The Amtrak Wars - Book 6 - Earth-Thunder 

By: Patrick Tilley

Synopsis:

As the great mountain in the west speaks to the sky with a tongue of
flame, the Talisman Prophecy is on the verge of fulfilment.
The rulers of the Federation believe that Clearwater's unborn child is
the Thrice-Gifted One, and they hold both in their power.  Cadillac and
Roz, who have combined their formidable talents, are determined to free
her, but Steve, lured by the prospect of a dazzling career within the
First Family, is no longer certain who to support or betray.  He has
little time left in which to decide, for in Ne-Issan, home of the Iron
Masters, a lone woman intent on avenging her dead lover, is about to
plunge her nation into a civil war that will set the whole continent
ablaze.

Also by Patrick Tilley."

THE AMTRAK WARS BOOK 1: CLOUD WARRIOR THE AMTRAK WARS BOOK 2 FIRST
FAMILY THE AMTRAK WARS BOOK 3; IRON MASTER THE AMTRAK WARS BOOK 4:
BLOOD RIVER THE AMTRAK WARS BOOK 5 DEATH-BRINGER MISSION FADEOUT STAR
WARTZ

The Amtrak Wars Book 6: Earth-Thunder

PATRICK TILLEY

ORBIT

An Orbit Book

First published in Great Britain by Sphere Books Ltd 1990

Reprinted 1990, 1991, 1992

Reprinted by Warner Books 1993

Reprinted 1995, 1996

Reprinted by Orbit 1998

Copyright © Patrick Tilley 1990

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior
permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in
any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published
and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.

ISBN 1 85723 540 I

Printed in England by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

Orbit

A Division of Little, Brown and Company (ilK) Brettenham House

Lancaster Place

London we2E 7EN

The following list is a guide to the Iron Master, Mute and Federation
names for key locations mentioned in EARTH-THUNDER:

Aron-giren (Long Island, New York)

Awashi-tana (Washington, D.C.)

Banti-moro (Baltimore, Maryland)

Beoisha - Post-house Inn (Bishop, Maryland)

Bei-poro (Bellport, Long Island)

Bei-shura (Bay Shore, Long Island)

Beni-tana - Toh-Yota Palace (Benton, Connecticutt)

Big White Running Water (Sioux Falls, South Dakota)

Bu-faro (Buffalo, New York State)

Cape Fear, North Carolina

Cloudlands - First Family enclave, Houston, Texas

Govo-nasa (Governor's Island, New York)

Grand Central (Houston, Texas)

Korina-gawu (Collingwood, Ontario)

Lake O-neida (L.  Oneida, New York State)

Lake Ona-taryo (L.  Ontario)

Mana-tana (Manhattan Island, New York)

Mira-bara (Millsboro, Delaware)

Monroe/Wichita - Divisional Base (Wichita, Kansas)

O-shawa (Oshawa, Ontario)

Osa-wego (Oswego, New York State)

Oshana-sita (Ocean City, Maryland)

San-Oransa (St.  Lawrence River, Quebec)

Sara-kusa (Syracuse, New York State)

Sta-tana (Staten Island, New York)

Summer Palace, Yedo (Middle Island, L.I.)

Twin Forks (North Platte, Nebraska)

Uda-sona (Hudson River, New York State)

Winter Palace, Showa (Showell, Maryland)

Additional background information including various maps can be found
in Book 3: IRON MASTER and in DARK VISIONS: The Illustrated Guide to
The Amtrak Wars.

DEDICATION

I should like to express my gratitude to all the readers of THE AMTRAK
WARS and everyone at Sphere Books, Forbidden Planet and Andromeda whose
enthusiasm (and patience) helped make this series a success.

Special thanks to those of you who wrote, the many others who took the
trouble to come and meet me in the bookshops, all you Australians who
boosted AMTRAK onto your best-seller list, and last, but not least, to
my fan in the Shetlands whose thoughtful Glaswegian friend got me to
autograph a brown paper bag.

CHAPTER ONE

Armed with a stolen carbine, Cadillac marched slowly through the
drifting plumes of smoke that rose from the charred remains of the huts
which- just one brief day ago - had been the home of the Clan m'call.

Roz - clutching another carbine with the awkwardness of someone trained
to save lives not terminate them followed him as he scoured the
settlement from end to end.  The soldiers had done their work with the
thoroughness that was the mark of the Federation.

Goods and chattels had been put to the torch, every living soul
regardless of age had been killed.

The decapitated bodies of the den mothers, their children, and the
She-Wolves who had stayed to defend them were scattered everywhere.

Some, burnt beyond recognition, lay smouldering in the glowing rings of
ashes that had once been huts of skin and wood; others, partially
stripped, their naked bodies ripped by bayonet thrusts, lay sprawled
awkwardly where they had been gunned down - either running away from,
or towards the enemy: the tall faceless figures in their blood-red and
flame-orange uniforms who showed no mercy and expected none.

When the last hope of finding any survivors finally expired, Cadillac
turned to Roz, his eyes brimming with bitter tears.  His lips moved but
no words came.  He had come down from the hills fearing the worst, but
the shock of discovering this scene of sensaless slaughter had driven
the breath from his body.

Roz threw aside her carbine and supported him as he lurched towards
her.  She knew what he was thinking.

He was the last of the M'Calls; the only one still alive.

The remainder of his clanfolk - every man, woman and 
child of fighting
age - had gone forth to do battle with one of the dreaded iron-snakes,
the Mute name for the wagon-trains of the Amtrak Federation.

And despite falling into a trap, they had confounded their enemy,
capturing and destroying The Lady from Louisiana before being
surrounded by four more of the giant land-cruisers - each one carrying
a thousand TrailBlazers.

When Cadillac had flown west, taking Roz with him on the orders of Mr
Snow, the M'Call Bears and She-Wolves, bloodied but triumphant from
their victory over The Lady, were preparing to make a last stand as the
circle of fire closed in remorselessly around them.

Roz and Cadillac had escaped in the last aircraft to leave the
flight-deck of The Lady and they had not been fired upon because no one
on the advancing wagon-trains had suspected that the Skyhawk was being
flown by a Mute.  The same thing had happened when they had overflown
the settlement and seen the groups of camouflaged Trail-Blazers moving
through it sowing a trail of death and destruction.  Some had even
paused long enough to lower their weapons and raise their dark, visored
faces as Cadillac circled overhead.

His first impulse had been to dive down and spray them with a prolonged
burst from the mini-Vulk in the nose of the Skyhawk, but he did not
dare risk damaging his precious cargo: Roz - the young stranger whom Mr
Snow had given into his care.  Gritting his teeth, Cadillac had made
two low passes, dipping his wings to salute the murderers of his
clanfolk.

The Trail-Blazers had waved to him.  And then, as he flew off - wracked
with guilt - to find a landing place higher up in the hills, those same
hands had dropped back onto their weapons to continue the slaughter of
the innocents.

From an overlooking crag, he and Roz had watched the distant fiery glow
wax and wane throughout the night then, in the grey dawn of the
following day, they had gone down to take stock of his inheritance.

But there was nothing left.

On the very same day he had become wordsmith to the Clan M'Call - the
greatest clan ever to spring from the bloodline of the She-Kargo - his
clanfolk had perished in a last blaze of glory and the hell-fires of
vengeance.

As the first shock faded and new breath forced its way into his lungs,
Cadillac stepped away from Roz, raised his face to the sky and howled
with grief.  A heart-rending cry that came from deep within the soul.

Inarticulate, more animal than human, but which expressed his deep-felt
sense of loss and desolation in a way which mere words could not
encompass.

Falling to his knees, he pounded the bloodstained earth then furrowed
it with clawed fingers, scooping it up and smearing it over his neck,
arms and chest.

Roz knelt down beside him- this clear-skinned, smooth-boned Mute whose
future was now inextricably enmeshed with hers.  They had met less than
24 hours ago, surrounded, as now, by the stench of death, but it had
only served to strengthen the instinctive bond between them.

She watched patiently as Cadillac, oblivious to her presence, continued
to claw at the crimson earth and daub it on his body.  To the detached
medical side of her mind, he seemed, by these frenzied gestures, to be
trying to share the dying agonies of his clanfolk.  Gradually, the raw
edge of his guilt and anger became blunted.  He slumped back on his
heels, round-shouldered under the burden of sorrow and lapsed into
total immobility, hands hanging limply between his thighs, his
expressionless eyes blind to all external sensation - the classic
symptoms of catatonia.  For nearly an hour, not a muscle twitched.

Nothing moved except for the occasional tear which rolled down his
cheeks then, suddenly, he jerked into life and when he turned his
bloodied, dirt-streaked face towards her, the eyes were dry and
clear.

'Come,' he said.  'We have work to do."

Using Tracker machetes, they cut down and hauled back a large quantity
of pine saplings which they hewed into eight-foot lengths and built a
square funeral pyre, interleaving the layers of slim logs with the
broken bodies 
of the women and the young children, laid on a bed and
under a cover of pine branches.

Despite her training, Roz found it a heartbreaking task.  In the
Federation, dead bodies were whisked away by the bag-men.  Some were
delivered to the Medical College for autopsies and dissection by
students but once again the bag-men collected the bits.  And it
occurred to Roz that she had never enquired what happened next.

She had merely assumed that the mortal remains of its soldier-citizens
were disposed of with the same clinical efficiency that characterised
most of the procedures evolved by the Amtrak Federation.

True or false, she was certain of one thing.  The operation was not
something the kin-folk of the deceased were required to perform or
watch - as she had to do now.

They piled more branches around the outside of the log squares to mask
the bodies from view, then Cadillac set light to it using a potful of
glowing ashes from one of the burnt-out huts.  There was a pungent
smell of resin as the pine needles caught fire, and with a crackling
roar the flames leapt skywards, carrying the spirits of the dead into
the arms of Mo-Town on a rising current of air.

With his half-naked body smeared with grey ash in the traditional style
of the Plainfolk, Cadillac squatted before the column of fire, just out
of range of the blistering heat, his arms wrapped around his
rib-cage.

And so began the second period of mourning.

For the rest of that day and throughout the following night, Cadillac
rocked silently back and forth, his heart and mind imprisoned in a
private world of grief which Roz could comprehend but could not wholly
share.

The funeral pyre blazed throughout the evening, then around midnight,
as he maintained his vigil while she slept fitfully nearby, it slowly
collapsed with a shower of sparks into a mound of glowing embers.  By
morning, all that remained was a grey-shrouded hump in the middle of a
blackened square of earth.  But it still gave off a fierce heat, and
quickly ignited the odd branch and bits of debris that Roz threw onto
it as she tidied up around her seated companion.

Cadillac did not utter a word throughout the whole of that second
day.

And Roz did not attempt to engage him in conversation.  She was content
to be; to savour to the full the expansive beauty of the surrounding
landscape, the fathomless depths of the blue sky world above her
head.

A sky flecked with ever-changing patterns of cloud that stretched away
towards a horizon that was so distant it surpassed understanding.

Up here in the hills, the world about her was much vaster than the one
she had experienced from the flight deck of Red River.  Coming from a
life-time spent in the confines of the Federation, she had - like most
Trackers - no proper sense of scale, no grasp of the truly awesome
dimensions of the universe.  If someone had told her that from where
she now stood the farthest point she could see towards the east lay
over a hundred miles away it would have meant nothing.  And to have
talked about the size of the earth or the distance between it and the
moon would have meant even less.

On the first day, while Cadillac sat grieving in front of the blazing
pyre, she had taken the edge off her hunger by dipping into the
emergency ration pack that all Skyhawks carried.  Now, on the second
day, as the sun reached its zenith, Cadillac rose, made a cooking fire
and silently prepared a meal for two.

Not everything had been been destroyed by the soldiers or thrown onto
the funeral pyre.  Cadillac had salvaged and set aside pots and pans,
tools and implements, sleeping furs, some walking skins, even some
dried food - everything they needed to survive the immediate future and
were able to carry on trucking poles between them.

Without being asked, Roz had brought water from the stream that burst
from the moss-covered rocks deep within the forested slopes to the
north of the settlement.

The same stream that cascaded over the glistening tongue of rock
overhanging the bluff then fell in a long filmy ribbon onto the rocks
below.  The same rocks on which 
Steve Brickman had stood to refresh
himself before his fateful second encounter with Clearwater.

Roz helped Cadillac prepare the meal, her gestures complementing his
without a hint of awkwardness.  They ate in silence, but on the
occasions when their eyes met they fixed each other with an unwavering
gaze that was only broken by mutual, unspoken agreement.

They were like two castaways, marooned on a wooded island amid an ocean
of red grass.  But although they had only been in each other's presence
for a matter of hours, they were not strangers.  Neither Roz nor
Cadillac had anything to hide.  There was no need for timid, furtive
glances; no time for anything other than a frank appraisal.

There was no need to say anything.  The eyes said it all.

The afternoon lengthened into evening.  Roz helped him erect a hut
using a selection of unburnt poles and a patchwork of skins, then they
went into the forest to fetch more wood for the fire.

While they were there Cadillac bathed in the stream, washing away the
grey ash that had covered his body.

Night fell.  They communed in silence over the evening meal that
Cadillac prepared with her help, then he gathered up the sleeping furs
that had been warming by the fire and took them into the hut.

A short while later he crawled out through the low door flap and picked
up the two carbines.  Seating himself with his back to the hut, he laid
one of the guns across his lap and placed the other on the ground
beside him.

'Sleep now."  They were the first words he had uttered in two days.

Roz stood up and slowly unzipped her camouflage fatigues, then rolled
them into a neat bundle.  Cadillac averted his eyes as she stripped off
her underclothes, but she stood before him and willed him to look up at
her naked body, its smooth artificially-tanned skin tinted deep orange
by the firelight glow.  When their eyes finally met, she held up the
garments that marked her out as a Tracker and dropped them onto the
red-hot embers.

They both watched as the flames took hold.

When there was nothing left, Roz said: 'There is no need to stand
guard.  My power will protect both of us."

She walked past Cadillac, brushing his head lightly with one hand.

Entering the hut, Roz saw the firestone had been trimmed, leaving only
a tiny flame to light the way to bed.  Picking up the stone, she pushed
it out through the door flap then found her way back to the bed in the
pitch dark and snuggled down between the soft layers of furs.

She knew what was going to happen; had known with an overwhelming
certainty ever since she had been introduced to Cadillac on the
flight-deck of The Lady.

It was just a question of time.  Her whole life had been a voyage of
discovery, but in the past year the pace had accelerated.  One
revelation had succeeded another with bewildering speed.  It was like
being in a sail-boat driven by a hurricane which preceded a gigantic
storm: a storm that threatened to sweep away the world she had known.

She had learned that Steve was not a true kin-brother.

Neither of them had been born to Annie Brickman.  They had been placed
in her care by the First Family.  And to the mystery surrounding their
origins had been added another: inexplicably and without warning, her
already extraordinary mental gifts had been expanded, giving her access
to powers that enabled her to warp the perceptions of those around
her.

Through her telepathic link with Steve had come the shared discovery
that they were both Mutes and this had helped to open her mind further,
enabling her to understand that her life had a deeper purpose.

With the deliberate burning of her uniform she had severed all links
with her past, just as Cadillac's previous existence as part of the
Clan M'Call had been consumed by fire.

They both had to begin anew.  Together.

As she waited, she stroked her breasts and belly, and pressed down hard
in an effort to contain the love-heat that was building up between her
tightly-closed thighs.

A fleeting shaft of moonlight illuminated Cadillac's 
glistening body
as he entered the hut on all fours and slid between the furs.  There
was a moment's hesitation before he edged into contact then they turned
towards each other, bodies moulding, arms and legs enfolding, as if it
was the most natural thing in the world.

Roz did not possess the detached professionalism of the Thai
body-slaves who with the help of liberal doses of sake had inflamed his
desires in Ne-Issan, but it felt right and it felt good.  For both of
them.  Each in their own way had loved their former partners but this
was different.  Cadillac did not feel overawed as he had when sharing a
bed with Clearwater, and Roz, for her part, was freed from the confused
feelings of shame and desire which had always surrounded her furtive
couplings with Steve.  Feelings which, for the last two years, had been
compounded by her jealousy for Clearwater.

With the opening of her mind and the realisation that her hated rival
was a soul-sister, those negative feelings had been transformed.  Now
at last she was able to give full expression to her emotions.  Here at
last was the love she had yearned for - unencumbered, unrestricted; not
hedged about with petty rules and regulations.  A love that could now
be expressed in words that had been denied to her since birth.  An
emotion which, through her inability to express it, had become
distorted and misdirected towards her kin-brother.

She was still linked closely and intimately to Steve, but only through
her mind.  Her heart and body were now her own, and she had found the
person with whom she was destined to exchange these precious gifts.  In
so doing she had found her place in the world, a new identity, and a
mission which gave her life meaning beyond mere physical existence.

Then it happened.  A sweet burning that brought a sharp cry to her lips
and a juddering sigh to his.

Everything flowed together, their minds and bodies fusing in a
convulsive star-burst of ecstasy that left them feeling utterly
fulfilled for at least half an .hour, at which point - being healthy
young animals with the stamina to match their sexual appetite - both
were ready to go round again.

The dawn of the fourth day (the third having been spent mostly in bed)
found Cadillac hollow-eyed through lack of sleep but feeling on top of
the world.  The secret envy and lingering distrust of his rival, the
confusion of brotherly love, jealousy and hatred had vanished, leaving
him brimming with a new self-confidence which caused him to be
immensely satisfied with the world in general and - being Cadillac with
himself in particular.

As the days passed, the super-charged emotional state generated by
their discovery of one another gradually subsided and their life
together assumed its natural rhythm.  But it was not achieved without a
great deal of hard work.  Hearing about life on the overground was not
the same thing as being there.  Even though Roz felt-like Steve- that
she belonged to the blue-sky world, there was much to learn.  And a
great deal to do.

In the Federation, nearly everything came at the turn of a tap, or the
flick of a switch.  Food was literally handed to you on a plate.  Okay,
there were Trackers manning the hydroponic tank-farms, the
water-pumping and power-gert stations, the materials and food
processing units.  And there were the Seamsters sweating away down in
the A-Levels to keep everything going.

Roz herself had put in the statutory number of PD hours on a variety of
mundane chores.  The point was, in the Federation, all these processes
were performed with the aid of mechanical or hi-tech equipment.  If you
wanted hot water you tapped a line that came from one of the
geo-thermal plants; to prepare a hot meal you simply peeled the foil
lid off a pre-pak and put it in a micro-wave cooker.  Sixty seconds
max.  Dirty clothes you tossed into a unit at the block laundromat and
selected the correct wash-rinse 'n' dry cycle; any worn, torn or
damaged garments or kit you took down to the company quarter-master and
exchanged old for new.

But not out here.  Out here, there was nothing on line and there
wasn't a serviceman in sight.  Everything had to be figured out in
advance.  Hot water needed a fire, a fire needed wood, the wood needed
to be cut from a tree, to cut it you needed a Tracker machete, an
Iron-Master axe or saw, and you had to know how to put a keen edge on
the blade.  The only alternative was to go around picking up fallen
branches, dead wood that was usually rotten and powdery and which
burned quickly without producing any real heat.

In such an environment, you quickly came to realise the value of
ready-made objects.  The grinding bowls that turned the golden seeds of
breadstalks into a powder which, when mixed with water and salt and
puddled onto a hot stone, produced crunchy flat-bakes, the pots and
pans, knives, machetes, fire-stones, a stoutly-sewn set of walking
skins, woven-straw hood-mats, Iron Master needles, binding twine and
thread were all precious possessions to be treasured and handed down to
the next generation.  These, and the skills which fashioned and used
them, were the bedrock of existence and being aware of that gave you a
whole new perspective on things.

In the Federation, with its sanitised, regulated, wall-to-wall video
life-style, you were part of a world created by the First Family.  But
it was not the real world.  This was the real world; the world of the
Plainfolk.  Out here, you were not a brain-washed cog in a soulless
machine, you were a living being, interacting with every living thing
around you.  Not just the birds and the beasts and the bug-uglies, but
with the earth and the rocks, the grass and the trees, the wind and
water, the clouds scudding across the sky, softly melting snow-white
towers, blue-grey blankets heavy with rain, rosy-pink at dawn,
pearly-mauve in the evening, brushed with golden fire by the setting
sun, and then the night with its stars and moon which, for Roz, was
just as wondrous as the day.

Steve had experienced the same feeling of wonder, the same joyous
sensation of being truly alive - but he had been trained as a
soldier.

He was still enamoured by the gadgets and the hardware and the power
they conferred.

The lack of such things had proved irksome.  He did not understand that
the two states were incompatible.  It was the technology developed by
man in search of a more comfortable existence which had alienated him
from his natural environment.  In attempting to master it, he
had-through a mixture of greed and ignorance - destroyed it.

Roz could see this because she had been trained as a doctor, not a
uniformed assassin.  Her studies had led her to a greater understanding
of the human organism, its incredible complexity and the miraculous,
unfathomable nature of the force that animated every living thing; the
force that, when you had reduced an organism to its smallest chemical
component and its most elusive subatomic particle, still remained
tantalisingly out of reach.

It was this knowledge, this awareness of the mystery that lay at the
heart of all creation, that enabled her to merge the totality of her
being with the blue-sky world.

Her kin-brother - for that was how she still thought of Steve - had
only managed to go part of the way.  He had been told he was a Mute, he
knew he was a Mute, yet he was unable to accept it unreservedly.  He
was not content to know.  He had to know why.  There was nothing Roz
could do to change him.  She could only hope and pray he would not
destroy himself before he finally found his way.

With no one but themselves to look after, Cadillac decided to leave the
flat land above the bluff which, since Steve's escape on Blue-Bird, had
seen so much death and sorrow.  The scarred, empty space brOught back
too many bitter-sweet memories.

The first move did not involve a long journey.  Carrying their worldly
goods on trucking poles, Cadillac led Roz to the small forest glade
where Clearwater had been hidden on the orders of Mr Snow.  The
rock-pool in which she and Cadillac had washed off their body-markings
was fed by the same stream that snaked 
its way down over a series of
rock steps and fern-covered banks before launching itself into space
over the tongue-stone.

Here, surrounded by an endless supply of firewood and with fresh, clear
running water close at hand, they would be sheltered from the
attentions of any' hostile hunting posses.  There was also a plentiful
supply of game, but it was all small stuff.  With only a limited amount
of ammunition, Cadillac did not intend to waste it on anything less
than a tusker - the MUte name for a wild pig.

Swallowing his pride, Cadillac led Roz down the face of the bluff in a
dawn raid on a swift flowing river where he showed her how to catch the
plump, brown-speckled fish with her bare hands.

It was a rarely-used skill he had acquired from Clearwater.

He had been a reluctant pupil but she had persevered.  Male She-Kargo
Mutes were renowned hunters of buffalo, fast-foot and bear; fishing was
rated on a level with grinding bread-stalks - women's work.

This disdain had its roots in the warrior/hunter-ethic, the prowess
displayed in battle which made the Plainfolk superior to the riverfolk
such as the Clan Kojak who lived on the shores of Me-Sheegun.

Fishermen with cold water in their veins.

Cadillac knew from personal experience that this wasn't strictly
true.

The Kojak had fought well.  On the other hand, they hadn't had much
choice.  It was either kill or be killed.  And it's not too difficult
to be brave when your enemy is staggering ashore half-drowned onto a
dark, booby-trapped beach and you have promise of Clearwater's magic to
stiffen the sinews.

Back at their hidden campsite, they gutted and boned the fish, stuffed
them with a mixture of dried herbs, pinned them round long skewers with
thin slivers of wood, then roasted them over the glowing embers of a
fire made with larch wood.  When the fish were ready, they cupped them
in several broad leaves and bit hungrily into the steaming flesh.

It tasted good.  And as Roz juggled the juicy morsels around her mouth
to avoid burning her tongue, she thought back to the time when she and
Steve had watched the same dark brown shapes gliding beneath the
rippling surface of the pool surrounding the base of Santanna Deep.

Fish.  She hadn't even known what they were.

And she remembered the wave of revulsion that had swept over her when,
without knowing why, Steve had said they were good to eat.  And now,
here she was, doing just that, enjoying it, and revelling in the sense
of achievement.

It was incredible yet, at the same time, there was something inevitable
about the way one thing had led to another, drawing her life towards
this point, to this conjunction with Cadillac's life.  The Mutes used
the term 'life-currents' which they likened to crystal-clear streams
that converged, ran alongside one another, merged into one or separated
again, going their different ways.  It was part of an immutable plan.

Destiny.  The Wheel turns.

The Path is drawn.  For good or ill, it was a force which the
Federation, with all its weaponry, could not hope to match.

Over the days they had been together, Roz and Cadillac had exchanged
life stories and touched upon the more private things that all lovers
reveal as their relationship deepens and grows.  With his tales of past
battles and his adventures in Ne-Issan, Cadillac held the stage far
longer than Roz.  But that did not matter.  She was eager to listen,
and he told his story well.  But although he mentioned the parts Steve
and Clearwater had played in his past life, he did not dwell upon his
feelings for them or speculate where they might be now.  And Roz
suddenly realised that neither had she.  It was time to put that
right.

Time to break the news ....

It took a little time to get round to it because, at the beginning, she
was waiting for the right moment.  But it quickly became clear that
Cadillac was a creature of fleeting moods.  Despite her supportive
presence, his emotional barometer was constantly swinging between

highs and lows.  One minute he was full of confidence and optimism and
then, suddenly, his brow and eyes would darken as if a cloud had
crossed the face of the sun.  The smile was replaced by a sullen,
brooding expression then, with equal suddenness, the shadows would lift
and the eyes would shine again.

Roz, by contrast, was an extremely uncomplicated person, open-hearted,
forthright, long on sympathy, short on guile even though she had
learned to tread carefully since she had been forced to work with the
people who were trying to manipulate her kin-brother.

Cadillac, she decided, was a suitable case for treatment, and the only
way to straighten him out was to be herself.

Clad in a skin tunic and wrap-around skirt, Roz sat on the edge of the
rock-pool with her bare legs in the water and watched Cadillac scrub
his top half in the waist-deep water.  He was not as powerfully built
as Steve but he had strong shoulders and a slim, hard muscular body
encased in a smooth coppery skin that Roz found immensely attractive.

'There's something you ought to know.  About Clearwater."

Cadillac paused in mid-scrub.  'Oh, Sweet Mother!

Don't say she's going to be permanently crippled?

'On the contrary.  She'll have metal pins on her thigh for the rest of
her life, but she'll be up on her feet within a couple of months.  And
if she gets some intensive physio, she'll be back to normal in another
four.  It's someone else's health I'm worried about.  Clearwater's
pregnant."  Roz waited a second or two then tried again.

'With child."

'Clearwater...?"  Cadillac didn't seem to be able to take the news on
board.

'Yes.  I reckon she's got about five months to go.  Six at the
outside."

The words came slowly.  'Steve... is he the...?"

'Father?  Well, I hope so.  Do you have any idea who else it could
be?"

'No."  Cadillac looked confused.  'When did this, uh, all...?"

'When did she conceive?"  Roz knew exactly when.  She had been there.

Inside both their heads.  But this was not the moment to try and
explain how or why.  'A short time before we picked her up,' she
said.

'When the three of you were in the hands of Malone's renegades.  Did,
uh they...?"

'No!  No .  . ."  Cadillac cast his mind back over their period of
'captivity' and realised he'd lain in a drunken stupor and watched it
happen.  It wasn't supposed to hurt any more but for a brief moment it
did.  He wiped the picture from his mind and cleared his brow.  Looking
up he found Roz eyeing him intently.

'It must be Steve.  But how?  From what he told me I thought the
President-General was - ' 'The Father of All Life?  He is,' said Roz.

'But Steve's not a Tracker.  He was only brought up as one.  If he's a
Mute, like you, he carries the seeds of life within him."  And maybe I
do too ....

'The point is,' she continued,' what are we going to do about it?  I
mean, we just can't leave them there."

'No, I suppose not."  Cadillac hauled himself out of the water and
began to towel himself dry.  The towel, soap and the friction-glove
he'd been using were some of the items he'd purloined from the
wagon-train and stuffed into the Skyhawk before leaving.  Not
everything produced by the sand-burrowers was bad.  'What have you got
in mind?  Going into the Federation and bringing her out?"

'Not just Clearwater.  All three of them."

Cadillac wrapped the towel round his waist and started pacing up and
down.  'Have you any idea what you're asking?  Where would we start?  I
don't know my way around - or how anything works down there?

'But I do."  roz caught hold of his hand as he strode past and pulled
him round to face her.  'And you can drop the pretence.  If you can get
inside Steve's head, you know enough to get by."

Cadillac went to turn away but she didn't let go of his hand.  'It
won't be just the two of us.  Steve and Clearwater will help too.  It's
an unbeatable combination."

'Hah!  Yes!"  said Cadillac bitterly.  'You, me, an invalid, and a -'
He was going to say 'a blood-brother I dare not turn my back on' but he
caught himself in time.  He knew he had to take his share of the blame
for the injuries Clearwater had suffered; knew also that Steve, in
putting her aboard Red River, had saved her life.  But the old wounds
ran deep, and even though Roz's loving presence was a healing balm it
could not make them disappear overnight.

Looking at her, Cadillac saw that she knew exactly what had been going
through his mind.  But her sympathetic expression had a firm edge to
it.  The message in her eyes read: 'I know what's bugging you, I
understand totally, but from here on in, neither of us have time to
waste on this self-indulgent, recriminatory shit."

Had she put it into words, Roz might have used a less abrasive form of
language but Cadillac had seized the essence exactly.  And it brought
him back on a even keel.

'You're right,' he said.  'But we can't make a move until she's back on
her feet and has given birth to her child."

Roz used her grip on his hand to pull herself upright and stepped in
close so that their thighs touched.  'Good."

She gave him a placatory kiss.  'That means you'll have plenty of time
to work out exactly how we're going to do it."

There was another reason why Cadillac was unable to put the rescue of
Clearwater at the top of his list of things to do.  The first Council
of all the Plainfolk was due to be held at Big White Running Water
(Sioux Falls, South Dakota) in less than eight weeks.  As the successor
to Mr Snow and as one of The Chosen, he had to attend.

And Roz would have to come with him.

They could make no plans to enter the Federation until the Council had
completed its deliberations.  He had no inkling as to what might be on
the agenda, bu he was sure that the present and future state of
relations between the Plainfolk and the Iron Masters would be one of
the major talking points.

Looking back, he wished he, and not Brickman, had gone to the trading
post.  Had he done so, he could have seen the aftermath of the battle,
shared the feelings of his blood-brothers, and taken part in the first,
crucial round of discussions as a stand-in for the ailing Mr Snow.  But
events had conspired to prevent him from making the journey and he
could see now that it was meant to be.  · Nothing in life was
insignificant, every gesture, every action was part of a larger
pattern.  The essence of each experience had to be distilled, each
event had to be stripped down to its core elements, weighed and
understood - because they were all related.  And if, by clear thinking,
you could pierce the fog of trivia and arrive at a true understanding
of that relationship, you would find that the way ahead was
illuminated.  You could not change The Path, for that was already
drawn, but you could proceed along it calmly, confidently, free of
doubt; a wayfarer at peace with himself, his soul no longer tortured by
unworthy thoughts and desires.

There were moments when Cadillac attained that state, when he felt he
had been given a glimpse of the grand design, but then it slipped from
his grasp and he found himself sinking back into a morass of doubt and
petty emotions.  To achieve and maintain that state of grace required a
constant, and conscious, effort.  Perhaps with the aid of Roz and the
transforming power of her love he would become worthy of the role he
had been given - to prepare the Plainfolk for the coming of Talisman.

The returning elders had told him of the astonishing progress that had
been made towards the building of a lasting alliance between the clans
of the She-Kargo, M'Waukee and San'Paul, and the willingness to accept
any C'Natti and D'Troit clans who were ready to renounce their ties
with the Iron Masters.  But would that 
first flush of goodwill hold
even among the clans of the She-Kargo?

The catastrophic loss of life at the trading post, the awesome nature
of the tidal wave and the terrifying swiftness with which it had swept
away friend and foe alike, must have shaken the survivors to the
core.

Just over half the M'Call delegation had escaped with their lives and
many of the returnees had continued to relive the nightmare, waking
from their sleep with a scream on their lips as the violent death-laden
images rose up from their subconscious and the huge roaring wall of
water threatened, once again, to overwhelm them.

For the Clan M'Call, who were now in the arms of the Great Sky Mother,
the nightmare was over, but the other participants must have been
similarly affected.  At that first gathering above the bluffs they
would all have been suffering from shock, a condition which if not
treated, as Roz had explained, could affect people's behaviour for a
considerable time.  With the landscape of death that lay below them,
the scale of the losses suffered by both factions, the traditional
rivalries between individual clans and bloodlines would suddenly have
become pointless, grotesque.  But how would the clan elders and
delegates feel now - as the shock of the event began to recede?

Old habits die hard.  When they assembled at Sioux Falls - if they came
at all - would it be to build on those first expressions of solidarity
or would it be to withdraw their hasty pledges of eternal
blood-brotherhood?

As the Plainfolk entered the period known as The Yellowing and then The
White Death, which was both an end and a beginning, they faced the
prospect of a new year in which there would be no journey to the
trading post.  No walking on the water.  No chance to exchange furs and
skins for tools and weapons and the many other things that only the
Iron Masters could provide.  As that thought sank in, would they regret
their stand against the Iron Masters?  The treacherous D'Troit and
their running dogs, the C'Natti and San'Louis had been dealt a blow
they richly deserved, but perhaps the She-Kargo would, upon reflection,
feel they had paid too high a price for their defence of Mr Snow, the
Clan M'Call and the honour of their bloodline.  And whatever conclusion
the She-Kargo reached would be shared by the M'Waukee and San'Paul.

On the other hand, what could they do?  Mr Snow and the entire clan had
perished in the battle at Twin Forks or in the simultaneous raid on the
settlement.  He, Cadillac Deville, was the sole survivor.

No .  . . that was wrong.  He was no longer a M'Call

For the foreseeable future, the clan identity would remain the basic
unit but there could be no going back.

They had to build on that first fragile consensus.  The Mutes had to
develop a wider allegiance, a bond that went beyond their clan and
their bloodline.  He and Roz - two of The Chosen - were the first
members of the Plainfolk nation that would be forged by Talisman.

Cadillac knew he had to go to Sioux Falls and brave whatever hostility
he might encounter.  He had to impose his view, his vision of the
future.  It would not be easy.  In fact, it would be incredibly
difficult and, above all, dangerous.  The change of heart and mind that
were required would be seen as an attack on the cherished traditions
and fundamental beliefs of the Plainfolk.

Talisman, the Thrice-Gifted One, would no doubt have the power to
impose his views by his presence and by the defeats he could inflict
upon the enemies of his people.  But Talisman was not here now - at a
time when the Plainfolk were in greater danger than ever before.  The
first step towards nationhood had been taken.  To maintain the
momentum, Cadillac realised he would have to lead from the front.

His heart quailed at the prospect.  From early childhood he had longed
for greatness, craved recognition, adulation, standing.  It was there
for the taking, but would the warriors and wordsmiths of the other
She-Kargo clans listen?  He was not even twenty years old!

If only Clearwater was here!  And Brickman too, with his flair for
action and his devious mind.  It was impossible to discover what his
true motives were, but in their daring attack on the wagon-train, their
talents had meshed smoothly and - for the first time - they had managed
to work together without the usual backbiting.

Brickman, of course, would want to take charge, but his presence would
be a challenge that he, Cadillac, would have to surpass.  And it would
not be like it was before.  Roz had changed all that.  She had restored
the balance.  He was no longer the odd man out.  Her presence had given
him the strength to face the woman he had lost and her chosen partner
without any of the past bitterness and pain.

It was a great pity the other two were not here to witness this change
and work with him in this new spirit of cooperation.  It would have
made his present task a lot easier.  But they weren't, and there was
not the slightest chance of them appearing magically over the horizon
if things got tough.  For the first time in his life he was faced with
making major decisions without the steadying counsel of Mr Snow,
Clearwater and, yes, even Brickman.  This was the testing time he had
both longed for and secretly feared.  Roz, he knew, would help in every
way she could, but he had to set the goal, take the lead, the
responsibility - and the blame...

Cadillac walked over to where Roz was trying her hand at making another
batch of flat-bakes.  She looked up at him and wrinkled her nose.  '
'Fraid I'm not having much SUCCESS.  ' He hunkered down beside her,
picked up an iron ladle and took a sample of the mixture, testing its
liquidity by pouring it back into the bowl.  'Too much water."

He tried one of the burnt offerings.  'And not enough salt."

Roz sank back on her heels with a sigh.  'I don't believe this!  Only
three ingredients-bread-meal, water and salt.

How the beck can it go wrong?!"  'There's more to it than that.

There's the temperature of the cooking stone, the amount of mix you
pour on and the way you spread it."  Cadillac took charge of the mixing
bowl, added more bread-meal and salt to correct the imbalance and
stirred until it achieved the right consistency.  He then checked the
heat of the stone by pouring a thin stream of water onto it.  'That's
okay.

See the way it pops and dances as it boils off?"

Roz nodded and watched as he filled the ladle to the brim and with a
practised flourish, quickly poured a ring of creamy dough mix then,
spiralling inwards towards the centre, filled it with the last drop.  ·
'There ... see?  The right size, just over a hand's breadth across,
nice even thickness."

'Hmmff!"  Roz took the offered ladle, filled it to the brim and managed
a lop-sided imitation.  'Is there any rule that says they have to be
round?"

'No,' laughed Cadillac.  He lifted the edge of the first bake with a
flat tapered wooden flip shovel and turned it over.  'But once you
start pouring, keep going otherwise it'll fall apart."  He removed his
neat, circular flat-bake from the stone and passed Roz the small
shovel.  'Don't overcook the top side, otherwise it gets too brittle.

Just leave it long enough to brown."

'Yeah..."  Roz tried to turn her mis-shapen bake over.

It broke into several curved fragments.  'Damn!"  'Never mind.  It's
still eatable."  Cadillac picked up a fragment, blew on it then took a
bite.  'Delicious.  You just need more practice, that's all."

Roz handed him the mixing bowl.  'Show me again, champ.  Several
times."  She watched Cadillac produce ten more faultless flat-bakes in
as many minutes then, when she was allowed to start turning the next
batch over, she said: 'I thought this was women's work - like
fishing."

Cadillac smiled.  'The only real women's work is bearing children.  The
normal everyday tasks are shared by everyone in the clan regardless of
sex and age.  If the women seem to have cornered certain tasks, it's
more a question of aptitude and convenience.  There are no 
hard and
fast lines of demarcation.  The females fight, and the male warriors
can prepare food and make flat-bakes.

Comes in handy when you're away on a hunting expedition."

'Yes, well, it's going to take me a while to settle in.

I feel so useless!  Nothing I've learnt up to now has prepared me for
any of this.  If you were to break a leg it would give me a chance to
prove I was actually capable of doing something."  Roz laughed.  'On
second thoughts, don't.  All I know is medicine the way it's practised
in the Federation.  I could probably give you a diagnosis, but without
the equipment and the drugs I probably wouldn't be able to cure you!"

She toyed with her neck.  'It's really strange.  I've carried a
stethoscope round my neck for so long - and now it's not there, I feel
half-naked!"  Cadillac ruffled her hair playfully.  'Don't worry.  I'll
tell you everything I know about Mr Snow's herbal remedies, and show
you the plants he gathered- and later on, you'll have a chance to meet
other healers."

'Okay.  But it's not the same thing.  You already know all that."  Roz
tapped her chest.  'I want to bring something to this relationship."

'You already have."

She read the look in his eye.  'Yes.  But agreeable though it is,
iberating your sex drive is a social attribute, not a workskill.  I'm
talking about making a positive contribution."

'Roz!  You're already doing that by just being here!

The hunting, gathering, cooking and all the other things - that's
something we can do together.  You've adapted even quicker than Steve
did, and before long, your natural abilities will express themselves.

Just take it easy.  We have all the time in the world."

Cadillac's last words triggered a sudden pang of anxiety.

'Do we?"  Roz forced a smile to her lips.  'It's strange to think I've
known about you all these years - well, .three, but it seems longer and
never once did I dream that..."

She took hold of his hands.  'Whatever I felt before when I thought I
was having a good time -' is nothing compared to the way I feel now."

The too..."

Roz tightened her grip on his hands.  'I don't want it to end.

Ever."

'Nothing is for ever, Roz.  But I promise you this.  As long as I have
breath in my body, you and I will be together.  My feelings for you
will never change.  I will care for you and protect you."

'No,' said Roz.  'That's my job.  Let me at least earn my keep."

."That's something we need to talk about."

Cadillac hesitated.  Ever since they landed in Wyoming he had been
holding back a question which he hoped she would answer in the
affirmative.  Be it 'Yes' or 'No' he couldn't put it off any longer.

'This telepathic link you share with Steve.  Does it work with me?  Can
you reach into my mind?"

Roz shook her head regretfully.  'If it did, you'd know about it.  On
the other hand, you and I have something he never had."

'I know..."

'But you're still upset."

'Not really.  Not about that, anyway."

'Is it this meeting of the Plainfolk at Sioux Falls?"

'Partly.  That and staying alive."

Roz placed her hands on his thighs, leant forward and kissed the base
of his throat.  'Our lives are in the hands of Talisman.  I never
thought I'd have to tell you that."

'You don't.  It was, well - a slip of the tongue.  When something good
happens to you - like what's happening between us, you don't want to
lose it ... makes you realise how precious life is."

'And how precarious..."

'Exactly.  The four of us may have been born in the shadow of Talisman
but that doesn't mean to say we're destined to live happily ever
after."  He saw her eyes cloud over and moved on rapidly.  'Sioux Falls
is about 
five hundred miles from here.  We ought to leave soon to make
sure of getting there in good time."

The image of the fearsome Shakatak D'Vine and the vicious duel they
fought came into his mind.  'Thing is-there are quite a few D'Troit and
C'Natti clans between here and Sioux Falls.  They may not be too
pleased to find us treading on their turf."

'We could always fly there."

Cadillac shook his head.  'We can't.  Remember those bear steaks we had
the other day?"

'unforgettable.  They were enough to put me off meat for the rest of
my life."

'Yeah, well, I collected those up in the hills when I went up to check
out the Skyhawk.Didn't set out to, but I found myself halfway there,
so..."

'You went..."

'Yeah.  And when I got there, I found a whole family of 'em - climbing
all over it.  A big male, about nine feet tall on his hind legs, two
mothers and five cubs- ' 'Babies?  Oh, I wish I'd been there!"  'I'm
glad you weren't.  The port aileron had been torn off and they'd ripped
great holes in the underside of the wing.  It was lucky I had my
carbine."

'Did you manage to drive them off?."

'And store up more trouble?  Of course not.  I killed them."

'Oh, Caddy!  How could you?!"  Roz pounded his shoulders with her
fists.

Cadillac caught them and squeezed hard.  'Listen!"  he hissed.  'The
bear is an animal you don't mess around with.  Those cuddly little
babies you're so upset about grow up to be big and mean, with paws
twice the size of a man's hand and claws that can tear your head off
your shoulders with one swipe!"  Roz was surprisingly strong but it
wasn't the physical force she exerted that made him let go.  It was the
look in her eyes.  The same look that had chilled Steve to the
marrow.

'Not my head..."  She stood up.

Cadillac got to his feet with a placatory gesture.  'I didn't mean to
hurt you.  I was- ' 'You didn't..."

'Roz.  There's another question I need an answer to.

The night we..."

'Yes, I remember..."

'When you went into the hut you said - "There is no need to stand
guard.  My power will protect us both."  Steve mentioned something
about it.  Are you a summoner - like Clearwater?"

'A kind of summoner perhaps.  I'm not sure.  I have never seen anyone
use earth magic.  And I have not seen or.  read a seeing-stone, but now
and then - like you - my mind receives glimpses of the future."

'Why do you smile?"

'Because Steve has always thought he was gifted with a sixth sense,
second sight.  But it was I who glimpsed what was going to happen, and
sent a message - in that same instant - into his mind."

Cadillac stared at her in surprise.  'So... that evening, when the two
of us were on the shore of Lake Mi-Shiga and I saw the sea burning, it
was you and not Steve ' '- who saw you trapped underwater and about to
drown.  Yes.  From that moment on I knew you were both approaching a
point of extreme danger.  I didn't have the full picture, but I kept my
mind open - ready to receive and act upon Steve's call the minute he
came through."

'Amazing..."

'No more amazing than the gifts you and Clearwater possess.  I'm glad I
was there to help.  Otherwise you and I wouldn't be here now."

'No.  This other power Steve spoke of..."

'Ahh, you mean this... ?"

Cadillac found himself looking at Clearwater.  And then, as he reeled
back in astonishment, Clearwater became Steve Brickman, and then,
before he could react fully, Brickman became Mr Snow!

'Old One!"  cried Cadillac, stumbling forward.

Mr Snow, his blue eyes twinkling, reached out to steady his young
protege, and chuckled mischievously.

'Did you think I had abandoned you?  Why do you think I brought you
together with this young girl?"

It was incredible.  The voice!  Every detail of his face!

The odour of the skins that made up his long cloak.  The bony hands,
attached to sinewy arms full of vigour!  He could not be imagining
this, it was far too real!  Mr Snow had not died on the wagon-train.

He had come back!

'Don't go, Old One,' he begged.  'Stay with us!"  Mr Snow met his plea
with another throaty chuckle.

'Fear not!  As long as you keep my memory alive in your heart, I shall
never be far away from you.  The powers that were gifted to me by
Talisman now dwell within her and will protect you both in times of
danger!  Love her and cherish her and - above all - be valiant!  There
are perilous times ahead!"  So saying, Mr Snow turned on his heel, his
outstretched arm describing a great sweeping arc on the ground and, as
he turned full circle, Cadillac found himself surrounded by a ring of
D'Troit warriors, armed to the teeth and baying for blood.  His stomach
turned over and his mind went numb.  It was like being thrown into a
pit with the Hounds of Hell.

He turned to Mr Snow for help, but the Old One had vanished.  Looking
down, he found a Tracker carbine in his hands.  There was a bayonet
mounted under the barrel cluster and magazines in all three breeches.

With trembling fingers he selected full auto and began firing from the
hip, spinning round to cover the circle as the screaming warriors
closed in.

Volley upon volley of needle-point rounds chewed holes in their bodies,
and shredded their faces in a spray of blood.  But as each man went
down, two more appeared to take his place!  On they came - drawing
closer and closer - the sunlight catching their flickering, probing
blades.

The roar of their voices drowned his senses.  He kept firing, firing,
severing knife arms, pulverising bone and muscle.  He could feel their
hot breath, their spittle on his face.  He drove the bayonet savagely
into the nearest body, felt the barrels of the carbine press against
the chest of the warrior as the blade sank in up to the hilt - and
found himself looking into the grinning face of Shakatak D'Vine!  He
shut his eyes but he could not blot out the vision, could not escape
from the nightmare that had engulfed him.  He felt his own body
convulse with shock as a dozen ice-cold steel blades pierced his flesh,
felt the hot rush of blood, the screaming pain, the crushing,
suffocating weight as the warriors fell upon him and began to tear him
limb from limb .Oh, Sweet Mother.  Save me.  Ahhh.  A-AHHH.  AAA-AA-AA
HHHHHH.

As his brain caved in, overwhelmed by terror, his physical and mental
agonies vanished.  An incredible lightness filled his body and, with
it, a wonderful sense of release.  He felt a cool hand upon his brow,
the soft touch of lips upon his mouth.  He opened his eyes and found
Roz kneeling beside him.

What was she doing here?  Had they killed her too?  Cadillac stared at
her for a while, unable to understand then, as the memories of his
death flooded back into his mind, he threw his hands across his face.

And when that failed to halt the tide of blood, he turned over on his
belly and hugged the ground.

Roz stroked the back of his neck and whispered, 'It's all right.  You
are safe.  It's over."

Cadillac smelt the grass and the earth beneath him.  It seemed real
enough.  He slowly eased himself up onto his elbows and scanned, his
immediate surroundings.  They were alone.  No shattered bodies, no
blood, nothing.

The D'Troit warriors whose breath, weight and steel had overwhelmed him
had been summoned out of thin air.  In recreating Shakatak, Roz had
drawn upon and fleshed out his deepest fears.  And she had used the
same power to transform herself- in his eyes - into the Old One,
Clearwater and Brickman.

It was terrifying...

She stood up and offered him her hand.  As they came face to face she
said, 'If I can do that to you - whom I love - just imagine what I can
do to our enemies..."

Cadillac nodded but said nothing.

They ate in silence and later, when their bodies came together in the
dark, he had not still uttered a word.

As he entered her, Roz whispered: 'I know what's going through your
mind.  Relax."  She locked her legs around the small of his back and
thrust upwards to meet him.  'What you can feel is not a figment of
your imagination.  Trust me.  This is for real!"  And it was.  Oh,
yes.

It was.  It was ....

CHAPTER TWO

In the heart of the Federation, a thousand miles southwest of the
pine-forested slopes of the Laramie Mountains, Steve Brickman was busy
working both ends against the middle.

Six weeks after his promotion to captain and probationary membership of
the First Family, he still found it hard to believe his good fortune.

In Cloudlands the large overground estate where the First Family lived
in colonial-style splendour - Steve was now the acknowledged companion
and bed-mate of Franklynne Delano Jefferson, a close and favoured
relative of the President-General.  And the liaison with Fran provided
him with an entree to the highest levels of the Family.  The contacts
at this stage were purely social but they provided Steve with an
opportunity to make himself known and, above all, to be seen.

In eighteen action-packed months, he had risen from a workgang in the
A-Levels to the charmed inner circle at the top of the tree.  And in
between, he had travelled further, seen things that others only dreamt
of, and had been involved in more violence and intrigue than most other
Trackers would meet in their entire lifetime - and he was still only
nineteen!

Up to a few short weeks ago, Steve had always figured he had only
another twenty or so years ahead of him.

Trackers who avoided a violent death usually died from natural causes
between the age of 40 and 45.  But Steve had discovered that he and his
kin-sister Roz were Plainfolk Mutes - smooth-boned clear-skinned
'super-straights' - reared in the underground world of the
Federation.

For some reason he had yet to fathom, Mutes had a 
greater life
expectancy than Trackers, remaining alert and active into their
mid-sixties.  Like the First Family.

They were also immune to the lethal radiation still present in the
atmosphere - again like the First Family - a fact that had only become
apparent to Steve after his arrival in Cloudlands.

At the first mention of the name he had guessed it was an overground
installation, but he had been surprised to discover it was not a sealed
environment.  The entire estate was open to the sky.

Given the favourable circumstances in which he found himself, Steve
decided it was wiser to accept the situation without comment, but it
raised several questions that were impossible to ignore.  The problem
was - how could he discover the answers without jeopardising his
newly-acquired life-style and the prospects of further promotion?

His delicate balancing act inside the First Family was not the only
problem he had to contend with.  Clearwater was still held in 'soft
confinement' at the Life Institute.

Her shattered left thigh was mending well and she was expected to take
her first tentative steps in September - the same month in which the
Plainfolk were due to hold their first council at Sioux Falls: an item
of news which Steve had not yet passed on to his masters.  The child
Clearwater was carrying within her was scheduled for delivery in
mid-December.  The official Federation calendar- designed for an
underground world untouched by the passing seasons - had discarded the
twelve pre-H months in favour of four quarters and three terms, but
even after nine centuries old habits die hard.

The fact that he had actually fathered a child was something else Steve
found difficult to accept.  And he was not quite sure how he was meant
to react to the situation.  From the moment he was old enough to
understand, Steve had been taught that the President-General was the
Father of All Life, but now even that - one of the basic tenets of
Trackerdom - was no longer true.

His feelings for Clearwater had not changed, but they were now tinged
with a certain confusion and more than a little guilt.  He kept telling
himself that his physical relationship with Fran was nothing more than
a smart career move; a means by which - through his new status and the
valuable contacts he was making - he would be better able to organise
their escape from the Federation.

But although he wanted to secure freedom for Clearwater and her child
their child - he was beginning to lose the absolute certainty that his
future lay with the Plainfolk.  Steve was confident that in any contest
for leadership of The Chosen, he would beat Cadillac hands down, but it
was no longer that simple.  The emergence of Roz as the fourth element
in the equation had upset his calculations.  Their guard-mother's
revelation that they had been exchanged for her own new-born children,
and as a consequence might not be related by blood, had undermined the
kin-folk bond.  They might still be linked by the mid-bridge but Roz
was no longer under his control - the little sister content to bask in
his shadow.

Steve could not understand why the mysterious force that the Mutes
called 'destiny' - and which had so favoured him - had brought Roz and
Cadillac together, but he knew his rival would grab this heaven-sent
opportunity to even the score.  He would make the most of the situation
and might even succeed in turning Roz against him.  If she were to
place her new, frightening power at Cadillac's disposal, it would be a
whole new ball-game.

nd where would Clearwater - who from his own observations while on the
Red River wagon-train had developed an unexpectedly close rapport with
Roz stand in all this?

It was, Steve decided, a potentially dangerous situation.

If he did not tread carefully, he could find himself the odd man out.

And if that was so, it would be better off to remain where he was - in
the Federation.  But how could he sell that idea to Clearwater?

The short answer was- he couldn't.  She would regard it as a complete
and utter betrayal.  And half of him agreed with her.  Her return to
the Plainfolk had been promised by Mr Snow.  Steve had seen enough to
convince him that prophetic visions and utterances were not to be taken
lightly, but the other, darker half of his psyche found itself
increasingly attracted to an alternative scenario based on the
breathtaking supposition that the First Family themselves might be
super-straights or, at the very least, were Trackers who had interbred
with this rare, gifted type of Mute.

Steve had no hard proof, but once the germ of this idea had entered his
head, it began to make more and more sense.  Externally, super-straight
Mutes were indistinguishable from Trackers.  They also shared one
important attribute with the known members of the First Family - both
were immune to atmospheric radiation.

They might even share another- longevity.  Steve had no proof of this
since he had never met an old super-straight.

Or had he?  Could he have Shaken the hand of one in the Oval Office?

Why else would the Family be so different from their loyal
soldier-citizens?  How else could people like Malone and other mexicans
like Side-Winder operate for so long on the overground without pulling
a trick?

It would also explain why the President-General took the Talisman
Prophecy so seriously - along with Mute magic.  A real true-blue
Tracker, raised from birth in a hi-tech society where the physical
sciences provided an answer for everything, would never, for one
moment, have entertained the idea that some things happened 'by
magic'.

In the Federation, there was a total ban on the discussion of such
intangible concepts, and if ordinary Trackers so much as mentioned the
idea it could earn them a trip to the wall.

More important still was the fact that the President-General knew
something Steve had yet to discover-his true origins and the
circumstances surrounding his birth.  They knew he was a Mute and yet
they had condoned the unthinkable: they had allowed him to jack up
Franklynne Delano Jefferson.  Not just once, but on a regular basis,
sometimes notching up three or four ball-breaking sessions a night.

There was only one set of circumstances which would permit such a
relationship.  Fran was also a Mute.  They all were - or had enough
Mute blood in them for it not to matter.  Which meant - in theory there
was nothing to stop him from becoming the next but one
President-General...

George Washington Jefferson the 33rd.

It was a mind-blowing notion, and the historical perspective it opened
up was equally disturbing.  At what point had Mute blood entered the
veins of the First Family?  Or had it always been there?

Mr Snow had told him that Mute and Tracker shared a common ancestry
whose roots ran back to the Old Time - the pre-Holocaust era that the
Iron Masters called the World Before.  Super-straights like Clearwater
and Cadillac were living proof of that- and so, it would seem, was
he.

Their existence supported Mr Snow's claim that the Mutes had not
unleashed the Holocaust but were, instead, its principal victims.

If so, the bone and skin deformations and mental impairment that caused
the Federation to classify them as sub-human did not precede the
Holocaust; it was part of its dreadful legacy.  Mutes did not exhale
the poisonous elements that filled the air, and it was not exuded
through the sweat glands on their multi-coloured skins.  And touching
that skin did not cause Trackers to develop gangrene.  According to Mr
Snow, that was another of the great lies invented by the Federation.

In the oral history of the Mutes, it was the servants of Pent-Agon,
Lord of Chaos, who had unleashed The War of a Thousand Suns by
launching countless numbers of iron birds into the air.  Iron birds
which rose into the sky-on plumes of fire, flew in a great arch towards
the stars then returned to earth as falling suns.

Many of these birds, said Mr Snow, had been caged deep in the earth in
underground cities - like those of the 
Federation; others had burst
free from the bodies of great iron-snakes that travelled on shining
hard-ways.  Not the crumbling remains that marked the routes once used
by the giant, man-carrying beetles, but endless ribbons of polished
iron which glittered in the sun like the flawless blades of the
samurai.

In the last six weeks, Steve had seen those shining hard-ways, and a
new kind of iron-snake whose fiery breath was used not to kill, but to
power its massive wheels.

Steam trains, lovingly restored and maintained by the First Family,
running on rails - two ribbons of rolled steel pinned to wooden
'sleepers'.  They were part of a grandiose project still several
decades from completion - the rebuilding of the Atchison, Topeka and
Santa Fe railroad which, when eventually connected to rebuilt sections
of the pre-H Southern, and Southern Pacific routes, would link the east
and west coasts of America.

Such trains could have carried the iron birds Mr Snow had spoken of.

Steve, of course, had no knowledge of intercontinental ballistic
missile systems, or the destructive force of nuclear warheads but he
knew about small air-to-ground rockets, and the firework variety made
by the Iron Masters which he had adapted into a propulsion system for
Lord Min-Orota's 'flying-horses'.  The 'iron birds' were obviously
large rockets with an explosive warhead.

If it was true - if they had been launched from trains then - reasoned
Steve - it was equally possible that the Founding Father and the Four
Hundred whose names topped the Roll of Honour were directly linked to
those 'servants of Pent-Agon'.  If they were, their finger might even
have been on the firing button!

After Fran, anything was possible.  It meant adjusting to the idea that
George Washington Jefferson the 1st had neatly shifted the blame for
the Holocaust onto the Mutes and - even more incredible still - the
nine-hundred year war of retribution waged by the soldier-citizens of
the Federation against the Plainfolk and their southern cousins in the
name of racial purity was being led by a carefully-bred selection of
super-straights!

Were it not for the scale of suffering involved the idea would have
been absurd - laughable even.  But it also presented Steve with an
exciting opportunity - and a difficult choice.  He could either try and
escape with Clearwater and her child and face all the hassle and
uncertainty that joining up with Cadillac and Roz would entail or... he
could stay where he was and ride the wire.

All the way to the top ....

This was no longer a case of them and us; the outgunned underdog
fighting a ruthless and vastly more powerful opponent.  It was Mute
against Mute - except that one side held all the cards, and had the
soldier-citizens of the Federation to fight its battles.

Steve was forced to admire the First Family's duplicity.

One could not ignore the fact they were a ruthless bunch, with the
killer-instinct of the D'Troit, but they were also extremely smart
cookies.  Always one step ahead of the game - and that was exactly the
way Steve liked to play it.

If he grasped this opportunity wholeheartedly, allied himself to the
First Family body and soul, he could have the best of both worlds.  He
could have power and freedom, the space to breathe and all the hi-tech
gadgetry that made life easier.  And he might even get to grind
Cadillac's nose in the dust.

But there was more to it than just besting his rival.  As he developed
these ideas in his mind, Steve saw an even grander opportunity ahead.

If he managed to manoeuvre his way into the highest reaches of the
Family, he might be able to halt the present policy of extermination.

Instead of setting Tracker against Mute, the First Family could use
their manipulative skills in a positive way, making it possible for the
Mutes to be accepted for what they really were fellow human beings.

None of this could happen overnight, but gradually, rigidly-held
attitudes could soften, bringing about an 
eventual reconciliation in
which both parties accepted each other's right to exist side-by-side in
the blue-sky world.

It was not an impossible dream, but Steve knew he could never persuade
Clearwater to share it.  And it wasn't just a moral dilemma that
confronted him.  Even if she consented to stay and he succeeded in
getting her released from the Life Institute after the birth of her
child, how on earth was he going to maintain his relationship with her
and keep Fran happy at the same time?

Steve's future sleeping arrangements was just one of the problems
associated with Clearwater.  Another arose from the fact that they were
unable to discuss any of these startling discoveries and tentative
conclusions.

Once again, he had no hard proof, but he had to assume that the unit in
which she was housed at the Life Institute contained hidden microphones
- and probably miniature video cameras too.

Way back - it seemed a lifetime ago - when he was returning in chains
on the shuttle to Grand Central to face a Board of Assessors and a
charge of desertion, Roz had reached out to him over the mind-bridge,
warning him to be careful and telling him that they were watching
her.

And it hadn't been some meat-loaf dogging her footsteps.  When they'd
showered side by side aboard Red River, Roz had told him of the
videotapes Karlstrom had played back to her.  Tapes which recorded the
wounds that appeared in her face at the same moment Steve submitted to
a Plainfolk test of courage known as 'biting the arrow'.  There had
even been a hidden camera trained on her while she was asleep!

Standing under or close to running water appeared to be the only way to
have an untaped head-to-head.  And you could bet your ass that the
Family had come to the same conclusion and were working on that one
too.

Sub-aqua conversations might be safe for the moment but they weren't a
viable option in the present situation.

It would look a bit odd, to say the least, if he suddenly took to
scrubbing himself down at the Life Institute in the next shower stall
to an enemy prisoner.  Because that - despite the relative luxury of
her surroundings - was what Clearwater was.

The medical skills of the Federation were dedicated to making her
whole, but those same skills were also being used to scrutinise every
aspect of her physiology.  Bone, organs, tissue, every nerve, brain and
blood cell had come under or was due for microscopic examination.

Clearwater was the first really powerful summoner to fall into the
hands of the Federation.  Before her capture, to reinforce his image as
a loyal soldier-citizen, Steve had already told Karlstrom about some of
the things he'd seen her do - including her feats of magic at the Heron
Pool.  Which was just as well, because his testimony confirmed and
fleshed out the garbled second- and third-hand reports AMEXICO had
received from other sources inside Ne-Issan.

But Steve hadn't told the full story.  No one, including Karlstrom,
knew that she could plant a delayed mental imperative inside somebody's
brain, which would cause them to say or do whatever she required.

Steve was keeping that to himself in case he needed Clearwater's help
to get them both out of a tight corner.

Although the Family had taken the precaution of housing Clearwater in
an overground annexe, they did not feel unduly threatened by the
destructive powers of her earth-magic.  Soon after their arrival, Steve
had been at.  the foot of her bed when Karlstrom had issued his
double-edged warning.  One false move on her part would lead to his
immediate execution - and vice versa.  Comprendo .  . .?

Si, si commandante ....

This meeting had preceded his heart-warming interview with the
President-General and his promotion to captain'but he imagined the
threat still held good.  And with his elevation to membership of the
First Family it meant he had even more to lose.

Steve had no intention of rocking the boat but the knowledge that his
life depended on Clearwater's good 
behaviour was a sobering reminder
of just how precarious his position was.  He had finally got his feet
firmly on the golden ladder only to discover that the rungs could snap
from under him at any moment.  Steve was sure that Clearwater would not
put the life of her unborn child at risk, but that only took them up to
mid-December.  If she then started to develop itchy feet and he
appeared to be dragging his it could make things very difficult.

Not good.  Not good at all.

Steve tried to remind himself why and how they'd both landed in this
mess.  He had put Clearwater into the hands of the Federation because
that was the only way to save her life.  And he'd wanted her to live
because of the feelings she had aroused in him.  She was the 'only
person he really cared about, and it was through their relationship
that his eyes, heart and mind had been opened.

For the first time he had been able to see the world as it was, in all
its rich variety, its endless possibilities, and he had also discovered
the untapped potential within himself which, if allowed to flower,
would enable him to become his true self.

It was knowing how he felt about Clearwater which had driven Roz into
that jealous rage.  But she had changed.

That was how it was in life.  Nothing stayed the same; it was a
constant cycle of growth and decay.  People changed, feelings changed,
and if you wanted to change the world then, well.  sometimes people got
hurt in the process.  Steve knew that if he had allowed his emotions to
get the better of him, he could never have gunned down Commander
Hartmann and the other crewmen he'd served with aboard The Lady from
Louisiana.  But it had to be done.  He had found the strength to take
the tough decision, to do the hard thing.  Just like the First
Family.

And now he had to do so again.  When the time was right, he had two
ways to go.  Escape with Clearwater and her child, or come up with a
plan that would get them out and leave him behind, without a shred of
evidence to link him with their departure.  Steve was confident he
could figure out the mechanics of either scenario, but he was sorely
tempted to go for the second, which would leave him free to climb the
ladder - secure in the knowledge that with Clearwater gone, it would
not break under him.

Steve tried to convince himself that staying behind was not the softer
option.  He might escape the daily grind of material existence but
there were other pressures, other dangers.  And it would involve
sacrificing everything he had gained through knowing Clearwater and
returning her love.  Severing their relationship would mean the slow
death of the soul.  That was the price of reaching the pinnacle of
power.  And at some point during the next five months he had to decide
whether he was prepared to pay it.

There was someone else who wanted to remove Clearwater from the
Federation.  Commander-General Ben Karlstrom, a.k.a. Mother, a member
of the First Family and head of AMEXICO, the top-secret organisation to
which Steve belonged.

Karlstrom's present anxiety could have been allayed just as easily by
having Clearwater thrown down one of the many thousand-foot deep
ventilation shafts after administering- for safety's sake - a massive,
surreptitious dose of tranquillisers.  But in the present circumstances
that was not a viable option.

It was the President-General who had ordered the capture of Mr Snow,
Cadillac and Clearwater, and he had now allowed himself to be persuaded
that the child Clearwater was carrying might be the Talisman.  A scan
of a gene sample from the four-month embryo had revealed the three
vital 'markers' - the divine fingerprint which, according to the
opportunist quacks running the psionics department, would have to be
present in the individual destined to become the Thrice-Gifted One
wordsmith, summoner and seer.

Karlstrom, who was implacably opposed to the current vogue for this
pseudo-science, had been appalled to learn 
that Jefferson the 31st
intended to have the child reared as a member of the First Family.  To
safeguard his own position within the ruling hierarchy, Karlstrom was
obliged to keep his views strictly to himself, but to his mind, the
P-G's decision bordered on sheer lunacy.  It was only storing up
trouble.  If the future could be foretold and the Talisman Prophecy was
true, this individual would find his way back to the Plainfolk.  The
verses which predicted the end of the Federation would be fulfilled and
the fact that the President-General had made him his adoptive son and
heir would probably serve to hasten the process.

On the other hand, if you believed - as Karlstrom did - that the future
course of events could be changed by resolute action, then the best way
to begin was by eliminating every possible individual, of whatever age
or complexion, who might become the Thrice-Gifted One, and every female
whose genetic fingerprint marked her out as a potential mother of this
troublesome sonofabitch.

