"You've got almost as much variation in flame as a dragon has..." Kalvi said as he slung the tanks to his back, his voice slightly m.u.f.fled by his safety gear. "You, there, the hard hat has a purpose. Put it on your head! Lower the face screen!" The offender immediately complied, Kalvi scowling at him.

"The effective range of this equipment is six meters on the narrowest setting, two on the broader. You wouldn't want it to get closer to you..." He was fiddling with his wand. "d.a.m.n thing's stubborn."

He took out a screwdriver and made a slight adjustment.

"ALWAYS..." he said loudly and firmly as he held the wand away from his body, "keep the nozzle of the wand pointed away from YOU and anyone in your immediate vicinity. We're flaming Thread, not folks.

"NEVER...never... engage the flow of the two gases without looking in what direction the wand is pointing. You can also burn, scorch, sear things without meaning to. CAN'T YOU, Laland?" he said, aiming his remark at one of his students.

The man grinned and shifted his feet nervously, looking anywhere but at his Master.

"Now, signal the topside crews, will you, Paulin?" said Kalvi, setting himself firmly on both feet and aiming the wand up.

Paulin waved a red kerchief and suddenly a tangle of 'something' catapulted off the cliff, startling everyone in the crowd behind Kalvi.

Those with wands raised them defensively and others gasped as the tangle separated into long silver strands - some fine, some thick and falling at slightly different rates. As soon as they were within range, Kalvi activated his flame-thrower.

There was a brief second when the fire seemed to pause on the ends of the launched strands before the flame raced along the material and consumed it so that only bits of smoking char reached the ground and the rock that had been tied to the leading edge. There was a roar of approval and great applause.

"Not bad," Paulin said, grinning as he noted the new alertness in the crowd.

"Well, we tried for the effect we just delivered," said Kalvi, turning off both tanks. "Used a r.e.t.a.r.dant on the rope, too. Had plenty of description of how Thread falls, and this is as near as we can get.

"Now," and he turned back to his students, "it's best to get Thread before it gets to you or to the ground. We know there are two kinds: first the ones that eat themselves dead - they're not a problem, even if they are in the majority and messy.

"Records tell us that the second kind find something in what they ingest that allows them to progress to the second step of their life-cycle; our ancestors never could do much with investigating this type. They only knew that it existed. We know it existed, too, because there are areas here in the north which are still sterile two hundred-odd years since the last Fall. If this type gets the nourishment it needs, above and beyond organic materials, then it can propagate, or divide or whatever it is Thread does. This is what ground crews were needed for. This is the type we don't want hanging around and burrowing out of sight. Our ancestors thought Thread had to have some trace minerals or elements in the dirt but, as they never figured out what, we're not likely to now." Kalvi heaved a sigh of regret.

"So," and with a wide sweep of his arm, "we incinerate all the b.u.g.g.e.rs the dragon riders miss!" He paused and looked up the cliff-side where the catapult crews were waiting.

"OK UP THERE?" he yelled, hands bracketing his mouth.

Immediately in response, red flags were waved at intervals along the cliff.

"All right, in groups of five, range yourself parallel to the red flags you now see. When we're all in place - and out of range of anyone's wand," and Kalvi gave a wry grin, "I'll give the signal and we'll see how you manage."

The results were somewhat erratic: some men seemed to get the hang of their equipment immediately, while others couldn't even get the right mix on the gases to produce flame.

"Well, it happens," Kalvi said in patient resignation. Should make 'em climb the thread back up the cliff he added.

"Do 'em good."

"Take too much time. THROW DOWN THE NETS," Kalvi roared and then grinned at Paulin. "Thought we'd have some trouble. We'll get our mock threads back up and in use." "How much did you bring?"

"Yards," was all Kalvi said with another grin.

By the time the short winter afternoon was closing into darkness, all the holders had had a chance to sear thread despite hiccups and misses. The mock thread supply ran out before they lost interest in the practice.

"Now I don't want you to overdo it on your own," Paulin said to those nearest him as they walked back to the Hold.

The practice area had been some distance up the North Road from Fort Hold, where there were neither beasts nor cot holds that could be affected.

"HNO3 isn't all that hard to manufacture, but the equipment is. Don't wear it out before it's needed."

During their practice, the main Hall had been rearranged for the evening meal and the trainees were as hungry as gatherers.

"Tomorrow we'll clean the gear," Kalvi announced while klah was being served, "and you'll strip down and rea.s.semble the units so I'm sure you know what you're doing. The man who does it fastest and best will get Lord Paulin's reward." A loud cheer resounded through the Hall.

"Morale's good," Paulin said to Kalvi who nodded, well satisfied with the way this first instruction session had gone.

If all of those meetings planned for the Head Engineer at the other major holds went as smoothly, Kalvi thought he might even get a chance for a few days off to fish in Istan waters. In the frantic search during the run-up to the Second Pa.s.s for materials long left in storage, some reels of stout nylon fishing line had been found. The bar-coding on the carton had been damaged so there was no way of knowing how long ago the line had been manufactured, but Kalvi was eager to put it to the test with some of the big ones that swam in the tropical waters. This sort of synthetic material was extremely durable and would certainly take the weight of pack fish which could sometimes be quite substantial.

