to calculate a Pass.”
“Hold it, hold it!” Paulin shouted, raising both arms to restore order. “I’m Chair, I’ll remind you,” and he glared at Tashvi until the Telgar Lord resumed his seat and the others had quieted down. “What kind of proof do you require, Lord Chalkin?” he asked in a very reasonable tone of voice.
“Thread falling . . .” someone muttered, and subsided before he could be identified.
“Well, Chalkin?” Paulin said.
“Some proof that Thread will fall. A report from this Aivas we’ve all heard about. .
“Landing is under tons of volcanic ash,” Paulin said, and then recognized S’nan’s urgent signal to speak.
“Nine expeditions have been mounted to investigate the installation at Landing and retrieve information from the Aivas,” S’nan said in his usual measured tones. As he spoke he searched for and found a sheaf of plastic and held it up. “These are the reports.”
“And?” Chalkin demanded, obviously enjoying the agitation he had aroused.
“We have not been able to locate the administration building in which the Aivas was located.”
“Why not?” Chalkin insisted. “I remember seeing tapes of Landing prior to the first Threadfall . . .”
“Then you will appreciate the size of the task,” S’nan said. “Especially since the blanket of volcanic ash covers the entire plateau and we have not been able to locate any landmark by which we could judge the position of the administration building. And since the housing was similar, it’s difficult to establish where we are when we have dug one out of twenty feet of ash and debris. Therefore we have not been able to establish the location of the administration building.”
“Try again,” Chalkin said, turning his back to S’nan.
“So you have done nothing to prepare your Hold at all for the onslaught?” Paulin asked calmly, reasonably.
Chalkin shrugged. “I don’t perceive a need to waste time and effort.”
“And money . . .” murmured the same heckler.
“Precisely. Marks are hard enough to come by to waste them on the off chance—”
“
Off chance?
” Tashvi erupted out of his chair. “You’ll have a revolt on your hands.”
“I doubt that,” Chalkin said with a sly smile.
“Because you haven’t bloody seen fit to warn your holders?” Tashvi demanded.
“Lord Telgar,” Paulin said repressively, “I’m Chair.” He turned back to Chalkin. “If the rest of us, however misguidedly, do believe in the forewarnings—backed by irrefutable astronomical evidence of an imminent Pass, how can you deny them?”
Chalkin’s grin was patronizing. “A spaceborne organism? That drops on a large planet and eats everything it touches? Why wasn’t Pern totally destroyed during previous visitations? Why is it every two hundred years? How come the Exploration Team that did a survey of the planet before it was released to our ancestors to colonize . . . how come they didn’t see any evidence? Ah, no,” Chalkin said, flicking the notion away from him with his beringed hands, “ridiculous!”
“My calculations were confirmed by—” Clisser said, feeling that he was being maligned.
“There was evidence of Threadfall,” Tashvi said, bouncing once more to his feet. “I’ve read the report. There were hundreds of circles where vegetation was just starting to grow . . .”
“Inconclusive,” Chalkin said with another flap of a hand. “Could have been caused by one of the many fungus growths.”
“Well, then, when this inconclusive evidence comes dropping out of the skies onto your hold, don’t bother us,” Bastom said.
“Or come crying to my hold for help,” added Bridgely, completely disgusted by Chalkin’s attitude.
“You may be sure of that,” Chalkin said, and with a mocking bow to Paulin, left the Hall with no further word.
“What are we going to do about him?” Bridgely asked, “because sure as night follows day, he will come running for aid to Franco and