Dumping Clearwater over the side now, while she still did not have two
good legs to stand on, would save medical resources that could be
better employed elsewhere and terminate her pregnancy in no uncertain
fashion.  If she was carrying the Talisman, he would have to go back to
Square One and start his trip across the board all over again.

It was quick, simple and above all final, but Karlstrom knew he could
not sell this idea to anybody, least of all the President-General.  The
only way out was to arrange her escape.  But for that, he needed
someone he could confide in, someone he could trust absolutely, someone
who was prepared to betray his sacred oath of allegiance to the
President-General in the higher interests of the Federation which - in
this case - just happened to coincide with Karlstrom's.

In a society where informing on your errant comrades earned you the
secular equivalent of sainthood, such qualities were hard to find, but
Karlstrom thought he knew someone who might fit the bill.  Steven
Roosevelt Brickman ....

The thought of turning to Steve for help made Karlstrom laugh out
loud.

He was always quick to appreciate the irony of a given situation and
this one was doubly ironic.  His future was already in Brickman's
hands.  Fran's new golden boy knew something which, if divulged to the
wrong party, could threaten Karlstrom's position as head of AMEXICO and
cause untold harm to the organisation itself.

From the operational summaries dealing with the loss of The Lady from
Louisiana and the subsequent annihilation of the M'Calls, the
President-General had assumed that the explosives used so effectively
by the Mutes in their surprise attack had come from the Iron Masters.

Or, to be more precise, from the plundered wreckage of the five
wheel-boats lost during the Battle of the Trading Post.

This was not, in fact, the case, but Karlstrom had decided not to set
the record straight.  Through an administrative error, real explosives
had been supplied to a decoy unit made up of defaulters.  As the
sacrificial goats in an elaborate plan of entrapment, they should have
been issued with dummy charges; AP mines filled with sand, foil wraps
of PX containing a slab of modelling clay, and blank detonators.  Some
careless keyboarding lower down the line had resulted in them being
issued with the real thing and it had ended up in the hands of the Clan
m'call.

It was a potentially messy situation which reflected badly on AMEXICO,
but fortunately, an alert member of his personal staff spotted the
error when checking the requisitions.  The computer records had
immediately been 'sanitised' using Track-Back - a top-secret programme
designed to cover AMEXICO's corporate ass.

Conceived by Karlstrom and developed by a trusted subordinate,
Track-Back could seek out sensitive blocks or trails of data stored
anywhere on the network like a pre-H bloodhound following a scent.

Once it located 
the rogue data, it deposited a virus which caused it
to self-destruct then re-sequenced the surrounding material to cover up
any blank spots left on the storage tape or disk.

In a world run by computers, it was his insurance policy, and
spring-board to the Oval Office.  Track-Back did not only locate and
destroy potentially incriminating data, it could also insert it at any
point in the system without leaving any electronic fingerprints.

Jefferson the 31st could not live for ever, and when the time came to
arrange the succession, Karlstrom intended to use AMEXICO's electronic
expertise to help him eliminate his rivals.

There was now nothing held on the network controlled by COLOMBUS that
could lead back to the organisation, and no one on the stricken
wagon-train had survived.

The Lady from Louisiana had been completely gutted by further
explosions and fire, leaving the team of investigators with little to
poke through.

Brickman was the only person, outside his personal staff, who knew the
source of the explosives that had crippled The Lady.  Had it been
anyone else, Karlstrom would have had them shafted, but young Mr
Brickman - the hero of the hour - had too high a profile.  He had
become a credit to the organisation and for as long as he found favour
with Fran Jefferson he was fireproof.

Unbelievable.

What made it worse was the fact that Brickman knew there had been some
kind of cover-up.  Somebody close to the P-G must have commented upon
the 'official version' over the dinner table.  And on the first, and so
far only occasion, when Karlstrom had encountered Brickman in
Cloudlands, he had asked, with disarming casualness, to speak with him
in private.

Agreeing - after a suitable pause - Karlstrom had allowed the rising
star to steer him towards one of the many ornate stone fountains that
graced the formal garden areas in Cloudlands.  The young man was
learning fast.

Karlstrom played back their conversation on his mental tape-recorder,
picturing the look of transparent honesty on Brickman's face - the kind
of expression that only arch-deceivers can muster.

B: There's something I need to draw your attention to, sir.  And since
it's a rather delicate matter, it's probably better we do it here
rather than in a more formal setting.

K: Okay.  What's on your mind?

B: Well, sir, I recently heard a garbled account of the engagement
between the Clan M'Call and The Lady, at North Platte, Nebraska ....

K: Go on.

· B: There seemed to be certain inconsistencies with the facts as I
remembered them, so I asked Miz Jefferson if she could access the
official summaries for me.  I hope that was okay?

K: I imagine that would depend on what you found.

B: Exactly, sir.  It's the source of the explosives used to cripple The
Lady.  I was on board when she went up.  It couldn't have been black
powder, and gun-cotton fuses, sir.  The blasts were too powerful, too
well synchronised.

These were Federation demolition charges, detonated by battery-powered
timing devices.  Like the ones I found in the M'Call settlement.  But
there's no mention of them anywhere in these summaries.

K: I see.  Did you mention this to Miz Jefferson?  I imagine she would
be interested to know why you wanted to access this material.

B: I haven't breathed a word to anyone, sir.  And my interest in the
summaries can be explained by the fact that I was involved in the
operation.

K: Of course.  Have you come to any conclusion based on what you have
learned?

B: Well, sir, it would appear there's been some kind of cover-up.  I
obviously don't know at what level this occurred, but i felt duty-bound
to draw it to your notice.

Whoever put those explosives into the hands of that fake SIG-INT unit
bears a direct responsibility for the loss of The Lady from
Louisiana.

I don't think the personnel 
involved should be left in a position
where they can make the same kind of mistake again.

K: I agree.

B: The way I see it, sir, this is a strictly internal matter and should
be dealt with on that basis.  My overriding concern is to protect the
good name of the organisation.

My ass!  thought Karlstrom.  But what he had said was: 'I appreciate
your concern."  And then, quite stupidly, he had implicated himself by
adding: 'You will find that the organisation knows how to look after
its own."

What had prompted him, of all people, to say such a thing and play
right into Brickman's hands?!  Looking back, he could see why.  Through
Fran, Brickman had a direct route to the Oval Office.  The slightest
indiscretion on his part could open a can of worms that Karlstrom
wanted to keep shut.

Officially, AMEXICO didn't exist.  Karlstrom's official title was
Director of Operational Research - a shell organisation with its own
staff.  AMEXICO was the hidden kernel within.  Its sole purpose was to
achieve the aims and protect the ass of the man in the Oval Office
against his own kind if necessary.  Jefferson the 31st would not do
anything that might upset that arrangement - unless, of course, he
suspected he was not being kept fully in the picture.  If the true
story behind the loss of The Lady came to light it could make him
nervous.

And when President-Generals became nervous, no one was safe especially
their nearest and dearest.

Thinking it over again, Karlstrom decided he was not in any immediate
danger.  brickman would keep silent because he thought he had acquired
some leverage.

Karlstrom was happy to let him think this was the case.

It made him less dangerous.

For the moment, further overground assignments were out of the
question.  The President-General wanted Brick-man to remain close to
Clearwater.  Karlstrom was only too pleased to oblige.  He called Steve
in and told him he was being temporarily reassigned to the Eastern
Desk; a department which analysed and collated data fed into AMEXICO
from its contacts and agents inside Ne-Issan.

It wasn't a sinecure, or a pay-off for services rendered.

It was a responsible job in which Brickman's own direct experience of
Iron Master society was a valuable asset - especially now, after the
catastrophic loss of the last trading expedition.

Brickman was a shrewd operator, with many admirable qualities, but for
nearly two decades, Karlstrom had been eating guys like him for
breakfast.  That was why he was the head of AMEXICO.  He was glad
brickman had tried to lean on him.  That took a lot of balls.  And that
was the kind of man Karlstrom needed to help execute the plan he was
putting together.

Cadillac was also making plans, and as Roz listened to him, she
realised that in helping him, she could endanger Steve.  Since
responding to his call after Clearwater had been wounded, the
telepathic link between them had stayed open.  Karlstrom and his
masters knew this.

They had agreed to rescue Clearwater just as they had responded to an
earlier call to rescue Steve from the wheelboat on Lake Michigan.  Now,
following her last minute escape with Cadillac from the stricken
wagon-train, Steve had made the fatal mistake of telling Karlstrom that
she was safe and well.

He had avoided suspicion falling upon them both by pretending that she
was being held prisoner by Cadillac, but that had only complicated the
situation.  Karlstrom knew that she could induce hallucinatory
experiences, and might begin to wonder why she did not use this new
power to free herself.  And as long as he believed her to be alive and
well, he could pressure Steve to maintain telepathic contact with her
in order to find out what Cadillac was up to.

After having demonstrated how efficacious that telepathic link was, it
would look distinctly odd if Steve now claimed he could not get
through.  There was an even greater danger.  If The Federation got wind
of 
Cadillac's plans and learned that she was helping him - against the
Federation - Karlstrom might try to strike at her by harming Steve.

There was only one way to protect herself and Steve.

Roz Brickman had to 'die'.  And in order to make it convincing, she had
to warn Steve, then combine her powers in a new and terrifying way.

Fran emerged from the bathroom, tingling from a brisk rub-down after
her morning shower to find Steve still lying in bed.  She made a sarong
of the bath towel and went over to haul him out of bed.  As she got
closer and saw his flushed face and drooping eyelids, she changed her
mind.  'What's the matter, don't you feel well?"

'Not really, no.  I don't know what the hell it is, but I've been
feeling a bit off colour, and late yesterday I started getting an odd
tingling in my eyelids.  Now they won't open properly, and something's
happening in my throat."

Fran laid a hand on his forehead.  'Feels like your temperature's up,
but it's not exactly raging.  Stay there.

I'll call a doctor."

By the time Joshua admitted one of the Family doctors, Steve's eyelids
were completely paralysed, and he had difficulty explaining what was
wrong with him.  The doctor prised his eyelids open, shone a light into
his eyes, felt his throat, checked his temperature, took soundings with
a stethoscope, then turned to Fran.  'Have any other people in Savannah
been taken sick?"

Fran referred the question to Joshua, the grey-haired Mute who was Head
of Service in the mansion.

'Not as far as I know, ma'am.  Do you want me to make sure?"

'I think you'd better,' said the doctor.  'I can't be certain till we
do some other tests, but it looks as if the captain's suffering from
food poisoning - and it could be serious."

The diagnosis caused Fran to explode.  'Food poisoning?

How the hell can anyone here catch food poisoning?"

She broke off and looked down as she felt Steve tug at her trouser
leg.

He was trying to say something but seemed unable to get his tongue into
gear.  He jabbed his right forefinger nervously at the bed, then
carefully traced out three letters on the coverlet.

R...O...Z...

Fran exchanged a puzzled look with the doctor.  'Roz?"

Then she made the connection.  'ugh, jeezusss!  Roz!"  The doctor
remained perplexed.  'I beg your pardon?"

'It's ROZ who's got food poisoning!"  The doctor looked at Joshua for
enlightenment, then returned to Fran.

'I'm afraid I don't understand' · 'You don't have to,' cried Fran.

'Just get him to the clinic and do whatever you have to do!"  By the
time Steve was admitted to the Cloudlands clinic, he was exhibiting the
classic symptoms of botulism - the deadliest form of food poisoning.

The toxin was known to attack the fine nerve fibrils, stopping the
chemical reaction which, in a healthy person, causes muscular
contraction.

With his speech muscles paralysed, it was not long before the toxin
affected other parts of the throat, making it difficult for him to
swallow.  A breathing tube was inserted, and he was put on a ventilator
to prevent any further deterioration.  He was still fully conscious,
but without an antidote, it was only a matter of time before the
breathing muscles became paralysed.  Without artificial respiration, he
would suffocate, and with its supply of oxygen cut off, his brain would
be irreparably damaged.

Unable to sit still, Fran paced up and down beside his bed, gripping
his hand now and then to reassure herself that the masked, unmoving
figure in the bed was still alive.  Karlstrom had joined her in the
intensive care unit, and now stood on the other side of Steve's bed.

Fran took hold of Steve's hand again.  'Can't they do anything?  Isn't
there some drug they can give him?!"  'It's not that easy,' said
Karlstrom.  'There is an antidote - but that can end up killing you as
well.  What we have 
to remember is that it's not Brickman that has
been poisoned."

'But he's dying!"  shouted Fran.  'Look at him!!"  She let go of
Steve's hand and strode angrily to and fro, clawing the air in
frustration.  'I just don't believe this is happening!"  But Karlstrom
was right.  The tests on several samples of Steve's blood revealed no
trace of the botulinum toxin.

Just as Roz's body had reproduced Steve's wounds, his body was
duplicating the creeping paralysis that was bringing her closer and
closer to death's door.

Twelve hours later, Steve's chest muscles were almost completely
paralysed.  It was only the ventilator that was keeping his brain
supplied with the oxygen it needed.

Karlstrom dropped in again to see how he was.  Fran was still at his
bedside.  She looked worn and crumpled.

'I hear the verdict's not good."

'No.  They told me he could die within twenty-four hours of the first
signs of paralysis.  He could last longer - it depends on Roz.  But if
she's at the same stage without any of this equipment she hasn't a
hope."  Fran gestured helplessly and gave a tired laugh.  'I don't know
what I'm doing here.  When I hear people talk about bedside manners
this is not what springs to mind."

'The fact that you are here shows him you care.  That must be a
help."

'Maybe."  She became angry.  'Isn't there some way we can break this
telepathic link?!"  'I've already asked that question.  And as usual
the psionics department doesn't have an answer.  None of us know how
this telepathy business works, but that's only part of the mystery that
surrounds these two.  We know of other telepaths, but what's happening
here is absolutely unique."

'I know that, but Roz is his sister, for crissakes!  Doesn't she
realise she's killing him?!"  'She must do, but perhaps in a situation
like this the contact is involuntary,' said Karlstrom.  'I can't think
that either of them would make the other suffer deliberately.

We'll just have to keep our fingers crossed and hope that when she
dies, she doesn't take Brickman with her."

'So that's all we can do is it?  "Keep our fingers crossed"?"

Karlstrom smiled.  As their controller, Fran had been overseeing the
lives of Steve and Roz for the last five years.  'Look on the bright
side.  If they both die, it'll lighten your case load."

Shrewd as he was, the head of AMEXICO was wrong.

With Steve's connivance, Roz had induced the progressive muscular
paralysis that was the hallmark of fatal food poisoning which often
arose from eating smoked, uncooked meats - a standard item in the diet
of the Plainfolk.  In the small hours of the following morning, Steve's
condition deteriorated further.  As the doctors and nursing staff
clustered round him, his body was shaken by a series of violent
convulsions, then he went completely limp and his eyes opened.  When
they removed the oxygen mask and the tube from his throat, he was able
to speak and breathe normally, but was completely exhausted.

Fran, who had snatched a few hours sleep in an adjoining room, welcomed
him back to the land of the living with an exuberant kiss then shook
his wrists.

'Don't you ever do this to me again!"  She sat down on the edge of the
bed and gave him a searching look.  'Roz is dead, isn't she?"

Steve nodded and made a show of mastering his grief.

Fran reached out a hand and gently brushed away the brimming tears.

'Never mind.  You're safe.  That's all that matters."

Steve gazed out at the view through the triple-glazed window of
Clearwater's hospital room.  A well-kept stretch of red grass, broken
here and there by beds of flowering shrubs and trees in full leaf,
ended in a high wall of dressed stone.

The window didn't open, but a constant whispering stream of fresh
filtered air entered through louvred ducts in the walls.  The room
itself was light and airy, 
part of a small suite consisting of the
treatment unit where Clearwater now lay, a tiny kitchen/utility room,
bathroom and a sitting room, where the sealed windows reached from
floor to ceiling.

From her sitting position on the high bed, Clearwater was able to see
the trees and grass, and glimpse the blue sky above the wall.  Steve
could not help comparing her surroundings with the cell he had occupied
at Pueblo following his first adventures with the M'Calls.  And the
A-Levels - which was one vast prison camp, where the air was filled
with smoke, dust and constant noise, in which there was no night or
day.  Finding himself there, with a three-year sentence hanging over
him after those eye-opening, mind-expanding months on the overground
had been a hellish experience.

Never again ....

A female nursing orderly came in carrying two vases full of flowers
part of a bunch that Steve had selected with the help of one of the
Mute gardeners.  It was a small token to help Clearwater keep in touch
with the overground.  He had brought the first soon after being given
access to Cloudlands and had replaced them regularly ever since.  The
nurse brought them over for Clearwater to touch and smell, then placed
one on the table and the other on the window sill.  A third vase,
containing yellow roses - which Steve hadn't brought on his last visit
- stood on the bedside cabinet.

As he watched the nurse make a last adjustment to the floral displays,
Steve reflected on how much he had changed.  Two years ago, before that
fateful journey aboard The Lady, he had had no interest in any kind of
plant life.  He had viewed flowers as just part of the poisonous junk
that littered the overground.

And now ....

He closed the door as the nurse left.  'So... how are you feeling
today?"

'Much better.  Look -' Clearwater extended her arm and aimed her
forefinger at the chair Steve was about to move from the table to her
bedside.  It shot away from his outstretched hand, slammed against the
wall, then began to slide upwards as she raised her arm.

Steve leapt towards it and grasped the front legs.  'Are you crazy?!"

he hissed.  The tubular metal chair remained glued to the wall with its
back rest touching the ceiling, resisting all his efforts to prise it
loose.  'Let go!  I' Clearwater dropped her arm.  Steve caught the
chair awkwardly as it fell on top of him and lowered it to the
ground.

'What are you trying to do?"  he asked, in the same harsh whisper.

'Get us killed?"

'Don't worry.  I know where the hidden eyes and ears are."  She pointed
to the air vents around the room.  'But they cannot see or hear us."

She beckoned him to sit beside her.

Steve eyed the vents uneasily as he carried the chair over and sat
down.  'How do you know?"

'Because I have killed them."

'You can't kill them,' hissed Steve.  'They're not animals, they're
electronic devices!"  'But they are dead.  The power that runs through
them like the blood in your veins has vanished and can never enter them
again.  Isn't that the same thing?"

'I guess it is."  Steve threw his hands in the air, gave the vents
another cautious glance then said: 'You can do that - to machines?"

'I'm learning."

'I was right.  You are trying to get us killed."

Clearwater squeezed his hand reassuringly.  'No.  I have done this
twice before.  They think it is their devices which are at fault.  They
blame and curse them, not me."

'How long have we got?"  laughed Steve.

'About fifteen flicks."  'Flicks... ?"

Clearwater indicated the wall-mounted digital clock.

'The numbers.  The last two change - flick, flick, flick."

Steve laughed again.  'Those are minutes!  Sixty minutes in one hour,
twenty-four hours in one day.  You know what a day is, don't you?"

Clearwater withdrew her hand from his.  'Why do you 
mock me?  I have
heard them talk of hours and minutes but it means nothing.  Life in the
sand-burrowers' world has a strange rhythm I cannot understand.  Your
time is not the same as ours."

'Maybe - but don't let's waste any of it."  Steve stroked her hair,
brushing it back away from her face.  The Red River medics had cropped
it short, shaving it down to the skull where a couple of bullets had
furrowed her scalp.  In the last six weeks, the spiky crew-cut had
grown out into a soft, wavy bob just like Fran's.

He leant forward and kissed her on the lips.  Nothing heavy, but the
tingle which had first set fire to his loins was still there.  He sat
back to catch his breath.

Clearwater ran her hand along the sleeve of his silver-grey jump-suit,
with its two broad dark blue captain's stripes, that marked him out as
a member of the First Family, and looked deep into his eyes.  'You
don't have to hide it from me."

'Hide what?"

'The other woman in your life.  Fran."

Steve died a little.  'How do you know her name?"

'She came to see me."

Steve eyed the vase on the bedside cabinet.  'And brought you flowers
.... ' He paused, not wishing to know more but the urge was too
strong.

'What did she want?"

'To see me.  To know me - and perhaps know more about you."

Again, reluctantly, Steve asked: 'And...?"

'She's very sure of herself."

'She has every reason to be.  She's Family."

'She is also very..."

'I hope you're not gonna say "beautiful"."

'She's not ugly- at least, not on the outside.  I was going to say,
hard, calculating-but then that element of danger appeals to you.  'Be
careful."

'I will be."

'Is she very.  physical?"

The directness of the question caught Steve off guard.

He felt the colour rise to his cheeks.  Damn.... 'It's not what you
think.  It's a relationship that was forced on me."  Steve found the
vengeful barb he'd been looking for.  'Like you and the
Consul-General."

If the shot went home it didn't show, and he felt demeaned for having
said it.

'I see.  Does that mean I can take my revenge - as you did?"

'Watching him die made me feel better, but I didn't kill him because of
what happened between you.  I was following orders."

.Clearwater took hold of his hands again.  'You don't have to justify
yourself."

'I'm not trying to.  I want you to understand.  What happened then is
exactly what's happening now.  You weren't the victim, he was.  You
manipulated him.  And that's what I'm trying to do now."

'With this woman..."  · 'Yes!  Fran is our ticket to ride.  She has the
contacts we need and she can make things happen - just like your friend
the Consul-General and the guy I took advantage of, the Herald
HaseGawa."

Clearwater nodded.  'When the time comes, let me know if she needs
persuading."

'I will.  Trust me."

'Always."  She pulled him towards her and offered up her mouth to
his.

Why, Steve asked himself, should one simple word like that make me feel
so lousy?  'Listen ' The door opened and two servicemen came in.  Each
of them was toting a four-inch thick suitcase full of tools and test
equipment, and they'd been running.  Many more breakdowns like this,
thought Steve, and there'll be guys camping out in the sitting room.

"Fraid we're gonna have to ask you to cut short your visit, Captain.

We seem to have a problem with the air-conditioning."

'Sure, these things happen."  Steve exchanged an 
amused glance with
Clearwater which they didn't see.

'Thought it was getting a little stuffy in here."

Three of the nursing staff came in, took hold of Clearwater's bed and
bedside cabinet and began to manoeuvre them out through the door.

'We're just going to move you to another room for an hour or so,'
explained the senior orderly.

Steve accompanied the procession down the corridor.

'You're free to stay if you wish, sir."

'That's okay,' said Steve.  He gripped Clearwater's hand and felt her
fingers tighten round his.  'I think we've said all there is to say for
the moment."  When they reached the chosen door he gave her a comradely
pat on the shoulder and stepped aside as they wheeled her in.  'I'll
stop by when I come off duty tomorrow."

'Please do,' she said.  As they wheeled her in she looked back over her
shoulder, a knowing, conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.

Steve nodded to show he'd received the message.

Karlstrom returned the salute of the two ensigns guarding the
turnstile, stepped into the gleaming metal cylinder and was rotated
through onto the blue carpet of the Oval Office.  The President-General
stood in his usual opening position, gazing out at the
computer-generated landscape beyond the tall, curved windows.

Today's picture was his favourite view of Pre-Holocaust New England in
the fall, leaf-strewn grass overhung by yellow, gold and russet trees
which framed a white wooden building surmounted by a tall spire with a
cross on top.  A church.  A place where people gathered to worship.

Religion.  The Family had retained the concept but dispensed with the
buildings.  Twice a day, the soldier-citizens of the Federation
gathered in various-sized groups at their posts or work-places to offer
up prayers to the Supreme Being which, in their case, was not God but
the President-General.

Whenever Karlstrom entered the Oval Office for a one-on-one meeting,
Jefferson always had his back turned.  As a past-master himself in the
art of manipulating people, Karlstrom believed it was a deliberate ploy
by the PG, part of a continuing programme to create and maintain the
aura of unchallengeable superiority.  By ignoring the person entering,
he was saying: This view from my window which holds my attention is
more important than you and the business you have come to discuss and,
what is more, I do not feel threatened by your presence.

And by averting his face in those first few crucial moments, the P-G
left his visitor wondering what kind of reception they were going to
get.  The uncertainty usually put them at a disadvantage which the P-G
would then exploit in the subsequent conversation.  Rule One of
Man-Management: If in doubt, maintain effective control by undermining
the self-confidence of your subordinates.

None of this had quite the same effect on Karlstrom because he had
grown up alongside Jefferson and, for the last ten years, as head of
AMEXICO, had conferred with him daily.  He understood the process, knew
the whole thing was an act, but Jefferson still kept on trying to put
one over on him.  Maybe he just liked to keep in practice.

Karlstrom halted at the appropriate spot, coughed politely, and waited
for his presence to be acknowledged.

What would it be this time - silver-haired statesman, Prince
Machiavelli, concerned father of his people, or the regular guy - one
of the boys?

Having psyched himself up into the appropriate mood, the P-G ceased his
contemplation of Pre-H New England church architecture and turned on
the charm.  'Ben!"  The P-G offered Karlstrom a firm hand and ten
thousand volts of sincerity, then invited him to take a seat.

Regaining the high-backed swivel chair behind the blue leather-topped
desk, Jefferson gestured towards his video console.  'I've been
reviewing Brickman's summaries of what occurred at the trading post and
-' He broke off.

'How is our young hero by the way?"

'Never better,' said Karlstrom drily.

'Good.  Those casualty figures - nearly two hundred thousand dead can
we place any reliance on that?"

'I think so.  Brickman obviously didn't do a body count.  That was the
casualty figure the Mute elders came up with.  Their day-to-day
computations don't embrace numbers of this magnitude, but it squares
with our own estimates based on the video-tapes made by the
reconnaissance overflights."

Jefferson nodded.  'Yes, I saw them."

'They were subjected to careful analysis - but even if you allow for a
thirty per cent error that still leaves a big pile of dead meat."

'Plus five wheel-boats..."

Karlstrom nodded.  'Biggies.  Great Lakes trade-ships with a hundred
and fifty ratings and twenty-five officers.

Plus military units; samurai cavalry - and perhaps infantry.

At least two thousand men.  Bad news whichever way you look at it."

'And the Yama-Shita lost a similar boat and its expeditionary force in
the spring..."

'On Lake Michigan.  Hirohito's stand-in at Syracuse must be tearing his
hair out.  Well - he would, if he had any."

The P-G thought this over.  'What's been the feedback from our friends
in Ne-Issan?"

The question caused Karlstrom to shift in his seat.  'The reaction's
been somewhat mixed.  Apparently, Ieyasu ' 'The Lord Chamberlain .... '
'Yes ... was very upset when we sank the Lake Michigan wheel-boat
without prior consultation."  Karlstrom spread his hands.  'I explained
that our hand was forced by the time factor, but they seem to want to
have their cake and eat it.  The Shogun and the rest of the TohYota
family are hell-bent on destroying the YamaShita and with it, the rest
of the Progressive movement.  The trouble is, they can't do it without
our help, but they want to do it their way.

'They're also still very angry over the number of high-ranking japs
that Brickman's crew took out at the Heron Pool.  The thought of
out-landers killing samurai offends their code of honour.  That bushido
shit is a real heavy number.  When it comes to killing their own kind
they like to do things by the book.  And that means settling things
between themselves."

'But you managed to talk him round..."

'It wasn't easy, but-' Karlstrom shrugged.  'They've got more to lose
than we have."

'You mean Ieyasu has.  As I understand it, Yoritomo is still unaware
that our covert support of leyasu's intelligence network is helping to
keep the TohYota in power."  · 	'Absolutely - and we plan to keep it
that way."

Gluing Karlstrom to his seat with an imperious gesture, the
President-General got up and began to pace slowly between his desk and
the fireplace on the far side of the room.  Karlstrom slid round
sideways on his chair to avoid getting a crick in the back of his
neck.

'Have you considered how this latest episode might affect the
Federation?"

'The Yama-Shita's military expedition?"  The question caused Karlstrom
to raise his eyebrows.  'It's nothing to do with us.  They flouted the
rules laid down by the shogunate.  They tried to avenge the death of
their domain-lord by an illegal act of war and came a cropper.

End of story."

'Not quite.  They also tried to divide and rule the Plainfolk - and
almost succeeded."

'until Mr Snow pulled the rug out from under them."

Karlstrom smiled.  'The sonofabitch may have wrecked The Lady, but in a
round-about way we owe him a vote of thanks.  If the deal with the
D'Troit and C'Natti had gone through as planned, we could have been in
big trouble."

'We still may be.  Supposing they try again?"

'They won't,' said Karlstrom firmly.  'Not after the beating they
took.

Our inside sources all report that, as yet, none of the families
involved - the YamaShita, Ko- Nikka or Se-Iko- have a clear idea of
what happened 
at the trading post.  All anyone knows - and that
includes our friend Ieyasu - is that five ships were lost, probably
with all hands."

'But the full story is bound to filter through eventually."

Jefferson paused half-way through a turn and pointed to the VDU on the
side-table on the left-hand side of his desk.  'According to Brickman,
anyone in the D'Troit, C'Natti and San'Louis delegations who survived
was allowed to return home - to spread the word.  That was nearly two
months ago.  More than enough time for that word to have reached any
one of those five Iron Master outstations."

'That's true,' admitted Karlstrom.  'And the japs will then know that
their boats were wrecked and their men were killed - along with
thousands of others - by a tidal wave raised by She-Kargo summoner.  Mr
Snow might be dead, but as you saw from Brickman's report, there are
other powerful summoners.  We got one ourselves.  And that's a threat
the Yama-Shita can't ignore."

'I take the point, but the Iron Masters don't think like we do.  They
can accept defeat, but not loss of face."  The P-G went on the prowl
again.  'Let me run a scenario by you and see how it sounds."

'Okay .... ' 'You've mentioned the involvement of the Se-Iko and
Ko-Nikka families.  They were given that trading concession by the
Shogun as a pay-off for switching their support from the Yama-Shita to
the Toh-Yota and here they are, two ships down and out of pocket.  I
shouldn't be surprised if they haven't already sent a delegation to the
Shogun to ask for redress."

'Tough on them,' said Karlstrom.  'They got involved in an illegal
operation and ended up getting their fingers burned.  They won't get
any joy from Yoritomo - or Ieyasu."

'They certainly won't get any compensation,' agreed Jefferson.  'But
there are other forms of redress."

'Such as a government-led punitive operation against the Mutes..."

'It's not out of the question.  Despite their fall from grace, the
Yama-Shita still enjoy the covert support of the other progressive
domain-lords.  And because of that support the Toh-Yota were unable to
eliminate the Yama-Shita family and seize its lands - despite the
treason charges levelled against them.  Charges which were supported by
the majority of the other domain-lords.

And we know why.  They all knew that if they stood by and let the
Yama-Shita family go to the wall, they could suffer the same fate.

Once the Toh-Yota had absorbed its most powerful rival, it could pick
off the others 'one by one."

.Jefferson paused mid-way between desk and fireplace with an expansive
gesture that matched the sweep of his scenario.  'The Yama-Shita may
have overstepped the mark by setting up those out-stations around Lake
Michigan, and in attempting to enlist the help of the D'Troit and
C'Natti in enslaving the She-Kargo and M'Waukee, but you have to admit
it was a great idea."

Karlstrom nodded.

'And I believe that the majority of domain-lords including those who
have always supported the TohYota - will also regard it as a step in
the right direction.  An inevitable step .... ' 'I agree,' said
Karlstrom.  'But we've drawn the lines on the map.  Everything west of
Lake Erie and the Appalachians belongs to us."

'For the moment.  Forget about what the YamaShita were planning to
do.

The fact that it was an act of war launched without the consent of the
shogunate is a mere legal technicality.  In losing those five
wheel-boats and two thousand men, the Iron Masters - as a nation have
suffered a major military defeat at the hands of savages.

Non-persons.

The Plainfolk are the unwashed rabble they make slaves out of!  The
Shogun can't walk away from this one,' cried Jefferson.  'The honour of
the whole country is at stake!"  Karlstrom leapt to his feet.  'Yes!

But what can he do?

We've made it clear what'll happen if they move troops 
into Plainfolk
territory.  We gave them the green light to continue trading but put
the block on any military operations.  We have every right to come down
on them for this last stunt - ' 'Except, of course, we would be
penalising the wrong people."

'Precisely.  But if the shogunate succumbed to popular pressure and
broke our agreement we couldn't just sit on our hands.  We would have
to make good our threat of retaliation."

'If push comes to shove, can we deliver on that?"

'The belief that we can is what's kept them in line up to now.  That
plus the whole raft of electronic equipment we've been supplying to
Ieyasu's people.  It's those goodies which have kept the Toh-Yota one
step ahead of their rivals.  Ieyasu would block any move by the Shogun
that would rob him of our support."

'Yes.  But that unwillingness to adopt any course of action which could
lead to a conflict with the Federation could also undermine the
Toh-Yota shogunate."

'Because... they'd be defeated .... ' 'Yes.  And they'd be seen to lose
because the traditionalist policies of Yoritomo's family have held the
country back.  As long as he maintains the edict against the Dark
Light, they'll never be a match for us.  Without electricity they ain't
ever going to break out of the technological straight-jacket they've
locked themselves into."

'I can't argue with that,' said Karlstrom.  'If I've got this right,
you're suggesting that the pressure to get even with the Mutes and the
reluctance of the shogunate to do anything that will bring us down on
their necks will garner more support for the progressive movement...

and could eventually lead to the overthrow of the TohYota."

'Just airing a few thoughts,' said Jefferson modestly.

'How does it sound?"

Karlstrom nodded admiringly.  'It works for me."

'Good."  Jefferson laid a friendly hand on his shoulder.

'That's why we must do our utmost to help the TohYota stay in power."

He smiled.  'I've always had a great respect for tradition.  Families
like ours should stick together."

His grip on Karlstrom's shoulder tightened.  'I'll leave you to work
out the details."

Some weeks later, as a result of this meeting, Steve found himself
being rotated through into the Oval Office.

Waiting on the other side of the 'stile was Karlstrom.

Jefferson the 31st - whom Steve had glimpsed on two occasions in
Cloudlands but had never spoken to on an unofficial basis - was over by
his desk.  As he walked forward with Karlstrom to receive the warm
Presidential handshake, Steve caught a glimpse of someone standing by
the fireplace.

It was Fran.  How strange!  She must have known about this meeting and
yet she'd said nothing, even though that very morning she had been
wriggling around on his con-rod like a speared fish.

'Steven!  Good to see you looking so well.  Sad news about your
kin-sister.  Such promise, but there it is."

'Yes, sir."  The laying on of the hands, heating that deep tich voice
intone his name still made Steve go weak at the knees.

'We have a job for you.  A very important job that will involve a long,
and possibly dangerous, journey."

'You look surprised,' said Karlstrom.

'uh, no, sir!  I'm ready to undertake any assignment you care to give
me.  It's just that I thought you wanted me to stay close to Clearwater
in case..."

Karlstrom laid on one of his thin, mocking smiles.  'I don't think
she's going anywhere for the moment, do you?"

Sensing that Jefferson's eyes were on him, Steve pulled himself
together and put on a bold front.  'What is it you wish me to do,
sir?"

Jefferson invited him to take the second seat, to Karlstrom's right,
that stood in line with the other corner of the desk.  Fran remained by
the fireplace, behind Steve's back.

The President-General laid his forearms on his desk and crossed one
hand over the other.  He had strong fingers.  The hands of a
craftsman.

'Steven.  All the assignments you have undertaken have been important,
but on this occasion, you will be acting not just for the Federation,
but as a representative of the First Family.  You will be dealing with
affairs of state - at the very highest level.  Do you feel able to take
on this responsibility?"

'Yes, sir."

'Good.  You have given ample proof of your courage and resourcefulness,
and we have the highest regard for your intelligence and loyalty.  You
have also gained valuable experience through your contacts with the
Iron Masters.  That is why we want you to fly to Ne-Issan - to meet
with Ieyasu, the Lord Chamberlain and the Shogun, and put certain
proposals to them.  You will be acting as my personal messenger in the
same way that the Herald Toshiro Hase-Gawa represented the Shogun.

Does the idea appeal to you?"

Are you kidding?

Steve fought to catch his breath.  'uh, I - wha - why, of course,
sir!

There's just one snag.  All the top Iron Masters speak Basic, but I
only know the odd word or two of Japanese.  Won't that put me at a big
disadvantage?"

'That won't be a problem,' said the President-General.

'Commander Franklynne Jefferson speaks the language fluently."

Steve felt two familiar hands slide onto his shoulders.

The contact was so unexpected his brain froze and his body went
rigid.

It wasn't just because they were in the Oval Office, it was something
about the gesture itself.

Like, as if... she owned him...

'S-Sir...?"  It was the best he could manage.

Jefferson seemed to find Steve's momentary discomfiture mildly
amusing.

He spelt it out once again.  'Commander Franklynn will be going with
you."

Steve's brain snapped back into gear.  'Yes-sir!  I understand, sir!

The thing is ... there is no sexual equality in Ne-Issan.  The Japs
treat women as second-class citizens."

'That's why you're going to be acting as front man,' explained
Karlstrom.

'But you'll be taking your orders from me .... ' Fran loosened her grip
on Steve's shoulders and moved to the right of his chair.  He glanced
up and found a different Fran looking down at him.  This wasn't his
bed-mate, it was the President of the Board of Assessors who had
sentenced him to three years in the A-Levels ....

'Any problems with that?"  asked the President-General?

."None at all, sir!"  None at all....

CHAPTER THREE

Over the same time interval which ended with Steve getting his marching
orders, Cadillac and Roz had also been preparing themselves for a
journey into the Eastern Lands.  Among the items Cadillac had recovered
from the burnt-out ruins of the settlement were two of the three flags
made from green and gold Iron Master fabric, and his own set of body
colours - waterproof dyes in the form of a thick paste contained in
small clay pots.

There was just enough for one coat each.  After bathing in the
rock-pool, Roz knelt on a talking-mat in front of the hut, closed her
eyes and offered up her face.  Beginning a little way inside the
hairline, Cadillac slowly covered Roz's body from head to toe using
four different skin colours plus her own golden UV-tan.

Once a year over the last five years, he and Clearwater had renewed
each other's skin markings - markings that other Mutes were born with
and the random pattern of swirls and patches that began on Roz's
forehead and slowly spread to cover her whole body was a close copy of
that same design.

When the last touch had been applied and rubbed into her feet and
ankles, Cadillac stepped back to admire his handiwork.  Roz turned
around for his benefit then examined her arms and the front of her
body.

'Can I touch it?"

'Yes.  But you have to rub some wood-ash over yourself to take the raw
edge off the dye.  I'll do the bits you can't reach."  He walked with
her to the shaded rock pool and watched her peer closely at her
reflection.  'Does it feel strange?"

'No.  The strange thing is, it doesn't.  I think I prefer myself this
way."  She got up off her knees and faced him.  'It's funny, here I am
with no clothes on but...

somehow I don't feel naked.  I feel..."  she spread her arms, searching
for the word '... complete.  Except for one thing."  esponding to her
unspoken invitation, Cadillac gathered her into his arms.  'What's
that?"

'I need a Name of Power,' she whispered.

Bestowing names was one of the tasks performed by Mute wordsmiths.

Cadillac planted a kiss on the flowing dark brown stripe that now
divided her forehead.  'I have one for you.  I have seen you turn your
face to the clouds, have seen the happiness with which you greet the
falling waters.  Your name shall be Rain-Dancer."

Roz hugged him, then stepped away and leapt joyfully into the air,
turning full circle before landing gracefully with arms outstretched.

'It is done!  I have shed my other self like the snake emerging from
its old skin.  I am finally free of the Federation!"  'Don't celebrate
too soon,' said Cadillac.  'They can still reach you."

'Through Steve?"  Roz shook her head.  'Not now that we've tricked them
into thinking I'm dead."  The state of the telepathic link between
herself and Steve was the one secret she kept from Cadillac.  The last
contact had confirmed that she and Steve were free of suspicion, but
since then she had felt his mind slip away each time she tried to make
contact - just as it had when, at the age of eleven, he had announced
his intention to compete for one of the coveted places at the Flight
Academy.

Roz knew that Steve was perfectly capable of looking after himself, but
in closing the mind-bridge, he had also shut her off from Clearwater.

She and Roz could communicate without the need for words, but it was
not telepathy, it was empathy; a deep common bond of soul-sisterhood
which allowed them to understand each other's emotional state, and to
divine what the other was thinking.

But for this to take place, they needed to be in each other's
presence.  Steve was the link; the key connection that allowed her to
speak to her soul-sister from afar.  She could only enter Clearwater's
mind if it was engaged with Steve's- as she had when Steve had cradled
her wounded body while waiting for the Red River medics to arrive.

Roz guessed that Clearwater was probably being held in the Life
Institute, but with Steve's mind drifting out of reach she no longer
knew if she was safe and well.

Roz's close physical and growing mental relationship with Cadillac had
allowed him to study her closely.  He had detected a certain
evasiveness whenever he had broached the subject of Steve and
Clearwater- especially in respect of Brickman's intentions.  Whatever
he said was bound to get him into trouble, but it needed to be brought
out in the open.  'He's gone off the air, hasn't he?"

'If he has, I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason."

'Yes.  He's sold out,' said Cadillac.  'He's got Clearwater.

He knows you're with me.  He knows what you can do.  And now that
you've got him off the hook, he figures he's safer where he is."

Roz's face darkened.  'Why must you always think the worst?!"  'Because
I've been inside his head!"  cried Cadillac.

'And part of him is in me now!  I know how his mind works!"  'You have
no right to judge him!"  Roz thrust him away and walked towards the
hut.  Cadillac followed her.  Snatching her skirt off the ground with
an angry gesture, she wrapped it around her waist and fastened the ties
with trembling fingers.  Thrusting her arms into the fringed sleeves of
the leather tunic, she pulled it on and turned to face him, eyes
blazing.  'I am the only one who knows the pressure he's under!  It's
something you have never experienced!  And I pray to Mo-Town you never
will!'

'I bear heavy responsibilities?  protested Cadillac.

'And you've got me to help you!  It's not the same thing.  Here, you've
got room to think!"  Roz pointed to the ground.  'Down there is a
different world.  I know Steve is still with us.  And he's going to do
his very best to get Clearwater and her child out of the Federation the
same way he got you out of Ne-Issan."

'With a great deal of outside help,' said Cadillac sourly.

'And you may like to know that I built the aircraft which enabled us to
reach the Hudson River!  He didn't carry me.  I played an active part
in that escape!"  'Oh, really?  That's not what Clearwater told me.

She said you were the one who didn't want to leave!  Go on!

Admit it!  You were having too good a time!"  · 'I was until your
kin-brother came along!"  The words tumbled out before Cadillac could
stop himself.

'Exactly!"  cried Roz.  'You had sold out to the Iron Masters!"

'That's not true!"  shouted Cadillac.  'That's not how it was!"  'All
right, I believe you.  You had your reasons- just as Steve has equally
valid reasons for what he's doing now.

I know he hasn't sold out.  And deep down, so do you, don't you?"

Cadillac didn't reply.

Roz tried again.  'Why can't you bring yourself to trust him?"

It took a while, but when his anger had subsided, the answer came:
'Because he seeks to know everything, but he does not use that
knowledge to change himself- only to gain power over those around
him."

'Give him time."  Roz's voice was also calmer now.  'I did not see
things clearly at first, even though a voice deep within told me I did
not belong to the underground world.  Knowing is not the same as
Understanding.  How much have you changed since our life-streams were
drawn together?"

'Whose side are you on?!"  cried Cadillac, his new spirit of
reasonableness wearing thin.

'Yours!"  said Roz.  'But this jealousy, this rivalry between you must
end!  The four of us are bound 
together by ties far deeper and
stronger than mere blood and friendship!  The resentment and distrust
you harbour gnaws at that bond like a cancer.  Cut them out swiftly and
cleanly, like a surgeon wielding a knife!

Act like the warrior you're supposed to be!"  She saw her words strike
home and laughed at his crestfallen expression.  'Do you realise we've
just had our first quarrel?"

'I've a feeling it won't be the last,' said Cadillac.

Roz ran a teasing finger down his bare chest.  'So how can I make it up
to you?"

'I can think of several ways,' said Cadillac.  'But first, this pale
imitation of a warrior needs a paint job."

Protective colouring was not the only thing they needed.

The long journey Cadillac had in mind called for horses and some extra
security en route.  There was little doubt that Roz Could ward off
almost any threat they were likely to meet but Cadillac was looking for
a way to keep trouble at arms' length.  He had seen how the act of
summoning earth-magic had left both Mr Snow and Clearwater physically
weakened and looking utterly drained.

All these gifts had their price, and just as Brickman had insisted on
the need to husband Clearwater's power, so it was with Cadillac now.

Roz did not know why or how she was able to warp people's sense of
reality, she just did it.

But would it always be instantly available?  Summoners could not
produce an endless stream of earth-magic.  Her mental powers might have
similar limitations; that was why it was important not to abuse them.

He did not want to arrive in Ne-Issan - where they would be in mortal
danger every step of the way - only to discover that her 'batteries'
had gone flat.

As a couple, rattling around the landscape on their own, they were too
exposed.  To a hand of warriors from a rival clan who were out to put
some blood on their knives they looked like an easy kill - exactly the
kind of trouble Cadillac was anxious to avoid.

There was only one answer - they had to seek the protection of another
clan.  The extended truce decided upon by the Great River Council,
which had already enabled the M'Calls to gain the support of a
She-Kargo and M'Waukee clan in setting up the surprise attack on The
Lady, made such an arrangement entirely feasible.

Cadillac ran through a mental list of the She-Kargo clans who laid
claim to the territory north and east of the Laramie Mountains and
decided upon the Clan M'Kenzi.

While not as numerous as the M'Calls had been before their first
encounter with The Lady, the M'Kenzi were a large clan and their
delegation had supported Mr Snow's efforts to weld the She-Kargo and
M'Waukee into a coherent fighting force: a gesture of solidarity which
had proved costly on the day.  The M'Kenzi delegation were still
scrambling for safety when the edge of the tidal wave had barrelled
along the face of the bluffs, sweeping away many of those who had
survived the bloody retreat along the sandbars.

Magnum-Force, the M'Kenzi's wordsmith was one of the lucky ones.  And
also one of a rare breed; a female wordsmith.

Cadillac knew there had been others in the past, but Magnum was the
only living example.  He also knew that, as of last year, she had not
found a similarly-gifted child to train as her replacement.  If
approached in the right fashion, she might view him as a possible heir,
and that would be sufficient to overcome any objections the other clan
elders might have.

Wordsmiths enjoyed a special status both inside and outside their
clan.

They were regarded as being above the fray in which ordinary Mute
warriors were embroiled.

As a result, their lives were rarely threatened by rival clansmen - not
even by those disrespecters of tradition, the D'Troit.  They did not
have to 'chew bone' - to kill, or be blooded in battle - they were
regarded as having 'standing' from simply being a wordsmith.  This, of
course, had not been enough for Cadillac.  Raised in Mr Snow's shadow,
he was so hungry for recognition, 
he had sought every opportunity to
prove his worth as a warrior and had finally succeeded due to the
timely intervention of Clearwater - a fact he had conveniently
overlooked.

The first priority, however, was the horses.  On his return to the
M'Call settlement in the spring, in the company of Brickman, Malone and
his band of renegades, Cadillac had brought a number of Iron Master
horses.  Malone's men had appropriated most of them, but they had been
recovered following the midnight massacre in which Malone and every
single one of his men had been killed.  Some had been used by
Brickman's group in the attack on The Lady, but six or seven had been
left in the care of the den-mothers and She-Wolves who had stayed to
guard the settlement.

Searching the immediate surroundings of the burnt-out settlement in the
first few days after his return, Cadillac discovered two bullet-ridden
carcasses that were already being pulled apart by a jostling crowd of
death-birds.

A week later, on lower ground some two miles northeast of the
settlement, he and Roz came across the body of another horse.  From the
relatively intact state of the carcass, it had died from wounds some
days after the first pair.  That left at least three unaccounted for.

Despite the miles he had travelled on their backs, Cadillac's knowledge
of horses was, still rudimentary, but he knew about herd animals.  He
reckoned the third, wounded horse had fled at the first fusillade,
following its more-fortunate companions.  They had moved on when he
finally succumbed, but given the point where his body lay they had not
travelled very far in that seven-day period.  This seemed to indicate
they had resumed their normal grazing pattern once the initial panic
had died down.

Cadillac surmised that horses, in their natural state, behaved like
buffalo, who only ran when alerted to danger by the scout bulls on the
fringes of the herd.  If the horses had enjoyed a relatively peaceful
life sinceand with bears, jackals and mountain lions in abundance that
was certainly not guaranteed - they might still be within reach.

There was only one way to find out, and that fitted in with another
requirement; the need for Roz to learn how to run.  If she was a
full-blooded Mute, the ability to lope effortlessly mile after mile for
hours on end would be lying dormant within her, but it could not be
awakened at the snap of a finger.  After his broken leg had mended,
Brickman had trained himself back to peak fitness, but it had taken him
time to reach the combination of speed and endurance required to keep
up with a M'Call hunting posse.

Roz, like most Trackers, had followed a daily exercise regime since
early childhood, but swimming came higher on the list than running.

During her first five-mile jog with Cadillac along mountain trails she
thought she would die, but at the end of three weeks she was still on
her feet after ten, but distinctly wobbly when Cadillac stretched it to
fifteen.  Five weeks into her overground existence she was able to
overcome that pain-barrier and start pushing herself towards the target
distance of twenty-five miles.

It took a lot of perseverance on both their parts, and the fact they
were still speaking at the end of it testified to the closeness of
their relationship.  That perseverance finally paid off: the daily runs
took them further and further afield, and finally, as they crested a
rise, they saw below them a loose cluster of larches grouped around a
stream sparkling with sunlight as it rippled over a pebble bed.

Drinking from the stream were two horses, one a dappled grey, the other
a golden brown with a flowing oatmeal-coloured mane and tail - one of
several mounts Cadillac had ridden during the long journey from Lake
Michigan to Wyoming.

Cadillac led the way down the slope towards the stream, moving with the
same stealth the Mutes employed when hunting game.  As they entered the
stand of trees, the two horses turned their heads towards them several
times to assess the danger then continued 
to eat their way across the
carpet of sweet fat grass, flicking their tails to express their
annoyance at being interrupted.

Squatting down by the edge of the stream, Cadillac fished out the two
bridles he'd been carrying around in a sling pouch for the last few
days.  'Let's have a couple of those yellow-fists."

Roz produced two yellow-skinned apples from her bag.

Cadillac sliced them in half, releasing a sharp tangy smell from the
firm white flesh inside that made Roz's jaws tingle.

The dappled grey mare pricked up her ears.

Cadillac laid two pieces into the palm of Roz's hand.

'I'm hoping the roan will recognise my voice, but if he doesn't, you
know what to do."

'Wait a minute.  I know what you told me, but -' Roz looked down at the
apple halves.  'You don't seriously expect me to put these in their
mouths, do you?  With teeth like they've got?!"  'Relax!  It's not
dangerous.  Look- keep your palm flat, with your fingers turned down,
and offer it up at an angle - like that."  Cadillac arranged her left
hand in the correct position.  'The flesh on the mouth is quite loose,
and the front lips are soft and sort of leathery."

'Err-ugghhh!"  The thought made Roz shiver.

'Don't be stupid.  They can't eat you, they're not carnivores.  And
they're not going to slobber all over you.  Their mouths should be
quite dry.  Just keep your thumb tucked well in."

'Why?"

'So as not to get it bitten off."

'That's it.  That does it.  You do it, I'll watch."

Cadillac rose and stepped back out of reach as she tried to give back
the sliced apple.  'I was only joking, Roz.

How can you possibly be scared?  I'm sure you can do anything if you
put your mind to it."

'Ho, ho, very funny."  She snatched the bridle from his outstretched
hand.  'It doesn't work with animals.  I know, because I've tried."

'You didn't tell me."

'Why should I?  You'd have only made fun of me - like you're doing
now."

'Clearwater didn't have any problems.  She even knew how to talk to
them.  Right from the word go.  They were drawn to her like bees to
honey."

'Yes, well, I'm not her, and she's not here, so there's no point in
talking about it, is there?"

'You're right."  Cadillac turned away.

'Where are you going?!"  'To the other side of the stream.  I'm going
to try and work round behind the roan."

."But what do I do if they both come towards me?"

'You've got a bag full of apples.  Keep feeding 'em until I get
there."

The prospect of being run down by two large horses provoked a squeal of
dismay.  'Don't go so fast!"  But Cadillac was already over the stream
and striding away through the trees in an attempt to head off the roan
which had kicked up its heels and trotted away from its companion.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Cadillac called to the horse with
the same shrill voice he had heard the Thai stable-boys using when
rounding up horses in Ne-Issan.

Reacting to the voice, the roan halted obediently and allowed Cadillac
to get closer.  Then, catching the scent of the proffered apple, it
trotted towards him.  Cadillac readied the bridle.

Roz, on the other side of the stream, forced herself to walk towards
the dappled grey.  The closer she got, the bigger it became.  It was
absolutely enormous!  Gritting her teeth, she stretched out her right
hand and offered it half an apple.  'Come on, take it!  You great
stupid thing!"  The dappled grey sniffed the air then started to walk
forward.  In the last few weeks, Roz had discovered both the
attractions and dangers of living with wild animals, but as the horse
broke into a trot, all her lofty theories about the precious nature of
lower life forms and their rights to co-exist with Man evaporated.  All
she could feel 
now was the ground shaking beneath her, and to her
ears, the booming thump of the four trotting hoofs sounded like a roll
of thunder.

Oh, Sweet Mother.  It weighs a ton and it's not going to stop!

Gripped by an unreasoning fear, Roz turned sideways, right arm still
outstretched, ready to flee.  She held her ground until the mare was
some two yards away then dropped the apple, leapt across the stream and
hid behind the nearest tree with Cadillac's laughter ringing in her
ears.

The mare snaffled the fallen fruit with bared teeth, cleared the stream
with one stride and headed towards Roz.

'Help!  It's following me!'

'Exactly!  That's the whole idea!"  cried Cadillac.  He led the roan
downstream.  'Get your bridle ready then give her the other piece!'
'Oww-err!  Can't you help?  I'm not used to this!"  'Steve brought a
horse onto Red River, didn't he?"

'Yes - but I didn't have to feed it!"  Keeping the tree between them,
Roz offered the grey another piece of apple.  The horse caught it
between its teeth just as Roz jerked her hand away.

'Now the bridle!"  called Cadillac.  'Quick!  Grab hold of her mane!'
'I can't reach!"  said Roz.  'You'll have to do it."  She threw the
bridle towards him.

Cadillac caught it against his chest and led the roan over.  'Think you
can manage to hold onto this one?"

TII try..."

'Give me another of those apples."  Cadillac turned and addressed the
dappled grey mare soothingly, stroking its neck as it ate out of his
hand.  When the horse had quietened down, he gently eased the bridle
over its muzzle, slipped the metal bit between its teeth, and hooked
the head strap over its ears.

Roz watched him buckle the straps tight.  'You make it all look so
easy..."

'That's because this's the easy bit,' said Cadillac.  He handed her the
reins of the grey and took control of the roan.  'Sitting on top of
them and staying there is where it gets difficult."

'But at least you know how."

'Yes.  And by the time we get to where we're going so will you."

For Roz, who was almost a head shorter than Cadillac, the first major
problem was learning how to get onto the horse.  Without the aid of
stirrups and a saddle to hang onto, it demanded a fairly high degree of
physical agility and - for absolute beginners - a good deal of
determination.  Roz had plenty of that and she needed every ounce of
it.  Cadillac gave her a leg up until she had mastered the basics of
riding bareback, then left her to struggle on her own.  After countless
attempts and a great deal of cursing, she finally worked out how to
haul herself onto the horse's back, but not before she had suffered the
ignominy of overdoing the first leap up and tumbling nose-first off the
far side.

To her credit, she bore the knocks and the inevitable soreness without
complaint and eventually her persistence paid off.  Six days after
running away in panic from the dappled grey, she was able to catch,
bridle and control both horses well enough for them to begin the first
stage of their long journey.

Using strips of buffalo hide cut from salvaged hut panels, Cadillac
fashioned two wide girths to hold a part of a bearskin in place as a
saddle, and he made horizontal chest and rump straps for them to
provide an anchor point for the trucking poles.

These were long larch saplings, lashed together in parallel, just far
enough apart for the horse's hindquarters to fit between.  The top ends
were lashed to the leather harness, the strain being taken by a back
strap behind the saddle and the horse's chest; the bottom ends trailed
at a shallow angle along the ground, well clear of its rear legs.

What possessions they had, including the constituent parts of their
hut, were tied onto the light latticework platform that helped to keep
the trucking poles parallel to one another.  Roz helped Cadillac with
the construction by cutting up thin strips of hide and binding
everything together, firmly and neatly, with the same care she used
when stitching up a wound.

When all was ready, they led the horses down the only suitable trail
from the bluff to the undulating plain below.

As they were about to enter a thick stand of pines that lay across
their path, Cadillac reined in the roan and cast a long backward glance
at the slim, graceful plume of water that fell from the tongue-stone:
the landmark which, for so many years, had served to guide hunting
posses back to the settlement.

'Are you sorry to leave?"  asked Roz.

'I'm not leaving anything.  What's left of the past we're taking with
us.  But I was born up there.  Even though it is heavy with death this
place will always be special to me."

'It's special to me too,' said Roz.  'This is where I came to life.

Don't grieve.  We'll come back one day."

Cadillac clasped her outstretched hand and felt her fingers close
reassuringly around his.  'What makes you say that?"

'Isn't this where you would like our child to be born?"

The question came as a total surprise.  'Why, yes, but surely you don't
mean ?!"  'No,' laughed Roz.  'Not yet.  But when it's time, I want you
to bring me here.  Promise?"

'Yes, I promise .... ' On their second day out, they encountered a
hunting posse from the Clan K'Vanna, another branch of the She-Kargo
bloodline.  Not having a crossbow with which to send up a smoking arrow
- the signal used by rival groups of Plainfolk when they wished to
parley - Cadillac and Roz had to ride towards the posse, coming much
closer than was usual at the preliminary stages of a parley, and
running the risk of an itchy trigger finger sending a bolt through
their chests.

When Cadillac was able to see they were facing warriors from a
She-Kargo clan he motioned Roz to halt beside him.  Placing his hand
across his heart he raised it above his head to display the empty
palm.

The leader of the posse laid down his crossbow and returned the
gesture.

Cadillac dismounted, passed the reins of his horse to Roz and walked
forward.  He had prepared a big speech, but to his surprise, neither
his eloquence nor Roz's power were required to get them over the next
hurdle.

It soon became clear that all the clans who had sent delegations to the
trading post at Du-Aruta had heard about the power and triumphal
progress of The Chosen from Carnegie-Hall and the wordsmiths of the
clans that he, Steve and Clearwater had encountered on their journey
westwards to the point where they had run into Malone's renegades.  The
fact that he and Roz were on horseback, flying the green and gold
banner of Talisman, was proof of their identity and their ticket to
ride - wherever they wished - across territory held by the She-Kargo
and M'Waukee.

It was almost too good to be true.

Introducing Roz as Rain-Dancer, Cadillac asked the warriors how he
could reach the turf of the M'Kenzi.  The leader of the posse offered
to put him on the right path but not until he and his companion had
paid a courtesy visit to their settlement.  Cadillac agreed, whereupon
two of the K'Vanna warriors raced off to alert the elders.

When Cadillac and Roz arrived with the posse, they were received with
some ceremony.  The death-defying act that he, Steve and Clearwater had
performed with the aid of rolled straw mats and a samurai sword had
left a deep impression on everyone who had seen it, and the K'Vanna
elders, led by their wordsmith DowJones-Index, were dearly hoping for a
repeat performance.

, Cadillac, who had met Dow-Jones on previous visits to the trading
post, made a great play of taking the elders into his confidence.  In a
hushed voice which drew the 
circle of heads towards his, Cadillac
announced that he and Rain-Dancer were preparing themselves for an
encounter of earth-shaking importance with the Iron Masters.  If
brought to a successful conclusion, it would secure the future of the
Plainfolk.  It was, therefore, absolutely vital that he and his
companion preserved their magical energies until that fateful moment.

Did they not agree?

Of course they did.

But Cadillac had another more important reason for not turning Roz
loose.  She was a key part of the presentation he intended to make to
the forthcoming Plainfolk Council and he did not want to lose the
element of surprise by giving sneak-previews to all and sundry.

Assuaging his disappointed hosts with the promise of further secret
revelations at Sioux Falls, Cadillac and Roz resumed their journey and
were passed on by the K'Vanna to the O'Shay.  Once again their arrival
created a wave of excitement followed by a sense of anticlimax which
Cadillac quickly smoothed away with more artful diplomacy.  Roz, who
shadowed him throughout, watched and listened with growing admiration
as he won over yet another audience.

Five days into their journey, they finally made contact with the Clan
M'Kenzi and their wordsmith, Magnum-Force, a tough-minded, hard-bodied,
handsome woman with over fifty life-beads on her necklace.  She and
Cadillac were well acquainted through her friendship with Mr Snow - a
friendship that was something more than the professional link all
wordsmiths shared.

Some years back, in a rare moment when one too many lungfuls of
rainbow-grass had got the better of his discretion, Mr Snow had hinted
at a deeper relationship dating back to the time when he and Magnum had
first come to the trading-post as young pupils of their predecessors.

A mutual attraction which he claimed had never been requited because of
the strict taboo on sexual relationships between members of different
clans.

. Having recently discovered more about Mr Snow's early life, including
the hidden cave which he allegedly used for illicit amorous liaisons,
Cadillac was no longer sure that the old fox was any great respecter of
tradition.

Magnum had survived the Battle of the Trading-Post and had seen Mr Snow
lying grey-faced and totally exhausted on what many of his entourage
said was his death-bed.  Magnum had spent many hours by his side and
had been close at hand when the young man she knew as Cloud-Warrior had
had several whispered conversations with him.  Later, when the first
Plainfolk Council ended, she saw the Old One rally, and what remained
of their two delegations had journeyed side by side towards Wyoming.

Mr Snow had been alive when they parted and one of the first things she
wanted to know was his present state of health.

'Did you not hear of the great battle at Big Fork?"

'I have heard there was a battle with several iron snakes in which many
of the Plainfolk perished,' said Magnum.

'One snake was consumed by fire, four more limped away with their backs
broken."

Cadillac squared his shoulders.  'The blood that was spilt was the
blood of the Clan m'call!"  he declared proudly.  'And the Old One died
leading them in battle."

The news left Magnum visibly shaken.  She hung her head for a long
moment and when she raised her eyes to meet theirs her face was
streaked with tears.  'I shall miss him,' she said.  And with that
simple epitaph, she threw back her head, cleared her throat and became
her brisk, no-nonsense serf.  'How can I help you?"

Cadillac explained the situation that he and Rain-Dancer found
themselves in, and how he was hoping that the extended truce might
permit their adoption by

the Clan M'Kenzi.

'For how long?"

'The foreseeable future."

Had they been ordinary Mutes it would have been out of the question,
but it was not without precedent 
for wordsmiths who, for one reason or
another, found themselves without a clan.  Cadillac himself had been
offered the chance of joining a D'Troit clan and had come close to
getting himself killed for saying 'no'.

Magnum wiped the tear-stains from her cheeks with the back of her
hand.

'You certainly don't believe in pussyfooting around."

'Neither do you."  Cadillac shrugged.  'Rain-Dancer and I need a secure
base.  We won't be here all the time, but when we are we don't expect
special treatment.  We'll do our share of whatever has to be done like
everyone else.  You could benefit a great deal from what we know.

Always assuming 'we get back in one piece from the Eastern Lands."

'Is that where you're going?"

'Yes.  All will be revealed at the Big White Running Water."

The Mute name for Sioux Falls...

'And we'd like to go there as part of your delegation,' added Roz.

Magnum eyed them both in turn.  'That's kay as far as it goes but
what's in it for us?  What exactly are these benefits?"

'I'll be in a better position to answer that question when the
Plainfolk Council meets,' replied Cadillac.

'But Rain-Dancer is a healer and I know the ways of both sand-burrower
and dead-face.  And I can make you one promise now.  If I outlive you,
and provided your people so honour and accept me, I am ready to become
wordsmith to the M'Kenzi - unless, of course, you find a worthier
apprentice between now and then."

The offer brought tears back to Magnum's cheeks.

'How strange life is!  If Mo-Town's hand had caused me to be born in
another's place, unfettered by the traditions which separate our clans,
you might have been my son and Mr Snow might have been your father.

But it could never be.  And now here you are..."

Magnum stood up.  Cadillac and Roz followed.  'Welcome, my children."

She embraced them both in turn.

'From this day on, you shall enjoy the same rights and be held in the
same esteem as the most favoured of our own sons and daughters."

'Thank you,' said Roz.

Cadillac could see that she was affected by Magnum's emotional reaction
to the news of Mr Snow's death.  He ran a comforting hand across her
shoulders then turned back to Magnum-Force.  'Won't you need to clear
this with the clan elders?"

Magnum's jaw-muscles hardened.  'When it comes to important decisions
they usually end up doing what I think is best.  But before I put this
to them, there is.  one thing.  If you're serious about being our next
wordsmith- '

'lam-' 'They will probably insist on you both adopting our clan name.

It means the end of Cadillac m'call.  Are you ready for that?"

It was one of those rare occasions when Cadillac was at a loss for
words.

Magnum-Force exchange an amused glance with Roz.

'No.  Clearly not.  Never mind.  If the matter comes up - as it most
certainly will - I'll suggest we postpone your formal adoption until
you return from the Eastern Lands."

'Good thinking,' said Cadillac.  'I won't forget this."

'I don't intend to let you,' said Magnum.

That night, when they lay between the furs in their newly-erected hut,
Roz said: 'They did .... ' Cadillac eased away from her.  'Who did?"

'Mr Snow and Magnum-Force."

'Did what?"

Roz hugged him fiercely and pressed her naked body closer to his.

'What we're doing now .... ' The first formally convened Plainfolk
Council proved to be a rambling affair that spread itself over the
first three weeks of September.  With so many hatchets to bury, there
was a great deal of argument, much of it 
bad-tempered.  The general
truce agreed by the shaken delegates after the Battle of the Trading
Post had not been universally observed by the young bloods of their own
clans, but that had not deterred them from sending representatives to
Sioux Falls.  As a consequence, the opening round of debates
degenerated into a series of interminable slanging matches in which
accusations and counter-accusations were hurled across the ring.

Cadillac and Roz were probably the only participants not seeking
redress for some real or imagined wrong.

After three days of verbal blood-letting had gone by without anything
positive having been achieved he began to get a little impatient, but
he was shrewd enough to realise that he stood a better chance of
impressing his views on the assembly if he waited for the acrimony to
subside.

It was in the second week that a constructive dialogue began to emerge,
by which time Cadillac had had ample opportunity to discover how well
or poorly each bloodline was represented, and to test the varying moods
of the major delegations.  As expected, the She-Kargo and M'Waukee were
there in strength along with the San' Paul, the lesser bloodline who
had stood with them against the D'Troit.  There were a surprising
number of C'Natti delegations and some from the San'Louis, but still
less than half those who, in previous years, would have assembled at
the old trading post.