A third group made up of teachers - novices and experienced were gathered in the College's s.p.a.cious refectory.

Today this convocation had the happier task, learning and rehearsing the new Ballads which were to be used in teaching the young.

On the second day the Fort Weyrleader would instruct the peripatetic teachers on how best to shelter themselves if they should be caught out during Threadfall.

Clisser had been inundated with complaints that the Weyrs were restricting rides which had been the accustomed mode of transport. Not all the teachers were familiar with, nor competent to ride, the st.u.r.dy horses that had been bred for long-distance and mountain travel. He was going to have to rea.s.sign a lot of his older teachers, yet another headache.

But for this three-day period at least, the emphasis would be on the music and the new curriculum. Not that he hadn't had contentious reactions to that. He was beginning to think that Bethany had had the right of it when she suggested that they, like the first Settlers, had relied too heavily on easy access to information. Oddly enough, some of the older teachers loudly approved the new curriculum.

"High time we brought things up to date, with relevance to the life we're leading here, not what folks had there," Layrence of Tillek said, "stuff we'll never have, so what's the point of quizzing them on it?"

"But we have traditions we must uphold," Sallisha said, her brow creased in a frown. Which made Clisser realize once again that her reputation for being a 'right wagon' was not without merit. Traditions which they must understand to appreciate what we have."

"Oh, Sallisha," and Bethany smiled in her soothing way, "we're incorporating all those traditions in the Ballads but stressing what they need to understand of the life they have here."

"But our glorious past..." Sallisha began.

"Is past," Sheledon said forcefully, scowling right back at her.

"All past, all gone, and why dwell on contacts our ancestors severed for their own good reasons?"

"But - - but - - - they should know - - -" Sallisha began again.

"If they wish to know more, they can read it" Sheledon said, "for advanced study. Right now, they have to cope with the problem of Threadfall."

"And that's far more important than which planets outlasted the Nathi bombardments and who was World Leader in 2089," said Shulse. "Or how to plot a parabolic course around a primary."

Sallisha glared implacably at the maths teacher.

"Of course," Shulse went on, "I do approve of mentioning such history where it pertains to Emily Boll as Governor, or Paul Benden as Admiral of the Fleet, because they are part and parcel of Pernese history."

"But you have to show students the overall picture - - -." Sallisha was persistence itself.

"And some students will be vitally interested, I'm sure," Shulse said, "but I agree with Clisser that we have to streamline the material to be studied to the point where it has relevance to this world and our civilization."

"Civilization?" Sallisha said at her most scornful.

"What? You don't call what we've made here 'civilized'?" Sheledon loved to tease the literal-minded Sallisha.

"Not in terms of what our ancestors had."

"And all that went with a high-tech society - like prep.u.b.escent addicts, city gangs, wild plagues, so much tech fraud that people were stuffing credits in their mattresses to protect their income, the..."

"Spare me," Sallisha said contemptuously, "and concentrate on the good that was done."

Sheledon gave a chuckle. "D'you know how dangerous it was to be a teacher on old Earth?"

"Nonsense, our civilization," and she emphasized the word, "revered professors and instructors on every level."

"Only after they were allowed cla.s.s-room discipline." Sheledon began.

"And the use of stunners," added Shulse.

"That is not a problem on Pern," Sallisha said loftily.

"And we'll keep it that way," said Clisser firmly, " by adjusting what interests our cla.s.ses and dispensing with irrelevancies."

Sallisha whirled on Clisser. "What you decide is relevant?"

Clisser pointed to the files along one wall of the library in which they were talking. "I sent out questionnaires to every teacher on the rolls, and to holders, major and minor, asking for input. I got it, and this curriculum," he lifted the thick volume, "is the result. You've all received copies.

"And the Teaching Ballads will be part of the package you receive during the conference."

Sallisha retired with poor grace, sulking as obviously as any intractable student would. He wondered if she saw the resemblance in att.i.tude. However, Sallisha was a very good teacher, able to impart knowledge at the level needed, and was therefore supervisor of Southeastern Pern. But she had her little quirks - like everyone else in the world.

Making the children memorize the Teaching Ballads would improve their retention of words: a skill that Clisser realized he had lost with his dependence on technology. But then, one of the reasons the Colonists had come to Pern with its limited resources was to revert to a society that was not so dependent on technology. He read accounts of persons who never left their home place, contacting others only by electronics, living as teremites. Not so much out of fear of the outside world as indolence.

No-one could be indolent on Pern, Clisser told himself, and smiled. What a wasted life to remain in one place all one's days! Well, perhaps here on Pern, events - like Threadfall had forced them a little lower on the technological scale than the Settlers had antic.i.p.ated, but they had adapted to Pern and were adapting it to their own use. And would meet the menace with a fully developed, renewable air defense force, He hoped.

