explored the tunnel system shown on the echo survey with Wind Blossom’s little photosensitive uglies, so the dangerous tunnels are blocked off. We’ve got a small hydroelectric system using one of the nearby streams, and Boris Pahlevi has plotted out the most efficient way to use the rock cutters and the borers. Cecilia Rado’s given us plans to enlarge and improve the main chamber and give us a lot of apartments in the facade. We’ll use the cut stone for housing along the base of the cliff, just as you’ve done here, so we’ll have workshops as well as separate quarters”—and Red emphasized that aspect by enunciating each syllable—“to accommodate the families coming with us. That’s the biggest incentive in moving out, Paul.” He gave a convulsive shudder. “I know we’ve all had to cram in together for mutual support and safety. But enough is enough. Especially in my profession. I’m losing the best breeding years of my mares’ lives. And, now that we’ve got the dried seaweed to add protein and fiber, we can get by with just the one feed-maker.”
Paul held up both hands. “Let me get a word in edgewise, will you, Red?” He grinned. “I have no objections to you moving out.”
“You don’t?” Red was genuinely surprised. “But I thought . . .”
Paul Benden indulged in a rare laugh, which made the big vet realize how much Paul had altered in the past nine years. Unsurprising, when one thought how many burdens he had assumed since Emily Boll’s death from fever three years earlier. Paul rose and went to the wall in his office that was covered with survey maps taken by the probes as the colony ships had moved into their parking orbit. The areas explored by various teams showed the symbols of metals and minerals discovered; red marked the cave sites with rough sketches of the tunnel systems made from the probe echo system. Three enlargements depicted the immense, sprawling Fort Hold; the old crater, Fort Weyr, which the dragonriders inhabited; and the newest human habitation at Boll, founded the summer before.
“I won’t let anyone make an ill-advised move, Red, just to get away from here, but decentralization is essential.” Red knew that Benden feared another of the lightning-swift fevers that had decimated the Hold three years before. “We must begin to establish autonomous and self-sufficient units. That’s part of the Charter I’m determined we must implement. On the other hand, with Threadfall a constant menace, I must limit new settlements to those that won’t overtax the dragons during a Fall. We can’t even consider expanding unless they can give aerial protection. I won’t risk any more precious lives—not after the most recent plague.”
Paul’s expression turned grim. There were few family groups in the Fort Hold that had not suffered losses in the debilitating fever that had hit the already distressed colonists. The old, the very young, and pregnant women had been the most vulnerable, and before the frantic medical team could develop a vaccine, the disease had run its course, leaving nearly four thousand dead. Nevertheless, the living had been immunized against a resurgence. Though all possible vectors—food, ventilation, allergies, inadvertent toxic substances from the hydroponics unit—had been examined, the trigger for its onset remained a mystery.
The fever had caused another problem: a large number of orphaned children between eight and twelve years. These had to be fostered, and although there had been no shortage of volunteers, a certain amount of reshuffling had had to occur to find psychologically suitable matches of adult and child.
“Those who leave here must go to properly surveyed and explored . . . premises.” Paul gave a mirthless laugh, and Red grinned wryly back at him: “premises” seemed an overstatement to describe the primitive cave dwellings. “Pierre and his crowd were lucky to find such a network at—” Paul dropped his eyelids
Paul held up both hands. “Let me get a word in edgewise, will you, Red?” He grinned. “I have no objections to you moving out.”
“You don’t?” Red was genuinely surprised. “But I thought . . .”
Paul Benden indulged in a rare laugh, which made the big vet realize how much Paul had altered in the past nine years. Unsurprising, when one thought how many burdens he had assumed since Emily Boll’s death from fever three years earlier. Paul rose and went to the wall in his office that was covered with survey maps taken by the probes as the colony ships had moved into their parking orbit. The areas explored by various teams showed the symbols of metals and minerals discovered; red marked the cave sites with rough sketches of the tunnel systems made from the probe echo system. Three enlargements depicted the immense, sprawling Fort Hold; the old crater, Fort Weyr, which the dragonriders inhabited; and the newest human habitation at Boll, founded the summer before.
“I won’t let anyone make an ill-advised move, Red, just to get away from here, but decentralization is essential.” Red knew that Benden feared another of the lightning-swift fevers that had decimated the Hold three years before. “We must begin to establish autonomous and self-sufficient units. That’s part of the Charter I’m determined we must implement. On the other hand, with Threadfall a constant menace, I must limit new settlements to those that won’t overtax the dragons during a Fall. We can’t even consider expanding unless they can give aerial protection. I won’t risk any more precious lives—not after the most recent plague.”
Paul’s expression turned grim. There were few family groups in the Fort Hold that had not suffered losses in the debilitating fever that had hit the already distressed colonists. The old, the very young, and pregnant women had been the most vulnerable, and before the frantic medical team could develop a vaccine, the disease had run its course, leaving nearly four thousand dead. Nevertheless, the living had been immunized against a resurgence. Though all possible vectors—food, ventilation, allergies, inadvertent toxic substances from the hydroponics unit—had been examined, the trigger for its onset remained a mystery.
The fever had caused another problem: a large number of orphaned children between eight and twelve years. These had to be fostered, and although there had been no shortage of volunteers, a certain amount of reshuffling had had to occur to find psychologically suitable matches of adult and child.
“Those who leave here must go to properly surveyed and explored . . . premises.” Paul gave a mirthless laugh, and Red grinned wryly back at him: “premises” seemed an overstatement to describe the primitive cave dwellings. “Pierre and his crowd were lucky to find such a network at—” Paul dropped his eyelids
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