There were no delegations from the D'Troit, but many reports that
several big D'Troit clans like the D'Vine, D'Sica and D'Niro who had
carved their way into territory which was once the sole preserve of the
She-Kargo, had been spotted moving eastwards towards Lake
Mee-Sheegun.

The migration seemed to indicate that the D'Troit intended to throw
their lot in with the Iron Masters despite the clemency shown to the
defeated warriors who had survived the tidal wave, and the fact that
their illustrious patrons had also suffered heavy losses - plus a
severe blow to their prestige.

So be it.  . . .

To Cadillac, the fact that the clan delegations were here at all, and
in such numbers, was a minor miracle in itself.  The Battle of the
Trading Post was a watershed in the history of the Plainfolk, but the
traditions built up over nine hundred years could not be abandoned
overnight.  The changes that needed to take place before the Plainfolk
could become a nation struck deep into the core of their
belief-system.

A warrior measured his worth in hand-to-hand combat in which he or his
adversary could die, and often did.  Death or dishonour.

Raw courage was the cornerstone of Mute existence; physical strength
and endurance the foremost attributes.

Their distant ancestors had survived through their ability to fight,
and their readiness to kill for food, shelter, to protect their own and
what they held to be theirs.  Often, territory was the only thing they
possessed; everything else of value had been turned to ashes.

With the passing of time, as the wastelands healed, the clans had moved
into the vast, empty spaces.  Red grass sprouted from the charred
earth, fruit trees came into bud.  Herd animals, once driven to the
edge of extinction by high-velocity rifles, grew in numbers; birds and
fish multiplied.  The murderous battles for scarce,resources became
ritualised combats in which the young braves of both sexes gained
'standing' - the first step to warriorhood.

Fighting became a way of life even though there was enough food and raw
materials and more than enough space to go round.  The need to defend
your 'turf' was a legacy from urban life in the pre-Holocaust era when
*the sidewalks around the block in which you lived were the only thing
to which the ghetto-people could lay claim.

With few possessions, a crippling lack of education, work-skills and
job-opportunities, courage was the only badge the young bloods could
wear with pride before they, like their elders, were worn down into
hopelessness or destroyed by the system.

Anyone who didn't belong, intruders from the next block had to pay
tribute or be resisted - whatever 
the cost..That territorial
imperative, combined with sewer-rat cunning, energy and ruthlessness
enabled a favoured few to survive the War of a Thousand Suns.

Many of these perished in the Great Ice Dark which followed, but some
found the will to endure until the skies cleared and the blood drained
from the face of the sun.

A new world was born but the old ways did not die with the Old Time.

The scattered groups of people who were to become the Mutes never
learned to put their trust in one another.  They remained fragmented.

Prior to the Battle of the Trading Post, Plainfolk Mutes made no
distinction between the braves of a neighbouring clan and a company of
Trail-Blazers.  Certain 'rules of engagement' were observed when Mute
clashed with Mute, but apart from that small distinction, both were
regarded as the enemy and an incursion by either was resisted with
equal ferocity.

This was the big hurdle that had to be overcome.

Somehow, Cadillac had to find a way to persuade the assembled elders
that there was only one enemy - the Federation.  Drawing their own
blood did not strengthen the Plainfolk, it weakened them and allowed
the Federation to score easy victories.

From his preliminary conversations it was clear that the elders knew
this, but getting them to do something about it was a different matter
entirely.  The Plainfolk were prisoners of their own history, and it
was this same inability to forget their differences and band together
which had led to the piecemeal subjugation of the Southern Mutes.  It
was not yet complete, but those who had escaped the yoke of the
Federation remained fragmented and did not pose a serious threat to the
overground activities of the sand-burrowers.

The eventual fate of these remnants and the present condition of their
blood-brothers provided a powerful argument for the Plainfolk to unite
under the banner of Talisman.  But that, in itself, would not ensure
victory.

In addressing the burnt and blistered M'Call Bears after the battle
with The Lady, Mr Snow had spoken of the need for new ways, new
weapons.  Physical bravery, for which the Plainfolk were renowned, was
not enough.  Not against the Federation.

That, at least, was something the assembled wordsmiths and elders at
Sioux Falls were able to agree on.  New weapons had to be obtained.

Powerful long sharp iron like the cannon plundered from the wrecked
wheel-boats.  Some of the iron balls they hurled through the air had
been recovered, but no one knew how to make the cannons speak with a
tongue of flame and a voice like sky-thunder.

.Cadillac knew how, but on making enquiries, he learned that the few
unbroken casks of black powder had been prised open and emptied by the
scavengers in the hope of finding something useful within.  New weapons
could only be obtained from one source - The Eastern Lands.

Ne-Issan.

A way had to be found to resume trade with the dead-faces, but after
the calamitous losses they had suffered at the hands of the Plainfolk
how could the two sides be brought together to even discuss such a
proposal?

Cadillac believed he, and he alone, was the man who could effect a
reconciliation and clinch a new trade agreement.  With Roz's help he
was ready to venture into Ne-Issan and parley with those who now ruled
in place of Hirohito Yama-Shita- the domain-lord who had fallen prey to
Clearwater's earth-magic.

On the day he chose to announce his plan, it was Carnegie-Hall's turn
to preside over the three-deep ring of wordsmiths from the various
clans and bloodlines.

Sitting crosslegged behind them were the other delegates, mainly elders
of both sexes.  They in turn were surrounded by a shifting crowd of
warriors, some of whom had been recruited to lend their vocal support
to a particular faction or argument, others listening out of genuine
interest or curiosity.

And when that curiosity was satisfied or their interest in the
proceedings waned they wandered off elsewhere 
to watch or participate
in one of the many peripheral activities: bouts of wrestling, feats of
strength, practice duels with the increasingly popular quarterstaff
which Steve had introduced, and a host of other rough-and-tumble team
events.  A kind of bare-knuckle Olympics.

Elsewhere, more serious business was being conducted.

The process of inter-clan bartering which had started on the bluffs
above Du-Aruta continued as the newly-styled 'vendors', who formed a
key part of each delegation, honed their trading skills amid the hustle
and bustle of a sprawling, open-air bazaar.

When it was his turn to take over the centre of the ring, Cadillac
reviewed the options open to the Plainfolk.  The resumption of trade
was a vital first step but they could not go back to the old ways.

From henceforth, declared Cadillac, the Plainfolk must not go in fear
of the Iron Masters.  They must trade as equals.  Cadillac spoke of
what he had seen in Ne-Issan, of the Lost Ones - the journeymen and
women who lived and worked in chains and were regarded as being lower
than the beasts of the field, and of their offspring, the Iron-Feet,
born into a life of unending slavery.

'Never again,' he cried, 'must we allow our blood-brothers and sisters
to journey across the Great River!

All of us have closed our eyes and hearts, preferring not to know or
even reflect upon the fate we condemned them to - through our inability
to help ourselves!

'That time has passed!  We must not only defend this sacred ground
against those - on all sides - who seek to take it from us, we must
pledge ourselves to win freedom for all those who toil in chains under
the whips of the dead-faces and the long sharp iron of the
sand-burrowers!"  His words drew a rousing cheer from the outer ring of
spectators, but the elders and wordsmiths were less enthusiastic.  They
nodded gravely to show they agreed with this ringing declaration of
independence but remained sitting firmly on their hands.

Magnum-Force, wordsmith of the Clan M'Kenzi who had taken Roz and
Cadillac under their wing, stood up and was given permission to
respond.  'These are spirited words, in the tradition of your teacher,
Mr Snow, architect of our great victory and in whose name we are
gathered here today.  But despite his vision, and all the recent
declarations of goodwill - which still hang on the air - there are many
of our own bloodline, of the M'Waukee, C'Natti and San'Paul still ready
to cut each other's throats!  We cannot go forward until those who sit
amongst us with blood on their knives - ' Her words caused an immediate
uproar.  Those who felt unjustly accused, the unrepentant aggressors
and their outraged victims, and the anarchic fringe who just liked
sowing disorder, all leapt to their feet and tried to shout each other
down.

It took several minutes for Carnegie-Hall and the silent majority to
restore order.  When everyone had subsided leaving only the M'Kenzi
wordsmith and Cadillac standing, Carnegie-Hall motioned for Magnum to
continue.

She surveyed the seated delegates, treating the most vocal of her
detractors to a contemptuous stare.  'The Plainfolk will never be great
while there are more yapping jackals than bears and mountain lions.

Those who have broken their solemn pledge may be able to ease their
guilt by shouting me down but it is not our tongues that will defeat
the dead-faces and sand-burrowers - it is our knife-arms!'
'Heyyyy-YAHHH!"  yelled the crowd.  And this time, most of the
wordsmiths and elders joined in the chorus of approval.

Magnum-Force turned to Cadillac.  'I applaud the breadth of your vision
but I think you ask too much of us.  Those with wise heads and open
hearts from the great bloodline of the C'Natti have chosen to join us,
but many more have stayed away.  There is not one amongst us who
represents the D'troit.

'The Plainfolk is a house divided!  How can we hope to overcome the
armed might of the dead-faces and the 
iron-snakes of the Federation?

We cannot!  We know this and so do their great chiefs.  And yet you
talk of imposing terms on the dead-faces!  You claim to be one of The
Chosen who herald the coming of Talisman.  You claim to speak for him
'

'That is true,' interjected Cadillac.

'It is true you have inherited the tongue of Mr Snow,' admitted
Magnum.

'And you can read the seeing-stones but you have no earth-magic.  You
are no Storm-Bringer!"  'That is also true .... ' 'Then tell us!  How
can you defend the interests of the Plainfolk when you cannot even
defend yourself!"  The question evoked a challenging roar from the
doubters in the audience.

Cadillac held up his hands to appeal for calm, then sought out Roz and
motioned her to join him.  As she threaded her way through the seated
delegates he said: 'My given role is to speak for the Plainfolk."  He
swept his eyes around the ring of wordsmiths then aimed his words to
those beyond.  'All of you know that a swift mind and tongue can
achieve more than the sharpest blade.  The tales a wordsmith spins and
the wisdom he dispenses are the cords which bind us to the past and
future and hold the clan together.  Without the clan, without that bond
forged by the shared memories of valorous deeds, we cannot know
ourselves or why we tread the earth.

'That is why you honour us by giving me and my respected colleagues
pride of place in this assembly!  I seek to reason with our enemy
because they have minds which can be entrapped by cunning argument just
as bears are lured to honey!  Talisman has given me the power of words
and: .  ."

He broke off as Roz approached.  Seizing her shoulders, he presented
her to the four quadrants of the circle.  '...

he has given this woman even greater power than the Storm-Bringer!'
This claim triggered murmurs of astonishment and cries of disbelief.

Cadillac stood back and introduced Roz with a sweeping gesture.

'Rain-Dancer!  Fourth and last of The Chosen!  She will show you the
magic that will confound our enemies!"  As Roz cast her gaze slowly
around the ring, an eerie silence descended.  'Stretch out your right
hand towards me, and close your fist!"  The wordsmiths and elders did
so.  'And you!"  she cried, to the crowd pressing in around the seated
delegates.

The front ranks obeyed.  Those further back, and people passing by, did
not feel the same compulsion.

Cadillac found his right hand was also extended towards her and hoped
whatever image she planned to implant would not be too awful to
contemplate.  He tried to catch her eye but she was already pivoting on
her heel, snaring the minds of those around her with another
spell-binding illusion.

Cadillac, like the crowd of spectators was pleasantly surprised to find
himself holding the stalk of a bright red flower which opened in the
blink of an eye.  Cries of delight and amazement burst from those
around them, but they were shortlived.  As the perfume from the red
bloom reaches their nostrils, it became a thorn-stick with razor-sharp
spikes like eagle's talons!  And where the hand gripped the stick, the
startled holder could feel the thorns buried deep in his flesh.

Many of those caught up in the mind-spell tried to let go, but each
attempt to loosen their grip had the effect of tightening it even
further.  Blood oozed between their fingers and down the lower part of
the stalk.  The pain was considerable, but not unbearable.  Mutes had
an incredibly high threshold of pain.  It was more the shock of the
brutal transformation that caused them to cry out.  But as they did so,
the thorn-stick became a wriggling snake poised to sink its fangs into
their forearm!

Roz allowed them to open their hands.  The result was total
pandemonium.  Everyone leapt to their feet, hurled their snake to the
ground and stampeded away from the centre, leaping and hopping over the
carpet of writhing serpents thrown down by those behind them.

Cadillac held grimly onto his.  He knew that none of this was real but
his brain thought otherwise, and he had to force himself to grip the
rattlesnake when all his instincts were telling him to throw it away!

And at the very instant his will failed him, the snake in his fist
became another red flower which promptly vanished leaving only its
scent lingering on the air.

The power which Roz was able to exercise, its scope, the ease with
which she had snared several hundred people in her mental net was
incredible.  Those on the fringe of the crowd whose minds remained
untouched could not, of course, see the flowers, thorn-sticks or
snakes.  All they saw was a crowd of elders recoil from their empty
out-stretched fists then leap up and run in all directions, hopping and
skipping as if they were walking on red-hot coals.

Since the front rows of standing spectators had also turned tail, those
on the fringe were obliged to give way.

Jostled from all directions by senior clansmen of every stripe and
colour babbling about a plague of snakes, they stared at the empty
ring, totally bewildered by the eccentric behaviour of their leaders.

There was not a single snake to be seen.  Discarded mocassins, sandals
and leather helmets lay in the grass around the two people who had
stood their ground -Cadillac and his smooth-boned female companion,
Rain-Dancer.

Having retreated to a safe distance, the wordsmiths, elders and the
smitten front rows of onlookers also turned and realised with some
embarrassment that it had all been a trick of the mind.  Some, whose
sense of self-importance could not permit the idea they had also been
made fools of, covered their confusion by a show of anger.  Leading the
surge back into the ring, the protestors closed in on Roz, waving their
fists and hurling abuse.

Cadillac appealed for calm but she was ready for them.

Ice-cool, determined, and in complete command of the situation, it was
hard to believe this was the same Roz who had fled yelping in panic
from the dappled grey mare.

To the horror of those around them, the fists of everyone making a
menacing gesture burst into flame.  And this time, the pain was
excruciating.

Screams and curses filled the air as those around the stricken
protestors tried to smother the flames with articles of clothing.  But
as they did so, the flames vanished, leaving the flesh unmarked and
whole.  Everyone fell to their knees around Cadillac and Roz.  Truly,
this was great and terrible earth-magic!

'Will you not learn?!"  shouted Cadillac angrily.  'What more proof do
you need?!"  He pointed at Roz.  'The power of Talisman flows through
her!  Our enemies are helpless against her magic because they only see
what we wish them to see, and hear what we wish them to hear!"  Roz
pivoted on her heel, capturing the circle of kneeling spectators in one
sweeping glance.  Those nearest to her cowered away from her then
gasped as she and Cadillac vanished from sight.  More cries of
amazement, some of the hardier spirits started to rise and were
immediately flattened as the earth trembled beneath their feet and a
deafening peal of thunder split the sky over their heads.

Everyone fell on their faces and hugged the ground.

The day the earth moved was a folk-memory seared into the minds of
every Mute since the War of a Thousand Suns.  A prolonged earth-tremor
turned the bones of even the bravest warrior to jelly.

Once again, no one beyond the circle felt the ground shake or heard the
thunder.  Cadillac and Roz had not vanished.  They only appeared to do
so in the minds of those who had fallen under her spell.  And when they
both reappeared it was to an almost universal roar of acclamation.

Heyy-YAHH!  Heyy-YAHH!  HEYYYAAHHH!!

The cheers that were less than fulsome came from the throats of those
still shaken by the experience of having seen their right fists burst
into a ball of flame.

Thrilled to be playing host to such an outstanding duo, their adoptive
clan insisted on placing a special guard 
around the hut which the
M'Kenzis had put at their disposal.  Taking her cue from Cadillac, Roz
accepted what was, for the egalitarian Mutes, a signal honour.  She had
never been treated like a V.I.P before.

Cadillac took it all in his stride.  learning up with Roz had
dramatically increased his standing, but it was no more than his due.

They were, after all, The Chosen and about to risk their necks for the
Plainfolk.

'You're getting better by the day,' he said, as the residue of the meal
that had been prepared for them was cleared away.  It had been cooked
by three M'Kenzi women who had remained on their knees with their eyes
averted while serving the various courses.

'I seem to have frightened everyone half to death,' replied Roz.

'That won't do us any harm.  You know what the biggest problem is with
the way Mutes run things?  They talk too much.  Everyone feels they
have the right to stick their oar in."

'Oar...?"

'A shaped wooden pole the fisherfolk use to propel their boats through
the water."

'Ahh... Don't you think that's a good thing - people having a say in
what happens to them?"

'In theory, yes - but where has it got us?  Too many conflicting
opinions and aspirations.  No cohesion.  No vision!  What the Plainfolk
need is strong leadership!"  'Isn't Talisman supposed to provide
that?"

'Talisman isn't here?  snapped Cadillac.  'For heaven's sake, Roz!  I'm
talking about what needs to happen now!

We're facing a threat from the Iron Masters and the Federation.  The
Plainfolk can only survive if they get organised.  Someone's got to
grab these guys by the scruff of the neck and start banging heads
together."

Roz eyed him as she washed the meat juice off her hands in the bowl
that had been laid reverently in front of her.  'And is that what you
see yourself doing?"

'With your help, yes."  He met her eyes with a confident smile.  'I
feel ready to take charge- why be coy about it?"

'Why indeed?"  said Roz.  'You sound just like Steve!"  Cadillac wasn't
sure if that was a reproach or a compliment.  'Really?  I know one
thing.  If he was in my place he'd go for it."

'Yes... I imagine that's just how the Founding Father felt."

'This is not like that."

'I hope not,' said Roz.  'I don't want to find myself being ruled by
another First Family."

Cadillac fixed her with a searching glance.  'What if you were part of
it?"  His question was met with silence.  He tried again.  'Somebody
has to lead.  Will you follow?"  · Roz thought about it for a while
then replied with a fatalistic shrug.  'The Wheel turns, The Path is
drawn .... ' Cadillac reached out, took hold of her hand, and coaxed
her to her feet.  'Then let's take it - one step at a time.

together."

CHAPTER FOUR

While Cadillac had been touring the encampment in an effort to gather
support for his grand strategy, Roz had been busy on his behalf,
trawling the open-air bazaar for Iron Master swords, clothes and
accoutrements.

Cadillac wanted to acquire two complete sets of samurai battle-dress,
from the items that were being offered under the barter system by which
goods were exchanged.  All the Iron Master clothes and artefacts now on
display had been stripped from the gaping hulks of the wheel-boats and
the sodden mud-caked corpses of their crews but they were not all on
offer.  Some adorned the vendors, and many of the She-Kargo and
M'Waukee warriors were carrying sheathed samurai swords.  Others had
claimed the brass helmet crests and various other decorative bits and
pieces as battle trophies and these were now attached to their own
hand-sewn headgear and chest-leathers.

By the time Cadillac was called upon to formally address the assembly
of wordsmiths, elders and paramount warriors, Roz had mentally noted
the whereabouts of most of the items he had asked her to find.  The
trouble was, they had precious few goods of their own to exchange.  Her
stunning demonstration of mind-control solved the problem.  When she
visited the bazaar on the following day, the vendors competed for the
honour of her custom, eagerly offering to give her whatever she
required.

All those with samurai clothes and armour were asked to match up
complete outfits using design motifs, cord-knotting and colour-trim as
a guide.  It took a whole morning to sort out the various bits and
pieces but finally, with the help of Roz's analytical eye, the vendors
managed to assemble several dozen sets which were laid out for
Cadillac's approval.

Roz accompanied him down the line.  His aim was to find the clothes,
swords and head-gear of two high-ranking officers.  Every time he came
to a particularly fine-looking helmet he asked its new owner to place
it in his hands.  Roz and those around her watched with hushed
attention as he felt its shape and texture.  Sometimes that was enough,
but if he got a positive feed-back, he put the helmet on his head and
closed his eyes, creating a stillness at the centre of his being.

In this trance-like state, he was able to draw from the metal a series
of pictures which gave him the identity and essence of the owner.

After a dozen or so tries he struck lucky, and by the time he reached
the end of the line he had found the helmets worn by Samurai-General
Oshio Shinoda, the supreme military commander of the ill-fated
expedition, and one of his senior officers, Samurai-Major ^kido
Mitsunari.

Shinoda's helmet had been correctly matched to his breast-plate, back
and hip-armour but the rest of the apparel did not belong.  Finding it
was not too difficult.

Once Cadillac had tuned in on the residual vibrations of the dead
owners he was able to assemble some eighty per cent of their original
outfits from amongst the items on offer.  Replacements for the missing
gloves, shoes and, in the case of Shinoda, his swords, were chosen to
blend in with the overall style and colour.

The last items on Cadillac's shopping list were two saddles and full
sets of tasselled harness.  It was not necessary to match them to the
battle colours of the riders.  Not a single Iron Master or horse had
survived the massive tidal wave but if, by a miracle, some had, it was
highly unlikely that those who staggered from the receding waters would
have emerged with their original mount.

The raggle-taggle effect reinforced the story that Cadillac intended to
present as his passport to Sara-kusa the fortress home of the
Yama-Shita family.  Making use 
of his ability to speak fluent
upper-class japanese Cadillac proposed to journey with Roz into the
enemy heartland, disguised as high-ranking samurai - the sole survivors
of the trading expedition.

The ferocious steel masks which had earned them the name of
'dead-faces' would camouflage their Mute identities for most of the
journey, but for the occasions when people came within close range or
in situations where they could not remain masked, Cadillac was relying
on Roz's magic to convince any Iron Masters they met en route that they
were aiding the return of their own kind.  And that included their new
vassals, the Mute clans from the bloodline of the D'Troit.

Cadillac's plan of action was staggeringly ambitious.

On their arrival at Sara-kusa, his first objective was to re-establish
the trading links between the YamaShita and the Plainfolk, sweetening
the arrangement by offering - once again - the secrets of powered
flight and other aspects of Tracker technology he had acquired from
dipping into the minds of Steve, Malone and his renegades.

If the Yama-Shita family proved amenable, Cadillac intended to reveal
how Lord Yama-Shita had been betrayed and killed, and his family
humbled, by an unholy alliance between the Toh-Yota shogunate and the
Federation.  Having already escaped from Ne-Issan with Steve,
Clearwater, Jodi and Kelso, Cadillac now knew enough about the cosy
relationship between AMEXICO and the spy network controlled by Ieyasu
the Shogun's uncle and principal advisor- to blow the Toh-Yota family
out of the water.

At the very least, this information would result in a messy civil war;
at best, the Progressive Party led by the Yama-Shita would sweep aside
the Toh-Yota and gain control of Ne-issan.  With the country torn apart
by war, the Iron Masters would be unable to implement any policy they
might have for territorial expansion, and if the Progressives gained
power, the Amtrak Federation could not ignore the threat to its own
position.  It would be compelled to intervene, diverting men and
resources away from their centuries-old conflict with the Mutes.

If Roz was able to keep them both alive long enough for him to lay this
information before the new leaders of the Yama-Shita, he had not the
slightest doubt that, in one short visit, he could destroy the status
quo and plunge the continent into a ferment of blood-letting from which
the Plainfolk would emerge victorious.

Cadillac outlined the broad aims of his plan to the assembled delegates
but did not go into details.  The tangled web of plot and counter-plot
hatched by the opposing parties, and Ieyasu's treacherous use of the
Dark Light to suppress those who sought to resurrect it would only have
served to confuse his audience.

Persuaded by his eloquent presentation and the indisputable power of
his companion's magic, the delegates applauded the plan and wished them
both a safe and speedy return.

It only remained for the delegates to arrange a new date and meeting
place.  There were many who supported a return to Du-Aruta.  Cadillac
argued against this proposal.

If the Plainfolk were to deal with the Iron Masters on equal terms, the
trading post had to be located on ground of their choosing, beyond the
range of the wheel-boats' cannon and the threat of a surprise attack by
a waterborne army.

Never again, said Cadillac, must the Iron Masters vessels be allowed to
dominate the skyline and the proceedings.  Sioux Falls - the place the
Mutes called Big White Running Water - was situated near the centre of
Plainfolk territory; the journey would not only be much shorter for all
concerned, the convergent movement towards it would also be a symbolic
coming together, as opposed to a long parallel pilgrimage to the shores
of the Great River.

From this day on, the Iron Masters would have to carry their goods
across a Plainfolk sea of red grass.  And instead of the alien timbers
erected by the dead-faces, a new trading post- made up of elements
representing each 
of the bloodlines - should be planted in the
ground.

His words triggered a heated debate.  When this showed no sign of
exhausting itself, Carnegie-Hall called for a vote.

It was close, but after a recount, Cadillac's challenging call for a
new start and a new tougher attitude carried the day.

To ensure the new composite post fitted together, the dimensions of
each piece were agreed, and from the clans who volunteered their
services, five were given the honour of making them.  They, in return,
promised to deliver their part of the post to Sioux Falls for erection
when the Plainfolk Council reassembled at the traditional time - the
beginning of May in the following year.  If all went as planned,
Cadillac and Rain-Dancer would return on the first of the wheel-boats
and lead the Iron Masters from the shore of the Great River to the
lands once held by the Southern Da-Kota.

Escorted by fifty hands of warriors drawn from the five blood-lines
represented at the Council, Cadillac and 'Rain-Dancer' headed
north-eastwards on the next leg of their journey - a seven hundred mile
ride from Sioux Falls to the Straits of Mackinac, where the northern
tip .of Lake Michigan made a sharp right hand turn to merge with the
western end of Lake Huron.

They were dressed as Iron Masters, but flying from the tip of their
tall lances were the green and gold cloth banners that had become the
colours of the Chosen, heralds of Talisman.

At the northern end of Green Bay, Cadillac and Roz bade farewell to
their escort, removed the banners from their lances, and pressed on
alone into territory known to be occupied by clans from the D'Troit.

Following the decision of their leaders to adhere to the secret pact
with the Yama-Shita family, the last one hundred and twenty miles
passed without a hitch.  Each clan escorted them reverentially across
their turf, then handed them over with some ceremony to the next group
down the line.

Cadillac's objective was navref Cheboygan, one of the five out-stations
set up by the Yama-Shita in what was mainly D'Troit territory, to
encourage year-round trade and to gather intelligence.

The out-stations consisted of a house-boat - a smaller version of the
rear paddle-driven Great Lakes tradeships, a wooden jetty and a modest
on-shore installation mainly small timber buildings and animal pens
housing stores and various kinds of livestock the Iron Masters reared
for the table.  The extent and sophistication of these facilities
depended on the degree of energy and enterprise of the Resident Agent
and his wife, and the thirty-five sea-soldiers and domestic staff under
their command.

The house-boats remained moored to the jetty but were always kept ready
for sea in case the natives became restless.  So when word reached the
Cheboygan agent -Koto Shigari - that two Iron Masters in full battle
armour were sitting tall in the saddle on the northern shore of the
straits, he weighed anchor immediately.

And what an honour awaited him!  There, battered but unbowed, were
Samurai-General Oshio Shinoda, one of the senior military aides of the
late domain-lord, and his companion-at-arms Samurai-Major Akido
Mitsunari!

And what a tale they had to tell!

Mitsunari, the junior-ranking officer, had a ragged, dirty bandage
covering a deep throat wound that made it impossible for him to speak
but after boarding the houseboat, Shinoda gave them a graphic
description of a great battle in which thousands of grass-monkeys had
perished under the swords of the samurai cavalry and the knives of
their trusty auxiliaries, the D'Troit and C'Natti.

Shigari had already received incoherent accounts of the engagement from
the very same grass-monkeys, and he told the General that a brief
report had been sent to Sara-kusa by carrier-pigeon.  But, he asked
respectfully, had the lake really risen up and swept all before it?

Ahab!  Yes!

Now firmly established in his impersonation of the Samurai-General,
Cadillac used the wealth of anecdotal material he had amassed on the
disaster to weave a spell-binding narrative that had the mouths of Mr
and Mrs Shigari and their trusty sergeant-at-arms opening and closing
like three goldfish glued nose-first to the side of their glass bowl.

Beginning at the point when the wheel-boats had come in sight of the
shore, Cadillac took them through the battle as seen from the Iron
Master's side, only pausing when he, as Shinoda, and the ever-silent
Mitsunari had clawed their way out of a tangled mass of timber and
bodies - unrecognisable fragments, torn from their great ships whose
dismembered hulls now lay spread across the landscape.  A scene of
bloody horror and utter desolation.

Hhhhawwwww!!

Shinoda went on to relate how he and Mitsunari had met while trying to
round up the five half-crazed horses whose lives had been spared by the
same divine hand.

They eventually managed to catch two, riding away as the hordes of
Mutes came streaming down the bluffs to plunder the scattered heaps of
wreckage and bodies of those who had died bravely at their posts.

But the wall of water, ventured Shigari, where had it come from?

Tsunami, the great wave that could appear on the oceans, overwhelming
everything in its path, was a well-known and justly-feared phenomenon,
but it was not one associated with navigation of the Great Lakes.

Exactly!  replied Shinoda.  This wall of water was not a work of
Nature.  This was witchcraft!  It had been raised by diabolic forces
called from the bowels of the earth - primal energies which certain of
the despised grass-monkeys, known as summoners, were able to mould to
their will and fashion into a weapon that could strike down whole
armies!

HhhhawWwww!!

Shigari and his small entourage bowed low on hearing these startling
revelations, but privately he was drawn to the idea that either Shinoda
had been unhinged by the experience which - without any need for
exaggeration had been an appalling tragedy, or he was rehearsing the
story which he planned to use to cover his illustrious ass, and that of
his silent companion.

As supreme commander of the expedition, the blame for any tactical
blunders or lack or preparedness was bound to fall on his shoulders and
would probably cost Shinoda his life.

To Koto Shigari, the idea that these misshapen grass-monkeys could
conjure up evil kami at will and apply their diabolic force in such a
selective way was quite laughable - but no hint of the amusement it
caused showed on the Resident's face.  As a middle-ranking
'commercial', Shigari was the social inferior of the military men who
now sat facing him.  Any sign of disrespect on his part could send his
head rolling across the tatami.  But witchcraft?  No .... By the time
his two war-weary guests reached Sara-kusa, they would need a better
excuse than that.

As the house-boat headed eastwards across Lake Huron, Shigari and his
staff were completely unaware that their illustrious passengers had
vari-coloured skins just like the grass-monkeys whose magic powers they
had casually dismissed.  Cadillac and Roz had removed their face masks
allowed themselves to be undressed and assisted as they savoured the
joys of a hot, deep bath, had donned fresh kimonos (furnished with the
usual abject apologies for offering garments of such inferior quality
to cover the bodies of those appointed to high office) and had eaten a
meal served with yet more apologies without anyone seeing them as they
really were.

What Shigari, his wife Ono, and their staff saw were two
battle-hardened samurai, and the voice they heard was Cadillac's,
speaking faultless japanese.  Roz had drawn the physical shape of their
characters from Cadillac's memory and implanted them in the minds of
their hosts.  And the images were so real that when the bandages on her
neck were carefully unwound, 
they revealed a deep, suppurating neck
wound created from her own medical knowledge.  A wound that Ono Shigari
had cleaned with the utmost delicacy, without ever knowing that it was
her own mind that was projecting the livid gash and surrounding
inflammation onto Roz's unbroken skin.

It was only when their hosts retired, leaving them alone in their
quarters, that Roz relaxed her grip on their minds.

But by that time, Shigfiri and everyone else aboard were totally
convinced they were carrying two VIPs on the next stage of their
journey to Sarakusa.

Steering a parallel course to the chain of islands that fringed the
northern edge of Lake Huron, Shigari's vessel entered Georgian Bay via
the Lucas Channel and headed south-east into the smaller Nottawasaga
Bay, making landfall at navref Collingwood.

The first Iron Master cartographers, who had based their maps on a
carefully-preserved copy of the Millennium Edition of the Rand McNally
Road Atlas of the United States, Canada and Mexico, had revised the
spelling of all place names to suit their mother-tongue and Collingwood
was now known as KorinaGawu.

There was no Iron Master presence here, and nothing remained of the
pre-Holocaust township, but the area had been explored by surveyors and
engineers despatched by the Yama-Shita family, to study the feasability
of cutting a new canal across the hinterland to shorten the sea journey
to the trading post at Du-Aruta (Duluth, Minnesota).

The surveying teams concluded that it was indeed possible but that it
would require a great deal of time and money.  If other road-building
and construction projects were not to suffer, a huge new labour force
would have to be recruited.  The Chinese accountants working for the
Yama-Shita family rattled the sums around on their abacuses and decided
they didn't add up.

Even if an unpaid labour force could be mobilised, they still had to be
fed.  The slavemasters and construction supervisors had to be fed and
paid.  There were material costs, and when the canal was completed, the
twelve massive locks required to compensate for the three hundred and
thirty foot difference in the level of the two bodies of water would
have to be manned and maintained 365 days a year.

Given the then-current vessel throughput, the savings on shipping costs
in terms of reduced journey times would only compensate for a fraction
of the costs involved.  To balance the books, trading revenues from the
Great Lakes would have to increase by some 300 per cent over the next
three years and 15 per cent annually thereafter.

Even if a home market could be found, the Mutes could not produce the
volume of raw materials required without a radical alteration, in their
life-style.  They would, to put it bluntly, have to start working.

The project was shelved.  The samurai nobles might regard the merchant
classes as their social inferiors, but they liked to keep the coffers
well filled by taxing everything in sight.  Making money was as
important as dying a 'good death'.  Poverty was a condition to be borne
uncomplainingly by the lower classes, and any samurai who fell on hard
times.  These unfortunates who lost all social standing usually joined
the ranks of the ronin roving bands of cut-throats and brigands who
preyed on the road-convoys and outlying estates.

It was this abortive accounting exercise that led the late Domain-Lord
Hirohito Yama-Shita to draw up his plan to divide and conquer the
Plainfolk by setting the D'Troit and C'Natti against the other
bloodlines.  It would have provided the required massive new labour
force, and permitted the exploitation of the natural and mineral wealth
of the interior, providing the revenues the accountants required.

And it was this very same plan which his successor, Acting Regent Aishi
Sakimoto, had tried to implement - with insufficient preparation and
with disastrous consequences.

That was why Saldmoto had been greatly · heartened by the arrival of
the carrier-pigeon from the Cheboygan out-station concerning the
appearance of 
Samurai-General Shinoda and Samurai-Major Mitsunari.

Now, at last, he and the family council might get the chance of hearing
what had happened from the horse's mouth, instead of having to make
sense of the conflicting reports gathered from clans belonging to the
routed D'Troit faction - the equivalent, in Sakimoto's view, of putting
one's ear to the horse's ass.

Shinoda and the injured Mitsunari would be landed at Korina-gawu.  From
there they would ride south-east by east across the hinterland to
O-shawa on Lake Onataryo.

Sakimoto had already despatched a wheel-boat to await their arrival.

Once safely aboard, they would cross to the small port of Osa-wego on
the eastern shore of the lake, some thirty miles from their final
destination - the palace at Sarakusa.

At Osa-wego, the returning samurai would be received with the honour
due to their rank by two junior members of the Yama-Shita family
council and the usual clutch of local dignitaries, before proceeding
along the river and canal system to the Yama-Shita's palace-fortress on
the shores of Lake Oneida.

And then the questioning would begin ....

As Cadillac and Roz watched the small house-boat turn about and start
its 250 mile trip back to Cheboygan, they knew that Shigari had
arranged for a second pick-up-boat at Oshawa.

Using the hand-drawn route map he had provided, they encountered no
major difficulty in finding their way to the western edge of Lake
Ona-taryo.  The horses had been fed and rested while on the boat, but
it still took three days to travel the eighty odd miles from shore to
shore.  Riders and mounts had already come a hell of a long way - seven
hundred pain-filled miles; far enough to convince Cadillac and Roz that
they might die from saddle-soreness before reaching Ne-Issan.  When
they boarded Shigari's house-boat and fell prey to motion-sickness,
there were times they wished they had.

Cadillac had tried to plan for every eventuality but he was not
prepared for the extent of the reception that awaited them at
Osa-wego.

As the pick-up-boat came alongside the jetty and a gangway was
manoeuvred into place, a number of well-dressed men and women - about
fifteen or so - came aboard, accompanied by six men-at-arms, two of
whom carried long poles bearing the black and silver house-flag of the
YamaShita.

Cadillac, watching the scene below through the side window of the
wheel-house, said: 'I think we may be in trouble."

Roz peeked round his shoulder.  'Is that a reception committee?

Heavens!  Do you think they might know us?

I mean, Shinoda and Mitsunari?"

'They're bound to, this close to.  home."  Cadillac frowned.  'A couple
of those women are little more than girls and see - there's a boy
amongst them."  He slapped the hilt of his sword.  'Sweet Sky Mother!

Do you think they could be our wives?!"  'Don't ask me.  You're the one
who "read" their clothes."

'I just got a feel for the man, not his date of birth and the details
of his domestic life!"  'You got the names..."

'The names were painted inside the rim of their helmets!"  'And here
was I thinking how amazingly gifted you were..."

'Look!  Another time, okay?!"  Cadillac broke off and paced about the
empty wheel-house.  'What a pill!  It didn't matter with that crew from
Cheboygan and these guys.  As long as we looked the part it was good
enough.

What the hell are we going to do?!"  'The first thing we're going to do
is calm down,' said Roz.  'If I can get inside their heads fast enough,
there shouldn't be a problem.  They're all expecting to see Shinoda
,and Mitsunari, so their mental image of them should be at the
forefront of their minds.  There may be a slight hiccup, but once I get
a grip on 'em we'll be ' 
'Sure.  And don't forget to make them think
this junk I'm wearing is a perfect fit.  You look pretty good, but I
must be almost a head taller than Shinoda."

The sudden return of Cadillac's confidence made Roz smile.  He loved
giving orders.  'You're probably bigger all round.  His wife might like
that."

'Roz!  Be serious!"  He motioned her to silence as he heard footsteps
on the stairs.

It was the captain of the pick-up-boat.  Roz trapped his mind as he
came into view.  Bowing from the waist, he begged leave to inform them
that Tojo and Akori YamaShita were waiting to greet them in the small
stateroom below.  Would they be gracious enough to descend...?

Cadillac silently invited Roz to precede him.

Iron Master protocol saved the day.  Only the two council members were
in the room when Roz and Cadillac entered, strode forward and bowed
deeply from the waist.  Tojo and Akori experienced a momentary
sensation of unease then relaxed as Roz cast her spell, trapping their
minds like flies in a spider's web.  Within seconds she had the
information she needed to cloak themselves in the true likenesses of
Shinoda and Mit-sunari.

Since the ship's captain had already given him the names of the two
family councillors, Cadillac was able to coast through the welcoming
formalities, skilfully extracting a great deal of useful information
about Aishi Sakimoto the acting regent, and the other members of the
reception committee.  Most important of all, Cadillac succeeded in
teasing out the names of the well-bred women who were anxiously waiting
to be reunited with their soldier-husbands.

But first, said Tojo, there were the local dignitaries who were eager
to have the opportunity of welcoming their illustrious personages on
behalf of the townspeople of Osawego.

To jo and Akori had already been obliged to endure the same
rigmarole.

Two members of the Yama-Shita family, an army general and a regimental
commander all in one day constituted a major event.

Hastily-commissioned commemorative scrolls were presented to Cadillac
and Roz, together with small beautifully-wrapped gifts as a mark of
gratitude for honouring the town with-their presence.

Cadillac was gratified to discover they had also brought along several
bottles of their best sake to drink to the health and safe return of
all concerned, and to pledge their unswerving loyalty to the House of
YamaShita.

Tojo and Akori allowed the Osa-wego reception committee one big swallow
each then dismissed them, ordered the captain to get the boat underway
and invited Cadillac and Roz to join them in some serious drinking on a
strictly man-to-man basis.

Refilling their cups to the brim, Tojo said: 'This may sound rather
odd, but when you first came into the room, I didn't recognise you.  In
fact I could swear you looked completely different to the way you do
now."

'Indeed?  In what way?"  enquired Cadillac.  He and Roz were now
sitting cross-legged facing their two hosts.

'It's hard to say."  Tojo appealed to his cousin, Akori.

'Did you not notice anything?"

'Well, yes, since you mention it, I did."  Akori faced his guests with
a baffled frown.  'You both seemed a lot taller, but now ' Cadillac
exchanged a sideways glance with Roz.  'It must have been a trick of
the mind, sire."

The palace-fortress of the Yama-Shita family stood near the western end
of Lake O-neida, several miles northeast of Sara-kusa.  The Iron Master
town with its bustling streets had taken its name from the pre-H city
of Syracuse, but had been built around a loop in the canal linking Lake
Erie with the Hudson River, some distance from the buried remains of
its predecessor.  Lake Oneida - a twenty-mile-long stretch of water was
part of this liquid highway.  Wheel-boats of every shape and size and
barges carrying cargoes of every description passed in a constant
two-way flow beneath the palace ramparts.

The port of Osa-wego was also linked to this inland waterway by the
river of that name and it was along this that the vessel carrying
Cadillac and Roz now sailed.  A left turn at the junction with the main
east-west canal led them into the lake and directly to the stepped
stone jetty below the palace.

Cadillac stared up at the massive stone walls and the multi-storied
wooden superstructure with its maze of galleries and tiled roofs.  Two
huge wooden doors decorated with spiked iron bolts barred the exit from
the jetty steps.  Flanked by stone towers, this was the keep - part of
the outer defences like the surrounding moat.  To reach the palace from
the lake, you had to cross a drawbridge which could be raised to cover
the equally massive inner gates.

Preceded by the two flag-bearers, Tojo and Akori Yama-Shita led the way
up the steps.  Cadillac and Roz, sandwiched between them and the rest
of the welcome-home committee, had no choice but to follow.  Cadillac
edged shoulder to shoulder with Roz.  'This is the crunch-point,' he
muttered.  'Are you going to be able to keep this up?"

'That's what we're about to find out,' whispered Roz.

'Just keep talking and leave the thinking to me."

Cadillac was not at all happy with this somewhat arbitrary division of
effort.  It sounded distinctly like a demotion, but he could not afford
to take umbrage.

This was no ordinary joint enterprise; he had to stay glued to Roz's
side - the illusion could not be sustained without her!  Cadillac made
an effort to compose himself but when they reached the top of the steps
his heart was still pounding - and it wasn't due to the climb.

On they went, across the drawbridge and through the yawning palace
gates into the courtyard beyond.  A series of court officials of
ascending rank progressively weeded out their entourage until only Tojo
and Akori were left ahead of them in the stairways.

The wives and children - who had found their husbands and fathers 'not
quite themselves' - were among the first to be left behind, and then
their armed escort was replaced by samurai from the Inner Household; a
group of young, expressionless look-alikes, dressed in loose flowing
short-sleeved robes, drawn in at the waist by a wide sash into which
the scabbards of their long and short swords were inserted.

Cadillac and Roz were still dressed in the clothes and armour they had
acquired at Sioux Falls.  Having found enough bits and pieces to fit
him, Cadillac had declined the offer of 'fresh clothes at both O-shawa
and Osa-wego - all of which were on the small side.  Tojo and Akori had
accepted his request to be allowed to retain their uniforms.  He and
his 'wounded' companion, said Cadillac, were bringing a report direct
from the battlefield, and they wished to present themselves to the
Regent, bearing the scars of that bloody conflict out of respect for
their fallen comrades.

As senior military officers, Shinoda and Mitsunari were allowed to bear
arms inside the palace, but when entering the presence of the ruling
members of the family they served, protocol demanded that they carry
their helmets tucked under their left arm, and their two sheathed
swords in their right hand.

The small procession halted outside the two large sliding screens that
led to the audience chamber.  Six guards stood outside.  After bowing
to Tojo and Akori, one of them knocked on the wooden frame.  The
right-hand screen slid open a few inches to reveal another guard
inside.  Whispers were exchanged.  The screen slid shut, then a moment
later, both were drawn back revealing a large room covered in spotless
tatami, with a raised dais at the far end.

Tojo and Akori entered the room, exchanged formal greetings with the
Regent Aishi Sakimoto, then took their places on the low platform
behind the six family council members already seated on either side of
Sakimoto.

Cadillac and Roz strode forward on his signal to enter.

Six archers and six swordsmen were positioned around the edge of the
room.  The quartet of look-alikes stepped 
inside and the screens were
shut by the guards in the corridor.

These people certainly believed in protection.  Some of it was a sign
of status, but it wasn't just that.  Cadillac had visited the palace of
Domain-Lord Min-Orota and it had been the same story.  Like Min-Orota,
Sakimoto and the people around him were at the top of their particular
tree but at what price?  They lived behind eight-foot-thick stone
walls, guarded night and day, haunted by suspicions and the constant
fear of assassination.  What a way to live!

Bowing low from the waist, Cadillac offered formal salutations,
explaining that he also spoke for his wounded companion.  On receiving
the nod from Sakimoto, he and Roz dropped to their knees on the special
mats provided.  Cadillac laid his helmet on the left hand side of his
mat and the two swords on the right, parallel with each other and with
their hilts in line with the front edge of the mat.  Roz, following his
lead, did likewise.

Sakimoto expressed his satisfaction at their safe return, but his
brusque manner made it clear that their state of health was of minor
concern.  What Sakimoto wanted to know was how one of his top generals
had apparently managed to lose an entire expedition.

Cadillac was only too happy to oblige.  Having already tested his story
on the Cheboygan Resident, Cadillac had added more colour and drama to
the weaker passages and was only too happy to step into the limelight
with some spell-binding of his own.

Sakimoto, like the rest of Cadillac's audience, was impressed, but not
to the point where he forgot the bottom line.  When the person he
thought of as Samurai-General Shinoda finished his story with a bow,
Sakimoto eyed him pensively then said: 'This is, without doubt, a
startling tale.  And since it accords in many respects with other
reports - albeit it from highly unreliable sources- I do not intend at
this stage to question the veracity of the information you have laid
before us.

'But I think it is right to question the state of mind of a person who
brings such a story to me.  You and Samurai-Major Mitsunari..."

Roz bowed as Sakimoto's eyes rested briefly upon her.

'... are the sole survivors of a military expedition numbering some two
thousand men, carried into action aboard five of our largest
wheel-boats!  Someone less charitably disposed towards you than myself
might be tempted into thinking that this story of "Mute magic" was
concocted to conceal a degree of incompetence bordering on the
criminal!"  -'On the contrary, sire,' said Shinoda with a deep bow.

'We seek to hide nothing.  Those who in the past dismissed Mute magic
were ignorant, misguided fools!  It exists!

And we have brought you proof of its terrible power!"  'I see .... '
Sakimoto exchanged cautious glances with the six members of the family
council seated with him on the dais.  'And what shape does this proof
take?"

'Ourselves, sire."

Shinoda and Mitsunari went forward on their knees and touched the
tatami with their foreheads.  When they resumed their sitting position,
Sakimoto and the other dignitaries found themselves looking into the
painted faces of two grass-monkeys - wearing samurai armour!

Hhhh-awwwwhhh.  I The sixteen swordsmen and archers who formed the
Regent's personal bodyguard leapt to their feet, hands on the hilts of
their weapons, arrow notched to bowstring, their spear-point tips aimed
at the intruders' hearts.

Mastering their surprise, Sakimoto and his fellow-councillors stood up
and backed slowly to the rear of the dais.  The two grass-monkeys
remained sitting calmly on their heels, hands on their thighs, heads
raised, their eyes locked fearlessly onto Sakimoto and the other
nobles.

For ArmyzGeneral Miyame Yama-Shita it was all too much.  Drawing his
sword, he stepped forward off the dais to confront Cadillac and Roz.

'You vile insolent dogs!

By what right do you presume to wear the dress and the 
swords of noble
samurai?!  And how dare you look upon us in this fashion!  Lower your
eyes this instant or - I' The threat died on his lips and was replaced
by a roar of pain.  The hilt of his sword had become red-hot!  He could
smell his flesh roasting!  Throwing his long-sword down, Miyame
clutched his right wrist and stared unbelievingly at his charred and
blistered right hand.  The pattern covering the decorated hilt was
seared deep into his palm!  'Kill them!"  he shrieked.

'NO!"  bellowed Sakimoto.

The archers paused uncertainly, the swordsmen froze, blades half out of
their scabbards.  The two grass-monkeys no longer knelt on the mats.

They had vanished.  In their place stood Domain-Lord Hirohito
Yama-Shita, arms folded, his thin, cruel mouth set firm, eyes blazing
with unnatural brilliance.

'Do you threaten me, your liege-lord?"  he cried.

Sakimoto and everyone else in the room fell to their knees.  This was
no wraith-like apparition, this was solid flesh and blood.  Hirohito
returned from the nether-world to life!

'M-m-my l-lord!"  stammered Sakimoto.

As he spoke, the pair of grass-monkeys appeared at the far end of the
room.  And then another, and another, and another, until the entire
room was ringed by painted samurai, leaving the Yama-Shita family
council and their bodyguard completely surrounded and outnumbered
three-to-one!  Worse still, every man-jack was rooted to the spot,
trembling like palsied ancients!  Hhhhawwwwhhh!

Then Lord Hirohito vanished.  In his place were two more grass-monkeys,
standing on the mats from which the original pair had vanished.  Were
they the same?

It was impossible to tell!  Sakimoto felt physically sick.

His mind was reeling, but by a supreme effort of will he managed to
maintain a dignified posture.

The one who had been Shinoda raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

The grass-monkeys lining the walls of the room vanished.  'You are
powerless against our magic,' he said.  'We come in peace, to meet with
you as friends and allies to help you avenge the great wrongs visited
upon the House of Yama-Shita by the traitorous TohYota!

'But we do not come as slaves!  We are the emissaries of a new breed of
Plainfolk who demand not only to be treated as equals but also the
right to converse in your language.  If the House of Yama-Shita is
willing to receive us on those terms, and with the hospitality you
would accord your fellow domain-lords, command your men to leave this
room.  We have many weighty matters to discuss."  · Aishi Sakimoto
thought he would burst a blood-vessel.

Army-General Miyame Yama-Shita nearly did.  Never in their lives had
they dreamt of being addressed with such disdainful authority by a
grass-monkey - and in japanese to boot!  Their own sacred language,
which outlanders were forbidden to use under pain of death!  A death
which began by having the offending tongue clamped and pierced several
times by a white hot iron before being torn out of the offender's
head!

It was outrageous!  But what could they do?  First they had been faced
by Shinoda and Mitsunari, then two grass-monkeys who could disappear
and reappear at will, then multiply in the twinkling of an eye to
become a small army!  And now, where were the two faithful samurai?

Or had they never been there at all?

Oh, yes.  this was indeed magic- of a very powerful kind!

And that was not all.  Shinoda/Monkey #1 had uttered a magic phrase:
'... avenge the great wrongs visited upon the House of Yama-Shita by
the traitorous TohYota'.

Words like that, falling from the lips of anyone, were music to
Sakimoto's ears.  It would be worth enduring some small indignities
just to hear what these painted upstarts had to say for themselves.

And when they revealed all, who knew what might happen then?  A
stout-hearted man, protected by the most powerful incantations of the
palace priests, might 
find a way to destroy their malevolent powers by
means of a poisoned draught or a knife-thrust delivered in the dead of
night.

As this idea passed through Sakimoto's mind, a slim dagger materialised
out of thin air and buried its point into the tatami, a few inches in
front of his toes.  Sakimoto jumped back.  Beside it appeared a blue
and white porcelain cup, filled with a dark liquid.  Staring down at
it, he saw the image of a grinning skull reflected in its surface.

'You disappoint us, sire.  Is that how noble lords of the Yama-Shita
plan to reward those who come to their aid?"

By the Great Divine Oneness of being!  These devils could read his
unspoken thoughts as well... I Having blown their hosts out of their
split-toed cotton socks with an unparalleled display of magic, Cadillac
proceeded to whet their appetites with a promise to reveal a secret
that could - if properly exploited by determined men - topple the
TohYota.

Sniffing the air like a hunting dog, he declared that he could sense
the evil presence of the Toh-Yota within the palace walls.  At the
moment, its form was too elusive to define, but if - beginning tomorrow
- his hosts would permit Rain-Dancer and himself to examine any area of
the palace they felt drawn to, he promised to root it out.

When found, it would prove that the Toh-Yota - who for so long had
buttressed their sovereignty by claiming to represent the soul of the
nation - had cynically betrayed the traditional values it sought to
uphold by using devices powered by the Dark Light to maintain its grip
on the reins of power.

The magic had been awesome enough, but this unexpected charge was
absolutely staggering and, potentially, so explosive, no one in the
Yama-Shita family regretted having to swallow their pride and treat
these two grass-monkey witches as equals.

'The Dark Light is so feared it has become a mystery that many cannot
comprehend,' said Sakimoto.  'This proof you speak of... will it be
something that honest men can approach and recognise without placing
themselves in mortal danger?"

Cadillac laughed.  'It is only the Toh-Yota who are in mortal danger!

The proof I intend to place before you will win over your most
faint-hearted ally.  Summon them now to a secret council and allow me
to address them.

I promise you they will not leave here without having pledged to raise
their battle flags alongside that of the YamaShita!"  Aishi Sakimoto
needed no further prompting.  After ensuring that his two extraordinary
guests were comfortably housed in a pavilion that nestled amongst trees
and rocks in the landscaped gardens of the palace, he despatched coded
messages via courier-pigeons to the neighbouring Ko-Nikka and Se-Iko,
to the Hi-Tashi and San-Yo in the far south of the country and the
Fu-Jitsu and Na-Shuwa in the north.

After a brief but intense period of reflection, he decided to issue two
more invitations: to the SuZuki and the Min-Orota.

In the lists drawn up by Progressives and Traditionalists whenever
coups were discussed, the Su-Zuki were classified as neutral but
favouring the Shogun.  It would be vital to win their support before
any military action could succeed.

The Min-Orota - led by Lord Kiyomori - occupied another strategic
position.  They were allied to TohYota by marriage, but that hadn't
stopped Domain-Lord Kiyo getting together with Lord Hirohito Yama-Shita
in a bid to resurrect the Dark Light.  The bid had failed.  The plot
had been uncovered by Ieyasu, Lord Hirohito had been killed and
Kiyomori Min-Orota had seized the chance to save the necks of his own
family by naming names.

It was a sordid betrayal but Hirohito had known the risks he was taking
in trying to win over the Min-Orota.

Kiyo was widely regarded as a devious sonofabitch, but given the
circumstances, his swift dash back into the Shogun's camp was the mark
of a political realist.

Kiyomori Min-Orota was not a supporter of lost causes.

In Ne-Issan, very few people were, for the simple reason that most
people on the losing side of any overt political power struggle ended
up as a small heap of grey ash inside a stone pot.

But now, with the appearance of these two powerful witches, there was a
possibility that Fortune was about to smile on the Yama-Shita.  The
deaths, defeats and humiliations which the family had suffered over the
last two years might yet be put to good account.  And when the battle
lines were drawn, Lord Min-Orota, who over the same period had
signalled that he was anxious to effect a reconciliation, would not
want to be on the losing side.

Sakimoto had no doubt he was still as untrustworthy as ever, but even
potential traitors had their uses.  The final reckoning could come
later ....

Far to the south, in one of the several luxurious enclaves which made
up Cloudlands, Steve followed Karlstrom across the tracks of the main
depot of the railway that was the First Family's private plaything.  A
gleaming 4-6-2 locomotive stood outside the engine shed.  Steam curled
from the funnel and the huge reciprocating valves that powered the
gleaming steel driving shafts.

Karlstrom paused and watched fondly as another engine shunted slowly
past.  'Amazing, aren't they?"  He crossed the last two tracks.  'This
one's a real beauty."

When they drew level with the cab, Karlstrom stood aside and motioned
Steve to climb aboard first.

Reaching the footplate, Karlstrom unhooked a two-way radio and spoke to
the yard marshal's office.  'This is Baker-King plus one aboard
Southern Belle on Stand Five.  You got any dear track for me?"

'Stand-by, Baker-King.  Affirmative.  We're switching you out of the
yard onto the north-eastern section.  You're clear up-line as far as
Beaumont."

'Roger.  Thanks, Ned.  Under steam and pulling away."

Steve took the radio from Karlstrom's outstretched hand and returned it
to its place on the wall of the cab.  After leaning out to check both
sides of the track, ahead and behind, Karlstrom released the brakes and
eased open the throttle.  The huge locomotive shuddered momentarily as
the driving wheels got a proper purchase on the rails, amid a deafening
hiss of steam, then began to glide forward.  'See that stack of logs
behind you?"

Steve checked the loaded tender and nodded.

Karlstrom handed him a pair of heavy work-gloves.

'Stick a couple of dozen into the firebox."  He leant down and unlocked
the door to the roaring furnace.  'Once they're in, push 'em to the
back with that stoking iron."  · 'Yess-sirr!"  Steve went to work.

When the firebox was full, Steve took his stand at the window on the
opposite of the cab to Karlstrom.  They had left the yard behind and
were now rolling east through open country.  They passed several
work-details of Mutes labouring on the down-line under Tracker
overseers.

Some of the Trackers were armed with carbines, and rode aboard blue
six-wheel vehicles - a type Steve had never seen before.

'Bobcats,' shouted Karlstrom, sensing the question in Steve's mind.  He
checked the steam and brake pressure dials then leaned back out of the
driver's side-window.

Steve, whose antennae were always extended in situations like this, was
fascinated by the change in Karlstrom's demeanour.  He was still
issuing orders in the same peremptory manner but he was no longer the
dry, ruthless Director of AMEXICO that Steve had first encountered.

Karlstrom seemed exhilarated by the rush of air on his face, mixing
with the smell of engine oil, warm iron and woodsmoke.  He was really
enjoying himself.

Like a small boy ....

Karlstrom eyed him shrewdly.  'What d'you think?"  he demanded.  'Isn't
this great?!"  'Yes."  Steve rodded some more logs into the firebox,
closed it off and straightened up.  'It's also tough on the back."

'Nothing comes easy, Brickanan.  If you want to be an

engine-driver, you have to learn to be a fireman first."

Karlstrom smiled.  'You ought to consider yourself lucky.

Some people never even get to ride in the cab."

'No, sir.  I'm aware of that."  Steve watched Karlstrom rub his oily
rag tenderly over the gleaming pipe work.

The way you might caress a naked woman.  'Are all the First Family
hooked on trains?"

'The ones that count are,' said Karlstrom.  'It's in the blood.  It was
the train that opened up America.  Forget the covered wagons - the long
lines of prairie schooners.

It's the men who built the locos and the railroads who were the real
pioneers.  That was the era when America first achieved real
greatness.

You could travel coast to coast and north to south.  D'you wanna know
something?

In the golden years, there were three hundred and sixty thousand miles
of track!  Can you imagine that?!  The railways were the arteries and
veins of the nation, the trains its life blood."

Steve nodded respectfully.  Karlstrom's eyes, fired up with a passion
he had never displayed in more formal encounters, reminded Steve of
good o" crazy Uncle Bart.

'But then, weren't railways superseded by the highways and what the
Mutes call beetles?"

'Automobiles."  Karlstrom's mouth wrinkled with distaste.

'Worse thing that ever happened to this country.

That's what destroyed it!  The auto and the truck changed people's
values.  Made people selfish and greedy.  That didn't happen on the
trains.  When you travelled by rail, you were part of a community.  The
journey was a shared experience.  The train came from somewhere, you
boarded it, got off when it arrived at your destination, and the train
went on to somewhere else.

'There was continuity.  The rail head, the depot, was the link between
the townships and central to the life of each.  The point where goods
and people came in and out, where you got news of what was happening
down the line.

You were part of a beautifully controlled system that you could depend
on.  Where everything ran to a timetable.

But what held the system together, what kept the whole thing on the
rails were people - working side by side.

From top to bottom of the organisation, everyone had a specific job to
do and they did it to the best of their abilities."

'So in a sense, this railway thing was a role model for the
Federation.

The whole wagon-train concept, the way-stations..."

'Exactly.  Teamwork, Brickman.  That's what was lost when the highways
and the automobile came along.  They gave individuals the freedom to go
wherever they wanted whenever they wanted."  Karlstrom saw Steve's
reaction.

'Yes, that's right.  Freedom.  one of the word-concepts you've picked
up from your Mute friends.  It's not listed in the Federation
dictionary, but amongst the First Family, it's the subject of constant
debate.

'Like I said before, during the time you travelled on a train, you were
part of a community, but as soon as two, three or four people started
shutting themselves inside those wheeled trash-bins, their whole
personality changed.  They began to compete with the owners of other
automobiles.  Everyone wanted their trash-bin to be bigger, faster,
better and above all different to their neighbours'.

'In those days, when America was run by money, there were organisations
ready to pander to these kind of desires.  But you can't satisfy
them.

It just leads to more jealousy, greed, lawlessness and anti-social
behaviour of all kinds.  Just having transportation to get from A to B
wasn't enough.  Mobility became a way of life.

'Bored with your surroundings?  You got into your box and went
somewhere else.  Looking for the end of the rainbow.  But all that
breeds is dissatisfaction because once the novelty wears off, you
discover that there is just the same as here.  Life has to be lived
wherever you are."

Karlstrom massaged another length of copper pipe with his oily rag.

'used to be a state out west, California...

the word got around it was a great place to be.  The only place to
be.

And it was true.  Great climate, sun, sand, sea, mountains.  gorgeous
landscape, beautiful 
people.  Only it didn't stay that way.  From all
over the rest of America, people packed their belongings into their
chromium-plated, air-conditioned trash-bins and started moving west,
looking to get themselves a piece of the same dream.

'And pretty soon, that dream turned into a nightmare.

They fucked up California just like they fucked up everywhere else.

That's what people used to call "freedom" in those days, Brickman.  To
be able, if you wanted to, to go to hell in a handcart.  We call that
being out of control - like a runaway loco.  That's why this country
went off the rails and into the ravine - and that's why the Family has
to keep a tight hold on things.  That was one of the harsh lessons we
learned from the Holocaust.

You can't turn people loose if they don't have a sense of direction."

'Are you planning to instill one- or does that mean the First Family
will never allow Trackers to have that kind of freedom again?"

'And risk letting another bunch of degenerate air-heads drag us into
another Holocaust?"  Karlstrom shook his head.  'I doubt it.  Last time
round they almost killed everything off for good.  This planet can only
take so much.  If you're ever allowed to access the records, you'll
find out just how bad it was.  It's taken us over nine hundred years to
haul ourselves out of the pit just to get back - in technological terms
- to where we started.  Nobody in their right minds would ever want to
go through that again.

'understand this, Brickman.  The Family is not against the concept of
freedom.  As you know for yourself, Trackers are free to do all kinds
of things- within certain limits.  What the Family has done, and will
continue to do, is decide where the edges are.  One day perhaps, you'll
be making those kinds of decisions.  And when you get that high, you'll
realise that we, the people that run things, do so out of a sense of
duty - not because we're a bunch of power-hungry maniacs ' 'Sir, I!"

Karlstrom silenced Steve with a raised hand.  'Brick-man!

Fer crissakes!  I wasn't born yesterday!  I once felt the same way!

How do you think you've got this far?

Why d'you think we've chosen to work with you?  It's because we know
you better than you know yourself!

We know what buttons to push!  That's why Commander Jefferson had your
marks downgraded in the final exams at the Flight Academy.  Yes!  After
docking points for the couple of odd foul-ups you came the closest
anyone has ever come to achieving the perfect score!  So we arranged
for you to come fourth.  Are you going to tell me that didn't light a
fire under your tail?"

."No, sir.  It did."

'Damn right, it did."

'How did Fran - I mean, Commander Jefferson- come to be involved in
that particular decision?"

'She hasn't told you?  Maybe it's time you knew.  She's been running
you and Roz for the last five years."

'Running...?"

'She's been your controller.  You two were put on a Special Treatment
List at birth.  There's a whole department of AMEX whose job it is to
follow you people through every stage of your development.  When
Commander Jefferson went to work in that department she was given your
file."

'I didn't realise I was that important .... ' 'Oh, you are Brickman,
you are.  She's made it her business to know everything about you.  And
now you're pushing her button.  Kind of ironic, don't you think?"

Karlstrom checked the steam pressure gauge and opened the door to the
fire-box.  'Okay, fire her up."

Steve tossed in several more billets- logs that had been sawn into
thirty-inch lengths then quartered with an axe.

His technique was improving with each load, and the scorching heat that
met his first attempts was now much less of a problem.

'Not bad,' shouted Kafistrom.  'You learn fast.  That's what I like
about you.  You could have a real future with us, y'know that?  And not
just because of your present 
relationship with Commander Jefferson.

That's not going to last, but I guess you've already figured that
out.

I'm talking about AMEXICO.  That's the best route to the top for a
young man in a hurry."  He paused to eye Steve.

'That's where you want to end up, isn't it?"

It was like being stripped naked.  'Sir, I, uhh - why I just never
thought about it!  I mean, y'know - that far ahead - ' Karlstrom
laughed.  'Not much!  Only every other second!  Jeer!  Don't you ever
come clean?!  I respect ambition!  How the hell d'you think I got to be
head of AMEXICO?  I'm not bullshitting you, Brickman.  Play your cards
right and one day you could be the man to take over my spot when it's
time for me to move on.  And where would that put you?"

'One step away from the Oval Office..."

Karlstrom smiled and spread his hands.  'It could all be yours,
Brickman.  All you have to do is become a team-player."

'I thought I was, sir."

'I'm talking about getting your head totally together, Brickman.  That
means ditching any lingering thoughts about playing both ends against
the middle - like keeping a door open to the Plainfolk in case things
get too hot here.  And don't insult my intelligence by trying to deny
it.  I understand.

'You aren't the only mexican to have run into problems.

That's the one danger about working amongst those people.  It's not
their skins that are poisonous, it's their fucking ideas!  Once you
take that shit on board, it's like a worm eating into your brain!

That's why you were only awarded probationary membership of the
Family.

A lot of people who decide these things still don't feel you can be
wholly trusted."

'But you aren't one of them.  If you were, we wouldn't be here having
this conversation."

Karlstrom leaned out of the window to check the line.  When he turned
back, he was smiling broadly.

'That's something else I like about you, Brickman.

Talk about brass neck!  Beats me how you've got this far."

'Somebody up there must like me."  Steve hesitated for a moment then
added: 'Despite the fact that I'm a Mute."

The smile disappeared from Karlstrom's face.  'This is not the time or
place to push that particular boat out, Brickman.  In fact, I would
strongly advise you not to broach the subject again until someone of
the very highest rank invites you to do so.  Comprendo?"

'Yes, sir."

'As for me trusting you, let me put it this way.  You've got this far
this fast for several reasons, but also because you haven't been found
out.  I've said this before, but I'll say it again because you
obviously still haven't got the message.  I've got your number,
Brickman.  I know there are 'bodies' buried out there.  But I don't
propose to look for them because I'm not out to destroy you, I'm trying
to find a way for us to work together."

