invasion. It was not unique to this area. It did strike the planet in much the same way, to judge by the EEC records, almost exactly two hundred years ago. It may or may not emanate from the eccentric planet, which has a two-hundred-and-fifty-year orbit. And although we do not know what its life cycle is, or even if it does have one – that is the most viable theory – Thread is not the initial stage of tunnel snakes, for example, who have a much more respectable lineage, nor of any of the other kinds of life we’ve had a look at so far.”

  “I see.” Cabot slowly nodded his handsome leonine head as he fingered his lips in thought. “No reassuring forecast available?”

  “Not yet. As Tom here recommends, we need a forum in which to air grievances and correct misconceptions,” Paul went on. “It didn’t miss Boca Stake because Paul Benden owns it, or drop on Sadrid because they’re the newest, or stop short of Thessaly because Gyorgy was one of the first charterers to claim his stake. We can, and will, survive this hazard, but we cannot have the indiscriminate conscription’s of technicians and able-bodied workers. It is apparent to anyone pausing to think that we also cannot survive if everyone hares off in opposite directions. Or if some of the wilder notions, including Tubberman’s, are not dismissed and morale restored.”

  “In short, what you want is a suspension of autonomy?”

  “Now what I want,” Paul replied clearly and with emphasis, “but a centralized administration” – Cabot grinned at the admiral’s choice of words – “Will be able to efficiently organize available workers, distribute materiel and supplies, and make sure that the majority survive. Joel Lilienkamp locked up Stores today, claiming inventory, to prevent panic requisitions. People must realize that this is a survival situation.”

  “Together we stand, divided we fall?” Cabot used the old saying with respect.

  “That’s it.”

  “The trick will be in getting all our independent spirits to see the wisdom,” Tom Patrick said, and Cabot nodded agreement.

  “I must emphasize,” Paul went on, looking quickly at Emily, who nodded approval, “that it doesn’t matter who administers during the emergency so long as some authority is recognized, and obeyed, that will ensure survival.”

  After a pause, Cabot added thoughtfully, “We’re years from help. Did we burn all our bridges?”

  Considerable surprise and relief permeated Landing the next morning when Cabot Francis Carter, the colony’s senior legist, broadcast the announcement that a mass meeting was scheduled for the following evening. Representatives of every major stake, charter, or contract, would be expected to attend.

  By the night of the meeting, the electricians had managed to restore power to one end of Bonfire Square by means of underground conduits. Where lamps were still dark, torches had been secured to the standards. The lighted area was filled with benches and chairs. The platform, originally constructed for musicians for the nightly bonfires, contained a long table, set with
six chairs along one side. There was light enough to see those who took places there.

  When neither Paul Benden nor Emily Boll appeared, a murmur of surprise rippled around those assembled. Cabot Francis Carter led Mar Dook, Pol and Bay Harkenon-Nietro, Ezra Keroon, and Jim Tillek onto the stage.

  “We have had time to mourn our losses,” Cabot began, his sonorous voice easily reaching to the very last bench. Even the children listened in silence. “And they have been heavy. They could have been worse, and there can’t be one among us who doesn’t give thanks to our small fire-breathing, dragonlike allies.

  “I don’t have all bad news for you tonight. I wish I had better. We can give a name to the stuff that killed some of our loved ones and wiped out five stakes: it’s a very primitive mycorrhizoid life-form. Mar Dook here tells me that on other planets, including our own Earth, very simple fungi can be generally found in a symbiotic association with trees, the mycelium of the fungus with the roots of a seed plant. We’ve all seen it attack vegetation – ”

  “And just about anything else,” Ted Tubberman shouted from the left-hand side of the audience.

  “Yes, that is tragically true.” Cabot did not look at the man or attempt to lighten the tone of the meeting, but he intended to control it. He raised his voice slightly. “What we are only just beginning to realize is that the phenomenon is planetwide and the last occurrence was approximately two hundred years ago.” He paused to allow the listeners to absorb that fact, then stolidly held up his hands to silence the murmurs. “Soon we will be able to predict exactly when and where this Threadfall is likely to strike again, because, unfortunately it will. But this is our planet,” he stated with an expression of fierce determination, “and no damned mindless Thread is going to make us leave.”

  “You stupid bastard, we can’t leave!” Ted Tubberman jumped to his feet, wildly waving clenched fists in the air. “You fixed it so we’ll rot here, sucked up by those effing things. We can’t leave! We’ll all die here.”

  His outburst started a sullen, murmurous roll in the audience. Sean, sitting with Sorka to the edge of the crowd, was indignant.

  “Damn fool loud mouth charterer,” Sean murmured to Sorka. “He knew this was a one-way trip, only now everything’s not running smooth enough for him, it has to be someone’s fault.” Sean snorted his contempt.

  Sorka shushed him to hear Cabot’s rebuttal.

  “I don’t look at our situation as hopeless, Tubberman,” Cabot began, his trained voice drowning the murmurs in a firm, confident and determined tone. “Far from it! I prefer to think positively. I see this as a challenge to our ingenuity, to our adaptability. Mankind has survived more dangerous environments than Pern. We’ve got a problem and we must cope with it. We must solve it to survive. And survive we will!” When Cabot saw the big botanist gathering breath, he raised his voice. “When we signed the charter, we all knew there was no turning back. Even if we could, I, for one, wouldn’t consider running home.” His voice became rich with contempt for the faint of heart, the coward, and the quitter. “For there’s more on this planet for me than First or Earth ever held! I’m not going to let this phenomenon do me out of the home I’ve built, the stock I plan to raise, the quality of life I enjoy!” With a contemptuous sweep of his hand, he dismissed the menace as a minor inconvenience. “I’ll fight it every time it strikes my stake or my neighbors’, with every ounce of strength, and every resource I possess.

