Dragonsdawn (21 page)

Paul looked up from the scope with a weary smile. “Indeed it is, and intact. Mark your position, Mister Fusaiyuki, and let’s get to Caesar’s with all available speed.” He took a more comfortable position in his seat and gripped the arm rests.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The six passengers once again endured the effects of speed and, once again, Kenjo’s abrupt braking. That time he added such a turn to port that the sled seemed to spin on its tail.

“I’ve marked my position, Admiral. Your orders, sir?”

Paul Benden’s spine gave an involuntary shudder, which he hoped was due more to the unexpected maneuver than to Kenjo’s naval address.

“Let’s follow the path and see how wide a corridor it punches. I’ll contact the other stakes to stand down from the alert.”

He permitted himself to contact his wife first and gave her a brief report, as much to lock the details in his own mind as to relieve hers.

“Shall I send a crew to help?” she asked. “Landing’s report says the stuff often has to be burnt to be killed.”

“Send Johnny Greene and Greg Keating in the faster sled. We’ve spare flamethrowers with us.”

Others volunteered to send their sons, and Paul accepted those offers. Caesar Galliani, making the same offer, added that he wanted his sons back in time to milk the big Roma herd.

“I was right, wasn’t I,” the vet said with a chuckle, “to spend so much energy on stone buildings?”

“You were indeed, Caesar.”

“There’s nothing like stone walls to make you feel secure. The boys’ll be on their way as soon as you give me a position. You’ll keep us posted, won’t you, Admiral?”

Paul winced at that second unconscious use of his former rank. After seven happy years as a civilian agronomist, he had no wish to resume the responsibilities of command. Then his eyes were caught by the circles of destruction, so hideously apparent from the air, interspersed with untouched swaths where squally rain had drowned the Thread before it could reach the surface. Rain and dragonets! Fragile allies against such devastation, if he had his way . . . Paul halted that train of thought. He was not in command; he did not wish to be obliged to take command. There were younger men to assume such burdens.

“I make the corridor fifty klicks wide, Admiral,” Kenjo announced. Paul realized that the others had been quietly conferring on details.

“You can watch vegetation disintegrating by the yard,” Bay said anxiously. She caught Paul’s eyes. “Rain isn’t enough.”

“It helped,” Tarvi answered her, but he, too, looked at Paul.

“We’ve got reinforcements coming from Thessaly and Roma. We’ll scorch where we have to on our way back to Sadrid. Set down where you can, Kenjo. Landing will need to know the details we’ve gotten today. Data they want, data they’ll have.”

By the time all the available HNO
₃
cylinders were exhausted, so were the crews. Pol and Bay had followed diligently after the flamethrower teams, taking notes on the pattern of the stuff, grateful that squall activity had somewhat limited the destruction. When Paul had thanked the men from Thessaly and Roma, he told Kenjo to make reasonable speed to Sadrid to collect Jim Tillek.

“And so we must arm ourselves with tongues of flame against this menace to our kind and generous planet,” Tarvi said softly to Paul as they finally headed eastward toward a fast-approaching night. “Will Sadrid be safe now?”

“On the premise that lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place?” Paul’s tone was droll. “No promises can be made on that score, Tarvi. I am hoping, however, that Boris and Dieter will soon come up with a few answers.” Then, his expression anxious, he turned to Pol. “This couldn’t fall at random, could it?”

“You prefer the theory that it’s planned? No, Paul, we’ve established that we’re dealing with an unreasoning, voraciously hungry organism. There isn’t a discernible intelligence,” Pol replied, clenching and releasing his fist, surprised at his own vehemence, “much less a trace of sentience. I continue to favor Bay’s theory of a two- or three-stage life cycle. Even so, it is only remotely possible that intelligence develops at a later stage.”

“The wherries?” Tarvi asked facetiously.

“No, no, don’t be ridiculous. We’ve traced them back to a sea eel, a common ancestor for both them and the dragonets.”

“The dragonets were more of a help than I expected,” Tarvi admitted. “Sallah insists they’ve a high level of intelligence.”

“Pol, have you or Bay attempted to measure that intelligence when you used mentasynth enhancement?” Paul Benden asked.

“No, not really,” Pol replied. “There’s been no need to, once we demonstrated that an enhanced empathy made them more biddable. There have been other priorities.”

“The main priority as of now is establishing the parameters of this menace,” Paul muttered. “We’d all better get some rest.”

Once the rescue team had returned to Landing, it was impossible to deny the fact of the new incursion. Despite a comm silence on their trip, rumors were inevitable.

“The only good thing about it,” Paul told Emily as he consumed a hastily prepared meal, “was that it was sufficiently far away from here.”

“We still don’t have enough data to establish either frequency or probable corridors of the stuff,” Dieter Clissmann announced. “The dolphins apparently could not find out where or when it started. Marine life doesn’t keep time. Boris is adding in random factors of temperature variations, high- and low-pressure areas, frequency of rain, and wind velocity to the data.” He gave a long sigh, combing thick hair back from his forehead. “Drowns in the rain, huh? Fire and water kill it! That’s some consolation.”

Few were as easily consoled. There were even some at Landing who were relieved that other sections of the continent had suffered the same disaster. The positive benefit of fear and horror was that emergency measures were no longer resisted. Some had felt that precautions emanating from Landing violated their charter autonomy. The more outspoken revised their objections when pictures of the devastation on the Sadrid corridor—as Pol termed it—were distributed. After that, Ongola and his communications team were kept busy briefing distant stakeholders.

Tarvi drafted a crew to work round the clock, adapting empty cylinders into flamethrowers and filling them with HNO
₃
. The easily made oxidant had not only proved to be very effective at destroying Thread but could be synthesized cheaply from air and water, using only hydroelectricity, and was not a pollutant. Most importantly, dragonet hide and human skin were usually not severely damaged from spillage. A wet cloth, applied within about twenty seconds, prevented a bad burn. Kenjo led a group in rigging holders for flame-throwers on the heavier sleds. He was adamant that the best defense was not only offense but aerial. He had many willing supporters among those at Landing who had lived through the First Fall.

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 singlehandedly 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 conscriptions 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?”

“Not 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 matériel 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 survivial 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.”