'I'd like nothingetter, sir."

'Exactly.  I knew you'd say that.  In fact I could have written that
line for you.  But let's cut the crap.  There's only one way for
partnerships like this to work.  Both of us have to get what we want.

Now I'm quite happy to be a rung on your ladder.

The question is - are you willing to be a rung on mine?"

I am getting into very deep water, thought Steve.  But the bait
Karlstrom was dangling was almost impossible to resist.  Next to the
President-General, Karlstrom - in Steve's reckoning - was one of, if
not the, most powerful men in the Federation.  And here he was offering
a deal!  It could be a trap, but it was the element of danger which got
Steve's adrenaline flowing.  The opportunity to match his wits against
one of the sharpest minds in the Federation was an irresistible
challenge.  Yes... Karlstrom really did have his number 'I think we've
got ourselves a deal, sir."  Steve pulled the work-glove off his right
hand.  'If you would not 
co;der it an impertinence, why don't we shake
on it 'Sure.  Why not?"  Karlstrom didn't smile but he couldn't hide
the amused glint in his eye.

Reaching Beaumont they ran off into a siding and lunched in the small
railside canteen.  The signal staff and overseers were Trackers, but
there were a number of Mutes dressed in faded blue shirts and bib
overalls working in the railyard.  Karlstrom had chosen Beaumont as his
outward destination because it had a triangular spur which allowed the
engine to be run off the up line - which went as far as Baton Rouge and
back onto the down line, enabling them to run nose first into Grand
Central.

'Clearwater,' announced Karlstrom.

Steve moved a step closer to avoid having to shout over the background
noise of the loco.  'Sir...?"

'I think we could have a problem with her."  Karlstrom switched his
attention back and forth from Steve to the line up ahead.  'You know
she's undergoing these various tests at the Life Institute.  And that
she's due to give birth to your child about two weeks before the New
Year."

'Yes."

'Good, well, there's a strong body of medical opinion who want to go
for termination fairly rapidly thereafter.

They want to carry out a complete biopsy.  Strip her right down to the
bare bones- and beyond."  Karlstrom saw the look in Steve's eyes.

'Since you have a certain, uhh - attachment to this person, I thought
you ought to know what's on the agenda."

The idea of Clearwater's body being sliced apart like the carcass of a
dead buffalo turned Steve's stomach over.

'Does she have to die?"

'Interesting question.  But what alternatives are there?"

Steve chewed his lip and decided not to volunteer an answer until
Karlstrom revealed more of his hand.

'All right.  Let's take this one step further - and by the way, this
conversation is completely off the record - '

'Of course .... '

'It must be clear from your present involvement with Commander
Franklynne that Clearwater's presence is a complicating factor.  And,
given the choice, it's probably one you would prefer to be without."

'I can't deny it would make life easier, sir.  But you sent me out to
bring her in, and that's what I did.

As for my relationship with Commander Franklynne, I responded to an
approach by her in the manner which seemed appropriate."

Karlstrom grinned.  'Yehh, sure.  It was an offer you couldn't
refuse."

'Given her rank and position I certainly could not have taken the
initiative just as, in response to your question, it's not my place to
countermand directives issued by you."

Karlstrom gave one of his thin smiles.  'Very neat, brickman.  Here you
are, dying to jump in at the deep end, but still frightened of getting
your feet wet.  It wasn't me who wanted Clearwater and her friends
brought in, it was the President-General.  I have to take orders just
like you do, but for reasons we don't need to go into, her presence
here is a problem I would like to dispose of.

'You're obviously suffering from a severe attack of discretion but if
it helps, you might as well know that Commander Franklynne can't wait
for the biopsy.  She wants Clearwater out of the way, and I'm sure you
don't need me to tell you why."

'Does the President-General have a position on this?"

'He's been persuaded by the medics that it's the only way to go if they
want to get to the bottom of this earth-magic shit.  As for me, well a
biopsy is one way of solving the problem but it leaves me with
another."

'Sir...?"

'You, Brickman.  I'm concerned about the effect this may have on you.

If they cut her up and stick the pieces 
in a row of jars, I don't
think you're going to be able to live with yourself.  In which case,
you're not going to be of any use to me or my organisation."

Steve banged some more logs in the firebox while he digested this.  He
flipped the door shut with the stoking iron and straightened up to meet
Karlstrom's unwavering gaze.  'So where would that leave me?"

Karlstrom repolished some pipe-work.  'In Commander Franklynn's bed.

Not what I call a secure position."  He held up a hand to quell Steve's
protest.  'Don't get me wrong.  I gather she thinks very highly of
you.

You may even have worked yourself a winning ticket.  But it's only fair
to warn you, she is notoriously fickle."

He watched his words sink home.  It was going better than he
expected.

'Let's face it, Brickman.  A young man with your intelligence and
resource shouldn't really allow himself to be manoeuvred into a
situation where his future depends on someone's passihg passion for his
dong."

'No, sir."

'So what's the solution?"

Steve knew if he wanted to be taken seriously, he couldn't dodge the
question any longer.  'Find a way of returning her to the
overground."

'Bravo!  Now we're talking."

'But once she was set free, she would pose a new threat to the
Federation.  Aiding and abetting her escape would be treason.  A Code
One offence which would be impossible to justify."

'That would depend on how you define treason, Brick-man.

There are offences and offences.  Some of our own internal operations
contravene the Federation legal codes.  And I know you're not going to
try to tell me you've done everything by the Book."

Karlstrom took another look out of the window then throttled back to
reduce the drumming of the wheels on the track.  'I'm going to tell you
something.  And this is strictly between you and me - okay."?  I don't
regard Mute magic as a long-term threat to our survival.  The greatest
danger comes from people inside the Federation who take it
seriously."

'But, sin earth-magic is for real!  I've seen it with my- ' Karlstrom
cut him short.  'I'm not denying its existence.

What I'm saying is - it's not part of the future!  It's an
aberration!

Something that belongs to a distant age, way beyond what the Mutes call
the Old Time, when hairy-assed apemen with inch-high foreheads and jaws
like 'dozer buckets were knocking sparks off flints to make fire.

'I've read practically all the data COLUMBUS holds on.the pre-Holocaust
era.  Even in the period just before America burned there were people
with special gifts who were able to find water and stuff like that.

But they didn't rearrange the landscape by shouting at it - like our
friend Clearwater.  There was no magic then, just conjuring tricks '

'Sir...?"

'Illusions, fakery, sleight-of-hand- like the guys on the mess-deck who
score credits off you by moving a deck of cards around."

'Ahh, yehh, I see."

'You have to revise your whole mental approach to this,' said
Karlstrom.  'Don't think of these people as being "gifted", think of
them as freaks, throwbacks to the time when everyone lived like the
Mutes.  That primitive mode of existence produces a special and very
intense kind of relationship with their environment.

'Make no mistake, there are dynamic forces which permeate the earth and
sky.  We already know what some of them are.  In another thousand years
we'll probably be using them the way we use electricity now.  But no
one will call it magic.  And there'll be no more wordsmiths, summoners
and seers."

'Why not.  'Progress .... ' Karlstrom paused to exchange waves with a
group of Trackers supervising a track-maintenance detail.  'The
Plainfolk have got three ways to go.  They 
can get wiped out, fall
under our control and end up in work-camps like the Southern Mutes, or
they can hold the line - keep us at bay.  To have a hope of doing that,
they have to make a giant leap forward.  They not only have to be
better armed, they have to undergo a complete change of lifestyle."

'And that will change their present relationship with their
environment.  They'll lose touch.  And when that happens.  there'll be
no more earth-magic."

'Exactly,' said Karlstrom.  'You got it in one."

'Not a very pleasing prospect for the people running this psionics
outfit you mentioned."

Karlstrom's face darkened.  'I don't think we need worry about those
guys.  They'll soon find something else to hitch their wagon to."

'But at the moment, their research programme is fully approved by the
President-General."

Karlstrom was too fly to fall for that one.  'It's approved by
everyone, Brickman - including you..."

'Absolutely, sir."

'And there's something else we need to get straight.  I know it's your
friend Clearwater who's been zapping the surveillance cameras, but at
the moment no one else does.  I'm happy to leave it that way providing
you tell her to knock it off.  Any further disruption could seriously
jeopardise our interests and by that I mean yours, hers and mine.  You
got that?"

'Yes, sir."

'You will only be allowed this one visit.  You will not reveal any
details of this up-coming mission, or even that you will soon be
leaving the Federation."

'No, sir!"

'Okay.  Now for my part, I will ensure that no harm comes to her while
you're away.  In fact, I guarantee it."

'Thank you, sir."

'And in return, assuming you get back in one piece, you and I will have
to put our heads together and decide what is to be done with her.

What's best for all of us.  Give the matter some thought while you're
away."

'I will, sir .... ' 'Okay.  We've said all there is to say."  Pulling
the peak of his engineer's cap down over his eyes, Karlstrom resumed
his Man of Destiny stance at the driver's window and laid a firm hand
on the throttle.  'Back to work, Brickman.  Start hauling wood!"

Yesss-sirrrr ....

CHAPTER FIVE

The sudden convergence of so many high-born supporters of the
progressive party did not escape the notice of the agents that Lord
Ieyasu had managed to station inside the domain of the Yama-Shita and
elsewhere.

Despite a great deal of effort and ingenuity, he had not succeeded in
placing an agent in a key long-term position within the palace walls,
but that had ceased to be a problem.  Two years ago, one of his special
agents, trained in the ancient arts of the ninja to perform what were
often suicide missions, had succeeded in planting an electronic bug in
the main council chamber before his presence was detected.  Unable to
escape, he had killed himself.

To the Yama-Shita family it looked like a failed assassination attempt
which was also strangely ill-timed since Lord Hirohito, the presumed
target, was absent on a tour of his domain.  But the ninja had done his
work well.

The chamber was used for important policy meetings, and the
miniaturised listening device had relayed a great deal of useful
intelligence to a secret listening post aboard an innocent-looking
fishing boat that always cast its nets within a mile of the palace
ramparts.

Ieyasu had been assured that the small, bean-sized battery - another
long-dog miracle - had one more year of life, but now, as the age-old
rivals of the TohYota gathered to plot new treasons, the device had
fallen silent.

How tiresome!  thought Ieyasu.  Never mind.  His network was
resilient.

Messages would be sent, ways would be found.  And if all else failed,
he could always rely on Domain-Lord Kiyo Min-Orota, a true and trusted
ally who had already passed on the wording of the invitation he had
received to join a group of like-minded friends at Sarakusa.

Ieyasu was right about Sakimoto's motives for inviting his
fellow-progressives, but he was wrong about the reason for the break in
transmission.  The electronic bug had not suffered battery failure; its
presence had been detected and its location revealed by Cadillac.

Acting on a wild hunch, he used parts of the radio equipment stripped
from the damaged Skyhawk to sweep several key areas of the palace,
including the main conference chamber.  Just when he was about to give
up, the tell-tale feed-back noise had led him to the device which had
been embedded in the underside of the long, low, eight-legged table.

After examining the bug, he deactivated it then restored it to its
hiding place.  There was no point in showing it to the Regent, Aishi
Sakimoto, ahead of the meeting.

The device itself was physically insignificant and would mean nothing
to anyone who had not grasped the concept of electronic surveillance.

It needed to be woven into a carefully-prepared scenario and revealed
with a dramatic flourish when he had secured the undivided attention of
his powerful audience.  He had promised them proof of the Toh-Yotas
treachery, and he intended to supply it.

The Skyhawk transceiver unit contained a tape-deck with an eight-hour
digital cassette which enabled pilots to record ground-to-air or
air-to-air conversations.  Using his gift of mimicry and his fluent
grasp of japanese, Cadillac recorded two voices from a sending and
receiving station, in which the sender reported that the secret
conference summoned by the Yama-Shita was now underway, but that the
listening device had suddenly stopped relaying the voices of the
conspirators.

Both speakers referred to the Lord Chamberlain and the TohoYota by
name, their voices rising and fading against a background of static
created by rustling a crumpled piece of rice-paper close to the tiny
microphone.

It took several tries before Cadillac pronounced 
himself satisfied
with the balance of the voices and Roz's sound-effects, but the final
version was impressive - with just enough roughness and deptho convince
any listeners that the voices were coming from some point far beyond
the castle walls.

His audience would not have heard voices 'captured' from the air
before, so the impact would be even greater.

They would listen more intently, and when the full implications of what
was being said dawned on them collectively, the Lord Chamberlain would
be mired in shite right up to his hairless armpits.

The last guests to arrive were Lord Fu-Jitsu and Na-Shona, the
domain-lords who held the far northern reaches of Ne-Issan.  With the
destruction of the pre-Holocaust locks on the San-Oransa, the river was
no longer navigable along its whole length.  The only way to reach
Sara-kusa was by an arduous ride on horseback.

Sakimoto made them welcome, and granted a twenty-four hour respite to
ease the soreness generated by so many days in the saddle.

The next evening, before joining the earlier arrivals for a lavish
banquet, they were taken aside by Aishi Sakimoto and given a
preparatory briefing on the strange nature of the outlandish couple
that he intended to bring before them on the following day.

The encounter, said Sakimoto, would involve a grave breach of protocol,
even an affront to their dignity, but it was absolutely essential that
they - like the other nobles who had arrived before them - subdued
their natural reactions and prejudices, and listened with an open mind
and, above all, watched with open eyes.

'Outlandish couple ...?"  Lord Fu4itsu exchanged a cautious glance with
his neighbour and travelling-companion, Domain-Lord Na-Shona.  'What
manner of creature are they?"

'Grass-monkeys,' replied Sakimoto, 'who are able to speak our sacred
mother-tongue."

Having been over the same ground with his other guests, the shocked
reaction of Lord Fu-Jitsu and Na-Shona came as no surprise.

'Y-You expect us to sit in the same room and..."  Na-,Shona could
hardly bring himself to express the thought, · .  . treat with'them as
equals?!"

'You will certainly be expected to sit and listen to what they have to
tell us,' said Sakimoto with undiplomatic firmness.  'It goes without
saying they can never be accepted as our social equals.  I am merely
asking you to suppress - as I have - your natural feelings of
superiority."

."And disgust .... ' 'That too,' said Sakimoto.  'But once you have
surmounted these mental barriers, I am confident you will find the
experience most instructive.  These are witches, able to grip and chill
the minds of men by conjuring up spirit forms which are as real as you
and I, and alter the world around us."  He saw their eyes widen in
alarm.  'And they have come here to aid us to achieve what we all
desire the most!"

When Cadillac and Roz were brought into the main council chamber, they
found Aishi Sakimoto and the six senior members of the Yama-Shita
family council sitting at the long table, interspersed with their
guests Domain-Lords Ko-Nikka and Se-Iko, their nearest neighbours, Lord
Hi-Tashi and San-Yo from the far south, Lord Fu-Jitsu and Na-Shona and
Lord Min-Orota of Masa-chusa and Ro-diren.  Behind each domain-lord sat
a trusted advisor, but there were no armed guards - although a number
were stationed outside all the entrances and could be summoned in an
instant.

Approaching the small, low table that had been placed opposite the
centre of its larger neighbour, Cadillac and Roz knelt on the mats
provided and put their noses briefly on the floor then, in impeccable
japanese, Cadillac said: 'Noble lords of the Yama-Shita.  We greet you
and your illustrious guests on behalf of the Plainfolk."  He bowed 
his
head to Sakimoto.  'Sire, we have already spoken of our desire for
friendship and cooperation between your great houses and the warrior
clans we represent.  It is our belief that we can help you gain the
place that is rightfully yours.  In order for your guests to be able to
judge for themselves our usefulness in that regard, may we have your
permission to offer a brief display of the powers at our command?"

'Proceed,' said Aishi Sakimoto, bracing himself.

Before the word was fully uttered, Roz had imprisoned their minds.  The
assembled, domain-lords rocked back on their heels as Cadillac and Roz
and the small table disappeared and were replaced by a fully-armed
samurai-warrior astride a magnificent horse with flaring nostrils.  A
black stallion, caparisoned in crimson and silver.

The samurai - whose face was concealed behind a fearsome battle-mask
brandished a gleaming sword as he reined in the restive animal.  The
room was filled with the stamp of its iron-shod hooves.  Its muscular
neck with its flowing mane arched as the rider pulled the steaming
muzzle in against its neck.  Then, lowering its haunches, the stallion
bared its teeth, flexed its rear legs and leapt forward as the masked
rider loosed a tremendous yell.

Sakimoto - part of whose brain knew it wasn't real could not smother
the instinctive desire to throw himself sideways as the horse flew over
his head.  Even those not directly in line tried to get out of the way
then, to their utter consternation, horse and rider vanished in
mid-leap.

Cries of astonishment filled the council chamber, cries which soon
turned into strangled gasps of disbelief as the Iron Masters picked
themselves up and found Cadillac and Roz sitting calmly behind their
small table as if nothing had happened.

Lord Fu-Jitsu, angered at being tricked - and thoroughly frightened
into the bargain - ignored Sakimoto's warning to keep his cool.  He
slammed his right hand down upon the table.  'You painted apes!  How
dare you mock us in this impudent manner!"

An audible gasp from his neighbours and a sudden crawling, burning
sensation drew his attention to his hand.  Starting at the tips of his
splayed fingers, the skin began to steam and bubble.  Within seconds,
the bubbles had spread to cover the back of his hand, wrist and the
exposed part of his arm then, beneath his horrified gaze, the bubbles
became festering pustules which burst, revealing seething nests of
maggots feeding on the rotting flesh beneath.

His fellow domain-lords recoiled in horror as he pulled back the wide
sleeve of his kimono.  The whole of his forearm was being consumed.

The stench was unbearable, the pain indescribable.  Fu-Jitsu screamed
and thrust the quiveriug limb towards Lord San-Yo who had been seated
on his right.  'Strike!  I beg you!  Cut it off!  Before it devours
me!"

San-Yo found himself unable to draw his sword.  But it was not
necessary.  Fu-Jitsu's arm and hand had been magically restored to
their previously healthy state.  Hawwwwwww.wwwww.

At Sakimoto's urging, the domain-lords settled down in their allotted
places.  A servant was summoned to pour out a cup of sake for the
shaken Fu-Jitsu, and many of the others took the opportunity to settle
their nerves with a quick snifter.

When the hubbub had died down, Cadillac said: 'My lords, before we can
offer you our aid, we must come to a certain understanding.  We are not
"painted apes".

We are of the Plainfolk - a warrior race as proud and courageous as the
Sons of Ne-Issan.  We do not accept the notion of inferior and superior
beings.  Every colour and shape of humankind born under the sky has an
equal claim to the air that he breathes and the earth on which he
stands.  And it is our belief that the gods who rule the fate of
nations, punish and cast down those who ignore this great truth by
granting themselves privileges and considerations denied to those they
deem unworthy.

'We acknowledge your society is both different and far more advanced
than our own, but while it has much to 
commend it, the Plainfolk are
superior in other ways.  We are armed with magical powers drawn from
the ancient wisdom of heaven and earth - powers that can defeat the
swords, bows and guns of your mightiest armies!

'Our magic makes us invincible because we draw our strength from those
who would raise their hand against us.  Your anger, your hatred, your
evil intent fuels the magic and makes it more potent!  Your wrath
becomes our shield!"

It was all lies, of course.  Cadillac was making it up as he went
along, but after witnessing what had happened to Lord Fu-Jitsu none of
the shaken Iron Masters was prepared to doubt his word.

When he felt composed enough to speak, Lord Fu-Jitsu said: 'I regret
the rashness with which I addressed you."

Cadillac bowed in return.  'I fully understand, sire.  It is no easy
matter to change the habits and attitudes of a lifetime."

With Roz having helped him reduce his audience to a state of cowed
attentiveness, Cadillac dispensed with further courtesies and got down
to the business of nailing the Toh-Yota to the wall.

Placing a cloth package on the table, he announced in a suitably hushed
voice that he was about to unveil an artefact fashioned by the
long-dogs - a black box bearing hieroglyphs, hand controls and
glittering red and green jewel-like eyes.  A device filled with the
Dark Light ....

His mention of the forbidden words triggered an audible intake of
breath.  With ritualised gestures, he and Roz carefully unwrapped the
Skyhawk's radio set then refolded the cloth neatly and set it aside.

The Iron Masters loved ceremony.  They even made a major production out
of the simple process of preparing a hot drink by pouring boiling water
on dried leaves.  Not only did it take forever, you had to put on
special clothes in order to participate.

Lord San-Yo eyed the radio uneasily and voiced the question on
everyone's lips.  'Are we in any danger from that.  device?"

'No, sire.  It threatens only those who have abused the trust of this
nation."  Besides the fake messages, Cadillac had also recorded several
useful sound effects.  The box, he explained, had several functions,
one of which was its ability to detect the presence of other devices
filled with the Dark Light.  It was not, as many people thought, a
demonic energy, but it was created by the interaction of elemental
forces.  It had many forms and attributes, but it could be likened to a
flowing river whose dynamic force turned the water-wheels of grinding
mills, and to bands of light - like sunbeams striking through a pine
forest in the early morn - but invisible to the naked eye.  It was
these unseen bands that were able to join one device to another, and
they also could capture and carry away the sound of the human voice.

Hhhawwwwwwww.

Selecting the appropriate track, Cadillac coaxed a faint high-pitched
bleep from the radio.  His audience, of course, had no idea that he was
manipulating the controls to produce the desired noises - and that Roz
had been doing so beneath the table even before the radio had been
unwrapped.

They exchanged meaningful glances.  'Listen!"  cried Roz.  'It speaks
to another device!"

Most of the domain-lords present had a fair to good grasp of Basic, but
Cadillac quickly repeated what she had said in japanese.  The Iron
Masters reacted with murmurs of surprise.

Taking the radio reverently between both hands, he rose and moved
carefully up and down in front of the long table, sweeping the room for
the hidden device as he surreptitiously raised and lowered the volume
control to simulate the technique of direction finding.  Finally, as he
neared the point where the device was concealed, he raised the volume
and pointed an accusing finger.

'My lord!  The device must be hidden in the table itself!"

'But that's impossible!"  cried Sakimoto.

'Not so, my lord.  You underestimate the cunning and duplicity of those
who seek to destroy you!"  Cadillac 
scanned the table closely as the
Iron Masters scrambled to their feet and backed away cautiously.  'It
must be underneath!  Allow me!"  Handing Roz the radio, Cadillac
grasped one edge of the heavy table.

'Wait!  said Sakimoto.  'I will summon servants!"

Lord Ko-Nikka and several other domain-lords stepped forward.  'There
is no need.  The less people that know of this the better!"

They turned the table on one of its long edges.  Cadillac drew their
attention to the neatly-drilled cavity, carefully levered out the small
device and held it up for all to see as the table was lowered back into
place.

The domain-lords eyed the bug sceptically as Cadillac pushed it round
the table for each of them to examine.  'It looks like a black stone
from a go board,' said Mitiyake Se-Iko.  'Can it really capture
voices?"

Cadillac shot a quick glance at Roz, then pretended to make a crucial
adjustment to the bug.  Roz quickly rewound a section of the tape and
hit the play button as Cadillac raised the bug between thumb and
forefinger.

To their utter astonishment, the Iron Masters heard the voice of Lord
Se-Iko issue from the black box: 'It looks like a black stone from a go
board.  Can it really capture voices?"

Hhhawwwww-wwwww.  This was magic indeed.

'But what does this mean?!"  demanded Lord Min-Orota.

Cadillac twisted the two faces of the bug between his fingers and held
it near the radio.  There was no high-pitched bleep.  Roz had switched
tracks but no one had noticed.  'I have emptied the Dark Light from
it.

It no longer hears.  But while it was alive, it noted the words spoken
in this room as faithfully as a scribe!"

Aishi Sakimoto and the other members of the family council paled
visibly.  'Merciful heaven!"  exclaimed Hide-oshi YamaoShita.  'It was
around this table that our late and much-beloved Lord Hirohito held
many of his most important meetings!"

Cadillac nodded.  'Which probably included his future plans for
expanding trade and the strategies to be employed in countering the
machinations of the TohYota."

He did not wait for Hideoshi to answer.  Holding up the bug, he said:
'You may be sure that every word was carried from this room to eager
ears beyond these walls - by this cunning device!  Ears belonging to
the Toh-Yota!  For it was the agents employed by Lord Ieyasu who placed
it beneath this table!"

Lord Min-Orota, astounded by what he had seen and heard, was not yet
ready to condemn the Toh-Yota.  'The device can only have come from the
long-dogs, and it must have been placed there by someone, but there is,
as yet, no proof they were agents of the Toh-Yota.  The Shogun's
feelings on this matter are well known.  His family has always upheld
the edict against the Dark Light.  It is not possible for him to be
involved in such an appalling act of treachery!"

ishi Sakimoto nodded then turned to Cadillac.  'Can you back up this
charge?"

Cadillac bowed.  'Sire, if my accusation is well-founded, there will be
agents of the Toh-Yota stationed nearby equipped with more powerful
devices to capture the words spoken here.  Their task is to despatch
them unheard and unseen, together with any other intelligence, to their
ultimate destination.  Let us see what we can find."

Returning to the small table, he sat down beside Roz, and whispered: 'I
think we've got 'em."  Twiddling the controls of the radio, and
manipulating the buttons controlling the multi-track tape, Cadillac
succeeded in 'capturing' a conversation between two voices for his
attentive audience.

The content of the transmission removed any shred of doubt in the minds
of the listening domain-lords.  The unidentified agent - who had
apparently been standing by to eavesdrop on the present meetingreported
that the listening device had stopped working before anything
incriminating had been said.

Questioned by the 'home station' he expressed his certainty that the
Yama-Shita family, led by Aishi Saki-moto were plotting a coup of some
kind, and passed on the names of all those present.  It was vital, said
the agent, that Lord Ieyasu and the Shogun were informed of what was
afoot.  With the failure of the device within the Sara-kusa Palace,
information on the plotters would have to be gathered elsewhere.

The domain-lords gasped as they heard the 'home station' tell the agent
that that was not a problem.

Lord Ieyasu, said the voice, had been able to place a string of black
beads across the length and breadth of Ne-Issan and with their help he
would be able to strangle any conspiracy to remove the TohYota.

Seeing the effect this had on the domain-lords, Cadillac went for the
kill.  Addressing Sakimoto, he said: 'Sire!  I promised you proof of
the Toh-Yota's treachery.  Now you have seen and heard it with your own
eyes and ears!

They have not only betrayed you, they have betrayed the soul of the
nation!"

Coming hard on the heels of his discovery of the listening device,
these phantom voices banished all doubt - even in the mind of Lord Kiyo
Min-Orota.  The TohYota had abused the power accorded to them by their
fellow domain-lords in the most heinous way imaginable - demanding
death, money and other punitive forms of retribution for crimes which
they themselves had perpetrated for years.  And were continuing to do
so!

Cadillac and Roz sat back calmly as the shocked domain-lords tried to
hammer out a coherent response to these revelations.  All were agreed
that the TohYota shogunate had to be swept away, but they were
hopelessly split over the means by which this could be best
accomplished.  Hawks and doves both knew it would require the use of
considerable force.

Probably full-scale civil war.  Despite their present sense of outrage,
that was not a course the majority of the assembled nobles were ready
to embark upon without careful preparation.

It would be better, said the doves, to gather more support for their
progressive ideals by exposing the corrupt behaviour of the
shogunate.

Quite so, said the hawks - but could it be done quickly and effectively
before the Toh-Yota - who would be bound to learn what was afoot
launched a pre-emptive strike on the Yama-Shita with whom they shared
common borders?

When the steam ran out of the discussion without any agreed plan of
action having being produced, Cadillac asked permission to speak.

Aishi Sakimoto, who was presiding over the meeting, invited him to do
so.

'Great and noble lords, I have listened to your deliberations and
sensed your rightful anger.  The house of TohYota, the supposed
guardian of tradition, has flouted the sacred edicts it imposed on the
rest of Ne-Issan.  For this alone, it should fall.  But I would advise
you against the use, at this stage, of military force.

'The Shogun and his principal advisors have shown themselves to be
cunning, unscrupulous adversaries.

They may well find ways to ridicule or deny the proofs I have laid
before you.  Through their great wealth and the patronage they can
bestow, they may be able to purchase the support of domain-lords who
are less principled than yourselves.  The answer to this problem lies
elsewhere.

'It is the Shogun and Lord Ieyasu who stand condemned.

If you remove them, the house of TohYota will be plunged into
confusion.  Ieyasu is like the head of a viper with a thousand forked
tongues - spies and provocateurs who have poisoned the minds of this
nation and filled them with fear and hatred for those - like you - who
wish to see it strong and secure.  Able to resist the Federation.  For
there, beneath the Deserts of the South, is where the real threat
lies.

'A threat which the Toh-Yota cannot meet, because it lacks the will.

It has no vision of the future and, most of all, with its pretence of
clinging to tradition, it deprives you of the means to adequately
defend yourselves!"

His words met with strong murmurs of assent.  Cadillac turned to Roz
who sat cross-legged beside him and sought 
encouragement with a
raised-eyebrow 'how am I doing?"  look.  She maintained the same blank
expression she had assumed on entering but nodded approvingly.

Lord Min-Orota, in whose domain the ill-fated Heron Pool had been
built, said: 'Are you suggesting the assassination of the Shogun and
Lord Ieyasu?"

'As the first step, yes,' said Cadillac.  'From what I have learned,
Lord Ieyasu is the most powerful man in Ne-Issan and your most feared
adversary.  The Shogun, Prince Yoritomo, has certain strengths, but he
is manipulated by his great-uncle - and is thus equally guilty.

'He has no male heir and he has no brothers.  The question who would
succeed him is bound to cause great dissension amongst the rest of the
TohYota family - especially after his guilt is revealed.  That is the
moment when you should make your challenge against their authority."

Sakimoto shook his head.  'I commend your insight, but the proposal you
have just put forward has been considered and rejected on countless
previous occasions."

'Rejected,' added Lord Se-Iko, 'because of the difficulties of placing
an assassin within reach of the Shogun.  If anything, Lord Ieyasu is an
even more difficult target.

The assassination of both of them simultaneously or in quick succession
is not a practical proposition.

'On all formal occasions they are surrounded by guards whose loyalty is
beyond question, and there are watchers who exercise extreme vigilance
at all times.  Access to the Inner Court is strictly controlled and no
one is allowed to carry anything that might be remotely considered as a
weapon when accorded a private audience."

'What constitutes a "private audience"... ?"

Sakimoto swapped glances with his coconspirators.

'The phrase is usually applied to meetings between members of the Inner
Court in which two individuals - although it can be more - engage in
some form of sexual intercourse."

Lord Se-Iko enlarged upon his colleague's reply.  'In the case of
Ieyasu, these audiences are said to be a daily event.  The Shogun,
despite his youth, is somewhat less voracious."

Cadillac looked at Roz, then said: 'Can you enlighten us further?"

'In what way?"

'By telling us what kind of partners, they prefer, how they are chosen
and how they are introduced into the presence of Lord Ieyasu and Prince
Yoritomo."

'We can give you some information,' replied Sakimoto, 'but this is a
blind alley.  Anyone chosen to receive the intimate attentions of these
gentlemen has to strip and bathe - and of course they are washed and
groomed by trusted members of the palace staff.

'Every orifice is searched - even their fingernails are trimmed - and
they are then dressed in clothes which have been specially prepared and
checked, and offer no possibility of concealing any dangerous
objects."

'And,' said Lord Min-Orota, 'any food or drink served on such occasions
is carefully prepared, inspected and tasted beforehand."

The other Iron Masters seated around the low table took it in turns to
reveal what they knew, providing Cadillac and Roz with an entertaining
mixture of fact, speculation and gossip.

It emerged that Ieyasu's preference was for prepubescent young girls
between ten and twelve years old.

These were supplied by a group of favoured ladies of the Inner Court.

On the much rarer occasions when the Shogun indulged his baser passions
it was with partners nearer his own age - male and female.

An unsubstantiated rumour which had gained currency because of its
juicy content hinted at a romantic attachment to several of the
Heralds.  Founded by Prince Yoritomo soon after his accession, the
College of Heralds was a body of intelligent, dedicated, handsome young
men, chosen by the Shogun to be his personal representatives.  His
'eyes and ears'.

With their appointment came the privilege of direct access to the
Shogun, a move which had threatened 
Ieyasu's influence at court and
his grip on the reins of power.

Cadillac sought further details about their exact role and it was at
this point that the name of the Herald Toshiro Hase-Gawa came into the
conversation.  This, he recalled, was the Iron Master who had been
closely involved with Steve.

It transpired that, following the successful unmasking of the
conspiracy led by Lord Yama-Shita to resurrect the Dark Light, the
Herald Toshiro Hase-Gawa - who had played a pivotal role in the
Shogun's triumph had been obliged to take his own life because of a
compromising letter that had been intercepted by one of Ieyasu's
agents.

No one knew what the letter contained, but its penning and posting by
Toshiro had led directly to his death.

Slicing open his own belly in the time-honoured fashion before being
beheaded by his second - Kamakura, a Captain in the Palace Guard.

The recounting of this incident caused the assembled Iron Masters a
great deal of merriment.  Sakimoto explained: 'The good captain has
five daughters and an ambitious wife, who entertained hopes of marrying
one of them off to the Herald.  Not only was he a good friend of the
family, he was also Kamakura's pupil.  The poor man - who is a
magnificent swordsman - works lovingly for years and then has to cut
off the head of his most outstanding pupil!"

Sakimoto slapped his thighs and roared with laughter.

His colleagues seemed to find it equally amusing.

When the laughter subsided, Moro Ko-Nikka, who was there to represent
his brother, the domain-lord, said: 'I think the letter was an
excuse.

The palace gossips say it was Lady Mishiko who sent the Herald to his
death by asking her brother's permission to marry him- a little too
soon after the death of her husband."

This met with a murmur of agreement.

The Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba had been the Shogun's official
representative in Lord Min-Orota's domain.  Cadillac not only knew of
him, he had witnessed his fiery descent from the sky.  He sensed a
trail that might finally be leading somewhere ....

'Was he a man of noble birth?  An acceptable candidate for her hand?"

'Indeed he was,' replied Moro.  'The house of HaseGawa has always been
a staunch ally of the TohYota."

'So why did the Shogun view this match with such disfavour?"

The Iron Masters around exchanged knowing glances.

Lord Se-Iko leant forward.  'Because the same palace gossips claimed
that Yoritomo was secretly in love with Toshiro but had not yet found
the courage to declare his affection!  His carnal desire for men is
something he tries to deny!  You can imagine how mortified he was when
he found that his favourite Herald loved another - and had been doing
so for some time in secret!"

Lord Min-Orota, who had been a party to the plot with the Yama-Shita
family and had only managed to save his neck by switching sides at the
last minute, provided the capper.  'I happen to know there was more to
it than that.

It was Ieyasu who pushed him into allowing Mishiko to marry Nakane - to
bolster their alliance with his family.

'The Herald wasn't the only one who wanted Mishiko's husband out of the
way.  Yoritomo couldn't bear the idea of her being in Nakane's bed- and
not just because he was a dissolute pig whose conduct dishonoured his
wife and, by extension, the Toh-Yota.  He couldn't bear it because he
had been, and still was, in love with her himself!"

There were gasps of astonishment from those around the table who had
not heard this particular nugget before.

Cadillac's pulse quickened.  'My lord, are you suggesting that the
Shogun had his sister's lover killed because they had both rejected
him?"

'Rejected is not the word I would choose,' replied Min-Orota.  'It
seems pretty certain that Yoritomo slept with his sister fairly
regularly over a number of years before Ieyasu managed to remove her.

The Herald was, I imagine, merely a consolation prize."

'That he didn't collect."

Lord Min-Orota shrugged.  'Whether he did or not doesn't really
matter.

The important thing is that Yoritomo couldn't bear the idea of anyone
else touching his sister."

'Or the idea that they might love her and were only humouring him,'
suggested Cadillac.

'Very likely.  In the past, ambitious young men have been known to use
their bodies to gain preferment.  We call it promotion by the
backstairs.  Women do it all the time, but they, of course, come
equipped with two tunnels of love."

'The last time I counted it was three!"  said Lord Se-Iko.

This provoked another round of thigh-slapping laughter.

Cadillac and Roz exchanged another glance.  Her eyes told him she knew
what he was thinking.  And approved.

'Does the Lady Mishiko have any children?"  he asked.

Aishi Sakimoto nodded.  'Yes.  Two daughters, Miyori and Narikita, aged
five and four - and a two year-old son."

'Toshi,' added Lord Min-Orota.  'There was a vague rumour he was
fathered by the Herald."

'And she grieves for him still."  Cadillac swept his eyes over his Iron
Master audience.  'My lords, I think we may have found our assassin the
Lady Mishiko."

The domain-lords and the other high-ranking nobles reacted with gasps
of surprise.  Sakimoto laughed.  The idea seemed so preposterous.  'She
obviously has access, but even if some way was found to smuggle a
weapon in, what makes you think she would want to kill her brother?"

Cadillac responded with a bow.  'Sire, we are going to make her want
to.  When we have finished our preparations she will be unable to think
of anything else.  The desire for revenge will overwhelm all other
thoughts."

He pointed to the electronic bug and the radio he had placed on the
small low table in front of him.  'We will show her these devices, and
persuade her to listen to the voices of Ieyasu's agents that I managed
to draw from the air and trap inside this box.

'We will reveal Ieyasu's treachery, and we will tell her that her
lover, the Herald Toshiro, discovered Ieyasu's secret pact with the
long-dogs under which they supplied him with devices filled with the
Dark Light for use by his network of spies.  Devices which were also
used to discredit the College of Heralds.

'We will tell her that Toshiro intended to reveal all this to the
Shogun and that, in order to stop him, Ieyasu had the fatal letter
forged and mailed in Toshiro's name in order to protect his own
position.

'And we will tell her that her brother, the Shogun, ignored the
Herald's protestations of innocence - even though he suspected he was
telling the truth - because he was insanely jealous of the intimate
relationship she had - all too hastily - revealed.  And she will
believe this because that part, at least, is true.

'She and the Herald both wanted her husband Nakane out of the way, but
it was the Shogun who ordered Toshiro to arrange his death."  Cadillac
paused and surveyed his audience, sensing their rapt attention.

'When these facts are laid before her she will want to kill Ieyasu and
her brother because it all fits in neatly with what she already knows
and because it is what she wants to hear.

'We must make sure nothing stops her.  We have to arrange for the
evidence she needs to be put in place, plus the means to commit
murder."  He gestured towards Roz.

'Rain-Dancer and I can provide much of this, but first we need more
details about the organisation of the Inner Court and the personalities
who surround the Shogun.

Plus a body of stout-hearted horsemen willing to ride with us into the
Toh-Yota heartland and aid our escape when the deed is done."

Lord Min-Orota could hardly believe his ears.  'You intend to enter the
Shogun's palace?"

'If necessary, yes."

There was a long silence, then Sakimoto said: 'I hate to admit this,
but you may have actually produced a plan that could work.  It has some
exquisite touches.

You deserve to be made an honorary Iron Master."

Cadillac bowed low.  'You are most gracious, sire.  But it would be too
great an honour for such an unworthy outlander.  We are happy to be
accepted into your presence and your confidence as we are, and to offer
you, on behalf of the Plainfolk, whatever assistance we can."

'There's something I'd like to know,' said Lord Na-Shona.

He was one of the few who had refrained from dishing up the dirt.  'If
the Lady Mishiko takes the bait, how will she kill Lord Ieyasu and
Prince Yoritomo?"

'That, sire, must remain a secret - for reasons I am sure you
understand."

Aishi Sakimoto could hardly contain his excitement at the prospect of
toppling the Toh-Yota family.  'If you succeed, you will both be richly
rewarded."

Cadillac bowed again.  'We seek no reward, sire, other than a firm and
continuing friendship between our two nations.  But even though we are
able to call upon powerful magic we need your help and guidance to gain
access to the Lady Mishiko.  Will you furnish us with the men, ships
and resources we require?"

Sakimoto did not hesitate.  'You shall have them."

CHAPTER SIX

The large fortified residence known as the Winter Palace was situated
at Showa, ten miles inland from the port of Oshana-sita, and some four
miles south of the state line between Delaware and Maryland.  The whole
of the peninsular from Wilmington across to the neck of Delaware bay
and down to the southern tip with its garland of islands which had been
part of Virginia, belonged to the Toh-Yota.  During their eighty-year
reign, the family had built or taken over five similar strongholds on
the mainland, but since his accession, the Shogun had chosen to spend
the winter months at Showa - hence its name.

It was towards the Winter Palace that Lord Kiyomori Min-Orota led his
mounted and wheeled entourage, after journeying in three boats, along
canal, river and coastline from Sara-kusa to a small backwater port
some fifteen miles north of Oshana-sita.

At the head of the slower-moving baggage-train was a closed
carriage-box containing Cadillac and Roz, masked and cloaked in the
style of travelling courtesans.  This disguise had been proposed by
Cadillac, who had already made one successful trip across Ne-Issan
posing as a high-priced lady from the 'floating world'.

Following the baggage-train at irregular intervals and in three
unevenly-sized groups were samurai horsemen supplied by Aishi
Sakimoto.

These were also travelling in disguise.  The two largest appeared to be
road-convoys of merchants and cart-drivers carrying goods from Fin, the
other a group of horse-traders with several promising-looking mounts in
tow and papers which identified them as coming from the domain of
Toh-Shiba family.  In a further attempt to conceal the fact that they
formed one 
coherent group, Lord Min-Orota's party was separated from
the rearmost road-convoy by some four hours, and they were all
travelling via different routes to their alloted positions around the
Winter Palace.

Aishi Sakimoto, the acting head of the YamaShita family, had chosen
Lord MinOrota to make contact with Lady Mishiko because of his
face-saving leap into the Shogun's camp following the death of his
coconspirator, Domain-Lord Hirohito YamaShita.

Kiyo Min-Orota was widely regarded as someone not to be wholly trusted
by either side.  Inviting him to the meeting had been a gamble but it
had paid off.  Kiyo, despite his opportunism, was committed to the
progressive movement, and the task he had now been given fitted exactly
with people's expectations of him.

Sakimoto knew that Ieyasu - who had learned of the meeting at Sara-kusa
- would be expecting to hear from Lord Min-Orota.  He would not be
disappointed.  Kiyo was on his way to tell Ieyasu that the Yama-Shita
had uncovered damning proof that he had - with the help of the
Federation - deployed a network of agents equipped with communication
devices powered by the Dark Light: proof in the form of documents,
equipment and two captured long-dog agents disguised as Mute slaves.

As a stalwart ally, Kiyo would say he had brought this news out of
concern for the damage it would do to the Shogun and the Toh-Yota
family once the accusation, and the attendant rumours, began to be
spread by their enemies throughout Ne-Issan.

Min-Orota himself was convinced Ieyasu would do his level best to
contain this dismaying news instead of passing it on to the Shogun.

Indeed, as he had argued at Sara-kusa, when everything was taken into
account, it was obvious that Yoritomo did not know what Ieyasu had been
up to.  Keeping it secret over the past years had enabled Ieyasu to
reinforce his position as the man who knew everything, and that in turn
had helped him discredit the newly-created College of Heralds - forcing
Yoritomo back into a position of total dependence upon him.

But there were two things Min-Orota, the loyal and trusted friend, did
not intend to reveal.  First was that, besides briefing the Court
Chamberlain, he also planned to spill the entire can of beans to the
Lady Mishiko who, because of her animosity towards Ieyasu for his past
interference in her life, would be only too pleased to tell her brother
the good news.  And second, was that the conspirators planned to use a
deadly mixture of fact, fiction and Mute magic to poison Lady Mishiko's
mind and turn her into an assassin ....

Lady Mishiko, at this point in time, knew nothing of this.

Since the welcome death of her husband and the untimely demise of her
lover Toshiro Hase-Gawa, she had become a semi-recluse living in her
brother's household, while she tried to put the pieces of her shattered
life back together.

With her three children and her small personal retinue of servants, she
had her own permanent apartments in all the princely households, and
followed her brother in his seasonal moves around his four domains.

Mishiko was the only close relative so favoured; her three elder
sisters, all married, as she had been, into noble houses closely allied
with the Toh-Yota, were only seen at court on great state occasions
such as the annual ceremony each spring when the domain-lords of
Ne-Issan gathered in all their martial splendour to renew their oath of
fealty to the Shogun.

But as the Inner Court gossips knew, Mishiko's sisters had not become
one of the permanent focal points of their younger brother's warped
desires.  Each of them, before being married off, had been bullied or
cajoled into submitting to varying degrees of physical intimacy and
responding in kind, but for one reason or another his interest in them
had slackened then disappeared entirely (to their great relief) as
Mishiko began to blossom into womanhood.

Most noblewomen had small bosoms, some had almost flat chests like men,
and this had become the accepted 
fashion.  The traditional upper-class
japanese style of dress was not designed to display the female bosom,
and any woman whose chest measurements exceeded the norm took care to
conceal her abundance under a binding cloth.

On reaching puberty, Mishiko's breasts had budded quickly and to her
dismay had continued to grow full and firm, surmounted with generous
nipples.  Tormented by her slim-breasted sisters, she was haunted by
visions of being weighed down by two overripe melons like her
moon-faced Korean wet-nurse, but to her great relief this hadn't
happened.

By her sixteenth birthday- the age when noble families started thinking
about suitable marriage partners - Mis-hiko was left generously endowed
but not grossly overburdened.

But by that time, she' was no longer a virgin.

Yoritomo, gripped by the feverish fantasies that plague young men as
the sap begins to rise, had already forced himself upon her.

Having shared the bathtub with Mishiko and his other sisters from early
childhood to the age of puberty, Yoritomo had seen her breasts begin to
bud.  From that moment on, using a great deal of ingenuity, he had
contrived to spy upon her nakedness.  The vision of her swelling body
and the desire to fondle it - as she herself did in her most private
moments - became an obsession.

It was, as he confessed to her later, like a worm in the brain - eating
away at his sanity.

Given the dissolute atmosphere that permeated the Inner Court during
his father's reign, it was hardly surprising that Yoritomo's incestuous
desires were able to flourish unnoticed and unchecked.  As the heir to
the throne, the courtiers who served his father treated him with the
utmost deference, and his sisters were also obliged to humour him for
fear of what might happen to them when he became the Shogun.

It took some while for Yoritomo to realise this but when he did, and
finally summoned up the courage to turn his youthful fantasies into
reality, he began the fumbling sexual conquest of his sisters.  One by
one, singly and in pairs, with increasing proficiency, the secret
liaisons continued until the magic moment when Mishiko came of age.

Like her sisters before her, Mishiko had submitted because she dared
not do otherwise.  The actual physical relationship had ended six years
ago with her marriage to Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba.  She had
never spoken of it - not even to the Herald - and no one had ever
alluded to it in her presence, but by the very nature of life at court,
the affair had not remained a secret for very long.  · With her return
as a widow to her brother's household, Mishiko had nervously awaited
the summons to Yoritomo's bed-chamber, but to her great relief it had
not come.  Having lost an unloved husband and a lover who embodied
everything she desired in the space of a few weeks, she was an
emotional wreck.  She had nurtured the dream that one day she might be
free to marry the Herald, and with the death of Nakane at the Heron
Pool that day had come.  For one delirious moment her whole life had
been transformed and then, just as quickly, the dream - which her
children had shared - had been brutally crushed.

In the three years during which the secret romance had blossomed,
Mishiko had learned to conceal her true feelings, but to have been
forced, so soon after the event, to give her body to the man who had
sent the Herald to his death would have stripped away the last shreds
of self-respect and destroyed her reason.

Fortunately, her fears proved groundless.  It was dear from the way her
brother looked at her in the brief moments of relative privacy that
life at court afforded them, that his youthful desires for her had been
rekindled, but the message in his eyes was not matched by word or deed,
and was contradicted by a certain coldness in his manner.

Instead of gratefully accepting that she was no longer the subject of
his unwanted attentions, Mishiko began 
to wonder why this should be so
and came up with two possible reasons for Yoritomo's detachment: he
either regarded her as shop-soiled goods because of her illicit
physical relationship with the Herald, or he was trying to suppress his
own secret desires in order to live up to the incorruptible image he
had created for his role as Shogun, Ruler of the Seventeen Domains of
Ne-Issan.

Or both.

And with inexplicable perverseness, even though the emotional scars
would never heal, Mishiko started to return his smouldering glances but
made no other overt sign or gesture.  While earning his forgiveness,
she too would play the detached temptress.  And with patient guile she
would lure this saintly prince who had so ill-used her down from his
lofty pedestal.

And destroy him ....

Lord Kiyomori Min-Orota was about to give a fresh impetus to this
desire for revenge.  His questionable loyalty was not the only reason
he had been chosen as the go-between.  He knew Lady Mishiko much better
than the other progressive domain-lords.  Her husband, Nakane
Toh-Shiba, had served as the Shogun's Consul-General to Masa-chusa and
Ro-diren- Lord Min-Orota's domain.

For the past nine years, the couple had occupied the official
government residence not far from his own fortified palace near
Bo-sona, and as the Shogun's senior representative to the Min-Orota
court, TohShiba had been a frequent visitor.  On most formal occasions,
Lady Mishiko had accompanied her husband and Min-Orota had gone out of
his way to maintain a cordial relationship.  As the Shogun's nearest
and dearest sister, Mishiko carried considerable clout.  A favourable
word from her on behalf of a petitioner often led to a happy result as,
for example, in the three-yearly distribution of trading licences.

Lord Min-Orota had also played the role of a concerned friend and
father-figure, being amongst the first to offer his condolences on the
death of the Consul-General - a death he had witnessed and which,
despite the surrounding terror, had caused him a great deal of quiet
satisfaction.  The Consul-General had been a dissolute pig who had
behaved disgracefully towards his wife and family.  Everyone had known
what she was in for when the match was announced, but it had been a
politically-sensitive marriage; another coup engineered by that old fox
Ieyasu.

Mishiko had dutifully played the role of the heartbroken wife but she
was well rid of him, and Min-Orota - knowing through his own informers
of her liaison with the Herald, Toshiro Hase-Gawa, had expressed the
hope that after a suitable period of mourning, she might find happiness
elsewhere.

At the time, the source of that happiness had been standing by her
shoulder.  When he met their eyes, Min-Orota had been careful to give
no sign that he knew what was going on, and the two lovers had given
nothing away either.  But it was not to be.  Mishiko had suffered a
doubly cruel blow, and since no one was supposed to know of the
relationship, Min-Orota could not openly do or say anything to allay
her sense of loss.  This time the grief was genuine, and even more
unbearable because it could not be shared with anyone.

As a domain-lord with one foot in the progressive camp, he was secretly
relieved to be rid of the Herald.

Besides being a highly efficient diplomatic messenger, Toshiro
Hase-Gawa had been far too good at his real job - nosing into other
people's business.  On the other hand, as a father with two daughters
of his own trapped in arranged marriages, he could understand what she
was going through.  When it was safe to do so, he had taken the
opportunity to privately express his sympathy over the loss of 'a loyal
servant and friend' - someone, he knew, her children would miss
greatly.

The veiled phrases he used left Mishiko in no doubt that he knew the
score, and that if she needed someone to talk to, or a shoulder to cry
on, his was available.  It 
was a good move.  Mishiko had responded
warmly and it had left him better placed than before.  As well it
might, for under the terms of his settlement with the Shogun after the
Heron Pool disaster, he had been landed with paying a huge sum in
compensation for her husband's death.

The fine had been levied on the tenuous grounds that the
Consul-General's death was due to 'administrative negligence', i.e. it
had occurred in his domain, aboard a flying-horse constructed in
workshops financed by him and under his jurisdiction.  Faced with a
range of unpleasant alternatives, it had been an offer he couldn't
refuse.  MinoOrota was still stumping up the cash in instalments, and
the pain of parting with such large amounts of money was not eased by a
growing certainty that Nakane Toh-Shiba's death had been engineered by
the Shogun himself.

It was an example of the uses and abuses of power- and it had always
been thus.  That was why there were always people - like the Yama-Shita
- waiting in the wings, ready to gamble everything in a bid to seize
control of Ne-Issan and increase their share of its riches.  The trick
for middle-ranking players like Kiyo Min-Orota, was to hold the balance
for as long as possible before committing yourself to what you hoped
was the winning side.  That was the good thing about this present
move.

If the monkey-witches' plan to use Lady Mishiko to kill Ieyasu and
Yoritomo succeeded, then the whole country was up for grabs.  If it
didn't, he would be on record as a loyal ally who had alerted the
Shogun to the potentially damaging information uncovered by the
YamaShita.

Whichever way it went, he couldn't lose.

Since the Yama-Shita and its progressive allies were not supposed to
know that Lord Min-Orota was heading south to reveal their plans, it
provided him with a reason for making a stealthy approach to the Winter
Palace.

And delivering another hefty instalment into Mishiko's pension fund
gave Min-Orota a perfectly reasonable pretext for meeting the lady
face-to-face.

Heading south from the back-water port of Mirabara, Min-Orota and his
entourage came to Be-isha, a well-appointed post-house inn some three
miles north of the Winter Palace.  Scattering chickens, pigs and
peasants in all directions, Min-Orota rode into the courtyard with his
fifty-strong mounted retinue and despatched his principal aide to
arrange suitable accommodation for themselves, plus the drivers and
domestics accompanying the baggage-train which was still a mile back
down the road.

The aide returned with the post-house keeper and his wife in tow.

After the habitual orgy of bowing and apologising for their total
unworthiness, the palm-rubbing proprietor explained that the rentable
accommodation was almost fully booked.  Only one pavilion - the most
expensive remained.  This might suit the noble lord, but there was no
place for his mounted retinue, or the drivers and porters who had yet
to arrive.

The post-house keeper did not need to explain why, and Min-Orota cursed
himself for not remembering that business was always brisk at this time
of year.  Whenever the Shogun took up residence in the Winter Palace,
the permanent staff was overwhelmed by dozens of court officials,
government administrators, various relatives of Yoritomo, friends and
hangers-on - all with their own staffs and servants - plus a regiment
of cavalry and foot-soldiers, drafted in to reinforce the palace
guard.

This seasonal influx brought enticing amounts of disposable cash into
the area.  In off-duty hours, far away from home, government
functionaries and soldiers of all ranks were always in need of
entertainment and their arrival was welcomed by a small army of
itinerant pedlars, jugglers, acrobats, prostitutes, pimps, gamblers and
shysters who came flooding in from the back-streets of Awashi-tana and
Bati-moro to set up shop around the palace.

Lord Min-Orota's solution to the problem was simple.

Announcing that he required the exclusive use of the 
entire post-house
for himself and his staff over the next three days, he offered triple
the going rate.  And when the startled proprietor accepted, he tossed
him a bag of gold coins and gave him two hours to clear out the
riff-raft and make the place presentable.

Satisfied he had resolved the situation, Kiyo called upon his personal
bodyguard to follow him, wheeled his horse around and rode off towards
the Winter Palace preceded by two aides, each bearing aloft the blue
and brown house-flag of the Min-Orota family.

After presenting his credentials to the Captain of the Outer Keep,
Min-Orota followed the flag-bearers across the moat bridge into the
walled centre courtyard of the Winter Palace.  Soldiers - mostly bowmen
- were ranged around the battlements.  Anyone who forced their way
through the main doors uninvited would find it hard to break out of
this killing zone.  The sloping walls offered no hiding place.  There
were several exits, each one secured by iron-studded doors.  They were
tall enough to admit fully-armed horsemen, but to force an entry under
fire would require the hasty application of explosives.  Or traitors on
the other side.

If the monkey-witches succeeded in turning the Lady Mishiko, they would
have their traitor.  One flail woman, but so well-placed, she was worth
a thousand battle-hardened men.

Shikobu Asakawa, one of a score of senior secretaries who, with the aid
of their own staffs, handled the endless stream of paperwork passing
through the Chamberlain's office, hastened to welcome Lord Min-Orota on
behalf of his master.

Kiyo informed him he had come to deposit a further sum with the Court
Treasurer for the upkeep of Lady Mishiko - for which he would like a
receipt - then, lowering his' voice, he requested a private audience
with the Lord Chamberlain.  He had, said Min-Orota, extremely urgent
and vital information to impart, and it was essential for his own
safety that the meeting be kept secret from everyone except the,
Shogun.

Shikobu, who had already been briefed by his master Ieyasu to expect
such a visit, said: 'My lord, for reasons of state, the Chamberlain
cannot receive you personally, but he has instructed me on this matter
which'- he paused then adopted the same conspiratorial tone - 'I
believe concerns a certain meeting at Sarakusa."

'That is so,' admitted Min-Orota.

'Then you may tell me,' said Shikobu.  The secretary produced a slim
scroll and passed it to Lord Min-Orota.

'As you will see from this document, I am authorised to receive any
information you wish to bring to the notice of the Chamberlain."

.Kiyo undid the scroll and read its contents with a frown.  It was a
brief letter addressed to him, confirming what Shikobu had said, and it
was signed and sealed by Ieyasu.

Not good.  Not good at all....

He rolled it up and handed it back to the secretary.

'I recognise the authority this letter gives you, but the information I
bring is too sensitive to be communicated to an underling- even one as
trusted as you.  Inform Lord Ieyasu that I must see him without
delay.

The fate of the nation hangs in the balance!"  Ieyasu, having foreseen
this possibility, had provided his secretary with a range of
responses.

'My lord, I regret that the Chamberlain has been called away from the
palace."

Min-Orota concealed his disappointment beneath a snort of irritation.

'I see.  When will he return?"

Shikobu shifted uncomfortably.  'I am not at liberty to say."

Min-Orota exploded.  'Impudent scribbler!  Do you want the Toh-Yota to
continue to rule this country?!"  'W-Why, y-yes, my lord!"  'Than I
demand that you tell me!  When will he return?  I' 'In-run-run ab-bout
fourteen days, my lord!"  'Fourteen days?!  Merciful Heaven, we could
be at war by then!"  Kiyo Min-Orota paced up and down with a great show
of agitation.  He was now quite enjoying his 
role.  Planting himself
in front of the secretary, he slowly pinched his lips together between
his fingers then came to a weighty decision.  'This can wait no
longer.

I must speak with the Shogun!"  The unfortunate Shikobu wilted
visibly.

Min-Orota turned away in disgust then came back to the attack.  'This
is incredible.  Do you mean to tell me the Shogun is not here either?!'
'They b-b-both left last n-night, sire!"  'And won't be back for
fourteen days .... ' Min-Orota slammed his left hand down on the hilt
of his sword.

'Don't just stand there, man!  What are we going to do?!"  'Well, my
lord, if you will allow me into your confidence, I can send word to the
Chamberlain by courier-pigeon.

Or, if you are unwilling to do that, you can compose a message yourself
and seal it in a message capsule."

Interesting, thought Min-Orota.  It meant that Ieyasu and Yoritomo were
on their way to one of the other palaces - all of which kept birds
trained to fly to their home lofts in various parts of the country.

But which palace were they going to?  He could always try asking, but
it would have to be done obliquely.  He had succeeded in rattling
Shikobu, but the man was clearly under instructions to say as little as
possible.

Min-Orota adopted a more conciliatory tone.  'I could, but how many
hands will it pass through before reaching your master?  You say they
left during the night.  How soon will the message reach him?"

Shikobu wilted again.  As a member of Ieyasu's private staff he enjoyed
considerable standing within the court, but he was bound by etiquette
to defer to a domain-lord.

And in the case of Min-Orota, he had been instructed to be especially
accommodating.

He braced himself for another explosion.  'Five days from now, my
lord.

At the earliest."

Kiyo Min-Orota swore loudly and paced up and down again.  Five days
.... He mentally calculated the distance they could travel in that time
in an effort to figure out where Ieyasu and Yoritomo could be going.

The TohYota had a fortress at Beni-tana in their northern domain,
Koneti-kuta; a long strip of forested hills that ran along the east
bank of the Uda-sona to the Great Forest Lake and onward to the
San-Oransa, the river border between Ne-Issan and the Fog-People.

Koneti-kuta, the largest of the Toh-Yota's three domains, was their
original home before their rise to power, but the river and lakes
strung along its western border also formed the major part of the front
line between the Toh-Yota and the Yama-Shita.  Since the deterioration
in their relationship, the Shogun had never stayed in the palace at
Beni-tana despite the number of troops stationed in the domain.

Min-Orota had been told this by Yoritomo himself.

Five days .... The only alternative was the Summer Palace on
Aron-Giren.  But why on earth were Ieyasu and Yoritomo going there?

And why the secrecy?  Min-Orota would have dearly loved to know the
answers, but at this moment in time, where was more important than
why.

What mattered was that the Chamberlain and the Shogun were travelling
without their usual massive retinues.  If they were going to Aron-Giren
as he surmised, they would only have a limited number of personal
servants and guards around them, plus the basic permanent staff whose
job it was to maintain the palace in readiness for a surprise visit
such as this.

With most of the Inner Court and Ieyasu's front men still on the
mainland, it would make Lady Mishiko's task much easier.  But she would
have to move fast - and so would he ....

Lord Min-Orota turned to face the secretary.  'So...

they have gone to the Summer Palace?"

'My lord, I regret that I am - ' Min-Orota cut him off with a wave.  He
had caught the tell-tale flicker in Shikobu's eyes.  That was enough.

'Of course, of course.  In any case, I cannot go there.  Your masters
may have begun their journey in secret but how long will it remain
one?

If I was seen to follow, I 
would be hopelessly compromised.  And since
you won't confirm that's their destination, it could be a wild goose
chase."

Shikobu bowed.  'The Chamberlain warned me that this situation might
arise, my lord.  If you will not pass on this information through me as
he has requested - then I must ask you to wait here until he
returns."

Min-Orota drew himself up, a move which caused the secretary to retract
even further - like a tortoise sensing trouble.  'That is one
solution.

On the other hand- seeing he cares so little for the future of this
country - I could go home.  And you could send him a message suggesting
he might learn something to his advantage if he came to see me!" 
'Y-Yes my lord!"  'And now,' said Min-Orota, 'kindly conduct me to the
Lady Mishiko.  I would like to pay my respects before leaving."

Kiyo Min-Orota had missed Ieyasu and the Shogun by just under eight
hours.  Travelling in closed unmarked carriages, with a
heavily-disguised armed escort, the two principal targets of Cadillac's
plan had left the palace through a secret underground tunnel in the
dead of night and were now following a circuitous route to the Summer
Palace for a meeting with two emissaries of the Federation.

There was a quicker and more direct way to reach Aron-Giren from the
Winter Palace, and that was by ocean-going junk from the nearby fishing
port of Oshana-sita.

But the Shogun, who was an even worse sailor than Cadillac, hated
boats, and avoided travelling by sea whenever possible.

The last time he had been persuaded by Ieyasu to go to Bo-sona by sea,
the return journey had been so dreadful he had vowed never to do so
again.  The longest boat journeys he was prepared to undertake were the
ferry crossings from Nyo-Jasei to Manatana and on to Aron-Giren.  Going
by road and travelling only during the hours of darkness, stretched the
journey out over several days, but for the Shogun, the attendant
discomforts were cancelled out by the peace of mind that came from
knowing that his carriage wheels were rolling on a firm foundation.

Apart from their immediate personal staff - riding ahead and behind the
closed carriage - few people were aware that Yoritomo and Ieyasu had
left the Winter Palace.  The Shogun often cancelled his daily audiences
and other scheduled court appearances when he felt the need to do so.

Since his accession, the conflict between what he judged to be the good
and bad sides of his character and the pressures of high office in one
so young had led to frequent and sometimes extended bouts of
introspection.

The stone garden at the Summer Palace was a favourite place where he
spent hours contemplating the harmonious arrangements of rocks set
amongst a raked sea of gravel.

From the age of five, Yoritomo had developed into a secretive, solitary
child who preferred reading for hours on end to more active, outdoor
pursuits with boys of his own age.  Studious, intelligent and
imaginative, he impressed his tutors with his learning, but alongside
the textbooks on the shelves of his father's library were other, less
erudite but more enticing works such as - for example - the bulging
folios of delicately coloured prints depicting, in explicit detail, men
and women engaged in every conceivable phase and variation of the
sexual act.

There is little doubt it was his avid study of this massive collection
of erotica which inspired the febrile fantasies Yoritomo had woven
around his sisters.

Through fear, they had kept his secret, but the court and the whole
country was awash with secrets and intrigue.  In the upper reaches of
Iron Master society, conspiracy was in the blood, and the Shogun was
the focal point of the constant scheming - by those who sought to curry
favour, and by those who sought to remove him.

In a world where false friends lay on all sides, the ruler 
of Ne-Issan
needed the clear and concentrated mind of a Grand Master playing
simultanous games of chess with several opponents.

The few friends he had at court also knew that these periods of
contemplation were sometimes used to cover a brief sexual liaison.

Unlike his late father, who positively enjoyed outraging people's
sensibilities, Yoritomo liked to keep these affairs secret, and anyone
who openly referred to them soon felt the weight of his displeasure.

Ieyasu, too, as the supreme puppet-master, preferred to do much of his
work behind the scenes.  The absence of either for a period of days
inevitably raised a few curious eyebrows, but was not a cause for
concern; Ieyasu, as the nominal head of the government, had a string of
high-powered aides to front for him, and the layers of court officials
ensured that the palace ran smoothly in the Shogun's absence.  It was,
in other words, business as usual.

But not for much longer ....

By the time Lord Kiyo Min-Orota reached Lady Mis-hiko's private
apartments, she already knew the real reason for his visit.  A trusted
member of his staff had succeeded in delivering an invitation to pay an
informal visit to the post-house.  The letter stated that Min-Orota had
uncovered new information concerning the death of the Herald Hase-Gawa,
but because of its sensitive nature, it was essential that the proposed
meeting took place without the knowledge of Ieyasu's staff or any other
palace official who did not enjoy her complete and utter trust.

The lure proved irresistible.

While refreshments were served, Lady Mishiko's three children were
summoned to pay their respects and receive several small presents from
the domain-lord.

Mishiko - obliged to speak in code because of Secretary Shikobu's
lurking presence - thanked Kiyo for his continued friendship and
support, emphasised the pleasure this unexpected visit had brought her,
and expressed the hope that it would not be too long before they saw
each other again.

'My children,' said Mishiko, 'are so excited by the toys and gifts you
have brought them, they will not sleep tonight."  Then with a slight
change of emphasis she added.  'And neither shall I - for your visit
has revived fond memories of happier times."

There was no need to say more.

After spending an hour in her company, Min-Orota who had been closely
shadowed by his personal guard - gathered up the remainder of his small
retinue and returned to the main courtyard.  As the palace grooms
brought their horses out of the stables, Shikobu- who had excused
himself from Min-Orota's presence as soon as the audience with Lady
Mishiko had ended - reappeared with the Chief Steward of the Royal
Household, Kenzo Tokugami.

Kenzo ranked immediately below the Chamberlain, but whereas Ieyasu ran
the country on behalf of the Shogun, Kenzo was solely concerned with
arranging the social and domestic activities of the court.  It was his
job to ensure everything ran smoothly.  A flow chart would have shown
Kenzo was responsible directly to the Shogun, but like most key
appointees, he was in Ieyasu's pocket.

