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had realized that that was the moment all his life had been aimed at: Impression. He’d seen his older brother Impress, and his second oldest sister, and three of the four cousins currently riders. From the moment he was Searched out, part of him had been sure-sure-sure, with all the fervor of an adolescent, that he would Impress favorably. The negative side of his personality had perversely suggested that he’d be left standing on the hot sands and he’d never live down such a humiliating experience.
    “In conclusion,” S’nan said, “let me assure this gathering that the Weyrs are ready.” With that, S’nan sat down to an approving applause. “I hope that the holds are, too?” Not only did his voice end on an up note, but he raised his thick brows questioningly at the Fort Holder.
    Paulin stood up again, shuffling until he found the right clipboard and cleared his throat. “I have readiness reports in from all but two major holds,” and he glanced first at Franco, Lord Holder of Nerat, and then tilted his head toward Chalkin. “I know you received the forms to film . . .”
    The tall, thin, bronze-skinned Neratian raised his hand. “I told you the problem we have with vegetation, Paulin, and we’re still
trying
to keep it under control . . .” He grimaced. “Not easy with the excellent weather we’ve been having and the restriction against chemical deterrents. But I can assure you that we’ll keep at it. Otherwise, we have emergency roofing for the seedling nurseries and sufficient stores of viable seeds to replant when that’s feasible. We’re also continuing our research into dwarfing plants for indoor propagation. All minor Holders are fully aware of the problems and are complying. Everyone’s signed up for the groundcrew course.”
    Paulin made a notation, nodding. “Agriculture’s still working on the problem of an inhibitor for your tropical weed types, Fran.”
    “I hope so. Stuff grows out of pure sand without any cultivation at all.”
    Then Paulin turned to Chalkin, who had been polishing his rings with every evidence of boredom. “I’ve had nothing at all from you, Lord Chalkin of Bitra,” Paulin said.
    “Oh, there’s plenty of time . . .”
    “A report was required by this date, Chalkin,” Paulin said, pushing the issue.
    Chalkin shrugged. “You all can play that game if you wish, but I do not believe that Thread is going to fall next spring, so why should I bother my people with unnecessary tasks—”
    He wasn’t able to finish his sentence for the acrimonious reactions from everyone at the table.
    “Now see here, Chaikin . . .”
    “Hey, wait a bleeding minute . . .”
    “Just where do you get off . . .” Bastom was on his feet with indignation.
    Chalkin pointed one thick, beringed finger at the Tillek Holder.
    “The Holds are autonomous, are they not? Is that not guaranteed in the Charter?” Chalkin demanded, rounding on Paulin.
    “In ordinary times, yes,” Paulin answered, waving a hand to the others to be quiet. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the angry remarks and protests. “However, with—”
    “This Thread of yours coming. So you say, but there’s no proof,” Chalkin said, grinning smugly.
    “Proof? What more proof do you need?” Paulin demanded. “This planet is already feeling the perturbation of the rogue planet . . .”
    Chalkin dismissed that with a shrug. “Winter brings bad storms, volcanoes do erupt . . .”
    “You can’t so easily dismiss the fact that the planet is becoming more visible.”
    “Pooh. That doesn’t mean anything.”
    “So,” and Paulin first had to quell angry murmurs to be heard, “you discount entirely the advice of our forebears? The massive evidence that they left for our guidance?”
    “They left hysterical—”
    “They were scarcely hysterical!”
Tashvi bellowed. “And they coped with the emergency, and gave us specific guidelines to follow when the planet came back. And how