McCaffrey, Anne – DragonQuest. Chapter 11, 12

F’lar gestured for the grub pot which F’nor willingly handed over.

“Now, I’m going to put some of these grubs in all but this container, F’lar said, indicating the medium-sized one. Then he started to distribute the squirming grubs.

“Proving what?”

F’lar gave him a long deep look so reminiscent of the days when they had dared each other as weyrlings that F’nor couldn’t help grinning.

“Proving what?” he insisted.

“Proving first, that these southern grubs will prosper in northern soil among northern plants …”

“And …”

“That they will eliminate Thread here as they did in the western swamp.”

They both watched, in a sort of revolted fascination, as the wriggling gray mass of grubs broke apart and separately burrowed into the loose dark soil of the biggest tub.

“What?”

F’nor experienced a devastating disorientation. He saw F’lar as a weyrling, challenging him to explore and find the legendary peekhole to the Ground. He saw F’lar again, older, in the Records Room, surrounded by moldering skins, suggesting that they jump between time itself to stop Thread at Nerat. And he imagined himself suggesting to F’lar to support him when he let Canth fly Brekke’s Wirenth …

“But we didn’t see Thread do anything,” he said, getting a grip on perspective and time.

“What else could have happened to Thread in those swamps? You know as surely as we’re standing here that it was a four-hour Fall. And we fought only two. You saw the scoring. You saw the activity of the grubs. And I’ll bet you had a hard time finding enough to fill that pot because they only rise to the surface when Thread falls. In fact, you can go back in time and see it happen.”

F’nor grimaced, remembering that it had taken a long time to find enough grubs. It’d been a strain, too, with every nerve of man, dragon and lizard alert for a sign of T’kul’s patrols. “I should have thought of that myself. But — Thread’s not going to fall over Benden …”

“You’ll be at Telgar and Ruatha Holds this afternoon when the Fall starts. This time, you’ll catch some Thread.”

If there had not been an ironical, humorous gleam in his half-brother’s eyes, F’nor would have thought him delirious.

“Doubtless,” F’nor said acidly, “you’ve figured out exactly how I’m to achieve this.”

F’lar brushed the hair back from his forehead.

“Well, I am open to suggestion …”

“That’s considerate, since it’s my hand that’s to be scored.”

“You’ve got Canth, and Grall to help …”

“If they’re mad enough …”

“Mnementh explained it all to Canth …”

“That’s helpful . .”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I could myself!” And F’lar’s patience snapped.

“I know!” F’nor replied with equal force, and then grinned because he knew he’d do it.

“All right.” F’lar grinned in acknowledgment. “Fly low altitude near the queens. Watch for a good thick patch. Follow it down. Canth’s skillful enough to let you get close with one of those long-handled hearthpans. And Grall can wipe out any Thread which burrows. I can’t think of any other way to get some. Unless, of course, we were flying over one of the stone plateaus, but even then …”

“All right, let us assume I can catch some live, viable Thread,” and the brown rider could not suppress the tremor that shook him, “and let us assume that the grubs do — dispose of them. What then?”

With a ghost of a smile on his lips, F’lar spread his arms wide. “Why then, son of my father, we breed us hungry grub by the tankful and spread them over Pern.”

F’nor jammed both fists into his belt. The man was feverish.

“No, I’m not feverish, F’nor!” the bronze rider replied, settling himself on the edge of the nearest tank. “But if we could have this kind of protection,” and he picked up the now empty pot, turning it back and forth in his hand as if it held the sum of his theory, “Thread could fall when and where it wanted to without creating the kind of havoc and revolution we’re going through.

“Mind you, there’s nothing remotely hinting at such events in any of the Harper Records. Yet I’ve been asking myself why it has taken us so long to spread out across this continent. In the thousands of Turns, given the rate of increase in population over the last four hundred, why aren’t there more people? And why, F’nor, has no one tried to reach that Red Star before, if it is only just another kind of jump for a dragon?”