After exchanging the formal bows and greetings that prefaced all verbal
exchanges between people of exalted rank, Kenzo Tokugami expressed his
delight at being able to welcome Lord Min-Orota to the Winter Palace.

The Court was honoured by his presence, and he - as Chief Steward - was
deeply distraught to discover that the noble domain-lord was not
staying within the safety of the palace walls.

'Dare one express the hope,' said Kenzo, 'that my noble lord will
accept the offer of an apartment befitting his station, in which he can
rest and be entertained until the Shogun and the Chamberlain
return."?"

A simple 'yes' was all that was needed, continued the Steward.  He,
Kenzo Tokugami, would take care of every 
detail, including the
transfer of the noble lord's retinue from the post-house to the
palace.

Kiyo Min-Orota thanked him, and answered with a simple 'no'.  The
accommodation at the post-house had already been paid for, and although
he was sure the Chief Steward would be happy to reimburse him, it was
not a question of money.

'I came here at considerable risk to myself to warn the Shogun of a
serious threat that could topple the TohYota only to suffer the
indignity of being rebuffed by this ink-stained dung-worm."

Kiyo waved dismissively at Shikobu.

'I find it deeply distressing that a trusted friend of your family
cannot be privy to Lord Ieyasu's movements, especially when - at this
very moment- those movements might place him and the Shogun in even
greater peril!"  'M-My lord,' stammered the hapless Shikobu, 'I beg you
to believe it was not my decision to withhold this information from
you!"  'Even I do not know where they have gone,' added Kenzo.

'That may be so,' replied Min-Orota loftily.  'For my part, I do not
intend to impugn your honesty and reliability.  But someone here
knows.

And I regret that they have seen fit to doubt mine!"  Min-Orota mounted
his horse and gathered up the reins.

'My lord!"  cried Kenzo.  'Surely you do not intend to leave us!"

Without thinking, he grasped the chest harness of Min-Orota's steed.  A
bad move - and a grave breach of etiquette.

The atmosphere in the courtyard suddenly became charged with menace as
Min-Orota's escort went for their swords and the watching soldiers took
a firmer grip on lance and bow.

Min-Orota's party was hopelessly outnumbered but Kiyo was equal to the
situation.  'Stand aside, sir!"  he boomed.  'Or by the Gods, I'll have
your arm off at the shoulder!"  The Chief Steward leapt away from the
horse as Min-Orota made it rear up threateningly and launched into a
frenzied apology.  'Oh, my lord!  My lord!  A thousand pardons!  It was
never my intention to .... ' Coming out of a deep bow he caught sight
of Min-Orota's thunderous expression and lapsed into a cringing
silence.

'Good!"  said Kiyo.  'Now let me inform you of my intentions!  I am
going to leave this place and return to the post-house at Be-isha to
review my position.  You have two days in which to re-examine yours.

If I am offered suitable redress for this double affront, I will
reconsider your offer of accommodation within the palace until the
Shogun returns.  If not..."

He let the unspecified threat hang in the air.

For a moment, it looked as if the palace guard - who were gathered in
front of the draw-bridge - might bar their exit.  Min-Orota did not
hesitate.  He signalled his retinue to advance with a confident wave
and spurred his horse forward.  In the absence of the Shogun and
Ieyasu, he knew the Chief Steward did not have the authority to order
him to stay.  Min-Orota might have taken an oath of allegiance to the
Shogun, but as one of the seventeen domain-lords of Ne-Issan he was
also his social equal.

Taking his cue from Kenzo, the guard commander quickly reformed his men
into two ranks on either side of the main gate, and bowed in salute as
Lord Min-Orota trotted proudly onto the bridge across the moat,
preceded by his two flag-bearers.

When his party reached the open road beyond the Outer Keep, Min-Orota
breathed a sigh of relief.  One false move in that courtyard and they
could have all lost their heads.

Fortunately he had kept his, and had called Kenzo's bluff.  Ieyasu's
secretary had gone running to the Chief Steward in a last ditch effort
to prevent him from leaving.

By polite persuasion, of course - but it was no accident that a large
number of guards just happened to be blocking the only exit.  They were
obviously hoping that the implied threat would help change his mind.

Had Ieyasu been there, it would have worked, but he was the
organ-grinder; Shikobu was just one of his monkeys, and Min~Orota knew
that Kenzo, the Chief Steward, was a fat effeminate smoothie who became
quite unnerved if he was shouted at.

In Ieyasu's absence, it was only natural for his staff to try and keep
Min-Orota in their clutches.  Now that the listening device in the
palace at Sara-kusa had been destroyed, his testimony was invaluable.

But not quite beyond price.  He was prepared to reveal all to Shikobu
in exchange for definite confirmation that Ieyasu and the Shogun were
on their way to the Summer Palace.  Given the stink he'd kicked up and
his parting demand for an apology, Min-Orota believed that confirmation
would not be long in coming.

He was right, but it was pure guesswork.  Despite the unveiling of the
listening device at Sara-kusa, Min-Orota had not fully grasped the
miracle of electronic communications.  Ieyasu was able to leave the
running of the government in the hands of his secretaries for two weeks
because he was in constant radio contact with his staff- and would
remain so throughout the entire journey.  His grip on the reins of
power had not slackened for one minute.

Ieyasu was not, of course, using any of this equipment himself and had
never done so.  The Shogun's carriage would hardly have been an
appropriate place for conducting a conversation via any device powered
by the Dark Light.  A powerful transmitter concealed in the roof of the
palace with an aerial built into a tall flagpole above, sent digitised
messages to a compact receiver hidden in the luggage of a secretary who
was travelling with him.  This in turn, could be accessed
electronically by a small, hand-held device similar to that used to
extract messages down a phone line from pre-Holocaust answering
machines.

This second device, cunningly hidden inside a heavy gold seal of office
mounted on a chain around his neck, had a pulsator button incorporated
into the chiselled design on its reverse side.  When the seal was
pressed between finger and thumb, the button responded with a series of
pulses - indicating that a message was stored in the receiving unit.

Transmitted messages could be prefixed by two codes - Routine or Urgent
- whose stored presence was announced by a faster pulse rate.  The
operator would then have to select a suitable opportunity to access the
transceiver, which was fitted with a forty-character LCD and could also
provide a print-out using japanese characters on a slim ribbon of paper
- a kind of mini-fax.

Because of the secrecy surrounding the use of such devices by Ieyasu's
agents, the Federation had gone to considerable lengths to tailor the
equipment to suit the highly sensitive operating conditions.  Every
item was built using state-of-the art micro-circuitry, powered by the
tiny, long-lasting batteries of which the Federation were justly proud
and - above all, there were no telltale electronic bleeps or flashing
status lights.

AMEXICO, who had set up this deal with Ieyasu's intelligence network
and had trained a nucleus of operators, was responsible for shipping
the basic black boxes into Ne-Issan, but it was up to the Iron Masters
to find ways to hide them.  They had done so with their usual
efficiency: Ieyasu had set up a special workshop to construct simple
everyday objects with secret compartments in which a range of devices
could be hidden - and several examples were now travelling northwards
in close proximity to the Shogun's carriage.

As a result of these arrangements, the news of Lord Min-Orota's arrival
at the Winter Palace, his reason for being there, and his heated
refusal to speak to anyone other than Ieyasu, soon reached the great
man himself.  Since he did not know the outcome of the secret meeting
at Sara-kusa, he could only speculate on the reasons for Kiyo's
apparent anxiety.

Ieyasu knew the listening device inside the council chamber had failed,
but even if someone in the YamaShita family had stumbled across it by
accident, they 
would not know what it was - and nor would Min-Orota.

But something had happened to put Kiyo into this agitated state.

Something which he judged to be so sensitive, he refused to divulge it
to even the most trusted and high-ranking official.

Anything that sensitive could also be dangerous.  Which was why Ieysau
intended to make sure it passed through his hands first.  All knowledge
is power.  Ieyasu, who was constantly striving to control the flow of
all information to the Shogun, believed in telling Yoritomo just enough
to keep him happy and feeling involved.  Allow him access to all the
facts and he might start taking decisions on his own again - like
setting up the College of Heralds; a problem that Ieyasu was still
trying to unpick.

A second message from the Winter Palace reported Min-Orota's friendly
but essentially harmless audience with Lady Mishiko, and the
unfortunate circumstances surrounding his departure from the palace.

Min-Orota believed an apology was in order and Shiboku was of the
opinion that revealing the Chamberlain's destination would be an
acceptable gesture of good faith that would bring Min-Orota back to the
palace, where some judicious flattery could loosen his tongue.

Reasoning that Kiyo Min-Orota could not jeopardise the secrecy
surrounding the Shogun's journey to AronGiren if he and his entourage
could be persuaded to wait inside the Winter Palace, Ieyasu despatched
a message to Shikobu ordering him to reveal their destination to the
tetchy domain-lord.

Shikobu, landed with the thankless task of wrapping this information in
a face-saving formula, elected to postpone his visit until the
following morning.  A move which also allowed him to keep a private
assignation with a lady of the court who had assured him of a warm
welcome.

It was still light when Min-Orota arrived back at the post-house to
find that his staff had prepared the best pavilion for his use: the two
courtesans - Cadillac and Roz - had been placed in the second which lay
nearby.

The remainder of his retinue now occupied the recently-emptied rooms
attached to the post-house where, in their own modest quarters, the
owner and his wife sat with the pile of gold coins between them, taking
turns to fondle and count it for the umpteenth time.

The wife was thinking of the lengths of rich patterned silk cloth she
would buy herself at the market in Fin; the husband was torn between
re-tiling the roof and building a new bath-house, and setting up two of
his juicier serving-girls in a small brothel near the same market who
he could visit while his wife, as usual, spent most of the day doing
the monthly shopping.

Their staff, who had had to work doubly-hard to clean out and install
new bedding in all the rooms and spruce up the entire post-house from
top to bottom, could only think how exhausted they were as they ran
back and forth carrying hot water for baths, preparing food and
generally waiting hand and foot on a bunch of northern bastards who had
more money than sense.

Mounting the steps of the second pavilion, Lord Min-Orota ordered his
bodyguard to wait on the verandah and went inside.  The two Thai
servant-women who had been recruited to cater for the needs of the
monkey-witches prostrated themselves at his feet in the hall-way.

Min-Orota dismissed them and entered the reception room, sliding the
screens shut behind him.

Cadillac and Roz were dressed in the japanese clothes that the
Yama-Shita had provided, but had removed the elaborate wigs and the
heavy white make-up from their faces and necks.

Min-Orota found the juxtaposition of graceful silken kimonos and
striped hairy faces momentarily distracting, but once the usual
civilities had been exchanged he seated himself in front of this
strange pair and launched into a blow-byblow account of his visit to
the palace.

On hearing that Ieyasu and Yoritomo had left the palace, Cadillac
cursed and translated the news into 
Basic for Roz.  'That's it.  I
knew it was going too well."

If he was looking for sympathy he didn't get it.  'Isn't it a little
early to be throwing in the towel?"  she said.

'Why don't you wait until Lord Min-Orota has given us the whole
story."

Cadillac swallowed hard and bowed to the Iron Master.

'I beg you accept my humble apologies, sire.  Your words caused my
over-hasty imagination to raise obstacles where none exist.  Please
continue."

'I will,' replied Min-Orota, in Basic.  'But perhaps it would be better
to use a language we all understand."

'As you wish, sire,' said Cadillac, in japanese.

'Good.  But before we go any further, there's been something on my mind
ever since we first met.  You have the coloured skin and long hair of a
Mute, but you remind me of a long-dog who was sent to my domain by the
Yama-Shita to show us how to build flying-horses.  We discussed the
project on several occasions.  He seemed to be an honest fellow, but I
regret to say he betrayed me?

Having noticed the studied way Min-Orota looked at him during their
recent encounters, Cadillac had been wondering when this would come
up.

And he believed he could turn it to his advantage.  'You are wrong,
sire.

He did not betray you.  It was the Toh-Yota and the Federation who
destroyed the Heron Pool.  The Shogun and the Herald Hase-Gawa planned
it all, and it was Ieyasu's agents working hand-in-glove with the
long-dogs who helped the murderers escape."

Min-Orota sat there, his mouth open, stunned by Cadillac's response.

'You... are Brickman?"

'No, sire.  I am Cadillac Deville of the Clan m'call, from the
bloodline of the She-Kargo.  But we have met."

Min-Orota slapped his thighs angrily.  'I knew it!  By the Gods!  It
was you who built the flying-horses!"  'Yes, my lord.  But you must
believe me when I tell you I had no part in their destruction or the
murderous events that followed.  That was the work of the Federation
and the TohYota."

'But you fled with them..."

'I had no choice.  iF i had stayed, would you have spared me?"

Min-Orota, recalling the slaughter of everyone connected with the Heron
Pool who had survived the debacle, said grimly: 'I spared no one.  But
I still do not understand.  You had the clear skin of a long-dog
then."

Cadillac - who was aware of the speed with which Iron Masters could
draw and strike with their swords hoped Roz was ready to quell any
violent move by Min-Orota.

The domain-lord was trembling with anger.  In the circumstances it was
justifiable.  He had been deceived then and thought he was being
deceived now.  The trick Cadillac had to perform was to deflect that
anger onto the Shogun.

He squared his shoulders and looked Min-Orota fearlessly.

'Have you forgotten what you witnessed at Sarakusa?

We have the power to make you see us in any shape or colour we
desire."

He reached out sideways and grasped Roz's wrist.  'Or become invisible
like the kami of the forests!"  Roz seized control of Min-Orota's
mind.

The domain-lord gasped as the two monkey-witches disappeared from the
room, and then the room itself melted away.  He found himself sitting
on the grass in a leafy glade in the middle of an immense forest
pierced by the slanting rays of the sun.  He could smell the
pine-perfumed air, hear the rustle of leaves, feel the grass between
his fingers.

Cadillac and Rain-Dancer materialised- seated in front of him.  As they
bowed, the surrounding forest faded away, the grass beneath him
vanished - and they were back in the room with everything as it was.

Min-Orota was still trembling, but not with anger.  He took a minute or
so to compose himself then bowed his head.  'I acknowledge your power,
I admire your truthfulness and.  am left breathless by your
audacity."

Cadillac bowed in return.  'My lord, the Plainfolk have always sought a
just friendship with the Iron Masters 
even though you have only
treated us as slaves.  We too feel betrayed!  But because our code of
honour is the equal of yours, I have returned to offer you
restitution.

The real murderers of Lord YamaShita and the others who died at the
Heron Pool are still unpunished!  We are here to help you wreak
vengeance on the Toh-Yota for the crimes they have committed against
this nation!  Are we to go forward together?"

'We are,' said Min-Orota.  He drew the sheathed long-sword from his
sash and held it up in both hands.  'I pledge my word and sword on
that."  He kissed the scabbard reverently then laid the sword on the
mat in front of his knees.

'And we pledge our power to your righteous cause,' said Roz, pleased to
be able to get a word in edgeways at last.  'Speak to us of the Lady
Mishiko."

Kiyo Min-Orota told them about the secret message that had been
delivered prior to meeting her face to face, and what had passed
between them.  He did not know how or when she would arrive, but after
her remark about being unable to sleep, he was sure she would turn up
at some time during the night.  His men had been alerted to expect a
visit from a high-born lady who might for reasons of discretion appear
to be something else entirely.

Cadillac mulled this over, then congratulated Min-Orota warmly.  From
past experience he knew that with this guy, flattery never failed.  'If
we can prime Lady Mishiko, this secret journey by the Shogun and Ieyasu
could actually work to our advantage.  But we will have to move
fast."

'My thoughts exactly,' replied MinoOrota.  'If she comes here tonight,
as I believe she will, you will only be a day behind the Shogun.  You
will have plenty of time to get there and make your preparations."

Cadillac frowned.  'I don't quite follow you.  Get where?"

'To the Summer Palace, on AronGiren."

Min-Orota uncapped a slim footlong black laquered tube he had laid down
beside him on entering, and produced a rolled silk map of Ne-Issan.  He
spread it out on the polished wood floor and pointed out the relevant
locations.

'We are here, just north of the Winter Palace.  That is Aron-Giren, and
the Summer Palace is there, at Yedo.

The Chamberlain and the Shogun are travelling by road.

It will take them another four days to reach the Summer Palace.  If you
and Lady Mishiko leave by junk tomorrow from here, Oshana-sita, you can
get there in twenty-four hours - a full day before they do.

'.With the palace almost empty you will have the time and the
opportunity to prepare the ground - as you explained to us at
Sara-kusa.  It would have been a hundred times more difficult here."

Cadillac sought Roz's reaction and saw the answer in her eyes.  'You
are right, my lord.  And if we travel with the Lady Mishiko we will
have longer to... influence her."

This hadn't occurred to Min-Orota but he wasn't going to let himself be
upstaged if he could help it.  'My thoughts exactly."

Cadillac bowed.  'We are fortunate to find ourselves allied to someone
so wise and far-seeing.  May the Heavens bless and preserve you."

Smug bastard ....

Min-Orota allowed himself.a brief smile of satisfaction.

'Only one question remains.  How is the interview with the Lady Mishiko
to be conducted?"

Cadillac who, in concert with Roz, had thought about little else over
the last twelve days, proceeded to tell him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Having seen her children safely tucked up in their beds, Lady Mishiko
donned the clothes of a Korean kitchenmaid, wrapped one of her own
outfits in an empty rice sack, and slipped out of the Winter Palace on
the back of an ox-cart, wedged between two trusted female servants and
five of her guards.

As far as the sentries on the gates were concerned, they were just
another off-duty group of workers heading for the crowded inn down the
road for a jolly night out, but once they were swallowed up in the
darkness, the driver turned right instead of left, and urged his
plodding beasts towards the post-house at Be-isha.

It took just under an hour to cover the three miles.

Even though it was pitch dark it might have been quicker on foot, but
it would have been unthinkable for someone like Lady Mishiko to walk
along an open highway.  Women of noble birth might take a stroll in the
privacy of the palace gardens, but on any public outings they were
always transported on the shoulders of lesser mortals.

Hearing the ox-cart trundle into the courtyard, the inn-keeper
despatched his wife Shoshi to turn away the new arrivals.  Opening the
door that led onto the front verandah, she found the way barred by two
of Lord Min-Orota's men.  One of them told her to go back inside.  The
cart, he explained, belonged to their baggage train, and had been
delayed by a broken wheel.  There was no need to rouse her servants.

He and his companions would find somewhere for the late-corners to
sleep.  If anything else was required it could be attended to in the
morning.

Faced by two armed samurai, Shoshi bowed obediently and beat a quick
retreat, but her curiosity was aroused.

All inn-keepers were required by law to keep a register of all their
guests.  There were people who, for a variety of reasons, used forged
identity papers and travel permits, and it paid - sometimes handsomely
- to keep one's eyes and ears open.  It was also a good form of life
insurance.

Like most buildings in Ne-Issan, the post-house inn was bolted and
barred at nightfall, and its windows shuttered, but there were still
cracks and crevices through which one could peer out.  Shoshi did so
now.  Spying on people was one of her favourite occupations and it had
proved to be an efficient way of keeping her staff on their toes.

Several more of the domain-lord's men were positioned round the cart.

Another pair, holding lanterns, helped Inazo, the gate-keeper, close
and bar the high double gates hung beneath the roofed archway that
linked the courtyard with the road beyond.

As the stocky figure of Inazo hurried back to the little house built
against the inside wall, Shoshi caught sight of two more lantern
bearers escorting the northern domain-lord towards the ox-cart.

Including the driver, there were eight people on the cart, but no
baggage.  If a wheel had broken, any baggage would have been
distributed among the other wagons - but why did it need eight people
to watch a wheel being mended?

All of them were off the cart by the time the domain-lord reached it,
and they all bowed.  But one - a woman - did not bow as deeply as the
others and ... the domain-lord bowed to her!  Why was a person of high
rank dressed in the drab outer garments of a servant-girl, and what was
she doing here?

The mystery eclipsed all thoughts of the rich silk cloth that Shoshi
had been planning to buy at Fin.  Running to another peephole, she
caught a glimpse of the lanterns lighting up the pathway to the
pavilions, then drew back nervously as several-pairs of feet tramped
along the side verandah towards the rented accommodation at the rear of
the inn.

Returning to the front of the inn, she peeked through the crack between
the window shutters.  The oxen were 
still harnessed to the cart, but
they had been given nosebags.

Blankets now covered their steaming backs.  The fact they were still in
harness was a sign that the owner of the cart intended to use it
again.

Soon.  It was not part of the baggage-train.  Shoshi would have dearly
loved to go and wake Inazo the gate-keeper to discover what he had seen
and heard, but one of Min-Orota's men was still patrolling the yard,
and she could just see the silhouette of a second stationed on the
verandah.

With a sigh of frustration, she gave up.  Her husband, having placed
the bag of gold coins under the floorboards, was already in bed.

Shoshi joined him, shook his shoulder until she had gained his
reluctant attention and related what she had seen.  Her story failed to
rouse his interest.

'If whoever she is, is here for what you think she's here for, you can
find out all about it in the morning."

'Yes, but - ' 'Goodnight,' he said firmly.  And for once, to his
amazement, she lapsed into silence.  Normally, she never stopped.

During the day, he got some respite because her attention was directed
towards their domestic staff, but in bed she had him cornered - and
that was when she usually got her way.  He was glad to say 'yes' to
almost anything just to get some peace and quiet.

From past experience, the inn-keeper knew the heavy silence meant she
was staring at the ceiling, and that in due course he would pay for his
temerity.  It didn't matter, his unexpected good fortune had given him
a new boldness and more interesting things to think about.

He closed his eyes and picked up the thread of the agreeable fantasy he
had been weaving.  The idea of setting up a house of pleasure had been
abandoned in favour of a more practical but equally appealing
scenario.

He would re-tile the roof and build a new bathhouse in which, given a
bit of luck, he could tumble his two favourite serving-girls, while
one'of the gardeners took his place on the cart and drove his
chattering jackdaw of a wife on the monthly trip to the market in
Fin.

When Lady Mishiko had changed back into her own clothes, Lord Min-Orota
obtained her permission to dismiss her servants.  As they and her
guards were led away to wait at the inn, Kiyo invited her to be seated,
and took his place on the mat facing her.

After the usual exchange of courtesies he said: 'Mi'lady, you honour me
with your presence.  It is a gesture of the trust and friendship that
exists between us and which, for my part, I have always treasured.  In
these dark days, trust is a rare and precious commodity.

But let us delay no further.  I promised you news of the Herald,
Toshiro Hase-Gawa, and you shall have it.  But not from my lips."

He saw the look of puzzlement and explained: 'Just as the Fates drew
your life and mine together through the appointment of your late
husband as Consul-General to my domain, my path here was crossed by two
strange individuals who told me they had a message for you...

from beyond the veil."

Lady Mishiko caught her breath.  '... beyond the veil?"

'Yes.  They are spirit-witches.  I do not know what they have to tell
you, or how they knew that my steps were directed towards the Winter
Palace, but they are here at the behest of the Herald."

Mishiko clasped her hands together over her heart.

'Mi'lord, if this is true, no words could express my happiness, but can
they be trusted?  I could not lightly forgive any charlatan who played
so cruel a trick on me."

Min-Orota answered with a polite bow.  'Nor would I, mi'lady.  Set your
mind at rest.  I can vouch for the wondrous power of their magic, but
as to what or who they are I cannot say, for they can change their
shape and the nature of the world around us in the twinkling of an
eye!"  The existence of spirit-witches had never been properly
established, but the widespread belief in their supernatural powers was
older than Ne-Issan itself.  Tales of magic and witchcraft were rooted
in the primeval mists that shrouded the birth of The World Before.

Spirit-witches were able to communicate with and conjure up the souls
of the dead.  They dwelt in the depths of the forests which still
covered huge areas of Ne-Issan, and they were popularly believed to be
grey-faced shadowy figures dressed in a mixture of leaves and rags
remnants of clothes stripped from the rotting corpses of the unburied
dead.  And it was said they were hunch-backed, long-haired crones, with
shrivelled claw-like hands, and green red-rimmed eyes that stared out
of hideous faces covered with warts.

Mishiko gathered up her courage.  'Are they.  are they dreadful to look
upon?"

Min-Orota threw up his hands.  'You will see whatever they wish you to
see, mi'lady!  I can only say they have never shown themselves to me as
the ghostly grey-faced creatures that are said to disturb the sleep of
travellers in the forest when the moon is full.  In my opinion, if
those wraiths were ever caught by the light of day, they would turn out
to be ronin - common cutthroats with artfully-applied hollow eyes and
bodies dusted with chalk!

'Be assured.  Our visitors know you to be a cultured and sensitive
person who still mourns the passing of a loved-one.  They are here to
guide you, not to frighten you and, above all, they come at the bidding
of the Herald."

Mishiko composed herself.  'I understand, mi'lord.  I am ready.  Take
me to them."

They stood up together.  Min-Orota said: 'They are in the next room,
but before we enter, allow me to offer one last word of reassurance.  I
cannot remain with you for what you are to see is for your eyes
alone.

If at any time you find yourself transported by their powers to another
place, do not fear for your safety.  I shall be here, on this side of
the screen, just a few paces away from you at all times.  You have but
to call and I will come immediately to your aid."

Mishiko accepted this with a regal nod.  Kiyo Min-Orota slid the framed
wall-panel aside and ushered her into the darkened room beyond.

Mishiko allowed herself to be guided to a mat edged with silk ribbon,
and sank gracefully into the straight-backed kneeling position that all
noblewomen were required to adopt - sometimes for hours - during formal
court ceremonies; heels splayed wide under the buttocks, hands laid
midway along the top of the thighs, with fingers and thumb closed.

Min-Orota bowed then withdrew, sliding the wall panel shut behind
him.

On the floor in front of Mishiko were two hooded lanterns which threw
light onto her, but left the other half of the room in deep shadow.

Between the lanterns was a charcoal brazier.  This was also
half-covered.  Behind it were two seated figures, one notably taller
than the others.  The spirit-witches ....

The arrangement of the lights and the glow from the brazier made it
impossible to make out their features.

Their heads and bodies were reduced to black silhouettes that were only
just visible against the darkness beyond.

Roz studied Mishiko intently as Cadillac addressed her in a throaty
whisper.  'Please accept our humble greetings your highness.  We have
been directed towards you by the restless spirit of the Herald, Toshiro
HaseGawa.

Betrayed by his master, deprived of his life before your love for each
other was fully consummated, he cannot leave the Valley of Death for
the Heavenly Plains beyond until he has made his peace with you.  Will
you speak to him?"

'Yes, I will,' replied Mishiko in a barely audible whisper.

'Then open your heart and mind to receive him, for his spirit draws
nigh .... ' Roz, who had been gently delving into Mishiko's memory for
the images she needed, took control of her mind.

Cadillac, sitting next to Roz, prepared himself to share the same
hallucinatory experience, but he was no longer totally imprisoned
within it as he had been during their first double act at Sioux
Falls.

Although 
he was not linked to her telepathically the way Steve was, he
possessed formidable mental powers of his own and he had succeeded in
tuning his mind onto the same wavelength as hers.

This enabled him to 'see' the images that Roz was feeding into the
minds of their adversaries without being trapped, as they were, in the
'reality' of the experience.

So when Lady Mishiko recoiled as a cloud of pale grey smoke spilled out
of the charcoal brazier and began to weave itself into a vaguely human
form, Cadillac saw the smoke and the emerging figure as a
semitransparent image superimposed on the room as it really was.

Lady Mishiko stared at the forms emerging from the shifting layers of
smoke that continued to rise from the glowing brazier.  It carried the
scent of burning autumn leaves, but it was not the kind of smoke that
stung the eyes or made you cough.  It was not smoke at all.  This was
the Veil; the mysterious curtain that separated the world of the living
from the world inhabited by the souls of the dead - and her beloved
Herald was being drawn back through it by the power of her love and the
magic of the spirit-witches.

An unseen external power drew her to her feet as the darkened room and
the black shapes of the two witches faded away.

The scents of autumn, the rustle of golden leaves underfoot were an
integral part of her first encounter with the Herald.  Their lives had
converged on a sunlit October afternoon, while she was walking through
the woods that formed part of her husband's official estate.

Toshiro, resplendent in his black and crimson armour, with the
house-flags of the Toh-Yota and HaseGawa fluttering from their
back-staffs, had been on his way to present his seals of office to the
Consul-General.

For Mishiko, accompanied by two maid-servants, it was love at first
sight.  A white knight on a black charger.

She had never seen someone so handsome, so ...

beautiful.  As her path through the wood ran parallel with the road,
she watched him spellbound, caught her foot under an exposed root and
fell, twisting her ankle painfully.

Toshiro, hearing her cry, had dismounted and run to her aid.  By the
time he reached her side, her maidservants had restored her to an
upright position.  Toshiro was the very model of solicitude- and even
better-looking close-up than he was from afar.  A greater contrast to
her bloated toad of a husband would have been hard to imagine.

There was the usual exchange of courtesies, and it was that which
sealed their fate.  Once Mishiko discovered that the young man who had
rushed to her aid had an impeccable social pedigree, her ankle took a
sudden turn for the worse.  Toshiro - as she hoped - would brook no
argument.  He insisted on carrying her to his horse and placed her
sideways on the saddle.  Mishiko, on being lifted up in his strong
arms, had almost fainted with pleasure, and from that moment on, she
could think of nothing else but the moment when those same strong arms,
stripped of their armour, would enfold her naked body.

The grey forms emerging from the swirling smoke coalesced into lifelike
shapes and were suffused with natural colour.  And there he was,
magically and gloriously restored as in that first unforgettable
moment, seated on his horse, with the sun raying through the forest
behind him, flaring brightly off the polished brass helmet crest that
marked him out as a trusted servant of her brother, the Shogun.

His face was shadowed against the autumn sun, but her heart leapt as he
dismounted, reached her in one stride and gathered her into his arms.

She embraced him eagerly,-moulding her body against his, and as she did
so, his armour seemed to melt away, becoming a soft silken kimono
through which she could feel the muscled hardness of his stomach and
thighs.  She clasped his face in her hands and covered it with
kisses.

It was only then, as he drew away, that she saw - and was shocked by
his haggard expression, the 
deathly greyness around the staring,
red-rimmed eyes.

Her beloved Herald had not been brought back to life.

She could feel his presence, hear his voice, but the physical contact
was a bitter-sweet illusion wrought by the power of witches' magic.

Toshiro was, and would remain, a spirit entity, but there was more.

Despite the love which still bound them together, this was a soul in
torment - a torment which only she had the power to ease.

Using the images stored in Mishiko's brain, Roz produced a series of
vignettes featuring Ieyasu, the secretary Shikobu and the Shogun - her
brother Yoritomo.

The vignettes were moving, three-dimensional recreations of the recent
past that Mishiko was able to walk into and observe at close quarters
without being seen by the characters within.

Roz was working to a script mapped out by Cadillac.

It was his voice Mishiko heard throughout.  He could not use his powers
of mimicry because he had never heard Ieyasu, the Shogun or Shikobu
speak, but in this instance it did not matter.  All Roz's powers were
concentrated on a single mind and this enabled her to convince Mishiko
that when she saw her brother speak, it was his voice she was
hearing.

The sunlit woods dissolved into a shifting abstract pattern of rainbow
colours then became a room that Mishiko recognised as being part of
Ieyasu's quarters in the Winter Palace.  The Herald took her hand and
led her into it.

Ieyasu sat crosslegged on the floor with a strange black box in front
of him.  Shikobu, one of his senior secretaries, was seated at a low
writing table, with paper, brushes and ink blocks ready to hand.

Mishiko circled slowly round the much-feared figure of the Chamberlain
and was relieved to discover he was totally oblivious to her
presence.

Both she and the Herald were invisible.

Ieyasu reached out a thin bony hand and twiddled various knobs and
small levers.  Little red and green studs spaced along the top of the
box gleamed like jewels.  Moving closer, she caught sight of several
small white calligraphic symbols; the japanese characters for 'send',
'receive', 'volume', 'frequency' and 'record'.  But this box had not
been fashioned by Iron Masters; this was the work of outlanders, those
skilled in the High Craft.

Mishiko jumped back in alarm and sought reassurance from the Herald as
the sound of a human voice burst from the box.  Shikobu listened
closely as Ieyasu touched two or three of the knobs.  The disembodied
voice became softer and clearer.  Mastering her amazement at the fact
that a box could be made to speak, Mishiko tried to grasp what it was
saying.

-The Herald squeezed her arm and whispered: 'The voice comes from
afar.

It is carried on the air like a leaf in the wind, but it is propelled
by the power of the Dark Light!"  Mishiko took another step
backwards.

She knew nothing whatever about this dread subject and didn't want
to.

Even the mere mention of it was bad news.  'It cannot be!

Such things are forbidden!"  'To you and I, and the other loyal
subjects of your 'brother, yes, they are!  But Ieyasu has placed
himself above the law!  He uses this demonic power to betray us and
gain more power for himself!  Listen!"  Mishiko turned her attention
back to the voice coming from the box and caught her breath.

'... as you know, mi'lord, the Herald Hase-Gawa has long suspected that
we have been armed with speaking and listening devices filled with the
Dark Light to maintain control over the nation's affairs.  At the
moment, he has no tangible proof to offer the Shogun, but he is a
dangerous adversary.  He should be eliminated before he is in a
position to harm our organisation."

Ieyasu responded with a thin smile.  'Do not worry, Tohijo.  We have
already laid plans to discredit him and destroy the Shogun's faith in
the entire College of Heralds.  Yoritomo will soon come back under our
wing when he reads the letter Hase-Gawa will post- and which One of my
agents will intercept."

'Which letter is this?"  asked the far-away voice.

'The letter Shikobu is about to write!  Besides having a gift for fairy
tales, he is also an accomplished forger!"  Ieyasu gave a gloating
laugh and signalled his secretary to apply brush to paper.

Mishiko gasped in horror and once again turned to the Herald for
support.  'Is this the letter which caused my brother to demand your
life?!"  'Yes,' sighed Toshiro.

The room dissolved around them and became the room the Shogun used for
confidential meetings at the Summer Palace.  Yoritomo sat on the raised
section of the floor with his personal bodyguard of five samurai ranged
in a semi-circle behind him.  The Herald left Mishiko's side and knelt
down immediately below the dais.  He put his nose to the spotless straw
matting then sat back attentively and waited for the Shogun to speak,
'Have the' long-dogs agreed to help us destroy the Heron Pool?"

'Yes, my lord.  The Federation has delivered the necessary devices and
everything is in place.  A massive, blow will be struck against those
who have conspired to bring down your noble house."

'And will this blow rid me of Lord Yama-Shita and that swine Kiyo
Min-Orota?"

'They cannot be targeted personally, sire, but the viewing stand in
which they will be seated during the flying display will be
destroyed."

'Good.  I wish you to perform an additional task."

Toshiro bowed.  'I am yours to command, sire."

'The Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba.  I can no longer tolerate his
dissolute behaviour.  He defiles my sister and dishonours my house.  I
cannot bear to think of her in his bed.  The marriage must end."

'Yes, sire."

'For reasons which are obvious, I shall decline Min-Orota's invitation
to attend the ceremony at the Heron Pool.  The Consul-General will
represent me, and as a gesture of my faith in this project, I will
order him to take to the air in one of the flying-horses.  You will
deliver the letter personally."

'Yes, sire."

'I want him taken aloft.  When the flying-horse has attained the
greatest possible height, he is to fall from the sky.  His body is to
be split and broken like that of a stray mongrel crushed under the
wheel of a passing cart.

I leave it to you to make the necessary arrangements."

'It will be a pleasure, sire."

'And when it is done, you will escort Lady Mishiko and her children to
Aron-Giren."  Yoritomo waved his hand to signal the audience was at an
end.  The Herald took leave of the Shogun and rejoined Mishiko who once
again had not been seen by the other participants, even though she had
been sitting on the edge of the dais just a few feet from her
brother.

The outlines of the room broke up into shifting planes of colour.  When
they reformed, Mishiko found she was still in the Summer Palace but now
she was with the Herald in the pebble garden - Yoritomo's favourite
retreat.

Her brother sat on the raised wooden floor of the open-sided
summer-house.  The body-guards who shadowed him day and night were in
their usual places behind him.  Hearing footsteps, Mishiko looked to
her right and saw Kamakura, an officer in the palace guard, lead her
most trusted maid-servant towards the summerhouse.

She was carrying a letter- the letter Mishiko had written, asking
Yoritomo's permission to marry the Herald.

Prostrating themselves, the maid and Kamakura handed over the letter
then withdrew.  Mishiko gripped Toshiro's arm tightly as she watched
Yoritomo read its contents then crumple it angrily between his hands.

And although he said nothing, his unspoken thoughts blazed an angry
path through her brain.

You bitch!  You treacherous bitch!  I did not free you from that pig of
a husband to marry someone else!  You belong to me!  Vile, faithless
slut!  How could you allow the Herald to come between us?!

Mishiko pulled the Herald round to face her.  'Oh, my beloved!  It was
I who killed you!  If I had not sent that letter you would still be
alive!"  'No!  Do not blame yourself!  He had an even baser reason for
ordering my death!"  The Herald flung out his arm.  'See for yourself
how they both conspired to betray me!"  Mishiko followed his accusing
finger with her eyes and found herself back in Ieyasu's study.  The
Chamberlain and her brother sat facing each other across a low table.

Shikobu placed a sheaf of documents on the table then bowed his way
backwards out of the room.

Ieyasu perused the documents, nodding with satisfaction as he did so.

'I congratulate you, sire.  Your plan to destroy the Heron Pool has
succeeded better than we could have hoped.  Lord Yama-Shita is dead,
those around him have paid with their lives, leaving his family in
disarray, Lord Min-Orota has returned to the fold and we have brought
the allegiance of the Ko-Nikka and Se-Iko at the Yama-Shita's
expense!"

He glanced through some more reports.  'And the blame for all this has
fallen on the treacherous long-dogs and grass-monkeys that Lord
Yama-Shita was unwise enough to employ!"  'Have they left the
country?"

asked Yoritomo.

'Yes, sire.  Their safe passage has been arranged.  It was one of the
guarantees I had to give our friends in the Federation in exchange for
their assistance."

'So... with their departure, the trail runs dead.  Our enemies cannot
link me to the destruction of the Heron Pool and the deaths of those
who had the misfortune to find themselves trapped there."

'Not through the long-dogs, sire,' said Ieyasu.  'But there remains one
person who conveyed your orders to them - and who arranged the death of
the Consul-General."

Yoritomo drew back.  'The Herald Hase-Gawa?  You cannot mean to
suggest... No!  That would be monstrous!

I may have guided his hand but he was the true architect of our
success.  A loyal servant who obeyed my instructions to the letter."

'But one who also acted upon a few initiatives of his own .... '
Yoritomo frowned.  'Would you care to amplify that remark?"

'Do you intend to allow the Lady Mishiko to marry the Herald - as she
has requested?"

Yoritomo appeared to stonewall.  'How do you know she has made such a
request?"

Ieyasu met this with another thin smile.  'There is little that escapes
my attention, sire - especially when itconcerns someone so... close to
the throne."

The Shogun bridled at this veiled reference to his incestuous
relationship with his younger sister.  'In my opinion, it is far too
soon for her to think of marrying someone else,' he snapped.

'I agree, sire- but I doubt if she will.  And I believe your refusal to
countenance such a match will come as a deep disappointment to the
Herald Hase-Gawa.  Especially in view of the valuable services he has
just rendered.  In my experience, the disappointment that arises from
the failure to receive what is viewed as a just and proper reward often
leads to disaffection.

'Could such a man be trusted?  A man privy to secrets which must never
be spoken of beyond these four walls?

A man crossed in love, who felt himself betrayed by one he has served
so loyally?  If he were to reveal to the Yama-Shita and the Min-Orota
the part you played in the destruction of the Heron Pool, it could do
great damage to 'our cause.  And what would happen to our alliance with
the house of Toh-Shiba if they learned you had initiated the murder of
one of their favourite sons?"

Yoritomo's nostrils flared.  'Is there anything you do not know?"

Ieyasu spread his hands in a placatory gesture.  'Sire, your secrets
are safe with me.  I have but one concern to keep this country under
the rule of the Toh-Yota.  I have no wish to see you toppled from the
throne by an 
embittered young man.  As long as the Herald remains
alive, he will retain a hold on your sister's affections.  If you deny
them permission to marry and she comes back to court, you would have to
be on your guard.  Day and night."

Yoritomo mused on this for a while.  When he spoke there was a bitter
edge to his voice.  'I would, in truth, be glad to get rid of him.  But
I cannot condemn him for following orders.  My heralds are men of
honour who serve me loyally because we share a sacred trust.  If it
became known that Toshiro was killed for the sake of political
expediency, that relationship would be totally undermined!"  'Of
course,' said Ieyasu soothingly.  'And to punish him for bringing aid
and comfort to your sister would be equally reprehensible."

'Exactly!  And she would never forgive me.  No .  . . ' Yoritomo open
and closed the clawed fingers of his right hand as he searched for a
solution, 'I need a more acceptable pretext.  Something stronger, that
takes this right away from me and any personal animosity I might be
expected to harbour.  Some evidence of wrongdoing that would persuade
everyone - including Mishiko - that his punishment was just and
well-deserved."

'Hmmmm."  Ieyasu searched among the papers on the table and produced a
letter.  It had been opened, but still bore the undamaged seal of the
Herald HaseGawa.

'By a stroke of good fortune, this document fell into the hands of one
of my agents.  I have a feeling it may be just what you're looking for
- proof that he is a base and treacherous knave."

Yoritomo took the letter and read it.  When he looked up, his face
reflected a troubled mixture of uncertainty, relief and guilt.

'Hase-Gawa wrote this?

'Why not ask him?"

'I will."  Yoritomo bowed to his grand-uncle.  'It seems I shall be
forever in your debt."

Ieyasu responded with a deeper bow.  'Your happiness and well-being is
reward enough, sire."

The room faded.  Mishiko and the Herald were transported back to the
sunlit woods where his horse now grazed peacefully by the side of the
road.

Greatly distressed by what she had seen and heard, Mishiko seized the
Herald by the arms.  'Why did you not defend yourself when my brother
showed you this letter?!

Why did you not tell him you stood falsely accused?!"  'Because I knew
him too well!"  cried Toshiro.  'He spoke of witnesses who could
testify that I posted the letter.  I could tell he knew it was a
forgery, but in his mind he had already condemned me - as you have just
seen.  I could not defend myself!"  · 'Why?!"  'Because I had sworn a
sacred oath to serve him until my dying breath.  If he had not demanded
my life, I would still have had to kill myself.  To have lived on in
the face of such treachery would have dishonoured me and destroyed any
hope I might have had of marrying you."

As the sister of the Shogun, Mishiko could understand the Herald's
predicament.  For any Iron Master worth his salt, loss of face was a
deadly serious business that brought many promising lives to an abrupt
end.

Gin- duty, obligation to one's superiors, took precedence over
everything else And there were occasions, when a master's conduct was
viewed as particularly unworthy, that a samurai would commit seppuku
ritual suicide- rather than remain in his service.  Someone from the
Federation, or the Plainfolk, might view this as a somewhat radical
form of protest but it was perfectly comprehensible to someone who
embraced bushido, the rigid belief-system which underpinned Iron Master
society.

In this system, run]o, human feelings took second place.  But feelings
were what Mishiko had in abundance; feelings which had been bottled up
too long - first out of fear of her brother, then out of a sense of
duty towards the husband that had been forced on her by Ieyasu.

Feelings which had been crushed and imprisoned by grief; and which now
had been released.  An unstoppable 
flood-tide of emotion that
threatened to sweep all reason aside.

Mishiko reached up and caressed the Herald's haunted face.  'Had it not
been for you, my life would have ended long ago.  I cannot bear to be
parted from you!  And I cannot rest until I have freed you from this
torment.  Tell me what I must do!"  Toshiro took hold of her hands and
gripped them tightly.  'We need not be parted.  I am condemned to this
hellish haft-life because my soul cries out for vengeance!

Justice demands it!  If your love for me is stronger than your fear of
death, break free of the bonds that tie you to earth by killing those
who betrayed me!"  'My brother... ?"

'Yes!  And Ieyasu too!"  'But how can I... ?"

The Herald tightened his grip on her hands.  'The two spirit-witches
who brought me through the Veil have the power to help you achieve
anything your heart desires!

Taking the lives of the Chamberlain and your cruel and faithless
brother will free me from this twilight world!

I shall be as you remember me, and you will taste the joys that life
denied you.  Strike these mortal blows and join me!  One short step
through the Veil, and we shall be together - never ageing, ever loving,
for all eternity!"  Mishiko knew that if she should succeed in doing
what he asked, her death would be just the beginning.  Killing her
brother would lead to the death of her children and all her servants,
and any acquaintances who might be thought to be implicated.  When
someone as highly placed as the Shogun and Ieyasu were assassinated,
innocence took second place to the need for vengeance, and to
discourage anyone else with similar ideas.

But in Ne-Issan, that was par for the course.  Mishiko did not
hesitate.  'I will do what you ask of me."

The Herald gathered her into his arms and for one moment, as they
kissed, his haggard face was transformed.

The deathly grey pallor faded from his cheeks, his eyes were clear and
sparkling, his whole body pulsed with youthful vigour.  The ardour of
his embrace left her breathless and tingling from head to toe.

He stepped back, loosened his grip on her outstretched hands and said:
'Do it soon.  Each day without you is like living a hundred years in
hell."

'Wait!"  cried Mishiko.  As she went to run after him, her foot caught
in the hem of her robe.  She fell to her knees.  In a few swift strides
the Herald reached his horse.  Swinging into the saddle, he wheeled
round, his right hand raised in farewell.  The horse reared against the
sun, its rays burning out the edges of its body and that of its
rider.

Then the light swallowed them both, and as they vanished so did the the
woodland glade.

Mishiko found herself back in the pavilion, kneeling on the mat in
front of the charcoal brazier, with her arms stretched out
imploringly.

She gave a despairing cry.  The wall panel slid open and an instant
later, Lord Min-Orota was at her side.

'What is it, mi'lady?"

'Nothing.  I... Do not worry, I have not been harmed."

She used his arms as a support as she rose unsteadily to her feet.  'I
cannot thank you enough.  What I have seen and heard is beyond
belief!

Such a journey!  To so many places!  Have you waited long?"

Min-Orota waved the question aside.  'It was but a matter of
moments."

'Then their magic is even more powerful than I thought.

For not only did they allow me to recapture the happiness we once
shared, they have restored my hopes and given me a new sense of
purpose."  The light in Mishiko's eyes faded.  Her face became an
expressionless mask.  'Where is my brother, Yoritomo?"

Min-Orota answered with a bow.  'I believe the Shogun and the Lord
Chamberlain are making a secret journey to the Summer Palace."

'I must go there.  Immediately.  Can you help me?"

'Yes, mi'lady."  Min-Orota smiled inwardly.  The monkey-witches had
done their work well.  'I will arrange 
for a vessel to take us from
Oshana-sita to AronGiren.

If we leave at first light, you can be in the Summer Palace before they
arrive - a move which may be to your advantage."

'Can the spirit-witches accompany me?"

'They are prepared to follow you anywhere, mi'lady.

And I am sure that if you wish to speak again with the Herald, they
will be only too happy to oblige you.  Their powers are yours to
command."

Mishiko cast a nervous glance at the two seated silhouettes.  'But how
will they ... ?  What form will they assume?"

Roz took control of Mishiko's and the domain-lord's mind as Cadillac
stood up and stepped into the light.

To Min-Orota, he was no longer the tall striped grass-monkey dressed in
the robes of a courtesan, but a samurai dressed in black, with a white
headband bearing the house symbol of the TohYota.

'Whatever form is appropriate, your highness."  Cadillac bowed to Lady
Mishiko.  When he straightened up, she found herself looking at a
mirror-image of herself, who also bowed - and became Lord Min-Orota!

Kiyo stepped back in surprise and stared at his illusory twin.  Mishiko
clapped her hands in delight.  'Does this not fill you with wonder?"

'Indeed it does,' said Min-Orota.  Wonder and alarm.

The one thing Min-Orota hadn't bargained for was having a magical
version of himself turn up at the scene of the crime.

Cadillac stepped back into the darkness, then emerged a few moments
later, with Roz, their faces now concealed behind chalk-white masks and
their hands covered with the long white gloves that courtesans wore
whenever they appeared in public.  Dropping down on one knee, they
bowed to Mishiko.

'Rise,' she said.  'It is I who should defer to you, for I am in awe of
your magic.  The courtesies afforded me because of my exalted position
in this life mean nothing to me now.  From this hour onwards, I exist
only to carry out the wishes of my beloved Herald and I count upon you
to guide me to him."

'In that case, we should board ship as soon as we can, your Highness.

How far are we from Oshana-sita?"

It wasn't a question Lady Mishiko could answer.  When you were carried
everywhere, the distance from A to B was someone else's problem.

'About ten miles,' said Min-Orota.  'There is some urgent business to
attend to before we depart, but we should be able to reach the coast
before dawn."

'No, mi'lord.  I cannot go directly from here.  I must first return to
the palace - and the sooner the better."

Min-Orota was visibly taken aback.  'Mi'lady!  With all due respect,
that is most ill-advised!"  Cadillac weighed into the argument: 'You
have seen how the Chamberlain has armed himself with the Dark Light.

The black boxes convey the reports from his servants and his orders to
them as swiftly as the sound from my lips reaches your ear.  It is
entirely possible that he already knows of Lord Min-Orota's visit to
the Winter Palace and his audience with you.  If you return, you might
discover that he has ordered his men to keep you confined to your
quarters."

'He might, but he won't.  He has no grounds for suspecting me."

'But why take a needless risk?"  insisted Min-Orota.

Mighiko looked more determined than ever.  'Mi'lord.

You are a dear friend and I thank you for your concern, but I cannot
leave without my children, their nurse and my personal servants.  And I
certainly do not intend to embark on such a journey with only the
clothes you see me wearing now!"  'Of course?  said Min-Orota.  'I
understand perfectly.

But once the Steward of the Court sees you preparing to leave with your
retinue -' Mishiko cut him short with an imperious gesture.  'Kenzo
will not see me leave!  I am the favoured sister of the Shogun - and as
such, I am privy to the secret paths by which one may leave the Winter
Palace in times of danger?

Min-Orota accepted this mild put-down with a polite bow.  'Then you
must tell us when and where we are to meet."

The distances one had to travel along various escape routes was
something that high-born Iron Masters did know about.  'A mile due east
of the Winter Palace, a track runs southwards off the road to
Oshana-sita.  The track crosses a stream by a wooden footbridge.

'Just past the bridge as you continue south is a wayside shrine.  In
the trees, immediately behind it, is a summerhouse - barred, shuttered
and partly overgrown.  It is joined to the palace by a tunnel.  Wait
for me by the roadside.  I will be there one hour after sunrise.  Two
at the most."

'How many will there be in your party?"  asked Cadillac.

Mishiko did a rapid mental calculation.  'Twenty, not including
myself."  She turned to Min-Orota.  'Can you provide transport?"

'Of course.  But do you really need to bring so many?"

Her voice became frosty.  'My lord, I am normally accompanied by twice
that number!  I am assuming you will provide porterage.  It is
impossible for me to travel with less.  If I was seen to arrive in
reduced circumstances, eyebrows would be raised.  If our two friends
are to accompany me, they can be concealed more easily in a larger
group - or would you prefer just the three of us to fly magically from
ship to shore followed by our luggage?"

'Of course not.  Forgive me.  My men will wait at the appointed place
all day if necessary- and I shall arrange for our vessels to anchor in
deep water so that we are not at the mercy of the tides."

'Good.  Now... please be kind enough to summon my maid-servants and
have them bring the clothes I came in.

And after that I would like you to conduct me to the gate."

Min-Orota bowed.  'At once mi'lady."

Arrogant bitch ....

Hearing the clack of wooden-soled footwear on the steps to the
verandah, Cadillac peered through the shutters and saw the quartet of
lanterns wobble away down the path.

'Well, there she goes."  He threw an arm across Roz's shoulder and gave
her a congratulatory hug.  'I've always been impressed by what you can
do, but you're getting better all the time, y'know that?"

Roz turned to face him and slipped her hands around his waist.  'It
couldn't have happened without you.  And I like it.  It gives me a real
buzz.  But I'd sleep a lot easier if I knew how it works and why."  She
laughed.  'Did you hear that?  Just goes to show that underneath the
paintwork, there's still someone called Doctor Rozalynn Brickman."

'Do you miss all that?"

'No.  I always knew deep down that my life was going to take another
turning - studying medicine was one of the steps along the way."  She
smiled.  'Maybe Talisman gave me these gifts and sent me out here to
save your life."

'You already have."

She nestled her face against his then said: 'Min-Orota's men are still
outside.  Don't you think we ought to put our masks back on, in case
one of them comes in?

'Can't you handle that?"

'I could but the effort of concentration required to grab someone's
mind really drains you after a while.  I'd just like to be able to
relax."  She picked up their face masks and offered Cadillac his.

'I hate wearing these things.  I like to be able to see what you're
thinking."

'Does not knowing what I'm thinking worry you?"  Roz planted a light
kiss on his mouth.  'Relax.  I don't have real power, like
Clearwater.

I can't make people do things the way she can, or move chunks of the
landscape around.

I can only manipulate people's perception of reality - a lot depends on
what I can find inside their heads.  Or mine .... ' 'I wouldn't call
that a limitation."

'No.  Perhaps it's a restriction I've imposed upon myself.  My classes
at school were slanted towards the practical aspects of medicine.  The
first time I heard people mention psychology and the subconscious mind
was after I'd passed my intermed exams and went on to take my doctorate
at Inner State U!  I suppose if I started to dig really deep, there's
no limit to what I might come up with."

'Does the prospect frighten you?"

'Yes."  Roz smiled.  'I'd much rather have your amazing ability to
absorb an alien culture and master their language practically
overnight."

It was Cadillac's turn to laugh.  'It takes little longer than that."

'Maybe.  The point is, you know what's going on, and I don't - at least
not until you get a chance to tell me.  It makes me feel so helpless.

And what's more, I'm sick of you doing all the talking!"  He kissed the
tip of her nose.  'Don't underestimate yourself.  You've scared the
hell out of these guys.  They wouldn't dare make a move against us.  As
for Mishiko, I thought we laid on a really great blend of fact and
fiction.

It's clear she went for it.  The question is- will she still feel the
same way tomorrow?"

'Oh, yes.  That's the one thing you can be sure about."

'Good.  We've got everything she needs to finish the job.  That leaves
just two more hurdles to clear getting her into place, and getting
away."

'Yes."  Roz turned towards the window with a sigh.

Cadillac watched her peer vacantly through the shutters.

'What's the matter?"

She kept her back towards him and ran a forefinger slowly back and
forth along one of the wooden slats.  'I just ... find this all a bit
upsetting.  The fact that so many people are going to die.  Is that why
she insisted on taking her children with her?"

'Yes.  Try not to think about it.  The Iron Masters know how to handle
things like this.  When they purge their top guys, the whole family
usually gets taken out.  That's the down-side of belonging to the
nobility.  It's something they're taught to accept from the moment
they're old enough to understand."

'But we are the ones who are killing them!"  cried Roz.

Her eyes were still riveted on her moving finger which was now pressed
down so hard, it had begun to turn white.

'Only indirectly.  And if she arranges it, they probably won't feel a
thing."  Cadillac could tell from the set of her shoulders that she was
close to tears.  'Listen.  I know it's a tough thing to have to cope
with, but it's better for these japs to be killing each other than to
have them cutting down the Plainfolk."

He took hold of her shoulders and turned her around.

'You sound just like Steve."  Roz wiped her eyes, drew the back of her
hand across her snuffiy nose, then poked him in the ribs.  'And what's
more, you look ridiculous in that wig 'I can always take it off - if
you're willing to cover me."

'No, don't-' It was too late.  Cadillac was already lifting it
carefully off his head.  He put it on one of the shaped wooden blocks
that had come as part of their wardrobe and shook his own hair free.

'Have you heard from him lately?"

'Steve?  No.  Not a peep.  But something tells me I will."

'Yeah.  And knowing him, it'll probably be bad news."

Roz sensed the hint of jealousy in his voice.  'It doesn't have to
be."

'That's how it's always been, hasn't it?  The only time he gets in
touch is when he's in a jam.  I can only think of one reason why you
haven't heard from him in months - and that's because he's worked
himself an easy ticket.

It's like I said.  He's sold out."

'That's not fair, it's not true, and that's the one thing I hate about
you!  He saved Clearwater's life and he'll do whatever has to be done
to keep her from being harmed until they can both escape!  And that's
not made any 
easier by the fact that she's having a baby.  Why won't
you trust him?!"  'Because I have no cause to!"  Cadillac circled Roz
angrily.  'If he comes back into our lives, he's going to come between
us!"  'I won't let him,' said Roz, firmly.

Cadillac halted in front of her.  'But the prospect scares you, doesn't
it?  Because he still has a hold on you."

'Not in the way you think.  He's worried by this power that's been
given to me.  He knows I'm no longer the little sister who was raised
in his shadow and was content to remain there.  But our minds are still
linked.  Even though he hasn't made contact, part of him still lives in
here."

Roz touched the sides of her forehead.  'That's what scares me.

Knowing that if something bad happened to him, it could happen to me
too.  I want everything to go right - for all of us."  She ran her
hands along his shoulders and linked them behind his neck.  'Especially
now .... ' 'It will."  Cadillac put his arms around her waist and
closed the gap between them.  'But whether Steve is with us or not, you
and I are going to win through.  You've got to believe that."

'I do - but you know how it is.  The more you have, the more you have
to lose."  She shrugged.  'I - I... just feel that he and I have been
too lucky for too long."

'Your run of luck has just started,' said Cadillac.  He sealed her lips
with a kiss.  It wasn't long before they sank onto the straw matting
and began exploring some now familiar territory.

'Do you really think this is a good idea?"  whispered Roz.

'Can you think of a better one?"

CHAPTER EIGHT In the pre-Holocaust era, there used to be an old saying:
'Dream of the devil and you wake in fright."  Roz's premonition about
her brother was not all that far off the mark.  For as she and Cadillac
lay in each other's arms, Steve was preparing to fly to Ne-Issan with
his bed-mate, Commander Franklynne Delano Jefferson.

In the hour before midnight, Eastern Time, just after Lady Mishiko had
slipped back into the Winter Palace undetected, Steve and Fran changed
out of their pale grey uniforms into the familiar red, orange, black
and brown fatigues, said goodbye to Karlstrom and were driven out in an
eight-wheeled Bobcat to the air-base attached to Cloudlands - the First
Family's private estate.

Two AMEXICO SkyRiders fitted with underwing long-range fuel-tanks stood
waiting on the hangar apron.

Steve and Fran were logged through Flight Operations with the minimum
of ceremony.  The orders and clearances required for the trip had come
down the line ahead of them, and the pilots had been fully briefed.  By
the time they reached the apron, their baggage had been stowed away in
the cargo hatches.  All that remained was to strap themselves into the
passenger seats and sit back while the monosyllabic pilots alongside
them got on with their job.

Four and a half hours later, after travelling some twelve hundred
miles, the two planes broke formation and landed in semi-darkness on a
flat, endless stretch of beach bordering a limitless expanse of
water.

The beach was about thirty miles south of the point where the Cape Fear
River, which marked the southern border of Ne-Issan, cut through the
sands of North 
Carolina; the water was the Atlantic Ocean, a vast grey
blanket gently rising and falling in the pre-dawn twilight.

What pre-H sailors called an oily swell.  With scarcely a breath of
wind in the air, the normally thunderous breakers were reduced to token
waves which reared half-heartedly then tumbled feebly onto the shelving
beach.

Painted in low-visibility grey, the two SkyRiders were like
insubstantial phantoms swelling and fading in the drifting banks of
sea-mist.  Steve and Fran climbed out of the passenger seats of their
respective planes, pulled their trail bags and other luggage from the
cargo holds, gave the cockpit canopy a flat-handed 'All set/Goodbye'
thump then ran clear of the port wing tips.  The SkyRiders moved off
one behind the other in the same straight line, gathering speed before
lifting off with flaps extended to climb steeply out over the sea.

The sound of their engines and their grey silhouettes were quickly lost
in the gloom, leaving only the red wink lights above and below their
fuselages to mark their position in the sky.  And then they too
vanished.

Touchdown to take-off had been completed in under three minutes.  In
half an hour, the advancing tide would wipe the tell-tale tyretracks
from the beach, long before the first of the nearby Southern Mutes came
to ready their beached cat-boats for another day's fishing.

Steve nudged Fran's arm and pointed out to sea.  Half-concealed in the
shifting banks of mist was the angular dark grey shape of an
ocean-going junk.  A point of light on the raised stern winked on and
off.  Steve turned and scanned the dunes for the recipient of that
message - the person who had made radio contact with the SkyRiders
before switching on the lights that marked the beginning and the
direction of the landing strip.

Five diminutive figures rose into view and made their way down through
the wind-hollows between the tufted tops of the dunes.  As they drew
closer, Steve recognised their leader.  It was Skull-Face, a pint-sized
undercover agent of the ruling Toh-Yota family.  At their first
meeting, Steve had been forced to kneel naked in front of him, tightly
trussed with rope and twine like a rolled joint of buffalo meat.  It
had been question and answer time, and two of Skull-Face's friends had
stood behind him, ready to refresh his memory with the aid of
whipping-canes.  It was an unpromising start to a working relationship,
but his tormentor soon revealed himself to be an ally who later set up
the travel arrangements which enabled Steve, Cadillac, Clearwater, Jodi
Kazan and Kelso to get out of Ne-Issan.

This time it was Skull-Face's turn to bow, first to Fran and then to
Steve.  'Commander Franklynne Delano Jefferson, it is a great honour
for me to be the first to welcome you and Captain Brickman to
Ne-Issan.

Allow me to introduce myself- Samurai-Major Iseko Fujiwara.

It will be my pleasure to guide you to rendezvous with Lord Chamberlain
Ieyasu."

Apart from the sibilant pronunciation and a tendency to swallow certain
consonants like d and l, Fujiwara spoke almost perfect Basic.

Steve, who had been given the running order before take-off, replied on
behalf of Fran.  In Ne-Issan, it was the custom for high-ranking nobles
to speak through intermediaries when speaking to inferior beings.  'We
thank you for receiving us and look forward to our journey together.

Where are you taking us?"

Fujiwara responded with an even lower bow.  'Sorry, Captain.  That is
something I am unable to reveal.  The final decision on the choice of
meeting place has not been taken.  Please follow me."

These japs, thought Steve.  They really loved concealment and
intrigue.

Fujiwara's silent companions picked up the baggage and tagged on behind
as he led Steve and Fran to the water's edge.  A large row-boat manned
by two sailors appeared out of a bank of mist.  Two of the baggage
handlers ran into the shallows and turned the boat's bow to seaward
then ran the stern end of the keel aground amid the fitful breaking
waves.

Steve helped Fran climb over the backboard, then followed her into the
bow of the boat.  The luggage was quickly stowed away, Fujiwara took
charge of the tiller, and his four colleagues ran the boat back into
the water.  Scrambling aboard, they fitted oars into the wooden
rowlocks and helped the sailors pull away against the incoming tide.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached the heavy timbered side of a large
steam-powered junk with two tapering four-sided sails and a rear
jib-sheet on the raised stern.

There was no sign of any crew on deck.  A rope ladder with wooden rungs
hung down over the side, but it turned out that this was only for the
lower orders.

One of the baggage handlers climbed nimbly onto the deck then, shortly
afterwards, a wooden boom with a pulley block and rope tackle swung
into view, and a carriage box was lowered into the rowboat.  With a
respectful bow, Fujiwara invited Fran to seat herself in the box then
closed the door and rode up with it, hanging onto one of the rope
slings.  A couple of minutes later, the box came back down over the
side for Steve.

When it touched down on the deck and the door was opened, Steve found
himself facing an open passageway.

Portable side-screens closed off any view of the main deck.  Fujiwara
led him down a short flight of stairs and into a cabin where Fran stood
waiting by a window in what was obviously the stern of the boat.

Fujiwara took them through the accommodation set aside for them; two
mirror-image cabins separated by a wide corridor which together
occupied the full width of the stern.  Fran chose the port side whose
windows offered a view of the distant shore.  One of Fujiwara's men
carried Steve's share of the luggage into the other cabin.

Steve followed him through the two sets of sliding doors.  In the rear
half of the intervening corridor was a small bath-house whose
party-sized tub drained out through a stern chute when the plug was
pulled.

Each cabin had a closet with a jugged supply of water and a similar
pipe for evacuating what the Federation's A-Level maintenance manual
referred to as 'solid waste', and in the rear half a similar pipe for
evacuating what the Federation's A-Level electronic maintenance manual
referred to as 'solid waste'.

The cabins were furnished in the usual sparse Iron Master fashion, with
a minimum of furniture.  The raised sleeping area was covered in straw
mats, the rest of the floor was bare polished wood.  Sliding paper
wall-screens opened to reveal shelves and storage space to hang
clothes.  Beside the folded cotton mattresses and bed linen, their
hosts had provided a number of loose kimonos in black and white.  The
cuffs and hems were trimmed with bright patterned material, and bore a
lozenge-shaped decorative device on the back and breast.

After withdrawing to allow them to settle in, Fujiwara returned with
four Vietnamese women in tow.  Introducing them, the agent apologised
in advance for any difficulties arising from the women's modest grasp
of Basic and explained that the quartet would act as their body-slaves
throughout their stay in Ne-Issan.

They would serve all meals, clean and carry water, and perform any
other tasks required of them.  The bells provided would summon them
from their quarters nearby, a minimum of two would be on duty at any
hour of the day or night, and should they fail to give satisfaction,
then he, Iseko Fujiwara, should be informed without delay.

Steve thanked him, with the usual exchange of bows.

When the four Vietnamese women had shuffled backwards out of the room,
with their bodies bent forward as if suffering from severe stomach
cramps, Fujiwara explained the remaining ground rules.  As they had
noticed by the manner of their arrival, the vessel's crew - apart from
the two ensigns in the rowboat - had been confined below decks to
prevent them from discovering the identity of their illustrious
passengers.

In return, Fujiwara asked Steve and Fran to remain below deck.  They
could use the roofed balcony that ran across the flat, sloping stern
outside their cabins but they could not- except in the case of an
unforeseen emergency - come up on the main deck during the voyage.

Speaking for Fran, Steve said he understood completely.

It was disappointing not to be able to see where they were going, but
it was better to arrive safely, without the knowledge of the Shogun's
enemies.

Fujiwara bowed and expressed his immeasurable appreciation of such deep
understanding.  'These are troubled times."

'They are indeed,' replied Steve.  Ten-Four.  Over and Out .  . .