Clisser sucked in his breath in a sort of reverse whistle. Everyone on the planet - with one notable exception - was girding their loins and securing their premises against that attack.

Preparing was one thing, but enduring fifty years of an aerial attack was another. Briefly he reviewed the accounts published by the besieged colonists on Sirius III and Vega IV when the Nathi started bombarding the planets. Day after day, according to the history tapes, the worlds had been sh.e.l.led with dirty missiles, rendering the surface uninhabitable. Whole generations had grown up on colonial planets, living in deep shelters.

Clisser smiled to himself - not much different from the cave holds in which the Pernese now lived. And indeed those accommodations had benefited by the Sirian and Vegan experiences - using the magma core taps to provide heat and solar panels for power. Humans had survived under far worse conditions than pertained on this planet. At least on Pern, you knew when and where Thread would fall and could mount effective defenses And yet, the scale of Threadfall was awesome and failure had appalling consequences. Failure usually did.

Therefore, Clisser hoped that the music which had been composed as psychologically uplifting would have the desired effect: developing the morale and encouraging the effort.

Briefly he wondered what would have happened on old Earth, during the National period, if there'd been a common extraterrestrial enemy to unite the diverse races.

Jemmy and Sheledon had certainly written some stirring music, martial as well as hopeful. Some of the less ambitious tunes had a tendency to stay in the mind so that you woke up in the morning whistling one or hearing it in your head: the mark of a good melody to Clisser's way of thinking. And they had scored the music for various solo instruments or combinations of those readily available, so that even inexperienced players in the most isolated Hold or Hall would be able to accompany singers.

Jemmy's riddling song was a delight and Clisser hadn't quite got all the answers yet, but it would prove useful during the hours of a Fall to distract folk about what was happening outside. Bethany's lament - the first song she had ever composed - was next on the program and he settled back to listen to it.

But his mind, working overtime in anxiety over the success of his new program, refused to be caught up in the music.

Among other things, WHAT was he going to do about Bitra Hold? The last teacher he'd sent there had left, voiding his contract with Chalkin - not that Clisser blamed Issony when he'd heard the way the man had been humiliated and threatened by unruly holder children - but children had to receive rudimentary education. You couldn't afford to let one whole province lapse into illiteracy.

To be sure, children learn at different rates; he knew that, and learning should be made as interesting as possible, to lay the foundations for further study and for life itself, for that matter.

That was the purpose of education: to develop the skills required to solve problems. And to utilize the potential that existed in everyone - even a Bitran, he added sourly.

Maybe he should reappoint Sallisha to that area? Then he chuckled. Not much chance of that. She had enough Seniority to refuse point blank.

He made up his mind then, with the lovely phrases of Bethany's song soothing him, to bring up the problem of Chalkin, Lord Holder of Bitra, in the next Conclave. Something had to be done about the man.

During the final evening meal in which all three groups joined up on the Fort court for a dinner featuring three whole roasted steers, Clisser heard Chalkin's name come up and homed in on the group discussing the man.

"That's not all," M'shall was saying, a deep frown on his usually amiable face, "he's put up guards at the borders, and anyone who wants to leave can take only their clothes with them. Nothing else, not even the animals which they may have raised themselves."

Clisser had not realized that the Benden Weyrleader had arrived, but his presence was certainly fortuitous.

"You're speaking of Chalkin?" he asked when the others acknowledged his presence and made room for him in their circle.

M'shall gave a scornful laugh. "Who else would turn folks out of their holds right now?"

"I've just heard from one of my travelling teachers, Issony, and he's quit and nothing would persuade him to go back to Bitra. But even they have to grow up literate."

"Ha!" M'shall's scoffing was echoed by the others.

"School hours keep Bitrans from other jobs which earn their Holder more marks. What did he do to Issony?"

"He'll give you chapter and verse if you ask him. In fact, it would do him good. I understand one of your riders rescued him."

"We do a lot of rescue work in Bitra," M'shall said, not at all pleased by the necessity.

"But only non-Bitrans," he added.

"Now, look," and Bridgely seemed about to explode, "I will not succor all his refugees. And I will not lift a hand to help him when his Hold is overrun by Thread."

"Ah," and M'shall raised one finger in a sardonic gesture, "but you see, he doesn't believe Thread's coming."

"Wouldn't we feel silly if he was right after all?" said Farley, one of the other minor Fort holders. "Oops, wrong thing to say," he added when coldly repressive stares rejected his witticism.

"Chalkin has always been contrary by nature," Clisser said.

"But never such an outright fool."

"Well, he's exceeded even 'd.a.m.ned fool'," Bridgely said. "Is your teacher, Issony, here now?"

"Well, then, bring him up to Fort. We're about to do something definitive about Chalkin."

"Right now?" Clisser couldn't help looking over at the roasting carca.s.ses and sniffing at the succulent odors they were producing.

"I expect to eat, too," said Bridgely, relenting.

"I just finished eating at Benden," M'shall said, but his nose was twitching at the aromas. "Ah, well, we could have a slice to allow you to enjoy your meal."