  “Now,” he went on in a less fervent tone, “this meeting has been called, in the democratic manner outlined by our charter, to make plans on how best to sustain our colony during this emergency. We are, in effect, under siege by this mycorrhizoid. So we must initiate measures and develop the necessary strategy by which to minimize it’s effect on our lives and property.”

  “Are you suggesting martial law, Cabot?” Rudi Shwartz demanded, rising to his feet, his expression carefully guarded.

  Cabot gave a wry chuckle. “As there is no army on Pern, Rudi, martial law is impossible. However, circumstances force us to consider suspending our present autonomy in order to reduce the damage which this Thread apparently can – and will – do to both the ecology of the planet and the economy of this colony. I’m suggesting that a reversion to the centralized government of our first year on Pern be considered at this point in time.” His next words rose to a near bellow to drown out the protests. “And whatever measures are required to ensure the survival of the colony, unpalatable though they may be to us as individuals who have enjoyed our autonomy.”

  “And these measures have already been decided?” someone asked.

  “By no means,” Cabot assured the woman. “We don’t even yet know that much about our – adversary – but plans must be made now, for every possible contingency. We know that Thread falls on a worldwide scale, so sooner or later it will affect every stake. We have to minimize that danger. That will mean centralization of existing food supplies and materiel, and a return to hydroponics. It definitely means that some of you technicians will be asked to return to Landing, since your particular skills can be best exercised here. It means we’re all going to have to work together again instead of going our separate ways.”

  “What option do we have?” another woman asked in the slight pause that followed. She sounded resigned.

  “Some of you have fairly large common stakes,” Cabot answered in the most reasonable of tones. “You could probably do quite well on your own. Any central organization here at Landing would have to consider the needs of its population first, but it wouldn’t be the case of ‘Never Darken Our Doorstep Again.’ “ He gave a brief reassuring smile in her general direction. “That’s why we meet here tonight. To discuss all the options as thoroughly as the charter’s conditions and the colony’s prospects were initially discussed.”

  Wait just a minute!” Ted Tubberman cried, jumping to his feet again, spreading out his arms and looking around, his chin jutting forward aggressively. “We’ve got a surefire option, a realistic one. We can send a homing capsule to Earth and ask for assistance. This is a state of emergency. We need help!”

  “I told ya,” Sean murmured to Sorka, “squealing like a stuck pig. Earth lands here, girl, and we make for the Barrier Range and stay lost!”

  “I wouldn’t bet on Earth sending any,” Joel Lilienkamp said from the front of the audience, his words drowned by the cries of colonists agreeing with Ted.

  “We don’t need Earth mucking about Pern,” Sean cried, jumping to his feet and flourishing his arm. “This is our planet!”

  Cabot called for order, but very little of the commotion subsided. Ezra Keroon got to his feet, trying to help. Finally, making a megaphone of his hands, he bellowed his message. “Hold it down, now, friends. I have to remind you all – listen to me! – it’d be over ten years before we got a reply. Of any kind.”

  “Well, I for one don’t want old Terra,” Jim Tillek said over the loud reaction to that, “or even First, poking their noses in our business. That is, if they’d bother to respond. For sure, if they condescended to help, they’d mortgage all of us to the hilt for aid. And end up owning all the mineral rights and most of the arable land. Or have you all forgotten Ceti III? I also don’t see why a central administration during this emergency is such a big deal. Makes sense to me. Share and share alike!”

  A low murmur of agreement could be clearly heard, although many faces wore discouraged or sullen expressions.

  “He’s right, Sorka,” Sean said in a voice loud enough for others around him to hear.

  “Dad and Mother think so, too,” Sorka added, pointing to her parents, who were sitting several rows ahead.

  “We’ve got to send a message,” Ted Tubberman shouted, shaking off the attempts of his immediate neighbors to make him sit down. “We’ve got to tell them we’re in trouble. We’ve a right to help! What’s wrong in sending a message?”

  “What’s wrong?” Wade Lorenzo shouted from the back of the audience. “We need help right now, Tubbe
rman, not ten to thirty years from now. Why, by then, we’d probably have the thing licked. A Fall’s not all that bad,” he added with the confidence of experience. He sat down amid hoots and shouts of dissent, mainly from those who had been at Landing during the tragedy.

  “And don’t forget that it took half a century before Earth went to Ceti III’s assistance,” Betty Musgrave-Blake said, jumping to her feet.

  Other comments were voiced.

  “Yeah, Captain Tillek’s right. We’ve got to solve our own problems. We can’t wait for Earth.”

  “Forget it, Tubberman.”

  “Sit down and shut up, Tubberman.”

  “Cabot, call him to order. Let’s get on with this meeting.”

  Similar sentiments rose from all sides.

  His neighbors forced the botanist down and, dismayed by the lack of support, Ted shook off the compelling hands and crossed his arms defiantly on his chest. Tarvi Andiyar and Fulmar Stone moved to stand nearby. Sallah watched apprehensively, although she knew full well the strength belied by Tarvi’s lean frame.

  Sean nudged Sorka. “They’ll shut him up, and then we can get to the meat of all this talking,” he said. “I hate meetings like this with people sounding off just to make a noise and act big when they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  Raising a hand to be recognized, Rudi Shwartz again got to his feet. “If, as you’ve suggested, Cabot, the larger stakes could remain self governing, how would a central government be organized? Would the large stakes be at all responsible to it?”