Listening at the window to the shouted exchanges as the junk got
underway, Fran quickly established that the junk was officered by
japanese, and had a mainly chinese crew.

Fran did not intend to reveal her knowledge of japanese in order to
eavesdrop on unguarded conversations that might put them ahead in their
forthcoming negotiations.

It also avoided potentially embarrassing problems of protocol.  The
Iron Masters didn't like outlanders speaking their sacred tongue, and
it wasn't necessary to do so.

As Steve had discovered on his last visit, a surprising number of japs
had a good working knowledge of Basic.

Their pronunciation and syntax might be a little rocky even comicalbut
they had ways of getting their message across, especially to people who
made the mistake of laughing at them.

As the sun rose, the mist banks quickly disappeared.

The wind freshened, deepening the troughs between the waves and carving
the crests into serrated lines of white foam.  With the sun now riding
high over slow-moving heaps of cumulus, the swelling grey blanket of
water had been transformed into a sparkling expanse of blue and
green.

The broad-beamed junk ploughed northwards at a steady twelve knots,
pitching slowly fore and aft.

Within an hour, the wind became a lot fiercer.  The tranquil heaps of
cumulus were quickly overshadowed by threatening grey storm clouds and
the junk began to roll alarmingly as the mounting waves crashed against
its starboard side.

Steve had never travelled on any kind of waterborne vessel up to the
age of eighteen, when he'd stowed away on the Great Lakes wheel-boat to
Ne-Issan, but he'd emerged in reasonably good shape, and had fared
better than Cadillac when crossing Lake Michigan in a frail, narrow
outrigger.  And he was now quietly pleased to discover he had better
sea-legs than Fran who he found clutching the stern balcony rail,
white-knuckled and green around the gills.

She raised her voice above the background drumming of the steam-driven
screw that churned the blue water beneath them into a broad swirling
ribbon of green and white foam.  'Did you know it Was going to be like
this?!"  'Like what?"  he replied, teasingly.

'Jeezuss!  The way this thing is moving from side to side as well as up
and down!  Plus the vibration?!  Can't you feel it?  And the noise!

Boom, boom, boom!  That goddamm engine's driving me crazy!"  Tough
shit, thought Steve.  You wanna try working down in the A-Levels for
three months - like where you sent me.  Bitch ....

He laid on a look of genuine concern.  'Do you want me to ask them to
turn it off, and just use the sails?"

'And drag this out even longer?  Forget it!"  Steve suppressed his own
feelings of nausea and smiled.  'Cheer up.  The first twenty-four hours
are always the worst I' Her eyes turned to ice.  A moment of pure
hatred.  And screw you too, Commander ....

Two hours after sunrise, Senior Secretary Shikobu and Kenzo the Chief
Steward each accompanied by two subordinates, rode out of the Winter
Palace, followed by three troops of cavalry in battle-order, led by the
Castle Commandant.  During the night, Ieyasu had had 
second
thoughts.

Shikobu was now empowered to use force to bring Domain-Lord Min-Orota
to the Palace if all other means of persuasion failed.

By the time the cavalcade thundered through the roofed gateway of the
post-house, it was not chickens and pigs that scattered, it was the
displaced tarts, cardsharps, itinerant pedlars and street performers
who had spent a cold and uncomfortable night dossed down in the barns
and outhouses of nearby farms.  Word of the domain-lord's departure
soon circulated and they had all hastened back to reclaim their
previous accommodation.

It was left to the alarmed inn-keeper and his wife to explain to
Shikobu the circumstances of the domain-lord's early departure.  Having
already paid in advance, the parties in question had not deemed it
necessary to take formal leave of the inn-keeper, but a quick check of
the accommodation showed that all the furnishings and fittings were
intact.

The riders and drivers had gone about the business of readying their
mounts with the minimum of noise, but it was impossible to silence the
gritty rumble of loaded carts, the squeak of harness, and the creak of
wooden shafts as the oxen took the strain.  It was this which had woken
Shoshi and brought her first to one of her many spy-holes, then to the
front door and the unguarded verandah.

Waiting until the last of the mounted rear guard had passed out through
the archway, she gathered her nightclothes about her and ran across the
courtyard to where Inazo was sliding the last bolts home in the gate.

Having been awakened three times during the night by the arrival and
departure of some lowly servants on an ox-cart and now the departing
northerners, Inazo, a faithful but crotchety old bugger, was not in the
best of humours.

He told Shoshi that one group of horsemen and carts had gone north, the
other had taken the east road.

Towards the sea ....

Which group, enquired Shikobu, had been led by the domain-lord?

At this, Inazo had bowed deeply and wrung his hands.

He could not be certain.  The house flags carried by the domain-lord's
party on the previous day had not been displayed.  It had been dark.

His eyes were not what they were ....

Shikobu dismissed him with a wave.

It was true that no flags had been carried aloft, but Inazo failed to
mention that someone on Min-Orota's staff had tipped him handsomely for
all his trouble, and told him to look the other way.- a fact he did not
intend to reveal in front of his tight-fisted cow of a mistress.

For the last three years she had refused to let her husband spend
anything on the hovel Inazo and his wife were obliged to live in, and
had she known about the lavish back-hander, she would have taken every
penny.

On the grounds that all staff contributed to the smooth-running of the
inn, neat little notices posted in each room requested clients to
include any gratuities when settling their bill - the money being
shared out later.

Some chance with Shoshi holding the purse-strings!  If they saw a tenth
of it they were lucky.  Still what could you do when young men and
women, eager to escape the endless cycle of back-breaking farm work,
were lining up in their dozens every time there was a vacancy- willing
to take any job at almost any price?

Shoshi, anxious to show her vigilance to these important men from the
Palace, recounted the visit by what she believed was a lady of quality
to Lord Min-Orota.

And she described how she had seen her arrive on an oxcart disguised as
a servant-girl with seven companions who were clearly of inferior
rank.

Shikobu exchanged glances with Kenzo, and questioned her further.

Shoshi was able to supply an approximate time of arrival but confessed
to being asleep when the cart departed.  Inazo, the gate-keeper, did
not have any means of telling the time.

Having dozed off after their arrival he had no clear idea how long they
had stayed.  He only knew that when called upon to let them out, it was
cold and late and, although 
he could not be absolutely certain, he
believed that the domain-lord had watched them go.

Shikobu would have liked more details, but it was enough to go on.  He
was beginning to regret not acting immediately on receipt of Ieyasu's
first message.  But on the other hand, permission to use force had only
arrived on his desk an hour ago - and Lord Min-Orota had already left
by then.

He held a hurried conference with the Castle Commandant.

Kenzo the Chief Steward, was a master of protocol, ceremonies and a gem
at catering, but he had nothing to contribute at a moment like this.  A
decision was made to despatch two troops- sixty men plus their
officers- to the north, and the remainder along the east road.

Shikobu, Kenzo and the Commandant would return to the Palace with their
subordinates, and a fourth troop would be despatched from there to back
up the third in case Lord Min-Orota was heading for the harbour at
Oshana-sita.

Shikobu believed he knew the identity of Min-Orota's visitor, but he
decided to keep his opinions to himself.

It appeared that the ox-cart had taken the road back to the palace but
had she been on it?  Or was it a real servant-girl that Min-Orota had
made the pretence of bowing to?  The answer to this question and
others, that were equally disquieting, lay at the Palace.

At Showa, Shikobu was met in the courtyard by Kenzo's distraught
deputy.  Lady Mishiko was nowhere to be found.  She, her three
children, their nurse and sixteen of her personal servants had
vanished!  He had questioned her remaining staff, but none of them had
confessed to knowing where she might be.  All they could tell him was
that she had retired in the usual manner the previous night and, in the
deputy's view, they appeared to be as surprised as everyone else.

Shikobu briefly considered lining the servants up and having them
whipped, one by one, into insensibility until someone decided to save
his or her skin by talking.  But with no proof of any wrong-doing by
Lady Mishiko, his hands were tied.  She was, after all, the Shogun's
sister and, in theory, was entitled to go where she liked.  An
unwarranted attack on her servants could quite easily be construed as a
violation of her rights and privileges - granted by her brother, the
Shogun.

Dangerous waters ....

Fortunately, there was another avenue he could follow.

On the orders of the Palace Commandant, the soldiers who had served on
the night-watch were hastily assembled for questioning.  Those detailed
to guard the gate were able to confirm that an ox-cart carrying eight
of Lady Mishiko's servants had been allowed over the drawbridge at
about eight in the evening, returning some three hours later.

Since most were known to the soldiers concerned, they had not been
required to show gate-passes or proof of identity - and this was a
perfectly normal procedure.  The personal servants of Lady Mishiko were
regarded as being a cut above the rest, and on a par with those who
worked for Yoritomo, and the Lord Chamberlain.

Their testimony, added to that of the inn-keeper's wife, told Shikobu
all he needed to know.  Lady Mishiko, disguised as one of her own
servants, had left the Palace for a secret meeting with Lord Min-Orota
at the post-house inn.  Something she had learned there had caused her
to return, gather, her children and her most trusted servants together,
and leave some time during the night.  Since no one had passed out
through the gate since the ox-cart's return and his own departure
earlier that morning, she must have left by a ecret passageway known
only to the Shogun's immediate family.

She had met Lord Min-Orota at a pre-arranged rendezvous, and they had
travelled on towards Oshana-sita.  It was the only destination that
made sense.  To escape in secret implied an intention to evade
discovery.  A journey by sea was the best means to accomplish that.

Somehow, Min-Orota or she had discovered the end-point of the 
Shogun's
present journey and intended to reach AronGiren by boat.

If they succeeded in hiring a vessel and left today, they could reach
the Summer Palace before Ieyasu and Yoritomo.  Shikobu could only think
of one reason for their journey and the secrecy surrounding it.  The
highly sensitive information Lord Min-Orota claimed to have uncovered
at Sara-kusa was not for the Lord Chamberlain.  It was about him.

Something damaging ....

That was why the domain-lord had refused to speak to anyone else.  And
why he had enlisted the help of Lady Mishiko.  She was the only one who
had direct access to Yoritomo.  Anyone else wishing to gain audience
had to apply to the Lord Chamberlain's office.  More often than not, if
their case was accepted, Ieyasu acted as the intermediary or, in the
rare event that the supplicant was actually allowed to see the Shogun,
Ieyasu was always present.  And since Toshiro Hase-Gawa's death, that
now included Yoritomo's own select band of messengers- the Heralds.

It was pointless to speculate on what this possibly damaging
information might be, but it had to be serious.  Serious enough to
prompt Lady Mishiko to take her children with her ... to avoid them
being held hostage to secure her silence.  But it was not too late to
act.  The officers leading the mounted troops towards Oshana-sita were
intelligent and resourceful.  If they failed to intercept Min-Orota,
they would at least return with every scrap of information they could
glean about his departure.

None of the war vessels owned by the Toh-Yota were fitted with
radios.

These devices were only used by a trusted 'inner circle' of agents less
than a tenth of the army of informers employed by the Lord
Chamberlain.

There was little that could be done to intercept the boat, but it could
be met on arrival.  Forewarned was forearmed.  Lady Mishiko may have
slipped away but she had yet to reach the Summer Palace.  All was not
lost.  Shikobu hurried towards the secret communications room, mentally
composing the message he would send to his master ....

By nightfall, the stormy weather had eased noticeably but the the junk
was still rolling several degrees and shipping water as she nosed down
into the troughs between the waves that angled in across her bows.

After sharing dinner, Steve retired to his own cabin as Fran, in her
role of Commander, bade him a frosty goodnight.  Still plagued by
motion-sickness, she had only pecked at her food.  Steve, by contrast,
had made a point of clearing the decks - a fact that probably
contributed to her ill-humour.

Sometime after his mind had filtered out the steady beat of the engine,
allowing him to doze off, he was woken by a sudden coldness on his
back.

'It's only me,' a familiar voice whispered.

With the shutters closed, it was pitch dark.  Steve turned obligingly
as Fran dropped the coverlet back into place and wriggled her naked
body into close contact with his.  She slid her right arm under and
round his neck and used her other hand to pull him half on top of her
so that they lay with legs entwined.  The heat in the high point of her
pelvis started a fire in his loins.

'I couldn't sleep,' she whispered.  'The thought of floating on a few
pieces of wood with all that water beneath us."  A shudder ran through
her body.  'Hold me.

Please!"  This was Fran at her most vulnerable.  Make the most of it,
Brickman.  Score a few brownie points while you've got the chance.

Slowed at the onset of their voyage by the same bad weather that was
giving Fran her first taste of seasickness, the junk carrying Cadillac,
Roz and Lady Mishiko took nearly thirty-five hours to cover the two
hundred and twenty-five miles between Oshana-sita and Aron-Giren.  By
the time the look-out in the crows-nest 
sighted the coastline, at four
o'clock in the afternoon, the wind was no longer whipping clouds of
spray from the white-capped waves - a sign that Lord Min-Orota took as
a good omen as he and his entourage prepared to leave.

Cadillac and Roz had already agreed with his suggestion that he could
be of more service to the Progressive cause by returning to his domain
and readying his troops to answer the call to arms that would follow
the deaths of the Shogun and Ieyasu.  It was also a move which put him
well out of the line of fire if anything went wrong - but only
temporarily.  If the plan came unglued he was one of the first people
the Toh-Yota would come looking for.

Bidding a fond farewell to Lady Mishiko, the domain-lord transferred to
the second vessel that had been following in their wake, and sailed
away on an easterly course that would take his party beyond the reach
of any coastal patrols mounted by the TohYota.

With the light now fading rapidly, the junk captain pressed on towards
the channel between the two long, overlapping sand-bars that protected
the southern shore of Aron-Giren from the waves of the Great Eastern
Sea.

His objective was the harbour at Bei-shura, but as they neared the
entrance to the long coastal lagoon, a junk flying the house flag of
the Toh-Yota and the long blue and white pennant which marked it out as
a naval vessel came into view.  It was moving on a course that would
bring it across their bow.  A red signal rocket, fired from its
for'sle, soared into the sky - the order to heave-to and prepare to
receive a boarding party.

The throbbing beat of the steam engine slowed, and from the deck above
came a shouted command to haul in the big square-cut sail.

Cadillac and Roz watched the navy boat turn and head towards them on
the seaward side.  'Well, we expected trouble,' said Cadillac.  'And I
think this is it .... ' A sea voyage was the only way of getting to the
Summer Palace before .Ieyasu and the Shogun arrived by road, but from
the outset Cadillac and Roz had known that the Chamberlain would always
be able to stay one jump ahead if, as they believed, he was linked by
radio to the Winter Palace.  If this was so, then there was bound to be
a similar set-up at the Summer Palace on AronGiren.

With virtually instantaneous communication between all three points, it
would not take long to organise a blockade of the island, and the ship
now bearing down on them was proof that Ieyasu was trying to head off
trouble.

It now looked as if Lord Min-Orota's sudden departure from the
post-house had been discovered and tied in with Lady Mishiko's
disappearance from her quarters.

They had also been tracked to Oshana-sita.  With every vessel logged in
and out of port, it would not take long to establish the identity of
the two junks they had boarded.  Min-Orota had given the destination of
both vessels as Bo-sona, but someone had clearly decided not to take
any chances, teyasu had been alerted, and he had contacted whoever was
manning the radio at the Summer Palace and ordered them to intercept
all in-coming boats from the south.

Cadillac was still wondering what to do when Lady Mishiko joined them
at the starboard window.  Roz shifted to the right to make room for
her.  The window was stepped out from the hull, allowing them a view
forward along the side of the ship.  They watched in silence as the
navy ship swung about to bring her bow in line with the junk's and
threw her engine into reverse.

The sea boiled under her stern as she came to a dead stop some fifty
yards away.

The six pillar-mounted deck-cannon spaced along the port side were
manned and aimed at the junk.  They looked too puny to do any serious
damage to the hull bfit, loaded with grapeshot, they were probably
highly effective at clearing decks of hostile crewmen.

An oar-boat containing five men was lowered into the calm water between
the two vessels.  The crew of the junk dropped a rope ladder over the
side and the captain got his papers ready to show the boarding party.

'Two of my guards are on deck,' said Lady Mishiko.  'They will warn us
if we are in any danger."

'Good."  Cadillac gave Roz a questioning glance.  She nodded
reassuringly.

'This may be a routine inspection,' said Lady Mishiko.

'On the other hand, these men may have been ordered to prevent me
landing, or take me into protective custody.

When we discussed the possible moves open to Ieyasu, those two seemed
the most likely - but I have since thought of another which would be
even more effective."

'And what is that, your highness?"

'Rather than risk half-measures that might cause difficulties later, he
might have decided it would be safer for him if I never saw my brother
again.  I am travelling under an assumed name.  Apart from Ieyasu's
men, no one knows I am here.  It would be relatively easy to arrange
for this ship to be lost at sea - with all hands."

Roz saw Cadillac react uneasily.  Whatever Mishiko had said was clearly
bad news, but since they were speaking japanese, she didn't know what
it was.

'I hadn't thought of that.  It is indeed effective.  But it is also a
very drastic solution.  Would the Chamberlain dare do such a thing?

His suspicions may have been aroused, but surely he would not try and
murder you without trying to ascertain the real reason for this
journey?"

'You do not know my great-uncle,' said Mishiko.  'We call him the Old
Fox.  He is ruthless, cunning, but also very cautious.  There is a
saying from the World Before which had always guided his actions.

"Better to be safe than sorry"."

Cadillac nodded, then said: 'Please excuse us, your highness.  I would
like to have a brief word with my companion in private."

Beckoning Roz to follow, he led the way into the adjoining cabin, and
gave her a whispered translation of this latest exchange with
Mishiko.

'So what do you want me to do?"

'Nothing as yet.  I just want you to understand what could be about to
happen so we can react in the appropriate manner as and when the time
comes."

'I'll do my best,' said Roz.  'Just so long as you understand that I
can't solve every problem we run into!  I can react pretty quickly, but
it would make things a lot easier if I had some kind of advance
warning.  If I see or feel us getting into a threatening situation I
can do something about it, but most of the time I don't have a clue
what's going on because you don't explain enough, and I can't
understand a word anyone's saying!  And it's very frustrating!"  'I
know, you already told me."

'Well, I'm just reminding you!  All I can do is to entrap the minds of
the navy men who have boarded this boat- if they threaten our safety
and providing they stay together.

But even if I manage to neutralise them, I can't stop their shipmates
firing those cannon at us!"  'Yehh, point taken.  Let's hope she's
wrong and I'm right."

Lady Mishiko appeared in the doorway.  'They're leaving!"  Cadillac
gave Roz a whispered translation then followed Mishiko over to the
starboard window.

It was true.  The long-boat containing the boarding party was making
its way back to the Toh-Yota patrol ship.  A few moments later, one of
Mishiko's guards admitted the captain.

Cadillac and Roz, secure in their disguise, remained in the background
while Mishiko listened to the captain's account of what had happened on
deck.  After checking the ship's papers and the master's licence, the
officer in charge of the boarding-party had informed the captain that
because of a rumoured coup attempt by the YamaShita, all incoming
vessels were being directed towards five 'controlled' harbours.  On
docking, the ship and its cargo would be thoroughly searched; any
passengers intending to disembark would only be allowed to do so if
their papers were in order, and if they could show good reason for
coming to AronGiren.

Cadillac cursed silently.  He and Roz didn't have any papers.  It
simply hadn't occurred to him that they might need them.

The captain continued to recite the orders he had been given.  His junk
was required to dock at Bei-shura, but because of the backlog of
vessels awaiting inspection, it would have to take its place in the
queue.  As soon as the junk was underway, the patrol ship would lead it
through the channel into the bay where it was to anchor overnight.  Any
further orders, or information about when they would be able to dock,
would be issued in the morning.

Mishiko accepted this with a regal nod.  'Did they examine the
passenger list?"

'No, ma'am.  And they did not check the cargo manifest.

They simply enquired what I was carrying.  I told them I had a number
of passengers on board together men, women and children - with their
personal baggage, plus a small amount of commercial cargo in the
forward hold."

'And they did not ask how many of us there were, nor seek to discover
our identities?"

'No, ma'am."

'Thank you, captain.  Do not let me detain you further."

The steam engine deep in the bowels of the junk resumed its regular
beat and soon afterwards, the three-bladed brass screw beneath the
stern began to drive the junk towards the channel between the long
sandbars.

Three-quarters of an hour later, the navy patrol ship signalled the
junk to drop anchor landwards of a group of small islands in what was
once known as Great South Bay, Long Island.  With the shoreline
beginning to merge with the blackening sky, the small port of
Bei-shura, which lay about four miles to the north-west, was just
visible as an untidy cluster of dim yellow-orange lights.  The Iron
Masters had no organised system for illuminating their towns and
villages.  When darkness fell, most people retired to the safety of
their houses and locked themselves up for the night.

During this period, Lady Mishiko went off to spend some time with her
three children and their nurse, and two of her servants brought trays
of food down to Cadillac and Roz.

By the time Mishiko returned, the junk was riding at anchor in the
bay.

Five other vessels of varying size were moored nearby.  With heavy
clouds covering the night sky, it was too dark to see them clearly, but
their positions could be identified by the red and green lanterns hung
amidships and the white lights hung from bow and stern.

The patrol vessel off their portside had almost its whole deck
illuminated by a string of lanterns.  The cannon mounted along the
starboard side could be seen clearly in the overlapping pools of
light.

The muzzles were all aimed at the junk, and the gunners were stationed
nearby.  Other sea-soldiers, armed with crossbows and long-barrelled
rifles with revolver-type magazines, took turns to march slowly back
and forth around the edge of the deck.

In a cabin now lit by four rose-coloured lanterns, Roz watched
patiently from the sidelines as Cadillac and Mishiko had another long
discussion.  The captain was sent for, and appeared carrying a rolled
map.  This was examined by all three in some detail.  An agreement was
reached.  The discussion ended with the usual exchange of bows, the
captain left, then Cadillac signalled Roz to follow him out of the room
for another private head-to-head.

'Okay, here's the situation.  You and I don't have any papers.  Now you
might be able to magic our way round that, but only if they allow us
into harbour.  They could keep us stuck out here in the bay until
Ieyasu and the Shogun have come and gone.

'Mishiko doesn't know why they're coming to AronGiren, but because the
journey's been made in secret and the rest of the court has been left
behind, she 
thinks they'll only be here for a few days at the smost.

And according to Min-Orota, they're due the day after tomorrow.

'With so many unknowns, we have to be inside the Palace by tomorrow
morning.  That'll give us twenty-four hours to set everything up the
way we've planned - or make alternative arrangements.  That means we've
got to leave within the next hour."

'How?"

'We've done a deal with the captain.  Or, to be more precise, Mishiko
has.  In return for a bag of gold pieces, he's going to let us take one
of the junk's long-boats.  It'll be a tight fit, but we should manage
to squeeze everybody in.  The plan is to row up the coast and land on a
beach directly south of the Summer Palace.  The Palace itself is about
nine miles inland."

'And how far is it from here to the beach?"  asked Roz.

'About sixteen miles."

Roz pulled off her mask.  'You're planning to row sixteen miles with a
boatful of people in the dark?  Pulling on those long paddle-things?"

'Oars.  There are six of them, and we do have a sail.  It will take us
about four hours to travel up the coast, then another two to three
hours to reach the Palace and get inside.  With over ten hours left to
first light we should make it easily."

'You're crazy.  I saw those boats when we came on board.  There won't
be room to move.  Anyway, why go in one, when there are two of them?"

'The starboard long-boat is the only one we can lower without drawing
attention to ourselves.  If we row east-north-east - which is the
direction we want to go - we'll be hidden from the patrol ship by the
hull of the junk.

After that we'll be swallowed up in the darkness."

Cadillac saw the doubt in her eyes.  'It's not as crazy as it sounds.

The captain says that in a little while we'll be on an ebb-tide.  That
means the current will be flowing away from the land and out to sea- '
'Ohh, great!"  'Let me finish!  The sand-bar we passed on the way in
runs all the way along the coast past the spot we're aiming for.  Since
we're inside the bar, the current will carry us more or less parallel
to the shoreline.  We'll be rowing with it, rather than against it."

As a first-time sailor, Roz found this difficult to grasp.

'And that will make a difference?"

'Yeah.  Like the difference between rolling a large stone downhill and
trying to roll it uphill."

'Okay.  Assuming we survive the trip, how do we get into the Palace
without being seen?"

'Leave that to me."  The cool, clear voice, with its clipped
pronunciation, took them completely by surprise.

Cadillac turned on his heel, covering Roz as she hurriedly put on her
face-mask.  Lady Mishiko stood in the doorway.  How long had she been
there?

'I did not know you could speak the language of the long-dogs,' said
Mishiko.

'Nor we you,' replied Cadillac.  'We decided to converse in this
strange tongue to avoid alarming you while we expressed our fears for
the outcome of this journey."

His reply drew a laugh from Mishiko.  'Can witches as powerful as you
be frightened?"

'Very easily, your highness,' said Roz.  'Our magic requires careful
preparation and the accurate casting of silent spells.  If our minds
are not completely attuned to the spirit world and the magic powers it
contains, we are as vulnerable as any other mortal creature."

Mishiko's eyes opened wide as they fastened onto Roz's masked face.

Cadillac realised it was the first time that Roz had uttered a sound in
her presence.

They had gotten this far by convincing Mishiko they were jap
spirit-witches and it was vital to maintain that illusion.  He had to
move in and kill this conversation before Roz was caught off guard by a
chance remark by Mishiko in her own language.  If she discovered Roz's
vocabulary consisted of less than three dozen words and 
that her
accent was atrocious, it could ruin everything.

He switched over to japanese.

'We are but vessels, your highness.  The power comes to us from beyond
The Veil.  What we have done, and will do, is made possible by the
strength of the love that flows between you and the Herald and which
binds you together with a force that can never be broken asunder!'
'Then your power is assured, for my love for HaseGawa grows stronger
every day."

'And will never die .... ' Cadillac switched back to Basic.  'With your
permission, I will speak for a while in the long-dog tongue to my
companion.  We need to acquire a certain fluency if our plans to help
you avenge the Herald's death are to succeed."

'Then pray continue."

The cash that was the key element in securing the captain's cooperation
came from a small chest full of gold coins.  In Ne-Issan all
high-ranking persons carried hefty amounts of money with them to buy
their way out of trouble while travelling from A to B and Mishiko was
no exception.  That was why road convoys were attractive targets for
ronin.  The fact that they might be heavily protected only added to the
excitment.

While the captain was stashing away his golden handshake, the
crew-members on the night-watch were swiftly overpowered, bound and
gagged, and carried into one of the cabins.  The hatches and
companionways were battened down to prevent the rest of the crew
getting into the act, then the captain supervised the lowering of the
starboard longboat.

Before being gagged, he insisted on receiving a blow to the head which
would draw blood - and thus lend credence to his story - but which, he
devoutly hoped, would not prove fatal.

One of Mishiko's guards obliged.

Roz had not believed it was possible to lower the boat without it being
noticed by the sea-soldiers pacing back and forth along the deck of the
nearby patrol ship.  Her imagination had magnified the squeaks and
groans from ropes and pulleys into piercing shrieks and shuddering
thunderclaps of sound that - to her mind were guaranteed to rouse the
crews of the surrounding vessels from the deepest of slumbers.

But there had been no challenge, no warning rifle shot or cannonade.

Just the whistling sigh of a light breeze through the rigging, the
quiet creak of stressed wooden joints and beams, and the constant
lapping of waves against the hull.

She had also not believed there would be enough room for everyone, but
when the last of Mishiko's guards clambered down the rope ladder and
wriggled his way through to his seat at one of the six oars, she was
proved wrong yet again.

Seeing her 'okay, you win' look, Cadillac decided not to tell her that
the combined weight of people and baggage had pushed the long-boat
dangerously low in the water.  The wind was light and the sea
relatively calm, but if a squall blew up on the way to Bei-poro it
wouldn't take long for waves to swamp the boat.

Having two-thirds of the hull below the waterline also put an added
strain on the oars-men, but Mishiko's guards proved up to the task.

They let the ebb-tide current carry the boat away from the junk,
stroking the water gently to keep the long-boat from drifting into view
of the patrol ship.  When the last of the moored vessels had slipped
by, they hoisted the small, square-cut foresail, and began to pull
strongly on the oars.

Cadillac felt a surge of excitement as he heard the water begin to
ripple past the hull.  He would have liked to take his turn at the
oars, but his disguise did not .allow him to do so.  As far as
Mishiko's servants were concerned, he and Roz were two courtesans - a
gift from Lord Kiye Min-Orota to the Shogun: rowing boats did not
figure in the list of services they were expected to provide.

He and Roz sat crammed in the bows of the boat on the leeside of the
foresail with Lady Mishiko, her three children, their nurse, three
female servants and a stack of 
baggage - for despite several appeals
to reason, Mishiko had stubbornly insisted on taking every single
item.

The rest of the baggage, the five remaining women and two men - one of
whom manned the tiller - sat in the stern behind the six rowers.

Cadillac looked up at the sky.  The massive blanket of cloud was
beginning to break up.  The moon showed its face briefly, casting a
tarnished silver gleam over the sea.

Resting on top of it, like two thin, uneven strips of black paper were
the coastline of Aron-Giren, and the sandbar which lay to starboard.

As long as they stayed more or less parallel to the sand-bar, they
couldn't go wrong.  According to the map it converged gently with the
shoreline.  Beiporo, the small harbour they were aiming for, was three
miles from the north-eastern corner of Great South Bay where the shore
of Aron-Giren made a sharp ninety degree turn to the right towards the
sandbank, closing the gap between them from two miles to less than four
hundred yards.

Like most harbours, Bei-poro would probably have some kind of
transportation for hire, but Cadillac did not intend to land there.

Given the present situation, it might also have a bunch of beady-eyed
clerks or soldiers with orders from the Chamberlain's Office to check
everyone going in or out.  The captain had assured him there were
plenty of accessible beaches beyond it.

Anywhere between Bei-poro and the narrows would do just fine.

Acquiring the wheels they needed could wait until they were back on
solid ground...

Leaving the junk was probably the wisest decision Cadillac ever made.

Half an hour after the longboat slipped away unnoticed into the
darkness, another longboat, with muffled oars, made a similar journey
from one of the other moored ships - towards the junk.  The six oarsmen
- clad in black and with their faces covered with a head cloth that
left only a slit for their eyes guided the boat alongside the junk,
shipped their oars, then used their hands to manoeuvre the boat towards
the stern.

Once underneath the overhang formed by the two floors of cabins and the
stern deck, the long-boat was secured in place, then two of the
black-clad figures climbed nimbly upwards, carrying coils of rope.

These were tied around the arched timbers supporting the protruding
sections of the stern accommodation and pulled taut across its full
width.

By hooking their bodies over the two lines, the climbers were able to
traverse quickly back and forth below the underhang and this allowed
them to complete the second stage of the operation, the positioning,
beneath the cabins, of six barrels of gunpowder, twenty-four inches
long and fifteen inches in diameter.

While they were busy with this task, their companions in the boat were
lashing two more barrels into place in the centre of the stern, just
above the waterline.  Stage three involved inserting carefully measured
slow-burning fuse wire into the barrels under the overhang and
gathering the strands together.  These were lit from a shielded
oil-wick lamp passed up from below.

The two climbers then slid quickly down the escape rope into the boat
where the flame was applied to the fuses of the waterline barrels.

These ignited with an angry hiss and burned with a dull red glow.

Their task now completed, all six men used the oars to push their boat
clear of the junk, dropped them into the rowlocks and pulled away molto
rapido into the darkness.

Planting the prepared explosives had taken about twenty minutes.  The
fuses took another fifteen fateful minutes to burn down to the
barrelsenough time for the black-clad rowers to reach the safety of
their own vessel.

The captain of the junk, who had been dumped in Mishiko's cabin, was
probably the only one to hear the faint scuffling sounds beneath the
overhanging floor on which he lay, but he thought it was caused by rats
who were constantly scampering around the dark recesses of the ship.

Had he known the danger he was in, there was little he could do about
it.  He had been bound and gagged as securely as the remainder of the
night watch and had resigned himself to remaining there until released
by his crew when they awoke in the morning and found the deck
deserted.

He did not, however, fail to identify the collective hiss as the six
lengths of fuse wire burned down through the last twelve inches into
the barrels beneath the overhang, and in those last few seconds, his
brain was able to appreciate the full horror of what was about to
happen BA-BA-BABOOOMMM!!

The high, wide stern of the junk disintegrated in a billowing
orange-white sheet of flame, reducing the luckless captain and the rest
of the night-watch into gobbets of flesh and bone not much bigger than
the gold pieces scattered by the same blast into the waters of the
bay.

And a split second later -BA-BOOOMMM!!

The two barrels of powder on the waterline exploded, demolishing what
was left of the stern right down to the keel.  Water flooded in through
the gaping hole, and the junk began to sink.  The off-duty crew, thrown
from their bunks in the for'sle by the shock of the first explosion,
found themselves sliding down the deck as the bows rose out of the
water.  Scrambling up the companionway in blind panic, they found the
door had been barred from the outside.  A few quick thinkers found
alternative exits they could wriggle through, the rest were reduced to
battering down the door.

When it finally gave way, those at the front fell forward and found
themselves tumbling down the main deck.

With the junk now settling fast, the deck was only some fifteen degrees
off the vertical and the lower half of the mast and mainsail were
already under water.  A few more of their crewmates followed.  Anyone
who hesitated was trampled underfoot by those clawing their way out
from behind, and there were still men wedged in the doorway as the bow
section sank into a grumbling, frothing pool of debris.

Cadillac, Roz and the rowers were the first to see the fan-shaped
orange starburst light up the night sky.  Their gasps caused everyone's
head to turn.  What they saw was a roiling cloud of smoke lit from
beneath by a blood-red glow.  Silhouetted briefly against its
flame-bright heart was a tiny black shape.

Everyone knew, without being told, it was the junk which had carried
them to Aron-Giren.  In the last hour they had travelled some four
miles, and now, in the wake of the distant fireball, the sound of the
explosion reverberated across the water.

... bbbaaa-bbbaa-bbboooommmm ... bbbabooommmm ....

Cadillac looked across at Mishiko and saw her arms tighten around her
two young daughters, Miyori, and Narikita.  Toshi, her two-year-old
son, cocooned in a sleeveless, padded cotton pouch to protect him from
the cold, was held securely in the strong arms of his nurse.

Pitching his voice higher for the benefit of the servants huddled round
Mishiko, Cadillac said: 'You were right, your highness.  We owe our
lives to your superior wisdom."

'Do not thank me,' replied Mishiko.  'Thank the loved one whose power
guides our steps."

Cadillac accepted this with a bow of the head.  There wasn't room for
any of the usual extravagant kowtowing.

Pulling the hood of his cape as far forward as it would go, he huddled
down beside Roz in a space he'd created between the baggage.  A
December night was definitely not the best time to go sailing on the
Eastern Sea, but there was one small advantage of being dressed up as a
courtesan; the close-fitting face-mask kept your nose warm.

From the deep shadow cast by his hood, Cadillac studied Lady Mishiko
and her children, and the uncomplaining servants perched on the baggage
that surrounded her.  Ever since Roz had aired her own misgivings, he
had felt increasingly guilty about driving this woman to her death.

Mishiko was strong, intelligent and - by Iron-Master
standardsstrikingly beautiful.  She was also extremely stubborn,
haughty and used to being waited on hand and foot.

It was crazy, yet oddly touching, the way she had insisted on bringing
all her luggage into the boat.  If all went as planned she only had
another forty-eight hours to live - so what did she want it all for?

It was also sad to see her son who was condemned to die with her,
wrapped up and cuddled protectively to prevent him catching a fatal
bout of pneumonia.

But it had to be done - for the good of the Plainfolk.

Killing Ieyasu and her brother would give the YamaShita the chance they
and their fellow-Progressives needed to topple the Toh-Yota.  The
Chamberlain's desire to control every aspect of government had put too
much power into one aging pair of hands.  Removing him and the Shogun,
and his nearest male heir, would plunge the ruling family into
disarray.  Any hesitation over the succession would create a power
vacuum at the centre, unleashing the pent-up hatreds harboured by the
less-favoured domain-lords.  Hell-bent on settling old scores, they
would split into warring factions, bring a period of instability and
with luck - a protracted civil war that would halt any plans to expand
westwards.

That would take the pressure off for a while.  If the Progressives led
by the Yama-Shita came out on top, then the centuries-old edict banning
the Dark Light would be cast aside.  In time, the technological gap
between Ne-Issan and the Federation would start to close.

The sand-burrowers wouldn't let that happen because it was their
superior technology that gave them the edge.

They would have to wage war on Ne-Issan - and that would divert men and
valuable resources from their current campaign against the Plainfolk.

And by the time Tracker and Iron Master had fought themselves to a
standstill, the Plainfolk would be ready.  One nation under Talisman,
the Thrice-Gifted One.

Cadillac believed the time when Talisman would enter the world was
drawing near, but he was equally sure there would be no overnight
miracles.  'Man-Child or Woman-Child the One may be .  . . and He shall
grow straight and strong as the Heroes of the Old Time."  So ran the
Prophecy.

No matter how prodigious his or her talents were, the Saviour had first
to reach adulthood.  The promised victory under Talisman's banner lay
far in the future.

Meanwhile there was a great deal to be done, and very little time in
which to do it ....

CHAPTER NINE

Cadillac had been overly optimistic.  When the packed long-boat
grounded in pitch darkness on a stretch of beach to the east of
Bei-poro, his concealed digital watch showed the time as 2:58 am.

Mishiko's eight guards had been taking their turn at the oars for
nearly six hours instead of the estimated four.

The first task was to deposit Lady Mishiko and her children on dry
sand.  When this had been done, the guards returned for Roz and
Cadillac to discover that both had climbed out of the boat.  As the
tallest person in the party, Cadillac did not intend to suffer the
indignity of being given a chair-lift by a couple of bandy-legged japs
whose heads only just came up over his shoulder.

That they had any energy left at all was testimony to their toughness
and resilience.  But then these guys didn't have an ounce of excess fat
on them, and as Roz had pointed out, their diminutive stature and the
shortness of their well-muscled limbs gave them an excellent
power-weight ratio.

They had been born and raised as work-machines.  That was one of the
more admirable aspects of Iron Master society - its vigour.  Once these
guys woke up, they were on the case.  Calculating the profit on a deal
with an abacus, writing contracts, hammering, sawing, forging and
beating metal, fashioning swords, creating beautiful objects,
constructing boats and buildings - they put body and soul into it.  And
they applied the same zestful energy to eating, getting drunk, sexual
intercourse and killing people.

All in all an amazing race.  As he waited for the baggage to be
unloaded, Cadillac's thoughts turned briefly to the Mute slave
population.  The Lost Ones.  What would happen to them if Ne-Issan
became embroiled in a civil war?

It had been foretold that one day they would cast aside their chains
and rejoin the Plainfolk- before the climactic moment when Talisman
would draw the clans from each of the bloodlines together under his or
her banner.

When it came, their departure would trigger another round of
bloodletting.  Ne-Issan's prosperity was based on the concept of
firstand second-class citizens, underpinned by a pool of slave labour
non-persons.  The Iron Masters would not let them go without a fight.

But even if they did escape what would happen when they returned
home?

A considerable majority of the Mute slaves had been born in
captivity.

Would they cope with their new-found freedom when it came?  More
important still was the question of their reintegration into Mute
society.  Would they be able to adapt to a way of life they had never
known?  Would they even want to or was it the Plainfolk who would be
forced to adapt to accommodate them?

Sweet Sky Mother!  As if he didn't have enough to worry about!

Cadillac silently berated himself for having dredged up yet another
insoluble problem.  That was what happened when you sat on your butt
while other people did the work.  Ever since Sioux Falls there had been
too much talking and scheming.  Too much 'How about?"  and 'What if?",
and not enough 'Who cares?"  What he needed was some action.  A chance
to get out from behind the fancy dress, the wig, the stupid pasty-faced
mask and into some mindless mayhem: the kind of thing his rival,
Brickman, enjoyed.  Roz was right when she'd said he sounded like
Steve; he was beginning to think like him too.

Before leaving the junk, Mishiko had secured a number of tarred torches
from the captain.  With the moon now back behind the clouds, four of
these had been lit and stuck in the sand to provide some
illumination.

With the exception of Mishiko, her children, Cadillac and Roz, everyone
helped to turn the boat over, then 
got ready to carry it into the sand
dunes.  Cadillac and Roz picked up two of the torches and walked
alongside to light the way as mi'lady's servants staggered off under
the weight of the boat like a tipsy centipede.  When they got to the
dunes, they lowered the boat onto its port side, then propped up the
hull with the oars to make a shelter from the wind.

Leaving Roz standing on top of a dune, Cadillac went back to Lady
Mishiko and her children.  Giving five-year-old Miyori the torch to
hold, Cadillac hoisted her onto his left hip.  Katiwa, the nurse
carried Narikita, and Lady Mishiko in a breath-taking display of
egalitarianism, gathered her son Toshi into her arms and actually
walked the fifty or so yards to the upturned boat, while the guards and
the maidservants transferred the baggage from the beach to the dunes.

Roz beckoned to Cadillac as he passed.  He set down Miyori in the
shelter of the long-boat then scrambled with as much decorum as he
could muster to the top of the dune.  'What is it?"

Roz pointed inland.  'There's a light over there.

See... ?"

Cadillac sighted along her arm and peered into the darkness.  'Can't
see a damn thing.  Where is it?!"  'There!  But it's just gone out!'
'For chrissakes, Roz - I' 'No, look!  There it is again!  See?  It
keeps moving about!"  Cadillac caught sight of a minuscule point of
orange light and hugged her shoulders.  'Well done.  Keep your eye on
it."  He turned towards the long-boat and called out a string of words
in japanese to the samurai who led Mishiko's guards.

Hearing that a light had been seen, the samurai and a couple of other
guards scrambled up to the top of the dune to check it out.  Agreeing
with Cadillac that it could be from a house, they got a bearing on it
with the aid of a pocket-sized compass box.

Cadillac and Roz followed them back down to the upturned long-boat
where Mishiko and her children were now installed, surrounded by her
precious luggage.  A small fire, started with the aid of some
driftwood, added a little warmth to the torchlit scene.

The samurai explained that a light had been seen and proposed to
investigate.  If it came from a house, or better still a farm, then the
occupants might be willing to provide some transportation to get his
mistress and her entourage to the Summer Palace.

Cadillac, who had learned from Lady Mishiko that she intended to enter
the Palace via a secret tunnel known only to the Shogun and members of
his immediate family, asked permission to speak with her in private.

The samurai withdrew to a discreet distance.

'Mi'lady, time is running out.  If we are to achieve what we have set
out to do, I urge you to follow this advice.

You and I, and my companion, should go forward with three of your
guards and one maidservant to where we have seen the light.

'If it is a dwelling place whose occupants can provide help and shelter
to a noble lady in distress, then one of the guards should return here
to fetch your children, their nurse, and the other servants while we
press on using whatever means of transport is available."

'Leave my children??

'Only for twenty-four hours, mi'lady!  If we three plus two guards and
a maidservant can get into the Palace tonight, we can prepare the
ground as we have discussed.

When that has been done, we can make arrangements to bring your
children and the rest of your entourage into the Palace by whatever
means you choose, or as circumstances dictate.  It is for you to decide
when, but I think they should remain in hiding until tomorrow night."

'Very well."

'Now - is there anyone at the Summer Palace in a key position whose
loyalty to the Shogun is beyond question - whom you could rely on to
come to your aid?"

Mishiko replied without hesitation.  'Yes.  Captain Kamakura, one of
the senior officers of the Palace Guard."

'Good.  Let us hope he still holds that appointment.

Now, mi'lady, if you will be so good as to tell your samurai what has
been decided and pick those who are to go with us .... ' The faint
glimmer of light Roz had been lucky enough to catch sight of turned out
to be from a lantern carried back and forth by a farmer who was tending
a cow that had fallen sick inside one of his barns.  Cadillac blessed
the Great Sky-Mother for striking the animal down.  Had all been well,
no lamps would have been burning, and the farm itself would not have
been visible until first light.

Apart from knowing they had landed west of a place called Bei-poro
which they dared not approach - no one in the party knew the lie of the
land or where the roads and houses were.  With no light to guide them,
they could have easily missed the farm in the dark and wandered around
for hours before finding another.

Walking due north with the aid of the compass would have put them in
the vicinity of the castle, but Cadillac knew there was no hope of
persuading Mishiko to travel nine miles on foot across open country,
and after six hours of hard rowing he did not intend asking her guards
to carry her - as they were doing now.  With typical Iron Master
ingenuity, they had cut up one of the oars to make two poles, and had
used the sail to make a crude but serviceable litter on which she now
sat with one of her clothes chests as a backrest.

And she had insisted on four guards plus the samurai and three
maidservants.  The lady might be going to her death but she was
hell-bent on doing it in style.

As it turned out, her apparent lack of consideration for her underlings
worked to everyone's advantage.  When they reached the outskirts of the
farm, the samurai went forward alone bearing a torch.  The startled
farmer nearly died with fright when he saw an armed man bearing down on
him.  On learning that the Shogun's sister had been shipwrecked and
needed his help to get to the Palace, the sudden onrush of emotion came
close to triggering a cardiac arrest.  Begging the samurai to bring the
noble lady towards his humble and totally unworthy abode, he rushed
inside to awaken his wife.

Neither of them knew Mishiko by sight, but when she was ushered
respectfully into their presence, she was quite unruffled and her
clothes were virtually spotless.

Compared to Cadillac, Roz and the guards, she was - to use a
pre-Holocaust phrase - 'in showroom condition'.

Pristine, untouchable.  In the eyes of the lowly farmer and his wife
now rocking back and forth on their knees repeating a litany of
greetings and apologies she could not be anything else but an
illustrious member of the ruling house.

Could they - she asked - furnish her, as a matter of some urgency, with
an ox-cart and directions to the Summer Palace?  Of course,
immediately!  Had she asked, man and wife would have willingly placed
themselves between the shafts!

Could they shelter and feed her children and the rest of her servants
until they were sent for on the following day?  It would be an
honour!

No effort would be spared!

Could they keep her visit and their presence a secret if they knew the
Shogun's life depended on it?  Wild horses would not drag a confession
from them!

Such selfless loyalty and devotion could never be influenced by mere
monetary considerations - but there was nothing like gold to cement a
relationship.  Lady Mishiko instructed her samurai to hand over a
generous number of coins not - she emphasised - as a reward, but to
defray some of the costs incurred in offering such warm-hearted
hospitality.

At 05:46, when the enveloping darkness had changed from black to a
dark, leaden grey, the ox-cart drew up by a stone mausoleum patterned
with lichen and carpeted with decaying leaves.  It lay some way back
from the road at the end of an overgrown path amid 
trees and tangled
undergrowth about half a mile south of the Summer Palace.

It had lain neglected for over eight decades because the occupant - a
former Shogun - was from the Dat-Suni, the family which had ruled
Ne-Issan before being deposed by the Toh-Yota, ably assisted by the
Yama-Shita, the Min-Orota and others.  Over those same eight decades,
ambition and envy had eroded the blood-bond forged in battle.

Gratitude had been replaced by suspicion, culminating in the present
barely-concealed struggle for power in which Lady Mishiko was an
unwitting pawn brought into play by Cadillac.

On leaving the farm, the samurai and one guard had gone back to bring
the beach party to safety.  Another guard now coaxed the sweating oxen
round and trundled off southwards to return the cart to its owner.

That left Cadillac, Roz and Lady Mishiko, one maidservant to provide an
arm for Mishiko to lean on, two more to carry the chest of clothing,
and a brace of armed men to help meet any trouble on the way in.

Mishiko had a key to open the rusty iron door, but with the usual Iron
Master cunning, it did not fit into the open keyhole but into another
lock which was concealed under a large decorative iron stud.  There
were thirty-six of them, arranged in a geometrical pattern covering the
door.  Thirty-five of them were immovable; the third one down from the
top in the row to the right of the open keyhole could be loosened by
three turns to the left, pivoted to one side - and hey, presto!  - a
well-oiled lock that opened the door onto a pitch-black tunnel about
seven feet high and just wide enough to accommodate two people side by
side.

The guards lit the two new torches they had brought with them.  One
entered the tunnel first followed by Lady Mishiko and her supportive
maid, then Cadillac and Roz, the two baggage handlers, then the second
guard with the other torch.  The door was relocked under Mishiko's
supervision, the key was handed back to her and off they went.

The tunnel did not run in a straight line.  It had several ninety
degree turns to right and left, with other tunnels running off it every
now and then.  Mishiko, who gave directions to the guard ahead, seemed
to know exactly where she was going.  Cadillac counted off the paces as
they went.  Towards the end, there were several short upward flights of
steps and it was here that the corridor narrowed, forcing them into
single file.

Mishiko took over the lead from the torchbearer.

Motioning them to make as little noise as possible, she shed her
sandals and walked on, leaving them for her maid to pick up.  Everyone
followed suit and proceeded with equal caution on their stockinged
feet.

They now came to a wooden staircase whose top end spiralled through
ninety degrees and came to rest against a timbered ceiling supported by
heavy beams.  Mishiko signalled for absolute silence.  Cadillac and Roz
watched her creep up the steps until her head was against the
ceiling.

She listened for a moment, then gently eased what turned out to be a
short length of planking upwards, then slid it aside.  She repeated
this action with the adjacent plank.

Those below found themselves looking up into a dark, narrow
passageway.

Signalling them to follow, Mishiko mounted the angled steps at the top
of the stairs, and stepped carefully over the loose planks onto the
solid floor beyond.  As soon as Roz, Cadillac and the others had joined
her, the planks were quietly replaced.

The secret exit beneath the floor was cunningly concealed.

The planks were extremely close-jointed, and immediately beyond the
hidden staircase was a flight of three steps leading to a closed
door.

Mishiko had gone in the other direction, using the same key to unlock a
similar door across the end of the short passageway, after first
checking through a spyhole that the room beyond was empty.

Cadillac joined her.  'Where are we?"  he whispered.

'These are my private quarters.  We are in the Summer Palace."

At last.  . . .

Cadillac took in his torchlit surroundings.  As with most Iron Master
interiors there was very little furniture.

Sliding doors indicated that other rooms lay beyond.  All the windows
he could see were fitted with inside screens and heavy external
shutters which in daytime would keep out most of the light.  'How can
we get from here to where Ieyasu and the Shogun will be staying?"

'I will show you, but first I must see that my servants get some
restand we must also contact the good Captain gamakura."

Turning to the maid who had served as an arm rest during the trip
through the tunnel, Mishiko took her aside, issued a set of whispered
instructions and handed her a key.  The maid bowed and slipped quietly
ut of the spacious apartment.

'Is it going to be difficult for her to get to him?"  asked Cadillac.

'Not if the gods are with us,' replied Mishiko.  'Oyoki has only been
in my service for the past year, but i am sure she will be able to
deliver my message.  She is one of the Captain's five daughters."

Mishiko then explained that Kamakura had been the Herald's sword-master
and also a firm friend who had nurtured the hope that the young man
might honour him by marrying one of his daughters.

He was to be disappointed.  When the Shogun ordered the Herald to
commit seppuku - ritual suicide - Toshiro had asked Kamakura to act as
his second.  The kaishakunin was entrusted with the task of beheading
the victim to spare him further agony once he had started to cut his
stomach open.

'The death of the Herald was a cruel blow to the Captain and his
family.  They grieve for him still,' said Mishiko.  'Fortunately, they
are still unaware of the full extent of his relationship with me - and
that could be to our advantage."

It could indeed.  Cadillac bowed.  'Allow me to congratulate you once
again, mi'lady."

Mishiko responded with a brief smile then switched her attention to the
servants who had remained discreetly out of earshot.  'This perilous
journey could not have been achieved without your tireless efforts.

Please accept my grateful thanks.  I and my travelling companions must
now leave for a short while.  You are to stay here until we return.

Make as little noise as possible.  Extinguish the torches.  Bring me
two lanterns then take some bedding from the store cupboards and try to
sleep.  Oyoki will wake you if and when you are needed."

The servants bowed and hurried away to do her bidding.  One of the
guards came back with the lanterns, then shuffled off to get his head
down.

Lucky sonofabitch, thought Cadillac.  Roz had dozed off in the ox-cart,
but he had found it impossible to relax and was now almost out on his
feet.  His eyes itched with tiredness.  He longed to rub them but could
not do so without removing his face mask - and he couldn't do that in
Mishiko's presence.

He blinked himself awake, stifled a monster yawn another luxury denied
to anyone wearing a mask - and willed himself to keep going.  The plan
they had hatched called for three more vital objectives to be achieved
during the night.  It was now 06:31 and still dark, but the lower ranks
who were saddled with the daily task of lighting fires, fetching and
heating water and preparing food would soon be up and moving around.

Ten minutes later, when the exhausted servants were sleeping soundly,
Mishiko led Cadillac and Roz back into the corridor, up the steps at
the end into the room beyond.  Behind an ornate folding screen, was the
entrance to another secret passageway.  This one was concealed behind a
large, seemingly solid, vertical slab of wood, supporting a heavy
ceiling beam at the point where it met the wall.

Anyone passing through the narrow aperture had to squeeze through
sideways, but the passageway beyond widened to accommodate them in
single file.  Roz and Mishiko were able to proceed'without hindrance,
but 
the restricted dimensions forced Cadillac to walk with hunched
shoulders and lowered head.  Like its underground counterpart, the
passageway twisted and turned and was joined to others, equally narrow
and shrouded in darkness.

Was the entire palace riddled with similar secret bolt-holes?

And how had they been built without their existence becoming common
knowledge?

Cadillac did not intend to press Mishiko for answers to such
questions.

The system was in place, and it served their purpose admirably, but it
was a sad commentary on life at the top.  It also presented a strange
paradox.

To build a castle with a network of secret escape routes implied that
the past and present Shoguns lived in constant fear of.  coups and
assassinations - yet the belief system by which samurai lived demanded
a calm acceptance of death.  Perhaps that calm acceptance only applied
to those samurai lower down the pyramid, whose job it was to die
defending their lords and masters.

After a journey lasting a fraction under nine minutes, but which seemed
to take forever, they arrived at their destination.  Emerging through a
similar fake wall beam, Cadillac and Roz joined Mishiko in Yoritomo's
deserted bedchamber.

Working to a pre-arranged plan, Roz took control of Mishiko's mind and
conjured up a ghostly smoke-wreathed image of the Herald Toshiro
HaseGawa.

Mishiko stood rooted to the spot as he strode forward, drew her
protectively to him and begged her to watch and listen to the
spirit-witches.

It was, of course, Cadillac's voice she was hearing, but in her mind,
it was the Herald who appeared to speak in the same tired, husky voice
as before.

Prior to leaving Mishiko's apartments, Cadillac had taken a
cloth-covered bundle from the small amount of baggage he and Roz had
brought with them in the long-boat and had carried into the castle.

Kneeling down, he placed it on the floor and unwrapped it carefully.

It was the radio unit from the wrecked $kyhawk.

He prayed to Mo-Town that it was still working, then uttered some
deep-throated mumbo-jumbo for Mishiko's benefit and caressed the radio
with his hands, switching on the various functions as he did so.  The
jewel-like status lights gleamed.

'The box lives, sire,' intoned Cadillac in the same spooky
spell-casting voice.

The Herald squeezed Mishiko's hand.  'I have devised a fitting
punishment for the Lord Chamberlain.  He is to be trapped by the
self-same devices he has used to maintain his grip on the reins of
power!  That box is filled with the Dark Light - but have no fear!  It
cannot harm you - only those who are evil!  Ieyasu's own words will
betray him and deliver him up to the Shogun's wrath.  Once Ieyasu is
dead, the way will be clear for you to wreak vengeance on my
betrayer!

Tempt him with the honeyed words he cannot resist, and when it is done,
step through The Veil and join hands with me in a bright shining world
without end!"  'I will not fail you,' whispered Mishiko.

'Then put your faith and trust in the spirit-witches, for it is their
magic that will bring us together!"  The Herald embraced Mishiko
fiercely.  'I must go, my love!  But do not fear!  I am never far away
and will return to you tonight!"  And with that he was gone.

Roz caught her as she swayed, overcome by the shock of seeing, holding
and hearing her dead lover then being torn with equal suddenness from
his arms.

It took Mishiko a few moments to recover her composure then she asked:
'What does the box do?"

'I am told it captures voices that pass through the air like autumn
leaves carried on the wind.  It was taken from a spy employed by Lord
Ieyasu - as was this."  Cadillac produced the miniature listening
device and placed it in his open palm.

Mishiko took a cautious step forward.  The kneeling witch appeared to
be holding a black go stone.  'And what is this?"

'It is an ear, mi'lady.  If this is placed in the room where the Lord
Chamberlain converses with his secretaries and officials, it will pass
their words into this box.  Everything they say will be overhead and
remembered."

Cadillac grasped the bug between his thumb and forefinger and offered
it up for Lady Mishiko to take a closer look.  'The box has another
magic attribute.  It can speak with the voices passed to it by this
black stone.

If the Shogun could be persuaded to listen, he would hear all that the
Lord Chamberlain had to say as clearly as if he were in the same room!'
Mishiko got the picture in nought seconds flat.  'Then let us hide the
stone where it will do the most harm."

The secret passage linking Yoritomo's apartments with Mishiko's also
gave access to Ieyasu's darkly luxurious quarters.  After planting the
listening device in the Chamberlain's study- the room in which,
according to Mishiko, he received his closest aides for confidential
briefings, they returned to the Shogun's empty apartments.

The first glimmerings of daylight were beginning to filter through the
shutters as Cadillac tuned the transceiver unit onto the wavelength of
the hidden bug, and quietly blessed Steve Brickman for providing albeit
unwittingly - a basic grounding in the science of
radio-communications.

When placed in position and activated, the operator manning the
receiver could induce the device to transmit a measured series of
electronic bleeps to check (a) that it was working and (b) the quality
of reception.

Cadillac got an extra bonus - voices and the sound of movement- the
rustle of stockinged feet over straw mats.

He quickly turned up the volume and hit the Record button.

'... as you see the rooms have been cleaned and prepared."

Mishiko gasped in surprise as the disembodied voice came out of the
box.  'That is Tokimasa, the Palace Steward."

The bug captured another voice: 'Have them swept and dusted again
tomorrow morning.  They must be spotless when the Lord Chamberlain
arrives."

'They will be.  Do you know the hour we may expect him?"

'Around midday.  The last message said they had been delayed by heavy
rainstorms."

'Who is that?"  hissed Cadillac.

'I'm not sure.  'Mishiko listened intently.

'This place is freezing cold, Tokimasa!  Unlike you, he doesn't have
several inches of fat to keep him warm.

Please arrange for someone to place charcoal braziers in all the rooms,
and make sure they are kept burning all night."

'I shall attend to it immediately."

'Good.  I have also received confirmation that our two visitors will
also be arriving tomorrow morning.  Are their rooms prepared?"

'Yes.  On the second floor of the southern tower.  But as yet I have
received no instructions as to what kind of food should be prepared for
them."

The mystery speaker laughed.  'They only look different from us,
Tokimasa!  Slice their bellies open and you'll find their guts are
exactly the same as ours.  The normal palace menu will suit them
perfectly- but make sure their rooms are warm and the windows are kept
shut.  They are not used to fresh air!'

'Strange people.  I would love the chance to see one."

'I cannot promise anything, my friend, but I will see what can be done
.... '

Sounds of movement.  The voices receded.

Mishiko clapped her hands together.  'Of course!  Oh, dear, what was I
thinking of?  The second voice belongs to Tekko Ichiwara!  He is the
man I told you about - the Lord Chamberlain's Resident Private
Secretary!"  Cadillac cursed inwardly.  Ichiwara was the third and
final element in the audacious plan he had hatched with Roz to bring
down the Toh-Yota.  Having talked to Mishiko about his role in the
palace, Cadillac was 
convinced Ichiwara was the link between Ieyasu
and the communications unit which - if his reasoning was correct - was
hidden somewhere in or close by the Summer Palace.

The plan had called for them to get to Ichiwara during that same
night.

Roz would then do a number on him, and trick him into revealing the
location of the hidden radio room.

Knowing where to find it was the last, vital element.

The bug they had planted might provide the evidence they needed - but
only if Ieyasu was unwise enough to incriminate himself in his study.

If he switched venues, or spoke guardedly at all times, they would be
well and truly screwed.

Locating the radio and its operator was the only thing guaranteed to
nail him to the wall.  Tekko Ichiwara, the man most likely to lead them
to it, was already out of bed and out of reach for the next twelve to
sixteen hours, depending on when he went to bed- and always assuming
nothing happened to him in the meantime!

There was this Guard Captain of Mishiko's who had to be talked into
doing his bit, but otherwise they were now stuck twiddling their thumbs
till nightfall.  Even so, they had done amazingly well to get this
far.

Cadillac consoled himself with the thought that they still had a day in
hand, but he could have done without the suspense.

Satisfied that the equipment was in working order, he rewound the tape,
switched off the transceiver, wrapped the cloth around it, then hid it
under one of the wooden steps inside the secret passage that led up to
the Shogun's bedchamber.

This time, as Lady Mishiko guided them back to her apartments, Cadillac
made a mental note of the distance and the route.  Emerging into the
empty room where their journey had begun, they found that daylight was
now streaming through the shutters.

Accompanied by his daughter Oyoki, Captain Kamakura entered Lady
Mishiko's apartments unobserved.  He was met 'by the Lady herself.  She
looked drawn and somewhat dishevelled, but Oyoki had already explained
how they came to be there, after a narrow escape from violent death en
route.

After the ritual exchange of greetings, Mishiko asked Kamakura to
follow her into the room she used for private audiences.  Oyoki was
ordered to remain outside and admit no one until they emerged.  If she
needed any assistance, she was to wake the sleeping guards.

Oyoki bowed, slid the wall panel shut behind them, and seated herself
in front of it.

Inside the room, Mishiko took up her usual position on the raised
section of the floor.  Behind her was a folding screen decorated with a
painting of long-legged wading birds.  Kamakura seated himself on the
cushioned place-mat immediately below the dais.  The difference in
levels, a feature of all such audience rooms, was designed to emphasise
the separation and superiority of nobles from ordinary mortals.

'Captain, I speak to you as one who is known for his absolute loyalty
to the Shogun, Prince Yoritomo, and who knows me as someone who serves
him with the same devotion.  But there are others in this family, who
while paying lip-service to him as their supreme lord, chief of the
armies and ruler of the seventeen domains, seek to take unto themselves
the powers that are rightfully his.

'They have done so under the pretence of giving advice, but my brother
has been ill-used by those intent on feathering their own nests.  But
that is not all.  I have discovered he has been betrayed by those
closest to him, and that is why I need your help.

'The Yama-Shita have proof that the Lord Chamberlain has entered into a
secret alliance with the long-dogs who live beneath the southern
deserts without the knowledge of my brother!  They have supplied him
and his agents with devices filled with the Dark Light, and these have
been used to extend Lord Ieyasu's control over the Shogun and this
country in defiance of the 
Sacred Edict and the other honourable and
ancient traditions we revere!

'Lord Ieyasu has undermined everything the TohYota and their allies
have fought to maintain down the centuries - the purity and simplicity
of our way of life.  He has played into the hands of the YamaShita and
their allies who - were they given free rein - would unleash the
madness which afflicted our ancestors and bring down upon us the wrath
of The Shining .One who sent fire from heaven to consume the World
Before!

'They intend to spread word of Lord Ieyasu's duplicity throughout this
land, and parade the proof they have - strange devices that send voices
through the air and captured long-dogs who have been sent here to
instruct the Chamberlain's servants on how they may be employed.

And when they do, our friends will think all this was done with my
brother's connivance, or that he is a gullible weakling.  Were this to
happen, his position and authority could be fatally compromised.

'This I know and more.  You can now understand why it is vital that I
gain access to my brother without Lord Ieyasu intervening.  The Shogun
has to act swiftly - to cut out this rottenness before it brings down
the Toh-Yota.  Can I count on you to help me?"

Kamakura moved from a cross-legged to a kneeling position and went
forward on his hands.  'To the death, mi'lady."

'I am deeply grateful, Kamakura.  Happily, we are not alone.  The gods
have blessed our actions, and they have made their powers available to
us through my two gifted companions."  Mishiko extended her arms
sideways and snapped her fingers.

It was the signal for Cadillac and Roz to step out from behind the
screen.  The kneeling samurai stiffened at the sight of the two
white-masked, travel-stained figures, dressed in hooded capes whose
hems were spattered with mud.  They bowed to him, then knelt down on
either side of Lady Mishiko.

Cadillac drew his voice from the depths of his throat.

'Greetings, Captain.  Do not be alarmed by what you are about to hear
or see.  We are spirit-witches from the depths of the Red Hills, and we
are here at the bidding of someone who remains dear to your heart - the
Herald Toshiro Hase-Gawa.  He has a message for you."

Kamakura gasped.  Like Lady Mishiko and the overwhelming majority of
Iron Masters, he believed in good and evil spirits and the existence of
witches able to communicate with and conjure up the souls of the
dead.

But he had never undergone such an experience and the prospect alarmed
him.

Mishiko stepped down from the dais and knelt beside Kamakura.

'Courage, Captain,' she whispered.  'What you are about to learn will
strengthen your resolve to protect my brother's honour."  She addressed
Cadillac.

'We are ready."

On being given the signal, Roz took control of their minds and made the
Herald appear before them.  By the time he faded from view, Captain
Kamakura was left in no doubt that Ieyasu and his aides had plotted
Toshiro's death and poisoned the Shogun's mind in order to achieve
their objective: the discrediting of the College of Heralds and its
takeover by the Office of the Lord Chamberlain.

Before falling under Roz's spell, Kamakura had already pledged himself
to aid Mishiko.  Now, as his spirit returned to his body - or so he
believed he was prepared to offer her strange allies the same
unquestioning assistance, for in a final twist to the seance, Roz had
relinquished her control of Mishiko and concentrated on the samurai,
ending his mind-trip with a scene filled with light and majesty in
which the Shogun rewarded Kamakura's loyal endeavours by arranging for
his daughters to be married to the scions of various well-connected
families.

For this honest, long-serving soldier, it was the realisation of his
most cherished dream.  It was also the cruellest of deceptions, for if
Cadillac's plan succeeded, Yoritomo 
would not live long enough to
reward anyone, and the Captain and his family might soon suffer a
similar fate ....

Mishiko resumed her seat on the dais, between the two spirit-witches.

Now fully aware of the task which lay ahead, Kamakura applied his mind
to the practical problems that faced them.  Mishiko and her party could
not remain concealed in her apartments all day.  Apart from needing a
hot bath, they would need a supply of food, fuel and water.  There was
also the basic but unavoidable problem of sanitation.

The chamberpots in the wooden cabinets would have to be emptied if they
were not to stink the place out.

None of these things could be done without risking discovery.  Mishiko
and Cadillac were forced to agree.

It would be dangerous to remain.  What did the Captain propose?

'Mi'lady, if I may be so bold, I suggest you leave the castle by the
way you came.  I will meet you and your servants at a pre-arranged spot
with a few trusted men, and convey you to my humble abode which as you
know is situated beyond the Palace walls.

'Once you are installed in as much comfort as can be provided I will
send my men with one of yours to collect your three children and the
rest of your retinue from the farm.  They too will shelter in my house
for the rest of today and overnight, then tomorrow you and your
companions can re-enter the Palace.  I shall meet you here, by which
time I hope to have found a way to conduct you to the Shogun's
apartments without being stopped by men loyal to the Lord
Chamberlain."

'I already know of a way, Captain.  All you have to do is meet us here
- leaving us enough time to be in position when the Shogun reaches his
apartments."

Kamakura bowed.  'I shall not fail you, mi'lady."

Cadillac leaned forward.  'There is one more task which has to be
completed before dawn tomorrow.  We need to make contact with Secretary
Ichiwara during the hours of darkness.  Do you know this man?"

'Yes, I do, uhh.  sire."  Kamakura wasn't quite sure how you were
supposed to address a spirit-witch.

'Good.  By nightfall, we shall require a plan showing where his
bed-chamber is situated within the palace, together with details of
when he sleeps and whether or not he sleeps alone.  If his servants are
lodged nearby, we also need to know their names and how many there are,
and whether the corridors leading to his quarters from Lady Mishiko's
apartments are patrolled by guards around the hour of midnight."

And if his door is locked, I imagine you will require a key,' concluded
Kamakura.

."That is correct, captain.  We have power over natural objects, but
locks, being man-made, do not readily respond to magic spells."

When it was their turn to enjoy the facilities of Kamakura's
bath-house, Mishiko ensured that Cadillac and Roz were left to relax in
complete privacy.  Having his back scrubbed by naked body-slaves was
something Cadillac had enjoyed during his previous stay in Ne-Issan,
but that was one of the minor details of life under the Iron Masters he
had omitted to mention to Roz.  The way he told it, the long months had
been spent in unremitting hard work in an atmosphere of constant danger
made even more hazardous by Steve's double-dealing.

As always, Roz had refused to let him blacken the character of the
person she still regarded as her kin-brother.

This continued support for someone whom she had assured him - she no
longer loved was a constant source of annoyance.  But since Roz wasn't
frightened to stand up to him, he took care to avoid heated arguments
wherever possible, contenting himself with taking the odd sidelong
swipe at Steve's character and credibility when a suitable opportunity
occurred.

Captain Kamakura had been cautioned not to reveal they were witches.

As far as his family and Mishiko's retinue were concerned, they were
still high-class courte
sans hiding their identity, in the
time-honoured manner, behind the white-masks that signalled their
calling.  And if they wished to bathe without assistance, then that was
their right.

It was fortunate they could rely on their hosts' discretion.

Had anyone entered the steam-filled room and caught sight of their
long-dog features and multicoloured skins it could have ruined
everything.  In an emergency, Roz could mask their appearance, but it
was not something she could do continuously.  The mental effort was
less debilitating than the act of summoning, but it was still
exhausting.

As they wallowed neck-deep in the hot tub, Cadillac related the cryptic
conversation about the Shogun's visitors, picked up by the bug they had
placed in Ieyasu's room.  'From what Ichiwara said they're obviously
outlanders - and they don't like fresh air.  What does that suggest to
you?"

'Trackers.  Who else would fit that description?"

'Exactly.  Two emissaries from the Federation.  What are they up to?"

'Well, they haven't come all this way to wish everyone a happy New
Year!"  said Roz.  'It must be to negotiate some kind of a deal.  The
outfit Steve works for is already supplying radio equipment to Ieyasu's
spy network ' 'Yeah, but the Shogun doesn't know about that.  This has
to be something else.  Something bigger maybe."

'So what?  If Mishiko does her stuff, there won't be anyone for them to
do a deal with!"  'You're missing the point.  It would be useful to
know what the Federation is after.  If the Shogun and Ieyasu supposedly
the most powerful men in Ne-Issan - have travelled here to meet with
them, these guys aren't going to be talking about doing a trade in
cotton socks.  This has got to be high level stuff - which means that
the Federation will have sent a couple of heavyweights to represent
them.  Right?"

'Yes, I suppose they would.  But I still don't see - ' Cadillac could
not contain his excitement.  'Isn't it obvious?!  If we could capture
them and get them out of here, we could trade them for Clearwater and
her child!"  Roz fixed him with a wide-eyed stare.  'On top of taking
out the Shogun and Ieyasu?  You must be out of your mind!"  'On the
contrary.  It's the best idea I've had yet."

'Not from where I'm standing.  If- and it's a BIG "if" - we manage to
do what we came to do, we're going to have our work cut out just
getting away without adding any further complications!"  'What do you
mean??

· 'What I mean is you've got everything plotted beautifully up to the
point when Ieyasu and Yoritomo are stopped in their tracks, but I'm
still waiting to hear about our escape plan!"  'I'm working on it."

'I hope you are!"  'I am!  But this could be a golden opportunity to
grab a couple of hostages.  Why rely on Brickman when we can set up a
deal ourselves?!"  'Caddy!  I've already told you!  We've got enough on
our plate as it is.  These emissaries you're so excited about may not
be as important as you think.  We don't know why they're coming here
and we're not going to have time to find out.  Steve is still our best
bet as far as Clearwater is concerned, so quit bad-mouthing him
otherwise you and I are going to fall out.  Okay?"

'Okay, okay.  I'm not going to push you on this - ' 'You'd better not!'
'Just bear it in mind."

'Right!  That's it!"  Roz slapped two handfuls of water into his face,
grabbed hold of his hair, and held him under.

As Cadillac and Roz struggled playfully, neither of them had any idea
that Steve was one of the emissaries the Federation had selected.  And
because the mind-bridge linking her to Steve remained blocked, Roz 
was
unaffected by his physical condition.  Which at that moment was
something to be thankful for.

The steam-powered junk Steve and Fran had boarded off Cape Fear was
still two hundred miles south of Aron-Giren.  After a second day and
night of pitching and rolling in rough seas, Fran .lay, drained of
colour, on her mattress bed, unable to stand on her feet without
assistance.  Faced with the grim prospect of another day trapped in a
wooden box that heaved sickeningly in all directions, death seemed to
offer a welcome release.

Steve, the nursemaid, comforter and macho mariner, was now feeling
pretty wretched himself.  His earlier feigned nonchalance had gone,
along with all pretence at having a cast-iron stomach.  The merest
smell of food made him feel sick, and he had now reached the point
where it was proving difficult to hold even a glass of water down.

All either of them could think of was that longed-for moment when they
set foot on solid ground.  Neither had any inkling they were soon to be
swept into even more dangerous waters ....

Since the Shogun and the Lord Chamberlain had not yet arrived at the
Palace, Kamakura's duties as the senior Captain of the Palace Guard
were not particularly onerous.  Apart from a meeting with Tokimasa, the
Resident Steward, and Ichiwara, he was able to delegate inspections and
guard-mounting ceremonies to his junior officers, giving him most of
the day to attend to the needs of Lady Mishiko.

When night fell, he suggested that it would be wiser if she remained in
his house with her children and retinue, leaving him to enter the
Palace with the two spirit-witches via the secret tunnel.  He had
obtained the required information about Secretary Ichiwara, and as an
officer privileged to bear arms in the presence of the Shogun, he had
unchallenged access to all parts of the Palace.

If he were seen, no one would think to question his presence, and if by
chance they did, he could say he was making a last-minute check on the
security arrangements.

If Lady Mishiko, on the other hand, ran into a member of Lord Ieyasu's
staff or one of his place-men, then the vital element of surprise would
be lost.

Mishiko agreed without hesitation.  Cadillac also voiced his
approval.

It was a good move - always provided they didn't lose their way going
through the tunnel.  Asking for ink, writing brush and paper, Mishiko
quickly prepared an annotated route map and handed over the key.

Once again, the conversation left Roz on the sidelines, but when she
saw Mishiko prepare the map and give Kamakura the key, it all became
clear.  As soon as they were aboard the covered cart, with Kamakura
seated up front with one of Mishiko's guards as driver, the rumbling
clatter of the wheels allowed Cadillac to explain everything in
detail.

By the time they reached the drop-off point for the mausoleum, Roz knew
what she had to do.  The final scenario would have to wait until she
got inside Ichiwara's head.

Recruiting Kamakura onto their team proved to be their biggest stroke
of luck so far.  It was obvious from the purposeful way he walked that
he knew his way around the Palace, but he hadn't known about the secret
tunnels.

He had long suspected their existence, but actually seeing them, and
the maze of run-offs, had come as a big surprise.

Once they were out of Mishiko's apartments, it didn't take long to
reach the area occupied by senior administrators.

They encountered several guards on the way, but only one or two at a
time.  Roz dealt with them all in turn, taking control of Kamakura's
mind on each occasion.

Cadillac had already warned the Captain that they would change their
appearance if danger threatened, but he was still staggered by the
speed and power of their witchcraft.  Every time they sighted a guard,
he turned to find that the white-masked figures behind him had been
magically transformed into splendidly-dressed, high-ranking noblemen.

It was little wonder that the guards dropped to their knees and kept
their eyes on the floor until they had swept by.

On reaching Secretary Ichiwara's quarters, Kamakura gave them whispered
directions on how to get to the bedroom, then remained on guard in the
corridor while they went in.  Cadillac and Roz tip-toed across the
floor past Ichiwara's sleeping man-servant, grimacing at every
heart-stopping creak as one of the ancient floor-timbers flexed under
their weight.

The servant stirred, muttered something, then rolled over onto his
back.  His sleeping face with its half-open mouth slowly sagged towards
them.  His nose twitched.

A hand appeared from under the heavy quilted coverlet to rub the
troublesome organ, then vanished.

Motioning Roz not to move, Cadillac caught Kamakura's eye and gestured
towards the servant.  Seeing their predicament, the samurai entered,
moved soundlessly to the far side of the servant's floorbed and
delivered a carefully-aimed punch just below the right ear.  The
sleeping body went completely limp.

Ichiwara opened his eyes to find his mother gently shaking him by the
shoulder.  Seeing her came as a shock because another part of
Ichiwara's mind knew she had been dead for over ten years, having died
after catching pneumonia at the age of sixty-nine.  But here she was,
with the lines etched in her face by the inexorable passage of time
magically wiped away.

This was the face he remembered leaning over his bed during his
childhood years, a face filled with love, accompanied by gentle hands
that caressed his brow.  And he knew he was not really awake, for he
often dreamt of returning home and discovering his parents - who he had
seen cremated - were still living there.  And they would explain their
absence by saying they had just been away.

But this dream was so real!  He could feel her hand on his shoulder.

But what was she doing in the palace?

'lchi!  lchi!  Wake up!  There is an important message from Lord
ieyasu!"  'Message?  What does it say?"

'I don't know!  Your father says it's something to do with Lady
Mishiko!  Quick!  You must go and fetch it!  There is no time to lose!'
'But Mother - I' 'Don't argue!  Your father and I will come with
you."

Ichiwara felt himself being lifted out of bed and set on his feet.

Message... important.  he had to get the message.  A lantern appeared
in his hand.

Roz and Cadillac helped Ichiwara don a long robe, then stayed within
arm's length as he gathered up a set of keys and walked out of his
bed-chamber and past the unconscious man-servant.  Ichiwara's eyes were
open, but he was on auto-pilot.  It was the first time Roz had taken
control of someone's mind while they were asleep but it seemed to be
working.

'Good boy, Ichi!"  whispered Cadillac.  'Your mother and I are right
behind you."

Kamakura joined them as they tailed the secretary along the corridor.

If there was a hidden radio transmitter then, reasoned Cadillac, it
would be hidden within easy reach of Ieyasu's base of operations within
the Palace.

And so it proved.

After climbing a couple of flights of back stairs, the semi-conscious
Ichiwara used one of his keys to unlock a heavy door and led them into
what looked like a records office.

There were several rows of low writing tables, and the wall spaces
between the narrow windows were lined with racks of pigeonholes and
shelves, all stuffed with sheaves of documents.  Some of the
rectangular compartments were fitted with doors.

Ichiwara, whose dark blank eyes gave no sign of registering his
surroundings, shut and locked the outside door, then crossed the room
and used a smaller key to open one of the sealed compartments at
eye-level.

It was empty.  He shut the door and withdrew the key.

'There is no message,' he murmured.

'There is!  There is!"  whispered Cadillac with a touch of
desperation.  'So be a good boy and find it before we all get into
trouble."

Ichiwara gave a long-suffering sigh, then bent down, reached under one
of the lower shelves and pressed something.  As he heard the oiled
click, Cadillac waved frantically to Roz and Kamakura to take cover.

They dropped out of sight among the lines of writing tables.

He followed them to the floor and got a line of sight on Ichiwara as a
door-sized section of shelving swung outwards on concealed hinges.

Behind it was a wall made of dressed, mortared stone.

Or what looked like stone.  Ichiwara used the key to rap several times
on a particular stone The beats and pauses were obviously a form of
code.  For a moment or two nothing happened, then the exposed slab of
stonework hinged inwards, revealing a hidden chamber illuminated from
within.

Cadillac caught a brief glimpse of a bald operator in a black,
short-sleeved tunic over a bare chest.  Behind him, he saw part of a
shelf and the right-hand edge of a neat stack of radio equipment.  He
clenched his fists exultantly and only just managed to stop himself
from drumming them on the floor.

Sweet Sky Mother!  They'd got him!

He strained to hear the muttered conversation between Ichiwara and the
radio operator.

'There is no message, sir.  You've been dreaming.  Go back to bed.  If
anything urgent comes through I'll drop a ball down the tube."

'You're sure .... ' Ichiwara's voice was slurred.

'Absolutely, sir.  Now go back to bed."

The radio-operator turned Ichiwara around, propelled him gently back in
the direction of the locked outer door and pulled the shelf-section
shut behind him.  Ichiwara blundered against the line of writing tables
close to where Roz and Kamakura were hiding.  Amazingly, the blow to
his shins failed to wake him up.  Roz got to her feet and renewed the
image of his mother in Ichiwara's mind.

Ichiwara allowed himself to be led to the door where Cadillac joined
them.  He had never seen anyone sleepwalk before, and he couldn't get
over the fact that Ichiwara could find his way from A to B, select the
right key to unlock the door and do all the other things he had done
without being fully conscious.  It was quite amazing.  The three of
them followed Ichiwara back along the deserted corridors to his
quarters.  The servant hadn't moved.

'Is he dead?"  whispered Cadillac.

'No,' said Kamakura.  'That particular neck-punch merely knocks a man
senseless for an hour or more.

Do you want me to kill him?"

'No, that won't be necessary."  Cadillac tip-toed into the bed-chamber
and found Roz drawing the coverlet over Ichiwara's sleeping form.

'There was no message, mother."

'There, there, never mind.  It's not your fault.  It was all a
mistake.

Your father is so busy these days, he must have got things mixed up.

You know what he's like.  Just go to sleep and don't worry about it any
more."

'All right, but you must promise not to go away."

'Of course i'm not going to go away!  Whatever makes you think I would
such a thing?  I love you, my darling, and I always will."

Deep within the subconscious where external reality becomes the stuff
of dreams, Ichiwara thought: what strange tricks the mind can play!

For years he had believed his mother was dead, but here she was
miraculously restored to life and as beautiful as in his tenderest
memory of her.  She leaned down over his bed, tucked the goose-down
quilt snugly round his body then stroked and kissed his forehead.  He
felt warm, happy and secure.

And he was glad to be home ....

CHAPTER TEN

The stormy weather, which had plagued Steve and Fran, finally blew
itself out during the third night leaving the junk gliding across a
tranquil moonlit sea.  When they felt they could trust the deck not to
throw them off balance, Steve helped Fran to her feet and over to a
stem window.

A three-quarter moon had bleached a big grey hole in the sky, but where
it shaded off into solid black it was sprinkled with stars.  The
jewelled eyes in Mo-Town's cloak .... Beneath them lay the Atlantic
Ocean, a vast gleaming sheet of hammered silver whose distant edges
were shadowed by the thin band of frosted blue clouds that rimmed the
horizon.

'Now you've got to admit that's beautiful."

'Ask me that again when they start pouring concrete,' said Fran.  'I've
had it with oceans."

'Yeah, well, it's been a pretty rough ride.  Fujiwara says it's going
to stay calm from now until we dock tomorrow morning."  Steve tried
walking back and forth across the floor then halted in front of Fram
'Makes a change being able to move around without being pitched on your
nose.

You oughta 'try it.  Might make you feel better if you stretch your
legs - do a little exercise.  And who knows?

You might even be able to face a - ' 'Don't say it, Brickman!  Don't
even think about it!"  Fran had not only gone off food, after an
abortive attempt on their first night at sea, she'd given up on
screwing as well - which in her case was a sure sign she was seriously
indisposed.  But as Steve knew from previous experience, sea-sickness,
as opposed to drowning, is not fatal, and the victim recovers rapidly
on reaching shore.

After several hours of restful sleep on a calm sea, he was already on
the mend, and upon waking he saw layered shafts of pale winter sunlight
piercing the darkness of his shuttered cabin.  He leapt out of bed,
splashed cold water on his face, went out onto the stern balcony to
fill his lungs with cold, fresh air, then put himself through the
limbering-up exercises he and his classmates had been required to
perform every morning for three years at the Flight Academy.  After the
last fifty press-ups, his body was tingling from head to toe and he
suddenly realised he was very hungry.

And this time, the meal stayed down.

Fran joined him after it had been cleared away by the Thai servant
girls.  She was still unable to face solid food, but she looked a lot
better.  Her tanned skin had regained most of its usual colour; this
time yesterday, her face had been a greenish grey.  All it lacked now
was a smile.

Spending three days at sea with Fran had taught Steve a great deal.

The adverse conditions they had encountered had brought out and
reinforced the most unappealing aspects of her character.  The
pampering and the privileges that had been part of her birthright might
have taught her how to order other people around, but they had left her
woefully ill-equipped to endure any kind of hardship.  On the other
hand, that may have been why the President-General had decided to send
her on this mission.  To give her a taste of life at the sharp end
....

Having been fully briefed on the geography of Ne-Issan as part of their
preparation for this high-level encounter, Steve was able to recognise
the land mass they were approaching.  Prior to the Holocaust, it had
been known as Long Island.  The Iron Masters, who had kept many of the
old place names but had problems getting their tongue round certain
consonants, called it AronGiren.

If this was where they were due to land, it meant they were headed for
the Summer Palace.

Steve checked the serf-winding wrist watch he had been given in place
of his battery-powered digital model.  It was just after nine a.m.
Before leaving, they had each been 
issued with a special miniaturised
communications pack for use in an emergency.  These had been concealed
in a layer of foam padding under the false bottom of their trail
bags.

Karlstrom had told them that the Chamberlain's office would report
their safe arrival over their secret radio link with AMEXICO.  The
communications pack was only to be used as a last resort, in the direst
of dire emergencies.

Not of course that he was expecting anything to go wrong.

The meetings with the Lord Chamberlain and the Shogun and their
officials were scheduled to last three days.  He and Fran would return
by junk to Cape Fear then by SkyRider to the AMEXICO base near
Houston/GC.

Karlstrom's warning about their electronic aids had been aimed at Fram
Steve already knew from personal experience how nervous most Iron
Masters became when confronted with devices powered by 'the Dark
Light'.

The ruling Toh-Yota and their traditionalist allies were implacably
opposed to the use of electricity in any form, but as Steve had
discovered since going overground, nothing in this big wide world was
what it seemed.  A special cadre of agents employed by Ieyasu, the Lord
Chamberlain, had been using powerful handsets and a variety of
surveillance equipment for over a decade.

If the existence of AMEXICO was the best-kept secret of all, this
covert use of radios by Ieyasu's agents ran it a close second - and it
was destined to remain so.

It was Karlstrom who had set up the deal on behalf of AMEXICO following
a series of secret discussions with Ieyasu's most senior aide.

Karlstrom and Ieyasu had finally met on Mute territory close to
Ne-Issan's southern border to put their signatures to a mutual aid
treaty between their respective intelligence organisations.

Now, Steve and Fran were on their way to propose another aid package,
but this was not another hole-in-the corner deal between two
spy-masters: this time the goods and services on offer were so
comprehensive, they could only be supplied with the full knowledge and
approval of the Shogun.

Passing through the channel between the overlapping sand-bars which
guarded the south-facing coastline of Long Island, the junk entered
Great South Bay, and turned eastwards, towards the cluster of small
islands where the junk carrying Cadillac and Roz had been moored some
thirty-six hours earlier.

Now that they were close inshore and within hailing distance of other
coastal traffic, Fujiwara had asked them not to use the stern
gallery.

The shutters protecting the cabin windows against the storm also had to
remain closed.  Through the angled slits Steve saw the crew of a small
oarboat fishing broken timbers out of the water.

Looking farther afield, he saw there were several other boats doing the
same thing.  He heard people shouting on deck, then the junk came to a
shuddering halt as the propellor slowed and was thrown into reverse,
causing the sea to boil thunderously under the stern.

Fran came through from the portside cabin.  'Quick!

Someone's spotted a body in the water!"  She ran back so as not to miss
anything.  Steve, his curiosity aroused, joined her at the window.  It
was the first time she'd had a smile on her face in three days.

Karlstrom was right.  This girl was dangerous to know.

There was more muffled shouting from the deck above.

'What's happening?"  asked Steve.

'They're calling out to that small boat over there - see?

Telling them where the body is.  It's close to the ship.  But of course
with these things in the way you can't see a bloody thing!"  She
slammed the heel of her hand against the locked shutters to vent her
frustration.

The oarboat was now making its way towards the junk.

There was another exchange of shouts.  'It's now almost underneath us,'
said Fran.  'It's got no head.  Half of one leg is missing and its arms
are tied behind its back.  That's kind of weird isn't it?  What d'you
think happened?"

'No idea,' said Steve.  'This is a big stretch of water.

Maybe it has big fish in it that eat people."

'You mean they tie people up and throw them overboard?"

'Commander, compared to some of the ways the Iron Masters have of
killing people that's nothing, believe me."

Although Steve and Fran didn't know it, the junk was now covering the
same stretch of water as the loaded longboat.

Its destination was Bei-poro, the small harbour that Cadillac had taken
care to avoid.  As they drew closer to shore, Fujiwara knocked on the
outside cabin door and entered to explain the landing procedure.  Two
of the servant women followed him in, carrying several neatly folded
garments.

When the junk had been secured fore and aft by ropes to the iron
stanchions of the jetty, Fujiwara came downstairs to collect his
visitors.  Steve and Fran now wore the classic loose black tunic, sash
and trousers normally reserved exclusively for samurai, white,
split-toed socks and rope-soled sandals.  The camouflage fatigues and
boots they had worn up to boarding the junk had been packed away in
their luggage, alongside the silver grey and dark blue First Family
uniforms they planned to wear when meeting the Shogun.

Fujiwara had also furnished them with lacquered papier rnachmasks
moulded to cover their faces from hairline to chin, and from ear to
ear.  A pair of gloves and a warm hooded cloak with the cowl drawn well
forward completed their disguise.  At the top of the companionway, they
found the same side and roof screens obscuring their view of the main
deck.  Directly in front of them lay the open door of a two-seat
carriage-box.

'What about our baggage?"  enquired Steve.

ujiwara bowed.  'That will follow with servants."  He made sure they
were securely seated then closed the door.

The interior was comfortably padded and furnished with richly coloured
fabrics, but there were no windows.

The Iron Masters who used this class of carriage-box liked their
privacy, but there was adequate ventilation, and the outside world
could be glimpsed through the tiny · 262 apertures in the pierced
wooden screens fitted at shoulder height on either side of each
passenger.

The four Vietnamese serving-women, who had never travelled in anything
better than an open ox-cart, could hardly believe their luck when
Fujiwara told them they would be travelling in two more closed
carriage-boxes with the luggage.

Make the most of it, thought Fujiwara.  He had been instructed to have
them killed as soon as the long-dogs left Ne-Issan to return home.  No
one, outside Ieyasu's most trusted group of special agents, was allowed
to know that this visit had taken place.

.Fujiwara, now wearing the same traditional black travelling-dress as
Fran and Steve, took leave of the ship's captain and officers, and
strode down the gangway followed- at a respectful distance - by the
servant-women in their baggy brown tunics and trousers that were drawn
into a cuff around the neck, wrists and ankles.

His four companions were already astride their horses.

When the servant women had boarded the waiting vehicles, Fujiwara took
the reins of his own mount from the groom and swung into the
high-backed saddle with the fluid movements that were the mark of a
skilled horseman.  He waved to the porters waiting on the deck of the
junk.

Steve and Fran felt themselves lifted into the air.

The box angled forward as they were carried down the gangplank,
obliging Fran to hold onto the wall handles to avoid sliding into
Steve's lap.  The box levelled out again, then rose, wobbling from side
to side as it was manoeuvered onto the two-wheeled chassis.  The
retaining pegs were slid into place and hammered tight with a single
clout from a wooden mallet, then there were two dull clunks as the fore
and aft cross-bars were fitted to the slab-sided carrying poles.

From his previous time in Ne-Issan Steve knew the number of porters
depended on the importance of the passenger - which bore a direct
relationship to the amount they could afford to pay.  Merchants usually

hired six, two at the front and four at the rear.  During the journey,
each pair would take it in turns to man the front bar.

There was a shouted command - probably from Fujiwara.

The porters got a grip on the chest-high crossbars and pushed.  The
wheels trundled noisily over the cobblestone jetty, rocking Steve from
side to side.  The Iron Masters did not use sprung chassis on their
wheeled vehicles; that was why the inside of the carriage-box was
padded.

'Yo!"  exclaimed Steve.  'We're up and rolling."  He removed his face
mask.  Fran did likewise.  'Are you frightened?"

She had been during the sea-voyage, but it was the wrong word to use
that morning about Commander Franklynne Delano Jefferson, now that she
was back on solid ground.

'I'm a little apprehensive, aren't you?"

'Not this time.  On my last trip there were many occasions when I was
scared shitless.  But now we're honoured guests- representing the First
Family.  With the whole weight and authority of the Federation behind
us."

'And I've got you to look after me."

'You could do worse, ma'am.  You could do worse."

Fran's mouth hardened as her natural arrogance came to the fore, then
gradually her face and eyes softened.

Steve's winning smile broadened into a grin.

'Relax.  They might not accept what we're going to put on the table,
but apart from that, what can happen?"  What indeed ....

The perforations in the side-screens allowed them a partial view of the
countryside, but they could only see outwards horizontally; the
thickness of the wooden panels and the smallness of the holes prevented
them from seeing what lay ahead.  The first intimation they were
approaching the end of their journey was the sudden change in the sound
made by the horses' hooves then the carriage wheels, as their mounted
escort left the stone and dirt road and drummed across a planked wooden
bridge.

There was a noticeable coolness, a feeling of a massive stone
enclosure.  The light outside was briefly eclipsed then returned just
as swiftly as the horses clattered and the wheels trundled evenly into
a courtyard whose walls were made of dressed stone.  They were inside
the Palace.

Steve motioned to Fran to replace her face mask and did the same,
pulling the cowl of his cloak forward so that his head was deeply
shadowed.  Outside, people were shouting and responding to orders;
wooden-soled sandals clattered to and fro.

Fran listened to the babble of voices then said: 'This is not quite the
end of the line.  They are taking us to the.  Inner Court."

The carriage-box was hoisted off its wheeled chassis onto eight new
sets of shoulders then carried on a twisting course that took them
through a series of walled courtyards containing neatly pruned trees,
shrubs, and ponds fed by small waterfalls, into a long dark passageway
and up a flight of stairs, emerging again into the light on a
balcony.

Fran and Steve both caught a brief glimpse of a neatly raked stone and
pebble garden then a sharp right turn took them back into the
shadows.

A moment or two later, they were lowered gently to the floor and the
two side poles were withdrawn.  They heard several pairs of bare feet
shuffle away, followed by the smooth swish of closing wall-screens.

There was a respectful knock on the door followed by Fujiwara's voice,
inviting them to step out and remove their masks and hooded cloaks.

Fujiwara stood facing them, flanked by his four companions.

All of them now wore white headbands bearing the red disc - the
hinomaru - the rising sun emblem of Ne-Issan.  On the left breast of
their loose black tunics was a white circle containing two overlapping
horizontal bars with chamfered ends - the house badge of the TohYota
family.

After everyone had tried to outdo each other in the bowing contest and
finally called it a draw, Fujiwara said: 'Allow me to show you to your
quarters."

Steve caught Fran's look and didn't need further prompting.  'When do
we get down to business, Major?"

'I regret this is not for me to say.  Decisions as to when and where
any meetings will take place are made at a very high level.  My orders
are to ensure that you are properly housed, fed and supplied with every
convenience until you are granted audience by those who wish to hear
what you have to say."

As they followed Fujiwara down passages and up more stairs, ever deeper
into the Palace, Steve's earlier bravado began to wear off.  He hadn't
forgotten what had happened on his previous trip but he had put it
firmly at the back of his mind.  But now, the sights, the sounds and
smells wafting on the air were starting to trigger freshly-minted
gut-churning memories of his many narrow escapes from violent death.

And with the memories came a growing realisation that if anything was
to go badly wrong, he hadn't the faintest idea where the emergency exit
was.

On the command of General Tadoshi, the three companies of soldiers
stiffened to attention as the Shogun's road convoy rumbled across the
drawbridge into the main courtyard of the Summer Palace.

The 4th Guard Company had been allotted the task of manning the outer
keep and battlements, much to the relief of the soldiers involved who
had been spared the extra bullshit involved in formal parades, plus the
inevitable waiting around.  The road convoy had been expected to arrive
at midday: it was now nearly three in the afternoon.

Backed by his juniors officers, Captain Kamakura stood next to his
flag-bearing ensign at the head of the centre company.  Captain
Mashimatsu headed the block of troops to his right; Captain Setsukane
commanded the third company on his left.  It was not normal for a
samurai-general to lead so small a unit, but the post of Castle
Commandant was something of a sinecure.  Social rank and the right
background were more important than military competence, which was why
Tadoshi - an ageing member of the Toh-Yota family - had been given the
job.

The Commandant moved forward with his two aides to join the welcoming
party: Tokimasa, the Resident Steward and his fawning retinue of
floor-polishers, Ichiwara, Permanent Secretary of the Chamberlain's
Office, and a clutch of senior clerks.

Everyone bowed as first the Shogun, then Ieyasu, descended from their
double-width carriage-boxes via the wooden steps that had been rushed
into place by their personal servants while grooms steadied the four
pairs of sweating oxen.

Anyone armed with the knowledge that the Iron Masters had introduced
horses into the Eastern lands several centuries ago might have
wondered, with good reason, why they had never harnessed them to
carts.

The answer lay in the class system.  Only samurai were allowed to ride
horses.  It was a jealously guarded privilege, conferring unmatched
mobility in time of war, and the noble attributes of the rider were
deemed to be shared by his steed.

To an Iron Master, it would have been unthinkable to use the same
animal as a beast of burden when there was an ample supply of porters
from the lower social classes for short journeys, and field-oxen for
the heavier loads and longer hauls.  That was why it had taken four and
a half days including stop-overs to cover two hundred and seventy-five
miles.

Top people like the Shogun and Ieyasu had ridden horses in their early
youth, but they were not allowed to do so now.  Riding horses was
regarded as a life-threatening activity which was all right for
military men and noblemen of lesser rank, but not for the ruling
elite.

A great deal of effort by a large number of people ensured that when
Yoritomo ventured beyond the silken cocoon spun by the Inner Court, he
was protected from every possible danger, spared any discomfort and
shielded from casual encounters with the lower classes - whose

appearance and behaviour might accidentally offend his finer
sensibilities.

Once the formal greetings had been exchanged between the top brass,
General Tadoshi conducted Yoritomo and Lord Ieyasu to the covered dais
in front of the assembled troops.  Kamakura, as Senior Captain of the
Guard, bowed from the waist, then drew and raised his sword, and called
upon the soldiers to join him in the loyal greeting to their Shogun.

The junior officers' swords flashed into the air, the ensigns and
soldiers raised their right arms in a clenched-fist salute, and the air
shook as over four hundred full-blooded voices followed Kamakura phrase
by phrase, ending with a rousing cheer.

The Shogun bowed, the troops bowed even lower, and stayed down until
the VIPs had cleared the dais.

Boarding smaller carriage-boxes, Yoritomo and Ieyasu were carried into
the Great Hall of the Summer Palace, surrounded by their servants,
bodyguards and the resident officials.  Stepping out onto the spotless
floor, Yoritomo announced his intention of taking a long hot bath
before attending to any other business.

Tokimasa, the Resident Steward, whose staff had been frantically
keeping gallons of water piping hot for the last six hours, assured him
that everything was ready, adding that the kitchen staff had also
prepared quantities of food for the entire retinue that could be cooked
at a moment's notice.

When Yoritomo and his personal staff had left the hall with Tokimasa
dancing in attendance, Ieyasu dismissed everyone except Watanabe, his
Principal Private Secretary who had travelled with him, Ichiwara and
the secret agent Fujiwara who was listed on the official payroll as ·
Personal Courier to the Lord Chamberlain.

Ieyasu's gaze fastened on Fujiwara.  'You have the envoys from the
Federation?"

'Yes, sire.  We arived about four hours ago.  They have been placed in
the guest rooms in the North Tower.  The sea voyage left them somewhat
indisposed, but they are anxious to meet with you as soon as
possible."

'They'll have to wait.  I have had a rather tiring journey.

And as the years go by, it seems to get longer and longer."

He switched his gaze onto Watanabe.  'Go and see them.

Take Ichiwara with you.  Find out what's on the table and report back
to me."

'Yes, sire."

'Make sure they have been offered the appropriate degree of
hospitality, convey my apologies and tell them they'll be granted a
formal audience tomorrow."

'Yes, sire.  I, ahh.  think they are expecting to see you and the
Shogun."

'They will- providing they have something to say that's worth listening
to.  But don't tell them I said that."

His aides shared Ieyasu's amusement.  Fujiwara said: 'I assume these
meetings will be conducted in Basic."

'Of course,' said Watanabe.

'Then I would advise you to be prudent in any conversations between
ourselves.  From my observations during the voyage, I am fairly certain
one of the long-dogs can speak japanese - and may even be fluent in
Chinese as well.  It's the woman."

Ichiwara looked surprised.  'Woman?"

'Yes,' said Fujiwara.  'She also outranks her male companion."

'You mean socially?"

'Not as we understand it.  The Federation is run like a vast army,
commanded by a privileged General Staff to which the envoys belong.

She holds the rank of Commander, he is a Captain."

'unbelievable,' said Ichiwara.  'They send women into battle?"

Watanabe laughed.  'He said she belongs to their General Staff, Ichi.

That means they leave the fighting to others!"  'Even so, it all sounds
very strange to me."

'They are strange,' said Ieyasu.  'And one day we will destroy them.

Meanwhile we must use their power to make us stronger.  They arc so
eager to help us, it would be churlish to refuse."

Taking their cue from his thin smile, his aides laughed again then
Ichiwara said: 'Sire, Captain Mashimatsu, the officer who was entrusted
with certain travelling arrangements, has asked permission to present a
report."

Ieyasu waved the matter away.  'Later, Ichiwara.  I'm going to take a
two-hour nap, then a bath before I see or talk to anyone else."

When the Shogun's personal five-man bodyguard had made their usual
check of his apartments, he and Steward Tokimasa entered followed by
Yoritomo's valet and two chambermaids.  Soldiers of the 'Shield Unit',
a select body of men from Kamakura's 1st Company, took up their
allotted positions.  In theory, all access points both outside and
inside were covered - but, of course, the security plan did not include
the secret passages that Kamakura now knew about.

Having made the usual conducted tour, Yoritomo walked through into his
bed-chamber as two of his silent samurai pulled the doorscreens
aside.

Tokimasa, nervously perspiring and anxious to please, backed in ahead
of him and swept his arm around the room.

'As you see everything is in order, sire.  I hope you find it to your
Ii -' Tokimasa dried as he caught sight of a wooden head block sitting
on top of a black lacquered table.

Seated on the block was a female wig, combed and pinned in the swept-up
style used by high-ranking ladies of the court on formal occasions.  It
had not been there during his last tour of inspection some forty
minutes ago.

He gasped with annoyance and apologised profusely.

'A thousand pardons, sire!  I cannot think how that came to be in your
room.  One of the maids must have - I' He turned to the junior of his
two assistants.  'Remove that object at once!"  'No, leave it!"  said
Yoritomo sharply.  His voice softened.

'It doesn't upset me in the least, Tokimasa.  So no more apologies are
required.  You and your staff have done splendidly.  Please convey my
thanks to them for all their hard work.  Now be so good as to leave
me.

I wish to spend a few moments alone."

Tokimasa and his staff bowed from the waist.  'Sire."

Yoritomo turned to his valet.  'Go and prepare my bath.  I will call
you when I am ready."

Everyone withdrew.  The door screens slid shut behind them.

Yoritomo took a deep breath and turned towards the wig.  He had
recognised it immediately.  It belonged to his sister Mishiko.  He
walked over to the table and circled it slowly then carefully lifted up
the wig.  Pinned inside it was a small, folded piece of paper.  He took
it out, replaced the wig on the block, unfolded the paper and read the
message several times before burning it on one of the charcoal braziers
that warmed the room.

The five samurai stationed outside the bedchamber leapt to their feet
as Yoritomo slid back one of the doorscreens.  'Find Captain Kamakura
and bring him here at once.  He is to enter alone!"  The screen closed
again.

A few minutes later, Kamakura reached the anteroom.

Outwardly calm, but inwardly filled with trepidation, he handed his two
swords over to Ryoku, the chief bodyguard, and was admitted into the
bedchamber.

Yoritomo stood by the black table on which the block bearing Mishiko's
wig had been been placed.  Kamakura fell to his knees and greeted his
sovereign lord with the usual deep bow then when Yoritomo motioned him
to relax, he sat back, crossed his legs and placed his hands on his
knees with his arms splayed outwards.

The Shogun approached, gazed at him thoughtfully, then paced slowly
from side to side.  Kamakura followed him with his eyes.  'You have
embarked on a dangerous game, Captain."

'The danger to my life is of no importance, sire.  If I lose it trying
to preserve your honour then that will be reason enough for my
existence."

Yoritomo accepted this with a nod then walked over to the low table and
brushed the fingertips of his right 
hand over the wig.  'Who else
knows my sister is in the palace?"

'Only my wife and daughters, sire.  The secret is safe with them."

'And where is Lady Mishiko?"

'She is waiting for you to admit her, sire."

Yoritomo looked puzzled for a moment then his eyes swung towards the
fake vertical wall beam.  'You mean... ?"

Kamakura dropped his head onto his chest and kept it there.  It was a
polite way of saying 'yes', and by lowering his eyes, withdrawing
himself symbolically from the scene that was to follow.

Yoritomo went over to the fake beam, released the hidden catch and
opened the narrow door.  Mishiko knelt on the step beyond the narrow
opening, silhouetted in the glow of a lantern, her hands clasped
together in a gesture of supplication.

'At last!  Oh, my dearest brother, master, lord!  Grant me leave to
speak for I have a strange and terrible tale to tell!"  Mishiko threw
herself forward through the opening and slid her hands across the floor
to touch her brother's feet.

It was only then that Yoritomo realised she was not alone.  For the
light from the hidden lamp now fell on the striped faces of two hairy
grass-monkeys crouching on the steps below ....

An hour-long soak in a hot tub and some underwater sex with Steve
helped Fran regain most of her former zip and even gave her an
appetite.  Nothing fancy - just a bowl of clear soup and a small dish
of plain boiled rice, but it stayed down.  Having exhausted the views
from their shuttered apartments, they stretched out side by side on the
bed and browsed through the briefing documents which listed the
proposals they had come to place before Ieyasu and the Shogun.

The Iron Masters manufactured and used huge quantities of paper for
their written records but it was the first time Steve had held sheets
of paper printed with lines of text in Basic.  Apart from the plasfilm
issued to overground units, all data in the Federation was displayed on
video screens, or portable LCDs.  These sheets were a rare example of
what was known as 'hard copy', and as far as he knew, documents in this
form were only made available to members of the First Family.

Steve watched Fran scan the text, her grey eyes fastening avidly on
each line.  She looked up.  'I can't see them buying this idea of us
loaning them signal units, do you?"

Steve shrugged.  'Depends on how far they're willing to bend the
rules.

Let's face it, privately, Ieyasu has broken every one in the book, but
after ramming their Sacred Edict down everybody's throats for
centuries, even a limited turn-around on the Dark Light might be hard
for the nation at large to swallow."

'It would also cut the ground away from under the Toh-Yota.  Isn't the
upholding of the Sacred Edict their main claim to fame?"

'Yeah.  That's why they let us blow up the Heron Pool."

'That's what I thought."  Fran re-read the proposal.

'This was one of Karlstrom's ideas.  But not one of his better ones.  I
think we should kill it - okay?"

'You're the boss."

In Steve's eyes, Fran's saving grace was her intelligence.

That, plus the fact she was also physically attractive, made the
relationship bearable.  And to be fair, the negative aspects of her
personality had their positive side.  She might be mean and
overbearing, but she was also strong and forceful.  It was an
interesting combination and not unappealing, because on her better days
she could be good company.

It was in those moments she became almost likeable.

Karlstrom had warned him that an intimate relationship with her was
like riding a greasy pole, but it had been the wrong thing to say.

Steve had always been unable to resist a challenge.  Fran could damage
his career prospects but 
she couldn't hurt him emotionally because,
deep down, she meant absolutely nothing to him.  His one real, true and
lasting attachment was to Clearwater.  Fran Jefferson was just part of
his survival plan - and there were plenty of worse ways of staying
alive.  The difference between the two was that Clearwater, without
saying anything, made him aware of his failings.  Fran, on the other
hand, brought out the worst in him and that, perversely, made him feel
better.

Around three o'clock in the afternoon, they heard the clatter of hooves
on cobbles followed by a series of shrill commands then a tumultuous
roar.  Fran, who had run to the windows at the sound of the horses,
listened intently then said: 'They've arrived!  That shouting at the
end was the troops giving the Shogun a standing ovation."

Steve scrambled to his feet.  Fran fisted his chest.

'C'mon.  Let's get dressed!  Show 'em what we're made of!"  The gleam
in her eye told him she was back in the driving seat.

When their guide Fujiwara reappeared with Watanabe and Ichiwara in tow,
he found Steve and Fran dressed in the silver grey uniforms that marked
them out as members of the First Family.  The high collared tunic with
its inverted triangular dark blue trim running down from the shoulders
to a point at the waist and with matching rank stripes on the sleeves,
flared grey riding breeches, supple mid-grey leather jackboots rising
high on the calf, dark blue cavalry caps and silver topped canes.

Steve and Fran sized up the opposition.  Unlike Skull-Face, who was
clearly an old hand, Watanabe and Ichiwara had sleekly rounded features
and were of indeterminate age.  They were both soberly dressed in long
black robes, and wore oddly shaped pill-box hats on top of their
samurai wigs.  In Ne-Issan, hats were a status symbol, and when
Skull-Face made the introductions, Watanabe, the jap with the fanciest
headgear, was revealed as being the senior paper-pusher.

Looking at them, Steve was reminded of the smooth executives who lived
in the Black Tower at Houston/GC.

White or yellow, these guys were all the same.  Fran had told him not
to emulate their hosts when exchanging the usual bows of welcome.  They
were to be courteous and correct, but there was to be no kow-towing.

Steve tried to argue, but Fran was not disposed to listen.  As a
result, they both remained erect, responding to their hosts with a
polite nod of the head.  If their hosts were miffed, it didn't show.

At Ichiwara's invitation, Steve and Fran followed Skull-Face across the
corridor into another room where two pairs of low tables and sets of
cushions had been placed opposite each other, and a pale-faced japanese
girl in a printed silk kimono knelt ready to serve jasmine tea.

Skull-Face invited them to take their places then took a back seat
behind the two secretaries.  As they sipped the bowls of teas, Watanabe
explained that the journey to the Summer Palace had proved something of
an ordeal to the Lord Chamberlain.  Out of courtesy to his visitors he
had decided to postpone meeting them until he was fully rested and
could give his undivided attention to the important matters they had
come to discuss.

'Meanwhile,' continued Watanabe, 'he has instructed Secretary Ichiwara
and myself to obtain a general picture of your proposals in order to
prepare an agenda for the meetings which will follow.  I trust you have
no objection?"

'None whatsoever,' said Fran.  She had decided, despite the original
plan, to do most of the talking herself.  When Steve had asked why, she
had said: 'You've had direct experience of these people, but it was as
a slave-worker, on the receiving end.  They make you nervous.  I can
sense it.  Don't get me wrong.  If we were to get in a tight corner, I
know you'd come through.  You're the ideal action man, but when it
comes to representing the Federation, I'm better equipped than you are
- because I know how to dish it out."

When the tea lady had retired from the room, Watanabe, whose
pronunciation was almost faultless, said: 'With your agreement, these
discussions will be conducted in your language.  My colleague Ichiwara
will act as translator for the Lord Chamberlain and, if your proposals
are deemed to merit his attention, his Highness, Prince Yoritomo, the
Shogun."

Watanabe gauged the effect of this on both of them, then fixed his eyes
on Fran.  'I am aware that you, Commander, have a working knowledge of
our language.

Since, in doing this, you must also have learned something of our
cherished traditions, you will know that we do not welcome outlanders
speaking our sacred mother tongue.  You would cause grave offence if
you attempted to do so in the presence of Lord Ieyasu or His Highness
Prince Yoritomo.  We hope you will respect out feelings in this
matter."  i'll bear it in mind,' said Fran drily.  'Would I be correct
in thinking that both these noble gentlemen speak fluent Basic?"

'They have a comprehensive understanding of the language.  But because
of their exalted rank, you will not be able to address either of them
directly.  Anything you wish to communicate will be relayed by myself
or Secretary Ichiwara."

'I see.  Am I to understand that what you're attempting to do now is
establish the ground rules?"

Watanabe inclined his head.  'We are indeed, Commander."

Fran gave Steve a sideways glance and muttered: 'Can you believe
this?

We come all this way to talk to the organ-grinder and we've got his
monkey telling us how to behave .... ' If their opposite numbers
managed to catch what she said, they gave no sign of having done so,
but that was one of their great attributes - keeping a straight face
when the roof was falling in.

'Hang on to your hat,' whispered Fran.  She cleared her throat.  'Chief
Secretary, your mastery over our language is less skillful than you
suppose and your attempts at politeness have failed to mask the fact
that you view us with disdain."

She balled her fists and slammed them down on the low table in front of
her.  Steve went cold, but he knew from the set of her jaw there was no
stopping her now.

'Just who in bell's name do you think you're talking to, you unctuous,
inky-listed toad!?!  I and my companion come from the highest ranks of
the First Family!  Rulers of the Amtrak Federation, the greatest power
on this earth!

My father is a senior member of the Supreme Council, second only in
authority to George Washington Jefferson the 31st, the
President-General himself!  He also happens to be the President's
brother, and I have the honour of being an executive officer on the
President's personal staff!

'That was why I was selected for this mission.  Captain Brickman, my
aide-de-camp, is the personal representative of Commander-General
Karlstrom who has already dealt directly with Lord Ieyasu on other
matters of which you are no doubt aware' - she glared at Watanabe'since
I understand you were there at the time.

'Listen to me carefully.  When we speak, it is with the voice and the
authority of the two men on this continent who are the equal of your
masters in rank, stature and power.  So don't ever address me in such
an insolent manner again.  Is that clear?!"  Watanabe, who like
Ichiwara had been left white-faced at this outburst, inclined his
head.

'Yes, my lady."

Fran switched over to japanese, complete with the inflections employed
by the upper classes.  'Good.  Now understand this.  In my eyes you are
lower than a heap of ox-dung.  Furthermore, I intend to inform your
master of this incident, and will suggest to him that negotiations
between our two countries would proceed more smoothly if you were given
lessons on how to address your betters!"  Steve didn't know what Fran
had said, but it was obvious she hadn't been handing out gold stars.

Watanabe's face didn't move an inch but it went whiter than 
ever.  The
veins on his temples bulged and the tension was reflected in his
knuckles.  His fingers were dug in so tight, it looked as if he was
trying to rip his kneecaps off.

Ichiwara, sitting alongside him, and Skull-Face in the second row,
looked like a couple of blasted oaks.

Watanabe hung his head and tried to collect his thoughts.  Never, in
his whole life, had he received such a vitriolic dressing down!  Here
he was, the most senior secretary in the Lord Chamberlain's Office - a
man who told government ministers what to do - and he had been
humiliated in front of two junior colleagues by an outlander who had
doubled the affront by addressing him abusively in japanese!  And this
indignity had been inflicted upon him by a woman!!

It was an unbearable loss of face.  Nevertheless business had to
proceed.  He suppressed a perfectly justified desire to see this
foul-mouthed bitch flayed alive and used his renowned mental discipline
to clear his head.  Three deep breaths was all it took to restore the
necessary stillness at the centre of his being and find a face-saving
formula.  'I apologise sincerely for my clumsiness.  The journey that
tired my master also seems to have had an adverse effect on my
professional competence and manners- and has, in fact, left me feeling
distinctly unwell.  With your permission, my lady, I shall withdraw and
leave Secretary Ichiwara to note down the information required."

He took his final bow, and got a curt nod in return.

'As you wish."

Ichiwara and Skull-Face paid their respects to Watanabe then moved up
into the firing-line as the door-screens closed behind him.

Fran threw Steve a quick glance then said: 'Okay.

We've drunk the tea and cleared the air.  Can we now get down to
business?"

'B-By all means,' stammered Ichiwara.  He turned to Skull-Face.  'Will
you take notes, Major?"

'Awgh!  For crissakes!"  snapped Fran.  'We all know what the score
is!"  She reached into the side slit of her tunic, fished out a small
pocket recorder and slapped it on the table.  'And you know what this
is."  She switched it on.  'If you want to talk Basic, then we're going
to do things our way.  Comprendo ?"

Ichiwara looked at Skull-Face and got the answer he wanted.  'Okay.  Go
ahead - shoot."

Steve shook his head in wonderment.  He'd pulled some strokes in his
time, but never anything like this.  The bad sea voyage had obviously
raised Fran's bile, but this was something else.  She had come out of
her corner like a mountain bear with a swarm of bees up its ass and
just bitten these guys' heads off!  He caught the eye of his old
sparring partner, Skull-Face.  · Fujiwara read the unspoken question
and winked to let Steve know how things stood.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Receiving word that the great man was now awake and in his bath, Chief
Secretary Katanabe ordered Ichiwara to bring up the rest of Lord
Ieyasu's luggage and the travelling cabinets of paperwork that followed
the Lord Chamberlain on his travels.

The task was almost completed when Ieyasu emerged from his quarters
looking a great deal better than he had on arrival.  Two hundred and
seventy-five miles of shake, rattle and roll would have left anyone
feeling the worse for wear and Ieyasu - now a gaunt eighty-year-old bag
of bones - had long passed the point where he could take such a journey
in his stride.

The reason for much of the discomfort endured by travellers was not
hard to find: despite their amazing virtuosity in many areas of
construction and design, Iron Masters had not got around to building
wheeled vehicles with sprung chassis.  Ieyasu's recovery after a two
hour nap was a testimony to his tenacious hold on life.

Watanabe signalled the servants to put down the last of their loads
where they stood, then waved them from the room.  leyasu's guards
followed, closing the door behind them.

Ieyasu motioned his secretaries to be seated and eased himself creakily
onto his cushions, using his long staff as a support.  'So... have you
tested the mettle of the long-dog envoys?"

'We have, my lord."

'And how did you find them?"

Watanabe searched for a suitable phrase.  'Sharp-tongued .... ' Ieyasu,
who had built up a dossier on the key personalities in the upper
echelons of the First Family, chuckled.

'Yes, I believe she can be."

Watanabe failed to see the joke.  'Secretary Ichiwara made a note of
their proposals.  It is, as we anticipated, an offer to supply us with
military, industrial and technical assistance."

'Good.  But before we speak of this, let us deal with the other matter
that was causing us concern these past few days.  I believe you have
some good news for US?"

Ichiwara bowed and backed away.  As he left the room, Watanabe said:
'Will you require a written record of this meeting, sire?"

Ieyasu shook his head.  Ichiwara brought in Samurai-Captain Mashimatsu,
No.2 Company Commander of the Palace Guard, then took his usual place
at the writing table on Ieyasu's left, opposite Watanabe.

Afterthe ritual bow and exchange of greetings, Mashimatsu gave Ieyasu
an account of an 'incident' that had occurred during the night before
last at Beishura.

Following a mysterious explosion an ocean-going junk had gone down,
stern first, with the loss of almost everyone on board.

The vessel, chartered at Oshana-sita, had been ordered to anchor
off-shore pending customs inspection by harbour officials.  There were
a handful of survivors crewmen who were asleep in the forward part of
the vessel when the explosion occurred - but no trace had been found of
the twenty or so passengers believed to have been on board at the
time.

Ieyasu gave a satisfied nod.  'Good fortune smiles upon us, Captain.

We were warned that a team of assassins sent by the Yama-Shita might
attempt to land from just such a vessel.  It looks as if they have
blown themselves up while preparing explosive devices which they
intended to use against us.

'Make sure all the bodies are brought out of the water, and search the
outer islands in case there are survivors 
hiding there.  No one must
be allowed to escape justice.

Do I make myself clear?"

'Yes, sire."

'See that the men are rewarded.  And you shall have your long-awaited
promotion.  I shall not of course tell the Shogun the real reason for
the glowing recommendation I will make on your behalf."

Mashimatsu gave a deep bow.  'To be able to serve you, is honour
enough, sire.  Your generosity overwhelms me."

Ichiwara accompanied him to the door then returned to his place as his
colleague asked: 'What are we to say when the lady and her children are
reported missing from the Winter Palace?"

'We say nothing, Watanabe!  We simply look as puzzled as everyone
else!

In time it will be discovered that she and the traitor Min-Orota
boarded two ships at Oshana - bound for an unknown destination.

Questions will have to be asked.  We must pursue the matter with our
usual zeal, but her fate will remain shrouded in mystery.

'It will be a sad loss to our family, as you can imagine and I fear her
brother will feel it more keenly than most."

Ieyasu gave a dry laugh.  'We will have to find another young soft-eyed
bum-boy to console him.  But this time, we must make sure he is one of
ours and not another of those accursed Heralds!"  Ieyasu clapped his
hands together.  'Excellent!  Now that tiresome business has been
attended to, we can all sleep more soundly in our beds."  He turned to
Ichiwara.

'Let us return to our friends from the Federation.  But before you say
anything, I think Watanabe should explain the factors which have led us
to this point, so that you can put these proposals into the proper
context.  Before any agreement is concluded, we shall need to consider
the possible impact of these alien goods and services on our society
and decide if the dangers outweigh the benefits.

Your opinion, as always, will be invaluable."

'I am deeply honoured, sire."

Ieyasu invited Watanabe to speak.

'As one of the Inner Circle, you are aware that the secret treaty with
AMEXICO has enabled us to detect and control many of the subversive
elements within Ne-Issan.

We have scored some notable coups against those who seek to overthrow
the Toh-Yota, but our enemies are as numerous as ever, and never tire
of hatching new plots.

'For the last ten years, the Federation has supported us in our aim to
maintain the present era of peace and stability in Ne-Issan under the
house of the TohYota.

They recognise the wisdom and foresight of Lord Ieyasu has been the
principal factor in preserving this stability, but they fear - as we do
- what may happen when his steadying hand is no longer at the helm.

'The Shogun is a young man dedicated to upholding the ancient
traditions we all revere, but the inflexibility of his principles will
make it impossible to continue to govern the country in the same way.

Compromise will be replaced by confrontation, and the peril of armed
conflict will remain with us until Prince Yoritomo reaches the age of
wisdom, or can be persuaded to adopt a more pragmatic approach.

'Therein lies our problem: for there is no one who is able to influence
him in the way Lord Ieyasu has done in the past.  We had hoped to groom
Lady Mishiko to act as our intermediary but as you know she has
suddenly become a potential liability.  Until a replacement can be
found, we have to draw up and put into action a plan that will enable
the Toh-Yota to withstand the dangers that lie ahead.

'That is why the Federation wishes to help us.  In their view, the
balance of power within Ne-Issan is not sufficiently weighted in our
favour - as evidenced by our inability to solve our problems with the
House of Yama-Shita by military means.  We have had to resort to
subterfuge, but despite the successful action against the Heron Pool
and the removal of many of our enemies, the Yama-Shita continue to
provoke us.

'We should have applied sanctions against the YamaShita and its
trading partners for mounting their ill-fated and illegal armed
expedition against the Plainfolk, but we dared not risk doing so.  Our
friends in the Federation believe that this failure to enforce the law
could embolden the Yama-Shita, leading to other treaty violations and
further unrest - within our borders.

'To counter this, they have offered to strengthen our hand by a massive
programme of aid in exchange for supplies of certain raw materials.  We
need their help.  If our enemies take up arms against us we must be
ready and able to strike a blow from which they will never recover.

'But we are not helpless supplicants.  We do not beg for aid.  It is
the Federation who have expressed the wish to help us - as opposed to
our enemies.  That is why we have come here in secret to meet their
representatives."

Ichiwara bowed his head.  'I am grateful for this clarification of our
position.  But why do they choose to help us when the Yama-Shita and
the other progressive domain-lords would sell their souls for a chance
to embrace the Dark Light?"

'A good question, Ichiwara,' said Ieyasu, 'which I can answer easily.

The Federation have used the Dark Light to make themselves masters of
the High Craft, but they do not intend to allow others to take the same
path.

'They are ready to support us because we are the defenders of our
ancient faiths and traditions.  If we win, it will not threaten their
present supremacy, but if the Progressives gained control of Ne-Issan
it could lead eventually to war with the Federation and the destruction
of our country.

'Only we can ensure its survival.  Our traditions, our beliefs, our
code of honour are the blood, bone and sinews of the one nation that
will endure!  The Plainfolk will remain fragmented, doomed by their
idle-minded existence to be enslaved by their betters!  The Federation
too will fall victim to its over-weening ambition to rule the earth and
rot from within.  For it has no art, no heart, no sense of honour, no
faith in anything beyond its ability to create more fiendish weapons of
destruction, and its brain is a machine without a soul - a monstrous
creation of the Dark Light that knows everything and believes in
nothing!"  Ieyasu broke off and favoured his two secretaries with a
thin smile.  'There, you have my predictions for the future.  Consider
them when I am gone."  He slapped his thin, bony thighs.  'So,
Ichiwara!

What delights have these long-dogs come to bestow on us!"  Ichiwara
referred to an aide-memoire he had prepared.

He and Major Fujiwara had agreed not to mention the provocative offer
of the voice-recorder.  'The aid pr.  oposals come under three main
headings - military equipment, industrial machinery and techniques and
training.  The most important military item is the establishment of an
air arm.

'The Federation is prepared to supply us with two hundred and fifty
flying horses, fitted with weapons of destruction and powered by a new
system of propulsion which does not flout the Sacred Edict banning the
Dark Light.  Samurai selected to pilot these machines would be trained
within the Federation, and then return with theft aircraft.

'They would do so in two batches.  Of the first batch of a hundred and
fifty, the top fifty pupils would receive further training as flying
instructors and participate in the training of the second batch of one
hundred pilots.  Senior officers would also be instructed on the
tactical use of aft power against ground targets.

'An appropriate number of ground staff would be trained to service the
flying horses, and a similar proportion would graduate as master
technicians and instructors.  The agreement to supply the first batch
of flying horses and trained personnel also includes the provision of a
stock of spare parts enabling us to repair and maintain the engines,
airframes and instruments.

'There are a number of basic infantry weapons on offer - all capable of
high rates of fire and which also do not infringe the Sacred Edict.

Before enumerating these, I 
would like to pass onto the second heading
- industrial machinery and techniques.

'The Federation is offering to supply the necessary machinery,
precision tools and specialist metals to enable us to set up home-based
production lines for these flying horses and other weapons including
new and extremely powerful explosives.

'They are also willing to introduce into Ne-Issan, two new sources of
motive power based on' - Ichiwara switched into Basic - 'gas and diesel
technology."  He reverted to his mother tongue.  'The first can be
found in marshes, rotting vegetation and heaps of animal manure, the
second is a liquid fuel extracted from ground-oil, and will be used in
the engines of the flying ' He was interrupted by a rapid tap-tap on
the door screen.

Ieyasu motioned him to see who it was.

Reaching the anteroom, Ichiwara found two of the Chamberlain's guards,
with Tokimasa, the Resident Steward.  After the usual exchange of bows,
the Steward - who seemed greatly agitated- asked if the Chamberlain
would receive him as a matter of some urgency.

'May I know what it is you wish to speak to him about?"

Tokimasa mopped his sweating brow.  'The Lady Mishiko."

Ichiwara invited him in and told the guards they were not to be
disturbed until further notice.

Shedding his indoor shoes, Tokimasa shuffled across the floor and knelt
before Ieyasu.  'My lord!  Excuse this interruption, but I have just
discovered that the Lady Mishiko, her children and half her retinue are
in the Palace!  How they came to be here I cannot say.  No one informed
me they were expected and I was not on hand to greet them.  I hope you
will not think me negligent.

Her tiighness has been gracious enough to make light of the matter but
- ' 'Yes, yes, yes!"  cried Ieyasu.  'Did she tell you what prompted
her to journey here?"

'She did indeed, my lord.  She wishes to speak with you privately on an
affair of the utmost importance."

'I see... Does the Shogun know she is in the Palace?"

'No, sire.  The Shogun has withdrawn to his apartments and his guards
have been ordered to admit no one."

'Good.  Until I order otherwise, it is vital that her presence here
remains a secret.  Those on your staff who share your knowledge must be
sworn to secrecy.

Let me explain why.  We have reason to believe that Lady Mishiko may be
involved in a plot to kill her brother - ' Tokimasa's jaw dropped.  'My
lord, I had no i - I' 'I said "may", Tokimasa.  We have no proof- only
grounds for suspicion.  I'm sure you will be the first to agree it is
best not to take any chances."

'Of course!"  'That is why the Shogun must not discover she is here.

We cannot allow her to approach him until we are satisfied that she
poses no threat to his safety."

'Of course, of course!"  'Good!  Tell her I will send Watanabe to
escort her here.

We shall need a sealed carriage-box."

'I will arrange everything!"  Tokimasa made his exit, bowing each time
he took four backward steps.

The guards outside slid the screen shut.

Ieyasu looked at his two crestfallen aides.  'That fool of a Captain!

You assured me the plan could not fail!"  Ichiwara hung his head.  'His
men must have blown up the wrong boat."

'That's not possible,' said Watanabe.  'There must be some other
explanation.  She must have - ' leyasu cut him off with an angry
wave.

'How she escaped does not concern me!  If our men are to blame they can
be dealt with later.  What matters is that she is here now!"  He turned
on Ichiwara.  'Find Mashimatsu.

Tell him I want this meddlesome woman's quarters sealed off from the
rest of the Palace by an armed guard.  No one in her entourage is to be
allowed out - and that includes her children."

'Yes, sire."

'When she returns after leaving here, she is to remain there.  And if
she demands to know why, Mashimatsu is to say'she is being held on my
orders pending a possible charge of high treason!"  'Yes, sire!"  'And
you can tell the Captain he has one last chance to save his promotion
and his head.  When I wake up tomorrow morning, I want to be surprised
and distressed to hear she and her brood have taken poison rather than
face the disgrace of a trial.  He is to despatch her servants as
well.

That will be proof of their guilt.  Go quickly - and return here as
soon as it has been arranged!"  Ichiwara left.  Watanabe waited until
the door closed again then said: 'Do you think she knows we - ?"

Ieyasu exploded again.  'You are wasting time, Watanabe!

We will know the answer to that question when we hear what she has to
say!  Go and fetch her!"  A fleeting coolness touched Roz at the centre
of her being and a vague, fuzzy image of Steve came into her mind.

Her body stiffened as she tried to seize it and bring it into sharper
focus in the hope of hearing that familiar inner voice, but it eluded
her like a handful of smoke.

And was gone ....

Roz tried to make contact.  Nothing happened.  Steve remained
tantalisingly out of reach, but she was left with an extraordinary
feeling of being physically close to him.

But that was impossible.  How could she be?  Steve was in the
Federation with Clearwater.  Roz opened her eyes and found Cadillac
gazing at her warily.

'What happened just then?"

'Nothing, just.  daydreaming."

'At a time like this?!"  Roz would have loved to have told him, just to
wipe that look of disdain off his face.  But it would have to wait.

She had to be sure before saying anything.  With their lives poised on
a knife edge, Steve was the last person Cadillac wanted to hear
about...

Lord Ieyasu sat alone in his study listening intently to Lady
Mishiko.

Chief Secretary Watanabe had been instructed to wait outside and
prevent anyone from entering.  Ichiwara, who had been despatched to
brief Captain Mashimatsu, had not yet returned.

Considering the physical strains imposed by her recent sea-voyage and
escape from death in a crowded longboat, the Shogun's sister was
remarkably composed.  A slight tremor in her voice told him she was
extremely nervous even though he had welcomed her with his usual show
of warmth and affection.  As her grand-uncle, she had always remained
in awe of him, but her nervousness was no doubt increased by the
extraordinary nature of her story.

Mishiko, her heart pounding, continued to relate at breakneck speed how
Lord Kiyomori Min-Orota, acting as a double-agent for the Toh-Yota, had
accepted the invitation to meet with other 'progressive' domain-lords
at Sarakusa '... and when they were all assembled, he learned - to his
amazement that the Yama-Shita family had discovered an alien device
hidden beneath the table in their conference chamber.  A device the
size of a go stone which acted like a servant's ear at his master's
door - which they claim your agents placed there!"  Ieyasu laughed.  'I
know nothing of such devices, nor do I seek to!  Is this the charge
Lord Min-Orota feared the Yama-Shita would lay at my door?  He is even
more gullible than I thought!

'As chief counsel to your illustrious brother, it is my business to
discover the strength of our enemies in the outlands.  I know, for
instance, that the long-dogs whose cities are hidden deep in the ground
are masters of what is known as the High Craft.  They have machines of
unimaginable complexity which are filled with the Dark Light, but in
capturing it they have become enslaved by its power.

'They cannot exist without it.  It makes their false sun 
rise and
their underground rivers flow!  But we, who are strong, have no need of
such devilish devices.  If there is such an object, as Kiyo has
described, then it must have been made by long-dogs.  Ask yourself this
- if the Yama-Shita claim to be the innocents in this affair, how was
it they knew what this device was and how it functioned?!"  'I also
asked that question, mi'lord.  The stone ear was not all they found.

The Yama-Shita family have also apprehended two individuals with
another larger device.

A black box which speaks with two voices - in our own sacred mother
tongue."

Ieyasu's face betrayed nothing, but this piece of news was not to his
liking.  If two of his agents had allowed themselves to be captured
with an incriminating piece of hardware, it was not only the most
reprehensible form of negligence, it was a breach of trust.  All the
men selected to operate such devices were equipped with fast-acting
poison pills for use on such occasions to ensure the secret they had
sworn to keep died with them.

'This all sounds rather far-fetched.  If there's such a box, and there
are two such men, it is probably a clumsy attempt on the part of the
Yama-Shita to discredit me.  I repeat - the objects you describe can
only have been made by the long-dogs and obtained from them!  The
Yama-Shita have already paid dearly for attempting to resurrect the
Dark Light - and now, barely a year later, they are in league with our
enemies again!

'Mark my words, they will pay dearly for this treachery.

And it greatly saddens me, my lady, that you should wish to help spread
such vicious lies about someone who had always done his best to ensure
your health and happiness and.  protect you from harm."

Mishiko matched his honeyed insincerity: 'I have never doubted your
good intentions, great-uncle which is why I am not spreading "vicious
lies".  Since Kiyo expressed his deep concern to me, you are the first
and only person I have spoken to about this matter."

Ieyasu inclined his head.  'I am greatly relieved to hear it."

Mishiko continued: 'Like Kiyo, my first concern is to preserve the
supremacy of the Toh-Yota - by whatever means and at any cost.  Neither
of us wish to do anything which might cause a rift between you and my
brother, but Kiyo and I felt it was our duty to alert you to the
allegations the Yama-Shita seem intent on laying before the Shogun."

Ieyasu accepted this with a grateful bow.  'I never realised such a
wise head rested on such beautiful shoulders."

Etiquette required Mishiko to respond in a similar fashion.  'I was
fortunate to inherit my mother's good sense instead of the madness that
ran in my father's blood."

'It is we who are fortunate, my dear Mishiko.  Is that the end of your
strange tale?"

'I wish it was."  Mishiko smiled inwardly, savouring the information
she was about to reveal; information that would wipe the disdainful
expression from her great-uncle's face.  'The two individuals captured
by the Yama-Shita were outlanders - long-dogs who had disguised
themselves as Mute slaves by growing their hair and painting their
skins - and who spoke our mother tongue!  In the hope of saving their
lives, they confessed all they knew."

She paused and gestured helplessly.  'Their story is so unbelievable, I
hardly dare repeat it for fear you will think I have lost my senses!'
'I assure you I will think nothing of the kind,' said Ieyasu.  'Hold
nothing back, my dear Mishiko.  And above all do not be frightened.

You have my word that nothing you say will go beyond these four
walls."

He looked at her expectantly.

There was a moment's silence while Mishiko overcame her reluctance.

When she spoke, it was with a small, timid voice.  'These painted spies
are a male and female long-dog.  They claim to work for an organisation
called 
AMEXICO.  They say this organisation has worked hand-in-glove
for many years with a network of secret agents controlled by you.  They
say they are able to speak japanese because you have sent teachers into
their underground domain and, in return, AMEXICO have supplied your
agents with..."

'Go on.  Let us hear the whole of this sorry tale."

'... with devices animated by the Dark Light.

Devices with can capture voices and can send reports and commands
undetected through the air from one end of the country to the other."

Ieyasu's air of disdainful superiority had vanished but his voice still
had a sarcastic edge.  'I see.  But apart from the box found in their
possession, would I be correct in thinking they had nothing to offer in
the way of proof that their story was anything other than sheer
fantasy?  Ha!  The Yama-Shita must be in desperate straits if they
hoped anyone would believe such a tissue of lies!"  'I agree,
mi'lord.

You can see now why I hesitated.  If that were all Kiyo Min-Orota had
to tell me I would not have bothered to make this journey."  Mishiko
saw her great-uncle's eyes harden.

'There is more?"

'Yes.  The long-dogs claim to have.  had dealings with your secretary,
ichiwara.  They say they delivered several "black boxes" to him, and
these were installed in a secret chamber inside the Summer Palace '
'Enough!"  shouted ieyasu.  'That is absolutely outrageous!"  Mishiko
bowed.  'Those were my exact words to Lord Min-Orota.  I knew you would
be angry.  Do you wish me to remain silent, or will you allow me to
repeat their most dangerous charge against you?"

'Very well!  Go on, if you must!"  Mishiko moistened her lips.  She had
been waiting for this moment.  'The long-dogs claim to know where this
chamber is.  Kiyo says they have drawn a plan which is now in the
possession of the Yama-Shita.  A plan which puqorts to show its
location."

Ieyasu's lined face turned to stone.  'I see... And did he describe
this plan to you?"

'No, mi'lord.  But he saw it with his own eyes, and urged me to make
you aware of its existence."

Ieyasu nodded thoughtfully, the slowness of the gesture in marked
contrast to the speed at which his mind was working.  'You have done
well to bring these matters to my attention, my child.  I have
underestimated the cunning and determination of our enemies."

'Yes,' said Mishiko.  'It is obvious they planned to play upon my
brother's hatred of the Dark Light in all its forms and his
determination to uphold our most sacred traditions.  By linking you to
the long-dogs and their infernal devices, they hoped to destroy the
trust that exists between you.  Or - if I may venture to say so make
him feel he had been utterly betrayed."

'Exactly!  cried Ieyasu.  'There you have seized upon the nub of the
matter!  And with admirable shrewdness and economy!  As your Highness
knows, I have never subscribed to the belief that women are the weaker
and inferior sex, even though the laws of Ne-Issan have always denied
them positions of real power.

'Were it otherwise, you would make a worthy candidate to occupy the
throne!  Strength of character, nobility, intelligence, insight and
above all - discretion!  A quality never more needed than now.  This
conversation must remain a secret - between us."

'Of course."

'Not a word to anyone - especially your brother."

'No, great-uncle .... ' 'We have journeyed here to conduct great
affairs of state - delicate negotiations away from prying eyes and the
little-tattle of idle tongues that is the bane of court life!"

'Alas!

I know them only too well."

'Exactly!  Exactly!  That is why this malicious tale must not be
allowed to reach 'your brother's ears.  His concentration on the matter
in hand must not be diverted.

He is, I regret to say, not as strong as you.  His confidence 
in me is
absolute.  It is like a rock- but it is a rock fractured by
self-doubt.

'The wrong word at the wrong time would be like a steel wedge hammered
into a fault line by a quarryman.  One well-aimed blow and the rock
splits asunder!  You and I must see that never happens.  He needs our
love and support."

'He has them, mi'lord.  And you have my vow of silence."

Ieyasu, scenting things were once more going his way said: 'Then what
reason will you give for following us here?"

Mishiko had her reply already prepared, but she paused to make it seem
as if it came from the heart.  'I shall tell him that I had a
premonition he was in mortal danger and rushed to be at his side to do
what I could to prevent his death - or share it."

She gazed directly into Ieyasu's eyes.  'For were he to die, I would
not wish to live a moment longer.  And that part is true, I swear
it."

Ieyasu rose to his feet and offered Mishiko his hand.

'I wish there was someone who held my life in such high esteem."

'Oh, come, mi'lord!  Does not my brother love and respect you?  It is
you who has been his father in all but name."

'True, true.  And you have not hesitated to confide in me.  That is
reward enough.  Go, my child.  My secretary Watanabe will conduct you
back to your quarters.  And there I must urge you to remain for the
moment for I fear our enemies may be plotting more mischief."

Mishiko frowned.  'I do not understand .... '

'Your brother and I journeyed here in secret, my child.

To disguise our presence we are not protected by our usual number of
guards.  My worry is that this tale of black boxes and painted
long-dogs may have been a cunning ruse to fill you with alarm."

'You mean they...?"

'Yes!  You may, unwittingly, have led them to us at a time when we lack
the means to defend ourselves."

'May the Gods forgive me!"  cried Mishiko.  'If that were true I would
kill myself!"  'Tush, my child.  I doubt that will be necessary.  Your
actions were inspired by a desire to protect the House of Toh-Yota.

And I shall be forever in your debt."  He struck the floor three times
with the point of his gold-topped staff.

Watanabe and Ichiwara entered and bowed as Ieyasu walked Lady Mishiko
towards them.

'Watanabe.  Convey her highness to her quarters.  I have made her aware
of certain dangers.  Make sure she is guarded well."

'Yes, sire."  Watanabe ushered Mishiko into the carriage-box that stood
in the corridor immediately outside.

Ieyasu signalled Ichiwara to close the door and strode back into his
private office.  The benign expression which had concealed his true
feelings as he bade goodbye to Mishiko had vanished.  When he turned to
face his secretary, all pretence had gone.  This was no longer the
kindly great-uncle: this was a vicious, cornered animal with a voice
like cold steel.

'For the time being, it is no longer safe to operate the radio
network.

Get the operator to send a signal to the other base units warning them
we are going off the air.  The communications equipment is to be
removed from the box-room, destroyed by fire and the remains broken and
buried in more than one place.  All traces that might point to the room
having been occupied are to be eliminated, and it is to be filled with
rubble and completely sealed.  I don't want it hidden.  I want it to
vanish - you understand?"

'Yes, sire."

'Good.  Attend to it immediately!  That order also applies to the
equipment that came with the road convoy.

Everything must go.  Our lives depend on it!"  Ichiwara left and strode
hurriedly along the side corridor and up the flights leading to the
Records Office.

When the full court was in residence, a small army of scribes sat at
the lines of desks, but now the long room was deserted.

After satisfying himself that he had not been followed, and that there
was no one on the stairs or in the corridor above, he entered the room,
and locked the door behind him.  Stepping lightly across the room to
the wall of shelves and pigeon-holes, he pressed the 'knot' beneath the
lower shelf and stood back as the hinged segment of shelving unlocked
itself and opened towards him.

A spine-chilling sight met his eyes.  Instead of the trusted operator
rising from his seat to greet him, his severed head sat on top of the
neat stack of radio equipment.  A sheet of blood had run down the
dials, knobs and meters on the front panels, spread along the table and
dripped over the edge onto the floor below.

Ichiwara stepped into the box-room.  The seat had been overturned.

There was blood all over the floor, but there was no body.  The
implications were obvious - and chilling.  He backed out slowly, then
froze as he heard a movement behind him.

'Do you not dare to face us, Ichiwara?"

The voice turned the secretary's knees to water.  Supporting himself on
the shelf unit, he inched round, keeping his eyes averted until the
last moment.

Prince Yoritomo, the Shogun, and his sister, Lady Mishiko, stood on the
far side of the room flanked by samurai and men from the Palace Guard
led by Captain Kamakura.  Kneeling on the floor between four of the
guards were two painted grass-monkeys - Mute slaves dressed in kimonos,
their wrists pinioned with ropes.  The taller of the two had a radio
transceiver hung around his neck.

They were not the only prizes.  Another member of the Palace Guard held
a string bag in each hand.  They contained the severed heads of
Watanabe, Ieyasu's Principal Private Secretary, and Samurai-Captain
Mashimatsu.

'You have betrayed us, Ichiwara,' said Yoritomo, in a voice stripped of
all emotion.  'You, your master, and all who serve him have sold your
souls in the hope of gaining power over me."

Ichiwara fell to his knees and hung his head.  Nothing he could say
would save him.  With Watanabe gone, all was lost.  Death, when it
came, would be a welcome release.

'For such a crime,' continued Yoritomo, 'your life cannot be spared,
but you can, at least, expect an honourable death if you will answer me
truthfully.  How long has your master been served by these infernal
devices?"

."Many years, sire."

'And how were they obtained?"

Silence.

'.Must we tear your flesh with red-hot irons?  Pluck out your eyes and
roast them slowly on their stalks?"

'By... by a... secret treaty with the Federation, sire."

'And who signed this treaty - your master?"

'I cannot say, sire - because I do not know.  Only Watanabe and the
Lord Chamberlain met with those who rule the Federation!"  'How
convenient.  For as you see, Watanabe lost his head in attempting to
escape retribution.  Never mind, I am sure ways can be found to prompt
your memory."

Yoritomo turned to Captain Kamakura.  'Have this wretch searched and
stripped of any means to kill himself.  He is to be secured in irons
and thrown into a cell."

Two guards seized Ichiwara and pinioned his arms behind his back as
they hauled him to his feet.

'Sire!"  he cried.  'I do not seek to save my life, but I beg you to
believe that in doing what we did, we had but one goal- to safeguard
your life, preserve your family and the future of the nation!'
Yoritomo's anger burst through.  'Ignoble dog!  You sought to preserve
the power of the Chamberlain's Office and the baleful influence of your
master!  You and the other jackals who serve him have conspired to
thwart 
my will from the very beginning!  And for this lie you will all
suffer the most painful death that can be devised!  Get him out of my
sight!"  The luckless Ichiwara was bundled out of the room.

Ieyasu's guards backed slowly into his official apartments as
Yoritomo's party advanced.  The Chamberlain emerged from his private
study and took in the sea of faces.  His eyes gave nothing away as they
alighted on Lady Mishiko and the two captive Mutes.

The radio hanging from the strap around the neck of the taller Mute
told him all he needed to know.  But he was not beaten yet.

'Ahh, sire!  How extraordinary!  I was on my way to advise you of your
sister's unexpected arrival, but I see she has forestalled me."  Ieyasu
bowed respectfully to Mishiko then pointed to Cadillac and Roz who had
been forced to their knees.  'Why have these two grubby animals been
brought before me?"

'They are here,' said Yoritomo, 'because they have an interesting tale
to tell."

'Since when has the word of a grass-monkey been worth more than the
spittle on the lips of an Iron Master?"

'They are not grass-monkeys, mi'lord,' said Mishiko.

'These are the long-dogs I told you about."

'You brought them here?  Then I was right!  You and Min-Orota are in
league with the YamaShita!"  'No, you are wrong, mi'lord.  Kiyo
Min-Orota stole these dogs from under the noses of the Yama-Shita to
prevent them from being used to destroy the authority and honour of the
TohYota."

'If that was his reason, why bring them here?!"  thundered Ieyasu.

'Why did he not kill them?!"  'Isn't it obvious?  I' cried
Yoritomo."Bringing them here was the only way of rooting out the cancer
which has been eating away at the body of the Toh-Yota!  The cancer
which is the source of the weakness our enemies are so eager to
exploit!  And that cancer is you, great uncle!

Your place-men, your servants, your army of spies who are in thrall to
the Dark Light!  This evil growth is your creation!

You, whom I relied upon to uphold the rule of law and maintain our most
cherished traditions, have betrayed everything we hold dear!"  Ieyasu,
unbowed by these accusations, responded with a dry laugh.  'In thrall
to the Dark Light?!  What nonsense is this?  You condemn me on the word
of this treacherous harlot?!  Are you so blind you cannot see the
thrust of this game?  She is a pawn of the Yama-Shita, and her motive
is revenge because you and I took away her plaything - the Herald
HaseGawa!"  Yoritomo did not waver.  'You are wrong, great-uncle.

YOu stand condemned by your own words.  The devices that you used to
extend your own power over me and this country have betrayed you!"  He
turned to the guards standing over Cadillac and Roz.  'Free the
long-dog's hands!  Let him make the box speak?

Ieyasu's face turned a paler shade of grey.

Using the counter as a guide, Cadillac rewound the LP tape to a certain
point, set the transceiver down on the floor, pressed the 'Play' button
and turned up the volume.

Everyone apart from Cadillac and Roz listened in awed silence as the
disembodied voice of Samurai-Captain Mashimatsu issued from the box,
followed by Ieyasu then Watanabe.

'... There were a handful of survivors- crewmen who were asleep in the
forward part of the vessel when the explosion occurred - but no trace
had been found of the twenty or so passengers believed to have been on
board at the time."

'Good fortune smiles upon us, Captain.  We were warned that a team of
assassins sent by the YamaShita might attempt to land from just such a
vessel.  It looks as if they have blown themselves up while preparing
explosive devices which they obviously intended to use against us.

'Make sure all the bodies are brought out of the water, and search the
outer islands in case there are survivors 
hiding there.  No one must
be allowed to escape justice.

Do I make myself clear?"

'Yes, sire.  ' 'See that the men are rewarded.  And you shall have your
long-awaited promotion.  I shall not of course tell the Shogun the real
reason for the glowing recommendation I will make on your behalf."

'To be able to serve you is honour enough, sire.  Your generosity
overwhelms me."

Sounds of movement, the rustle of robes and the noise of door screens
being slid aside.  Stockinged feet walked across straw matting then
Ichiwara's voice 'What are we to say when the lady and her children are
reported as missing from the Winter Palace?"

'We say nothing, Watanabe!  We simply look as puzzled as everyone else
I In time it will be discovered that she and the traitor Min-Orota
boarded two ships at Oshana bound for an unknown destination'.

Questions will have to be asked.  We must pursue the matter with our
usual zeal, but her fate will remain shrouded in mystery.  It will be a
sad loss to our family, as you can imagine- and I fear her brother will
feel it more keenly than most."

A dry laugh.

'We will have to find a -' Cadillac stopped the tape as the Shogun
sliced the air with his right hand, then pointed down at the
transceiver.

'It is all here, great-uncle.  Every word you have uttered today - to
the moment when you ordered your faithful secretary Ichiwara to destroy
the contents of the "box-room"."

Yoritomo indicated the kneeling figures of Cadillac and Roz.  'But
thanks to these long-dogs, we had already found it and were waiting for
his visit.  He has already told us a great deal and will no doubt be
persuaded to tell us more before suffering the fate of these two -'
Yoritomo stepped aside, revealing the soldier with the two string bags
who had been standing among the guards clustered behind him.

Responding to his signal, the soldier walked forward, bowed to ieyasu
and laid the bags containing the heads of Watanabe and Mashimatsu at
his feet.

Ieyasu looked down at them, unmoved, then faced Yoritomo with a
defiant, straight-backed stare.

'It is not my sister who plots against me, but you, great-uncle.

This box holds the proof in your own words!  Proof that you tried and
failed to kill my sister - and planued to rid yourself of her for a
second time - tonight!"  Yoritomo levelled an accusing finger at
Ieyasu.  'Seize him!"  The hands of Ieyasu's bodyguard flew to the
hilts of their swords as they formed a protective screen in front of
him- a gesture matched with equal speed by the Shogun's men.  But
neither side drew their deadly blades.  Ieyasu's guards were torn
between defending their master and obeying the Shogun.  As the ultimate
ruler of Ne-Issan, he commanded their higher obedience; to disobey him
meant certain death, but Ieyasu's reputation and the aura of power he
radiated was so awesome, he was able to stare his would-be captors
down.  No one dared make the first move against him.

'By the Gods!"  cried Yoritomo.  'You will pay for this; you spineless
rabble!"  He turned to Captain Kamakura the only man whose blade was
half out of his scabbard.

'Give me your sword!"  Kamakura, his face blanched with shame, dropped
down on one knee and placed the hilt of the sword in the Shogun's
out-stretched hand.

Yoritomo cut the air with two or three classic sword strokes to get the
feel of it then advanced on Ieyasu's bodyguard.  'Stand aside!"  he
thundered.

Ieyasu's guards ceded to his authority with a bow and backed off.  His
own men took a menacing pace forward.

Everyone held their breath as the Shogun came face to face with the
Lord Chamberlain.  Nephew and granduncle.

Ieyasu, who was the taller of the two, looked at Yoritomo with mocking
disdain.  The way one might eye a particularly tiresome child whose
demands could not be taken seriously.

'Have you taken leave of your senses?  Can't you see this is a plot
hatched by our enemies to discredit me?"

Ieyasu pointed to Lady Mishiko.  'Give me her for an hour and you will
hear from her own lips the names of those who have conspired to bring
me down!"  His words failed to sway Yoritomo.  'There is no plot-other
than the one you and Watanabe hatched with the masters of these
long-dogs!  Ichiwara had told me of the secret treaty which enabled you
to secure these devilish devices!  For years you have deceived me and
corrupted the soul of the nation!"  Ieyasu responded with a
contemptuous laugh.  'You foolish boy!  The whole world is built on
deceit and corruption!  But I have harnessed the venal appetites and
duplicity that surrounds us to a noble purpose - a nation at peace
under the flag of the Toh-Yota!  There is only one principle I cleave
to - the maintenance of power- by any means!  For without power, all
your lofty principles and moral posturings are worthless!  Strong
governments survive, the weak fall to the sword.

'Of course I have lied and cheated!  I have stopped at nothing to
ensure our family continues to rule this land .  Our enemies know me
for what I am.  That is why they fear me.  They may bow to you, but
privately they mock you because they know that behind your monkish
habits and your pious air of self-denial is a flawed human being
inflamed by unnatural desires!  Truly a son fit for his father's
shoes?

Enraged by Ieyasu's public denunciation and mortified with shame,
Yoritomo raised the sword and adopted a threatening posture.

'Go on!"  urged Ieyasu fearlessly.  'Strike!  Show us you are fit to
lead this nation into war - for that is what will follow as soon as you
have dispensed with me?

The trembling blade remained poised as Yoritomo tried vainly to steady
his shaking hands.  The suspense became unbearable.  Most of those
watching thought the Shogun would throw down the sword, but Kamakura
knew the blow would fall.  Failure to act would have resulted in
irretrievable loss of face.  Ieyasu had goaded the young Shogun beyond
endurance, and the old fox had done so deliberately in order to avoid a
slower and more agonising death by torture.  Traditionally a public
spectacle, it was, for a nobleman, the ultimate humiliation.

Ieyasu grasped his long staff in both hands and raised it threateningly
The blade flashed forward, piercing him through the abdomen.  Once.

Twice.  The Chamberlain gasped, but did not cry out.  He sank slowly to
his knees, clutching the wounds.  Blood gushed out between his
fingers.

'You fool!"  he croaked.  'You blind fool!  You have thrown everything
away.  It is not me you should have killed...

it is these.  worthless.  creatures that.  surround you!"  His last
words fell on deaf ears.  Yoritomo handed the blood-stained sword back
to Kamakura.  'Behead him .... ' The Guard Captain did so with one
swift, precisely-aimed stroke as the dying Chamberlain toppled
forward.

YoritOmo stared down at the severed head of his mentor then kicked it
aside as he led Lady Mishiko out of the room.  Two of his bodyguards
ran ahead of him and slid the door-panels aside.  As he passed through,
Yoritomo turned back.

Everyone bowed.

'Captain Kamakura!"  'Sire...?"

'These rooms are to be sealed and guarded until a thorough search for
incriminating documents can be organised."

'Yes, sire!"  'All members of the Lord Chamberlain's staff, from those
who hold high office to the lowest of his servants, his appointees
within the palace, his gaming cronies and female procurers are to be
arrested, put in chains, and placed in close confinement.  I want them
all under lock and key before dawn."

Yoritomo pointed to Ieyasu's crestfallen bodyguard.  'And you can
start with these insolent swine!  Is that understood?"

'Perfectly!"  'Good.  Report to me when it is done."

'And the long-dog envoys, sire?"

'Seize them too!  We will show their masters what happens to those who
seek to enslave us with the Dark Light!  And throw this pair in with
them!"  Roz and Cadillac looked at each other in dismay as their arms
were seized by four of Kamakura's men.  Being tossed in the slammer had
not been part of the plan ....

CHAPTER TWELVE

Surrounded by his bodyguard and a dozen soldiers from the Shield Unit,
the Shogun and Lady Mishiko swept out of the dead Chamberlain's
apartments, leaving Captain Kamakura and twenty of his men to carry out
his orders.  Kamakura, shocked by the speed of events, found himself in
something of a dilemma.

Jailing Secretary Ichiwara and Ieyasu's six guards was a simple,
straightforward matter, likewise the seizure of the.  envoys in the
North Tower.  They might protest, but would offer no resistance - but
how was he to deal with the two spirit-witches whom the Shogun had
taken to be painted long-dogs!

When they had removed their masks in Lady Mishiko's audience chamber,
he had seen their gnarled grey faces change shape and colour - becoming
smooth-boned grass-monkeys in the twinkling of an eye!  It was widely
believed they could turn ordinary mortals who offended them into all
manner of birds, animals and insects.

Kamakura had no wish to anger them but when the Shogun gave an order,
he had to obey.  What on earth, he asked himself, was he to do?

Lady Mishiko had not told him what was to happen after they had played
their part in exposing Lord Ieyasu's treachery, but he could not
believe she intended them to be locked in a prison cell!

Kamakura clasped his hands behind his back and wandered back and forth
in front of the witches, hoping for a look or a word that would resolve
his dilemma.

Neither was forthcoming.  Forced down on their knees by the pressure on
their arms, they hung their heads like the other prisoners whose plight
they shared.

Aware that his men were looking at him expectantly, Kamakura came to a
decision.  The witches were protected by powerful magic.  They would
free themselves at a moment of their own choosing, and in a way which
would not cast doubt on Lady Mishiko's role in this affair.  Or his
own.  All well and good - but when it happened, how was he going to
explain the loss of two important prisoners?

Just as Kamakura was about to issue the order to have the prisoners
taken away, one of the Shogun's bodyguards appeared in the doorway.

'Captain!  You are required to attend the Shogun!"  Kamakura clicked
his heels to acknowledge the summons.

The gods were with him.  With a bit of luck, the spirit-witches might
disappear while in someone else's custody.  He turned to the junior
officer who had been placed in charge of Ichiwara.  'Carry on in my
absence, lieutenant!  Send six men to pick up the long-dogs from the
North Tower, and convey them and these swine to the dungeons!"  His
departure, combined with the lieutenant's assumption of command and
despatch of six men to arrest the two Tracker envoys, led to a great
deal of heel-dicking and foot-pounding, which allowed Cadillac to pass
a whispered message to Roz.

'Time to go - by the back door - need a minute to pick up a few things
without anyone seeing- so put these guys out of action - and do it
now!"  One of the guards holding his arms brought his knee round and
slammed it into the side of Cadillac's head.

'Shut your mouth[' The jarring blow inflicted by his knee was nothing
compared to the sharp jagged pain that shot through the guard's own
skull from ear to ear as the room exploded in a dazzling burst of white
light.  He let go of Cadillac and clutched at his head, but even with
his eyes closed and covered, he could not shut out the light that was
burning into his brain.

Nor could the other soldiers and their captives.  Crippled by the agony
and blinded by the light and with their vocal chords paralysed by the
pain, they stumbled into each other then fell to the floor clutching
their tortured skulls and screaming soundlessly.

The mind-warp Roz had produced was so powerful Cadillac could not stop
it invading his own brain.  Fortunately, the mental rapport they had
developed enabled him to 'tune out' much of the unpleasantness but it
still left with him a king-sized headache.  A shimmering white haze
filled the room, blurring the outlines of people and objects, and
bleaching out nearly all the colour.

Screwing up his eyes against the light, he gave Roz's arm a reassuring
squeeze.  'You're amazing.  Here, take the.  radio!  Unlock the door to
the secret passage and get ready to go through!"  'I can't!  I have to
stay here where I can keep a visual fix on these guys.  That's how it
works!"  'Okay, I'll do it.  But when I call, get there fast!"  Picking
up the hem of his kimono, he stepped quickly over the bodies in his
path and recovered the hidden listening device.

The next task was somewhat messier.  Skirting the pool of blood that
had poured from Ieyasu's severed neck and his punctured body, Cadillac
tipped the heads of Watanabe and Mashimatsu out of their string bags
and collected the head of Ieyasu.

With this grisly task completed, he relieved the lieutenant of his
sword, took the radio from Roz and ran through the intervening rooms
into the bed-chamber.  Releasing the catch on the hidden door, he
carried the radio and the headbag into the secret passage beyond then
returned sword in hand, leaving the door closed but with the catch
open.

Running back to the study, he found Roz had backed into the doorway,
ready to make a fast exit.  Beyond her, the soldiers and their captives
were still on the floor with most of them curled up into a foetal
position, their arms wrapped round their heads.

'Okay!  Let's go!"  He spun Roz around and pushed her ahead of him.

'C'mon!  Move, move, move!"  
'What's with the sword?"  gasped Roz, as
they reached the door and slithered through.  'Mind-magic not good
enough?"

'This is just for emergencies."  His face twisted angrily as he slammed
an open palm against the wall.  'Oh, shit!

I forgot to bring a lantern!"  'That's okay.  I left one here under the
bottom step when we came to plant the bug.  And a flint lighter."

Cadillac pulled the secret door shut and slipped the inside catch into
place.  'You're a genius."

'I'm glad one of us is."  Roz felt her way down the steps, retrieved
the hidden lantern, lit the oiled wick and trimmed the flame.  Looking
up, she saw Cadillac with the radio in one hand and the head bag in the
other.  'Did you have to bring him along?"

'Yes."

'And the other bag - is that for the Shogun?"

'Yes."

'You're crazy."

'That's what you said when I suggested rowing sixteen miles in a
crowded long-boat.  I know what I'm doing, Roz, so don't argue.  We
came here to do a job, and the only way to prove we've done it is by
handing the heads of Yoritomo and Ieyasu over to the Yama-Shita.

They're not going to start a war just on our say-so!"  'No, you're
right."  She raised the lantern.  'Where do we go from here?"

Back in the study, the soldiers and captives had started to come round
soon after Roz had broken her hold on their minds but they were not
able to leap immediately into action.  The crippling head pains had
gone, leaving them with the dying residue of a monster hang*over and
troubled vision.  The after-effect on their eyesight was similar to
having a series of flash-bulbs popping off in your face and it took a
few moments to clear.

Some people recovered faster than others, notably Ichiwara and four of
Ieyasu's personal guard.  Driven by the basic instinct for
self-preservation they were on their feet and heading for the exit
while everyone else was trying to haul themselves off the floor.

The soldiers fell on the remaining pair of Ieyasu's guards and disarmed
them before any more damage could be done.  Seizing one of their
long-swords to replace his own, the distraught lieutenant sent several
of his men in pursuit of the fleeing prisoners, and despatched six more
as ordered to the North Tower.

The Shogun had summoned Captain Kamakura to ask him whether, in the
light of Mashimatsu's involvement in the attempt to kill his sister and
her children, the company of soldiers under his command could be
trusted to remain loyal.  'If you consider the conversation we
overheard,' said Yoritomo, 'it's clear that several men were
involved."

'That's true, sire.  But if they were soldiers from the Palace Guard, I
do not believe they would have known who the target was.  In fact,
there was every reason not to tell them."

'True... But if we are to secure the Palace and rout out the rest of
the scum in Ieyasu's employ, we need to know who is with us and who is
against us."

With so many of Lord Ieyasu's place-men on the resident staff of the
Palace, it was a difficult question to answer.  In Kamakura's book, the
rank and file soldiers were simple, honest fellows with no interest in,
or understanding of, political intrigue.  That only afflicted the
higher ranks who saw the chance of preferment and privilege by backing
one camp against another, and the opportunists within the Inner Court
whose empty lives left them with little else to do.

The men could be counted upon to follow orders, but their subsequent
conduct would depend on who took command and the reasons that were
given for doing so.  At the moment, No.2 Company did not even know
Mashimatsu had been beheaded.

Once again the gods were with him.  Just as he was about to reply, the
Shogun's guards admitted the breathless lieutenant who fell to his
knees and broke the news that Secretary Ichiwara, four of Ieyasu's

guards and the two painted long-dogs had escaped from custody.

'We were blinded by a brilliant light that robbed us of our senses!  It
pierced our skulls like red hot skewers!

No one could withstand it!  We fell like dead men to the ground.  When
the light vanished and we found our feet again, Ichiwara and the others
were gone!"  'By the gods!"  cried Yoritomo.  'Do they threaten us with
yet more of their devilish devices?"  He turned to Kamakura.  'Could
the envoys from the Federation have had a hand in this?"

'I cannot say, sire.  I only learned of their presence from the Lord
Chamberlain's conversation.  Their reception was handled by his staff
and kept secret from everyone else."  He glared down at the hapless
lieutenant.  'Did you send men to arrest them as I ordered?"

'Y-Yes, sir!"  Yoritomo cut in.  'Then sound a General Alert!  The
traitor Ichiwara and others whom you allowed to escape must be
recaptured before they can rouse their friends and resist us!  Are the
gates sealed?"

Kamakura clicked his heels as he stiffened to attention.

'Yes, sire!  And you can rely on the men from the 3rd and 4th Company,
as well as my own!"  'Perhaps the 2nd Company too,' said Yoritomo.  'If
Ichiwara evades us, it will not be long before word reaches them that
the Lord Chamberlain, his Chief Secretary and their commander have paid
the'penalty for trying to usurp my power.  These soldiers are not
stupid.

They are bound to realise that any sign of disaffection would be
pointless."  He laughed.  'With Ieyasu dead, who is there to serve
other than he?"

Kamakura bowed his head.  'No one, sire."

'Exactly!  And that is what I shall tell them."  He extended his hand
to Mishiko.  'Come, sister.  The Captain and I will escort you to your
quarters."

This was not at all what Lady Mishiko wanted.  She fell on her knees
before the Shogun and clutched the front of his dark, richly
embroidered kimono.

Kamakura and everyone else backed away politely and bowed their
heads.

By the convoluted rules of Iron Master etiquette, they were now deemed
to be invisible and deaf to what passed between Yoritomo and Mishiko.

'My Lord!  Dearest brother!  If you love me, let me stay in your
quarters for the rest of this dreadful night!  Lord Ieyasu ruled over a
secret world of shadows and you may be sure that this palace has its
share of spies and assassins.

When they hear that I denounced their master they will seek revenge.  I
will not be safe until every one of them is under lock and key!"

."Then I will place guards outside your bedchamber,' said Yoritomo.  He
took hold of her hands and pulled her gently to her feet.  'You shall
have as many as you wish.  You shall have protection night and day for
as long as you desire it."

Mishiko shook her head.  'No!  No!  You will need every man you can
spare to arrest the traitors within these walls!"  She dropped her
voice to an urgent whisper.  'Let me lie in your shadow.  Your love is
all the protection I need .... ' 'Mishiko!  There is so much to do!  I
must send word to our family, telling them of ieyasu's treachery.  His
place-men will have to be removed from the government, but with so many
of them holding key positions it will cause absolute chaos."

'Then don't do it.  At least not yet.  News of Ieyasu's death, the
details of how and why he died, need not pass beyond the Palace
walls.

Time is on your side.  In the coming days, when your head is cooler,
you will find ways to profit by what has happened.

'No one need know the truth.  He was an old man whose lustful appetite
never waned.  If we announce he was sucked to death by one of his
little strumpets, no one at court will raise an eyebrow."  Mishiko
lifted both hands from his chest and caressed his face and neck.  'I
could wish for no better fate than to meet a sweet death in your
arms."

'Sweet death' was the courtly euphemism for an orgasm.

Yoritomo felt his heartbeat quicken as her nearness brought back the
memories of their secret couplings.  The killing of his great-uncle and
the realisation that he was at last master of his own destiny had made
him feel quite bullish.  He could do anything.

'Very well.  Wait here.  I will arrange to have your children and their
nurse sent to you.  My servants can make up beds in one of the other
rooms."

'Send Oyoki too,' whispered Mishiko.  'I shall need her help to prepare
myself."

Yoritomo clasped her hands tightly in his arms.  'Be patient.  I will
return as soon as I have made certain that the Palace is in our
hands."

Entering the Shogun's bed-chamber, Mishiko caught a fleeting glimpse of
two shadowy figures which vanished as an icy hand seemed to clutch her
brain.  Recognising the presence of magic, she dismissed the servants
whom Yoritomo had ordered to wait on her, and asked not to be disturbed
until her brother returned.

As the servants withdrew, Roz released the mind-lock she had placed on
them all.  To Mishiko, the two hooded white-masked witches appeared to
materialise out of thin air, but their previous invisibility was only a
trick of the mind.  Roz's mesmeric power enabled her to create optical
illusions.  It is a well known fact that the brain sees what it thinks
it sees, not what is actually there and this was the phenomenon that
Roz exploited.  Mishiko and the servants had seen her and Cadillac, but
were persuaded to delete that piece of visual information from their
mental picture of the room and fill in the resulting gaps using data
from their memory banks.

'You have done well, mi'lady,' husked Cadillac.  'The prize is within
your grasp, but we remain close at hand in case you have need of us."

Roz took control of Mishiko's mind and conjured up an image of the
Herald.  In three strides he had crossed the room and gathered Mishiko
into his arms.  His 'face was still pale but it was no longer grey and
haggard.  His eyes were clear and his voice stronger.  'Can you see how
the death of Ieyasu has given me new hope and strength?  We are but one
step from eternal happiness in each other's arms I' Rooted to the spot,
her eyes closed, Mishiko lifted her face to the invisible Herald.  In
her mind's eye, her body was crushed against his in a passionate
embrace.

She could feel, with dreamlike intensity, the soft moist texture of his
lips on hers, the warmth of his cheek against her face, the muscled
strength of his arms and the heat in his loins.

Cadillac sidled up to Roz and whispered: 'Okay, I've planted the bug.

Is she gonna go through with it?"

'Oh, yes,' said Roz, her voice breaking.  'Don't worry.

She's not going to let anything stop her now."  She backed towards the
false beam and followed Cadillac through into the passage before
releasing her mental grip on Mishiko.

Whispering a declaration of undying love, the Herald stepped back and
vanished.  Mishiko found herself standing in an empty room, with her
arms stretched out in front of her.  She could still feel the lines
traced over her hands by his fingers as he slipped from her grasp.

Wrapping her arms around her ribs, Mishiko fell to her knees on the
mattress bed and rocked slowly back and forth, nursing the unbearable
pain of separation.  Soon, my love.  Soon....

Roz and Cadillac sat sideways on the narrow set of steps that led up to
the secret doorway into the Shogun's bed-chamber with their backs
against the same wall.  The lamp, its wick trimmed to conserve the
precious oil, stood on the floor of the passageway below.  The dim
light did not reach all the way up the stairs- an arrangement which
suited Roz because it meant that Ieyasu's head-bag was lost in the
shadows.  Her elbow was parked on the same step as Cadillac's feet and
between them was the radio, tuned to the listening bug he had placed
under the small 
black lacquered table.  If all went well, it would
broadcast the sounds of death and its aftermath sometime between now
and dawn, and would help them gauge when it was safe to enter to obtain
the final piece of evidence they needed.

Cadillac sensed that Roz was deeply troubled by the trail of violence
she had helped to unleash and the knowledge that the blood-letting had
barely begun.  He reached down and tried to lay a comforting hand on
her shoulder.  It felt hard and unwelcoming.

'Roz, listen - I know what this is doing to you.  But now we've
started, we have to see it through.  Just remember this woman is no
different from the rest of them.  These people are merciless.  If she
didn't want vengeance, we couldn't have made her do this."

Roz averted her face.  'Good.  That makes me feel a whole lot
better."

She drew a finger across both cheeks to dry them.  'You don't seem to
have grasped she's not just driven by hate.  Mishiko's about to kill
herself because of her love for a dead man.  She can't bear to live
without him."

To Cadillac, this all sounded depressingly familiar.

He sighed wearily and received an unexpectedly painful punch in the
thigh.  'Owww!!"  'Don't try and yawn this one off, you bastard!  Have
you any idea what that means - to love someone that much?

The one worthwhile emotion in this world and what have we done?

Exploited it for our own ends in the cruellest of deceptions.  We
pushed her into.  this by building up her hopes and what's she going to
end up with?  Nothing!

You may find that a big joke, but it makes me feel sick inside."

Cadillac rubbed his thigh and prepared to ward off another punch.  'At
least she'll die happy.  Disappointment is an emotion you can only
suffer from when you're alive."

'It must feel good to have a pat answer to everything."

She brushed away his hand as it reached out for her shoulder again.

'This is the wrong time for us to fall out, Roz.  I know what love is,
and I know what we've done and why.  If you still think I'm the bad guy
by the time we get home take it out on me then.  Meanwhile we've got
work to do."

'Sure,' she sniffed.  'Just blowing off steam.  Don't worry.  The
doctor will still be on call."

Cadillac 'decided it would be wiser not to respond.  That was the
trouble with words.  They could always be twisted around to give them a
meaning you never intended.  Once uttered, words could never be
un-said- and no amount of apologising could ever erase them from the
mind.  'Could you pass me up the lamp?  I'd like to take another look
at this alternative escape route Mishiko sketched out for

US."

Roz handed him the lamp without a word.  The fate of Lady Mishiko and
her children was not the only thing troubling her.  Roz now knew,
without any shadow of doubt, that Steve was in the Summer Palace.  The
shock of his arrest and the rough treatment meted out by his captors
had triggered a clean contact.  The mind-bridge was open again.

Steve's companion was a woman- and with that image had come the feeling
of power.  She was a member of the First Family.  Someone close to the
President-General-someone whom Roz had never met but who knew her
almost as well as she knew herself.

Cadillac had floated the idea of capturing the envoys and trading them
for Clearwater and her child, but since their argument in the hot tub
he hadn't said anything further.  And with the envoys now in the
slammer, he had probably decided it was one problem too many.  If so,'
he would have to think again because Rozalynn Roosevelt Brickman wasn't
leaving without her kin-brother ....

The dungeons of the Summer Palace were situated below the main
courtyard.  A square, raised stone structure with heavy iron grilles in
the side which served as a kind of clerestory, surmounted a vertical
shaft that ran from top to bottom of the subterranean cell-block and
provided 
the only natural light to reach into the passages running off
it.

The cells nearest the shaft were provided with some light and
ventilation; those at the far end of the passageways remained shrouded
in gloom during the day.

The air was stale and fetid, and at night the pitch darkness was only
relieved by the occasional glow of a lamp carried by a patrolling
prison warder.

It was in one of these less favoured units on the second floor down
that Steve and Fran now found themselves, after being hauled out of bed
by six frenzied armed men who had pushed them around and yelled abuse
in their faces as they complied with the order to dress.  The trail
bags with their hidden radio packs had then been rammed against their
chests and they were given a few more seconds to pack the rest of their
belongings before being hustled down a bewildering maze of passageways
into a foul-smelling japanese underworld.

There was no point in protesting.  Steve knew when these guys were
hyped up anything could happen and it was likely to be very
unpleasant.

That didn't stop Fran trying, but before she'd uttered three words, she
had been silenced by a rain of blows to her head and back delivered by
the Soldiers behind her.  Steve got it in the neck too, just for being
there.  The nightmare journey had ended in a dank corridor with a
cell-door being slammed shut behind them as they were sent sprawling on
their faces in a bed of straw that reeked of urine and human
excrement.

Having been raised in the Federation, neither of them felt
claustrophobic, but the sudden transition from relative luxury to a
dark, stinking cell had left them feeling totally disoriented.  No one
had offered a word of explanation, but it was obvious something had
gone badly wrong.  A major upset in which they were deemed to be
implicated.  This was definitely not a fun place.  The clammy stone
walls smelt as if they were coated with blood, sweat and fear.

Steve was alarmed at the sudden downturn in their fortunes, but he
wasn't frightened.  For in the same instant as he collided with the
floor, the wall he had built around his mind blew apart, allowing Roz
to enter.

The telepathic bond between them was like a videophone line down which
he could send words and pictures.

But for Steve that was where it ended.  Roz had the uncanny ability to
search him out with her mind and locate his position with the aid of a
map.  And because Steve had been the only one, so far, to have suffered
serious injury, the mysterious process by which her body produced
replicate wounds appeared to be another unique attribute.

The link was clean and strong, just as it had been when he'd sent out
the desperate May-Day appeal from the locked cabin of the wheel-boat,
but the unexpected contact left his mind reeling.

Roz wasn't in Wyoming.  She was here, in the Summer Palace- with
Cadillac!

They were involved in an operation against the TohYota.

That was the reason for the present uproar, and why he and Fran had
been arrested.

Terrific.  Just what he needed!

What the hell did Cadillac think he was up to?  Steve didn't give a
damn about the deal the Federation had been trying to set up, but he
did care about the fallout.

Even if Roz was able to make good her unspoken promise to spring him
from this rat-hole it would still leave everything totally messed up.

The overthrow of the present ruling family might be a good enough
reason for returning empty-handed, but if the P-G found out the deal
had been blown by Roz and Cadillac, 8902

Brickman S.R. could kiss goodbye to the high life and look forward to
getting his balls roasted.

His involvement with both of them was too deep for him to disclaim all
responsibility.  Even though he and Roz hadn't been inside each other's
.heads since she'd left the Red River wagon-train, he couldn't prove
it.  Karlstrom and the P-G were bound to believe he was 
in this up to
his neck.  Prior knowledge and active involvement.  A tough rap to
beat.

If the flak came his way, Fran would step aside.  You could bet your
last credit on that.  It made better sense to try and get Fran out on
his own.  At least that would earn him an E for Effort.  Yeah... plus
an A for an Amazing escape from a locked underground cell.

The only way it could be done was with outside help.  Between them, Roz
and Cadillac had the skill and the power.  If they concealed their true
identities from Fran, Brickman S.R. could avoid being fatally
compromised.  All well and good, but AMEXICO had men inside Ne-Issan
with their ear to the ground - guys like Sidewinder.  If the Toh-Yota
fell and the shit hit the fan, the truth was bound to come out.

Steve found himself smiling as these thoughts ran through his head.  It
was one crazy kind of world where being rescued was the worst thing
that could happen to you.

From further down the corridor came the sound of a flurry of blows,
followed by hoarse screams and curses.  A woman gave a shrill
animal-like scream of pain.  Another heavy, iron-clad door slammed
shut.  Bolts were rammed home.  The noise subsided, leaving only the
sound of someone sobbing quietly.

'Any of that make sense to you?"  asked Steve.  All he could see of
Fran was the barely discernible outline of her head framed by a square
of dark grey that marked the barred window in the cell door.

'Not much,' she replied.  'The woman who cried out was saying she was
innocent.  Of what, I don't know.

Not that it matters.  Whoever's running this place doesn't seem to be
taking much notice."

Steve heard more faint voices.  'What's happening?"

'If you will just keep quiet, maybe I'll be able to tell you!"  Fran
listened intently, then said: 'Must be one of the warders.  He was
asking where he should put the new arrivals."

Steve joined her by the door and feigned ignorance.

'Why are they arresting so many people in the middle of the night?"  As
he asked the question he realised he was standing next to someone who'd
seen this kind of thing before.  But from the other side.  'Some kind
of purge, huh?"

Fran nodded.  'Looks that way."

'But why us?  Hell - we're here at the invitation of Ieyasu and the
Shogun."

'Exactly,' said Fran.  'Maybe they're not in charge any more."

Steve caught his breath and continued to play the innocent.  'Hey,
c'mon, that's crazy!  Karlstrom and the P-G wouldn't have sent us here
if they'd known something like this was brewing."

'Karlstrom?  Huhh!  Don't be fooled by him.  He's the worst head of
AMEXICO we've ever had!"  'You're kidding!"  'I'm telling you,
Brickman!

You're just a new boy, okay?  He's hanging onto that job by his
fingertips - and has been for years.  And the only reason he's still
there is because the P-G keeps on giving him another chance.

They were childhood buddies."

'I'm amazed.  He's always given me the impression of being in total
control.  Like he had the inside track on everything and everybody
....

' 'Yeah, sure,' said Fran, letting go of the bars.  'So how come we're
in this mess?"  She slid down the wall onto the straw and drew her
knees up against her chest.

Steve couldn't believe what she had said about Karlstrom was true, but
it was an interesting piece of malicious gossip that warranted further
investigation.

It was also typical of Fram Unable to blame him for their present
predicament, she had converted her anxiety into a spiteful attack on
the head of the organisation he worked for.

The thing was - did she have the necessary resilience to pull through
something like this?  She had faced down Ieyasu's aides with some tough
talking, but that was all 
it had been - talk.  As far as he knew, Fran
had never suffered a day of discomfort in the whole of her privileged
existence.  When she'd put the verbal boot into Karlstrom there had
been a noticeable quaver in her voice.  Anger or the first signs of
panic?

He dropped down beside her and laid a reassuring arm across her
shoulders.  'Listen.  I know this doesn't look too good at the moment,
but don't let it get to you.  We'll figure a way out."

Fran bristled and pushed his arm away.  'You can be a real pain in the
butt, y'know that?!  Yeah, sure, I'm scared.  Who wouldn't be?  But I'm
not about to come apart at the seams.  Y'got that, Captain?"

'Yessurrma'am!"  'Good.  Now get this.  You may be the best thing that
happened to me so far, but if you ever lay that "poor little woman"
shit on me again, you'll find yourself back in the A-Levels.  And this
time you'll stay there!"  Fran seemed to have completely forgotten her
first night at sea when she'd clung to him like a terrified child.

I'm dealing with an irrational human being here, thought Steve.  If I
show no concern, I'm unsympathetic.  If I offer comfort, I'm being
patronising.  And if I disagree, I'm insubordinate.

It was a no-win situation, but there was nothing he could do about
it.

He was stuck with her ....

On being respectfully informed that Oyoki, her personal maid-servant
had arrived in the anteroom, Mishiko emerged from the Shogun's private
suite of rooms.

Oyoki was- accompanied by Nitobe, one of the eight guards who had
helped to row the long-boat.  He had a bloodstained bandage around his
neck and over his left ear, and another on his left forearm.  Oyoki
looked distraught, and when she and Nitobe fell to their knees before
her, she burst into tears.

Mishiko went cold inside.  'You have not brought my children?"

Oyoki answered with a wailing incantation and began to sob
uncontrollably, rocking back and forth with her hands clasped to her
chest - the traditional way of mourning the dead.

Mishiko's outward demeanour did not change.  Anger and joy were
permissible emotions, but it was not proper for someone of noble birth
to display any sign of weakness in front of lesser beings.

She addressed the guard.  'Nitobe...?"

The wounded man touched the straw matting with his forehead then sat
back on his heels.  'Your highness, it shames me to bring you such
grievous news.  Your children are dead.  Secretary Ichiwara and four of
Ieyasu's personal guards burst into your apartments and put everyone
they met to the sword!  They were like men possessed!  We fought back
and killed them all, but not before Ichiwara reached your children and
their nurse."

His face crumpled.  'Your maids tried to shield them with their
bodies.

Only Oyoki and Katiwa survived."

Mishiko received this news with the same blank face.

'And my valiant guards...?"

Nitobe lowered his head.  'Four died, your highness.

Another may not live beyond morning.  Two more received sword thrusts
to the body.  I am the only one who can walk unaided."

'I commend your bravery, Nitobe.  Go and tend your wounded companions
and give them my thanks."

The guard bowed and left.  Oyoki choked back her grief.  Mishiko
motioned her to rise.

'Dry your tears, Oyoki.  Only the common people display their grief
outside the temple precincts.  Ask my brother's servants to prepare me
a bath then bring two cups and a good supply of sake.  If we are to be
denied happiness, we can at least drown our sorrows!"  It was after
midnight when the Shogun and his escort returned.  He looked tired, but
there was a firm set to his jaw and a hard glitter in his eyes.

Captain Kamakura was with him.  Mishiko bowed in greeting.  Yoritomo
sat 
down on the stool that had been placed under him and spread his
arms and legs to enable his servants to remove his armour.

'The Palace is ours.  The future is assured.  Did you hear the
cheers?

That was me winning the hearts of the second company."  He gave a quick
laugh.  'If there were any waverers, they soon fell into line when
Mashimatsu's head was paraded past them on a pole!"  His face tightened
as he saw her kneeling maidservant.

'You know then?"

'Yes, my lord.  Oyoki has spared you the pain of telling me yourself.

The Fates have played a cruel trick on us.

Just when we are about to savour victory, they hand us a poisoned
chalice?

'It should never have happened.  That fool of a lieutenant and the
soldiers who let Ichiwara go will pay dearly for this."

Mishiko fell to her' knees before him.  'No, my lord!

I beg you!  Do not punish them.  What will their companions think when
they see those who serve you loyally so cruelly rewarded?"

Her appeal for clemency was an oblique reference to the fate of the
Herald Hase-Gawa.  If Yoritomo made the connection, it didn't show.  He
stood up as the last of his armour was removed and helped her to
rise.

'My dearest sister!  An example must be made!  The death of your
children must be avenged!"  'The hot blood of those who conspired with
Ieyasu will satisfy me,' she whispered.  She extended a hand towards
Kamakura.  'Let us give thanks that the gods have shown favour to your
loyal Captain by sparing his daughter."

'Hah!  Then he is doubly blest?  cried Yoritomo.  'For I have made him
Castle CommandantI' 'And General Tadoshi?"

'With the rest of my grand-uncle's vile cronies!  In a cell!"  Mishiko
favoured Kamakura with a regal nod.  'I could not think of a more
fitting recompense for your service to this family."

'Your highness is most gracious .... ' Mishiko beckoned to her
maid-servant.  'Come, Oyoki.

Go with your father.  Have him convey you to the safety of your family
home.  Remain there until I call upon you to attend me - and do your
best to put this dreadful night out of your mind."

'Yes, my lady."

Catching the look in his sister's eyes, Yoritomo ordered his bodyguard
and the other members of his entourage to remain on call, then ushered
her into his private suite.

As his valet and personal servants went to follow, he motioned them to
wait outside.

.When the doors closed he confronted Mishiko.  'You astound me.  How
can you concern yourself with the welfare of servants when your own
children have just been murdered?!"  'Because I share your royal blood,
my lord.  Have you not shown your magnanimity tonight?  It is by our
actions towards the living that we are measured.  We can do nothing for
the dead except honour their memory.  As for my children, I will bear
their loss with the same fortitude that has helped me endure our
separation.

'May the gods nurture their innocent souls and grant me forgiveness!  I
bore them and treated them tenderly but I could never take them into my
heart because they were never fully mine!  They sprang from the seed of
my late, unlamented husband, the Consul General-pumped into me by the
same organ that was thrust daily into his gutter-whores!

'Now he is nothing - and I have nothing to remind me of him!  I can
wipe away ten years of shame!  It can be as it was between us before
Ieyasu drove me away!"  'Mishiko!  Soon perhaps, but not ,now.  This is
not the time!"  She seized his hands.  'Yes!  Yes!  This's the time!

We must seize the moment!  Can't you feel it?  With Ieyasu's death you
have been reborn!  I can see it in your eyes!  You are the master
now!"

She drew his hands onto her breasts.

'Seal our victory by giving me your child tonightt Do not 
deny me
this, for without your love, I have nothing to live for?

Yoritomo could feel her nipples pressing through the silken robe into
the palms of his hands.  The sensation rekindled the old desires he had
never fully suppressed.

Mishiko was right.  This was a rebirth.  And tonight those youthful
desires had been given an extra spice.

The killing, the blood, the violence, the heady taste of absolute
power, his sister's emotional turmoil formed a potent cocktail.  For
the first time he felt unashamed.

There was no need to hide.  Let those around him disapprove if they
dared.  Yes!  He was the master now!

'I shall deny you nothing, Mishi,' he whispered.  'For you were my
first love, and will be my last .... ' After Yoritomo's servants had
prepared them, they met again in the darkened bed-chamber, now perfumed
by burning joss-sticks.  Four charcoal braziers cast their warming glow
over the large mattress-bed.  Lady Mishiko greeted her brother with the
required degree of respect for his position as supreme ruler of
Ne-Issan, then slowly undressed him, covering his naked flesh with
lingering kisses as more and more of it was revealed.

When the last garment fell away, and he stood before her, his pale skin
tinted orange by the firelight, she gathered up the hem of the filmy
silken shift she had been given to wear, lifted it over her head and
cast it aside.

Keeping her arms lifted high and wide, she presented her heavy rounded
breasts with their erect nipples raised for his inspection, then turned
her back on him.

Act One ....

These preliminaries were part of a ritual that her adolescent brother
had cajoled and bullied her into.

She had quickly learned what pleased him, and over the years their
furtive couplings had always followed the same pattern - like actors
playing traditional roles in a Noli drama about star-crossed lovers.

Yoritomo's hands slid under her arms and up onto her breasts,
flattening them against her rib-cage and drawing her body back against
his.  This was how it had begun during that long hot summer; the very
first movement he had made on entering the shaded coolness of her room
and stealing up behind her.  Then as now, she felt her nipples sprout
between his parted fingers as his great stick wedged itself between his
belly and the cleft in her buttocks.

Then she hadn't known what he expected of her, but there was no
hesitation now.  Raising herself up on tiptoe, she parted her thighs
and straddled him as he slipped through.

Act Two... Even now, fifteen years and countless penetrations later,
Yoritomo felt his mind reel as he relived the moment when his innermost
desires were fulfilled.  It was all he had dreamed of and more.  She
had become an ardent slave that he could bend to his will, could submit
to, could suffer any indignity he fancied at her hands without losing
control of the situation or her respect.

Mishiko also remembered that moment.  He had come upon her like a
rutting stag.  And she, like a young doe in heat, had responded.  Their
first encounter left her feeling confused and ashamed, but it had
opened a well-spring of desire.  She had never loved Yoritomo, but she
was - like their father- highly-sexed.  Their semi-secret relationship
had provided the opportunity to satisfy her physical needs without
going through the whole tiresome business of having to get married to a
young man that her family approved of but who, by the very nature of
things, she was bound to detest.  Which was precisely what had happened
when the family married her off to the Consul-General Nakane
TohShiba.

It was only with the Herald, Toshiro Hase-Gawa, that she had
experienced the joy and pain of true love, and the fulfillment it could
bring to a physical union.

Mishiko thought of the Herald as she closed her thighs, trapping her
brother in the honey-pit.  Yoritomo gasped with pleasure then buried
his face in the free-flowing shoulder-length hair she wore on these

occasions as he continued to claw greedily at her breasts.

Ohh... Mishi!... Mishi.  His right hand slid down her belly, his
fingers searching out the cleft between her thighs.  He was ready.  She
slipped from his embrace and led him to the mattress bed.

Act Three... They clung to each other beneath the coverlet like lost
children, their bodies touching from head to toe.  She brought her lips
close to his ear.  'At last!  Oh, my lord and master!  My one and only
love!"  Yoritomo drew his head away from hers.  The past could not be
expunged without calling his sister to account - and the need to do so
overwhelmed his desire.  'No!  How can you say that when you betrayed
me?  You gave your love to the Herald Hase-Gawa!  You wrote to me,
asking to marry him!  Just the thought of it drove me mad!  I wanted to
kill you!"  Mishiko brought his face back within reach of her lips.

'You would have been wrong to do so.  Yes, I loved the Herald, but do
you know why?  Because the love that brought us together was our love
for you!  He never shared my bed, and never thought to!"  This was
quite untrue, but it was precisely what her brother wanted to hear.

Mishiko fed him more lies.

'Toshiro brought me news from court, but most of all he talked about
you.  I never tired of listening and he never tired of my questions.

When my husband was killed, falling from the sky, I took it as a sign
from the gods.  I thought that if I married your favourite, I would be
able to return to live in the palace.  To be near you."  'Was Toshiro
aware of this?"

'Of course!  Have I not said he loved you?!"  Yoritomo sat up.  'May
the Gods forgive me!  I have killed my one true friend!"  Mishiko
hugged him.  'Your other true friend.  You still have me.  Do not
grieve.  He will never die as long as you and I are together.

Come...

lie down beside me."

The pangs of guilt had robbed Yoritomo of his erection, but Mishiko
knew how to arouse his desire with whispered words and a range of
artful caresses.

He lay back, eyes closed as she brought him back up with her lips and
tongue, then mounted him and deftly positioned the lips of her vagina
against the head of his penis.  The delicious sensation generated by
that first deep thrust filled Yoritomo from head to toe and made his
nerve ends tingle.

She stretched out her body on top of his, framing his face with the
long tresses of Mute hair that adorned her bare skull.  Placing her
legs outside his, she pressed his thighs together with her knees, then
angled her feet in, planting them firmly over his.  Starting in the
middle of his forehead, she drew her hands round his face onto his neck
then slid them along his shoulders and down his arms.  Hand on hand,
she entwined her fingers with his, locked them tight, drew them upwards
to rest on either side of his head, and laid her elbows on his pinning
him down on the mattress.

His penis, lying deep inside her, jerked and stiffened.

Yoritomo liked to be dominated during the sexual act.

The pretence of not being in control eased his feelings of guilt and
shifted the blame for what happened onto his partner.  His humiliation
at their hands was a less painful version of the monkish habit of
mortifying the flesh as a penance for harbouring sinful thoughts.  When
his desires had been satisfied he would berate himself for being weak
and despise his partaer for exploiting that weakness.

Until the next time ....

But there would not be a next time.  Yoritomo, who had come close to
killing any capacity she had for real emotion through his warped
desires, had destroyed the one great love of her life, the Herald
Toshiro' HaseGawa, and now Mishiko was only seconds away from avenging
his death.

Sliding her belly back and forth on his, she pleasured Yoritomo with
practised vaginal contractions and felt the head of his shaft swell as
he neared the point of orgasm.  She gave one more gentle squeeze.

Another gasp of delight broke from her brother's lips.  His 
mouth
opened wide as his body 'began to shudder.

She felt his stomach muscles tighten and he started to suck in his
breath in a last desperate effort to prolong the moment.

With his hands elbows and legs still secured, Mishiko pressed down upon
him, tightened her own belly muscles to hold him firmly inside her,
then rolled the small glass phial she had been hiding in her cheek onto
the tip of her tongue.

Yoritomo opened his lips and loosed a long, shuddering sigh of
delight.

It was the moment Mishiko had been waiting for.  The final curtain.

Crushing the phial between her front teeth, she kissed her brother
hungrily, plunging her tongue and its poisonous contents into the back
of his throat.  For a brief instant, Yoritomo smelt the odour of
almonds, then gagged and swallowed involuntarily as the cyanide took
hold.

Mishiko, her face contorted in agony, was close to death as he threw
her aside.  Screaming with pain, Yoritomo staggered to his feet,
clutching at his throat as he tried to spit out the poison.

Alarmed by what sounded like a cry for help, his samurai bodyguard
entered his private suite and burst into the bed-chamber in time to see
the Shogun sink to his knees then fall dead at their feet, tongue
extended from his gaping mouth, his lips blue.  Behind him, on the bed,
lay the naked body of Lady Mishiko.

The guards held their lanterns aloft and surveyed the scene,
momentarily bewildered.  Only three hours ago they had witnessed the
death of the Lord Chamberlain, and now they had lost the Shogun!

Uesagi, Yoritomo's valet, and his two assistants, drawn from their
quarters by the commotion, appeared in the doorway and cried out in
horror.  They were joined by several more who were soon jostling each
other to get a better view.

Ryoku, the chief bodyguard, cursed them roundly, then ordered them to
return to their quarters and stay out of sight.  Uesagi, who had served
Yoritomo for the last fifteen years, protested he had a duty to be at
his master's side.

'With or without your head?!"  cried Ryoku.  He called to one of his
four companions to draw his long-sword and kill anyone he found
loitering in the Shogun's private suite after a count of three.  The
valet and the servants fled for their lives.

Ryoku borrowed one of the lanterns and took a closer look at Lady
Mishiko.  She appeared to have been killed by the same poison, but
there was also blood on her lips.  Something glinted as it caught the
light.  Ryoku stooped over her and saw it was a tiny sliver of glass.

One of several ... Merciful Heaven!  The poison had been concealed in
her mouth!

Ryoku stood up and tried to work out what to do next.  He had never
faced such an appalling predicament before.  The two most powerful men
in Ne-Issan removed from office in the space of one night!  And by the
hand of the same woman!  For it was Lady Mishiko who had been ieyasu's
principal accuser.

But who was behind her?  Was it a family cabal which had yet to reveal
its hand, or was it the work of the Toh-Yota's enemies?  And was
Captain Kamakura to be trusted?  The Shogun had placed him in command
of the entire Palace Guard, but it was he who had helped the Lady
Mishiko unmask the Lord Chamberlain!  Who should they turn to for
orders?  To whom should they give their allegiance?

Ryoku and the other guards were under no illusions as to their probable
fate if the blame for Yoritomo's death was to fall on their
shoulders.

Their working lives had been dedicated to preventing such a tragedy.

They were the last line of defence - and a single woman had by-passed
all the checks and body-searches because the Shogun himself had waved
them aside.

But who would be disposed to believe that?  No one was going to say it
was the Shogun's fault.  The family's grief would not be assuaged until
the blame had been pinned on someone else.  Someone who was alive.

There was no 
satisfaction to be gained by punishing culprits who were
already dead.

Ryoku cast these dark thoughts aside.  If they could not avoid
dishonour by taking their own lives, their fate at the hands of
torturers on a public scaffold would have to be met with the same
stoicism with which they had faced the daily possibility of death in
the service of the Shogun.

Their obligation to him demanded they remain alive to give their
account of this black day.  With their help, the true architect of this
conspiracy might yet be uncovered.

Ryoku pulled five dried flowers from a vase, cut off part of the stalks
then cut one of the pieces in half.

Aligning the tops, he concealed the unequal ends in his closed palm.

'Whoever draws the shortest is to inform the Castle Commandant of what
has taken place.  The others are to stay here and mount a vigil over
the Shogun's body until we receive orders from a higher authority.

Agreed?"

His four companions accepted with an impassive nod.

Ryoku didn't have to elaborate.  If Captain Kamakura was in league with
those who had set out to kill the Shogun, then they - his personal
guards - would be on the extermination list.  There was no guarantee
that whoever carried the news to him would return alive.

Shimoya who, at 24, was the youngest of the five samurai, drew the
short straw.  He bowed to his companions and hurried away.

Ryoku and the remaining guards carried Yoritomo's naked body over to
the bed, laid him alongside Mishiko and drew the silken eiderdown over
them.  Forming a line facing the foot of the bed, the four samurai
knelt down and paid their last respects to the Shogun with a deep bow
then sat back cross-legged, hands resting on their knees, and sank into
a trance-like state of meditation.

Nothing moved.  Silence filled the room.

Roz and Cadillac, crouched on the steps in the secret passageway, heard
the death cries of Mishiko and the Shogun, and the thud of running feet
as Yoritomo's bodyguards and servants rushed to his aid, the angry
exchanges between them, imprecations, squeals of panic, the choice of
someone to carry the news of Yoritomo's death to Kamakura, the soft
shuffling of feet then silence.

Praying that the steps would not creak under his weight, Cadillac stood
up carefully, uncovered the pin-hole in the beam that gave a
blurred-edged view of the room and put his right eye against it.  Roz
heard him sigh.

'I don't believe this!"  He sat down again.  'The Shogun and his sister
are in the bed and there are four samurai sitting in front of it!  What
do we do now?"

'Why don't we just leave whispered Roz.  'You've got Ieyasu's head.

Isn't that enough?"

'.No!  We've got to have both!  Don't argue about it.  I'm not giving
up on this - okay?!'

'So..."

'Well, don't just sit there!  Help me!"  Roz let out a sigh that spoke
volumes and squeezed past Cadillac towards the top of the stairs.  'You
can be really stubborn - anyone ever told you that?"

'Later, Roz.  Just do it!"  'Okay, okay.  But when this is all over and
you're raking in the glory, just remember- it may have been your idea,
but I made it happen."

Iron Masters were renowned for their toughness and resilience, and it
was the samurai who set the standards to which all others aspired.

They were fearless warriors whose martial skills made them formidable
opponents, but in one vital respect they were no different to the rest
of tile population.  They believed the world around them was also the
home of good and evil kami - and spirit-witches.

Superstition, the fear of hob-goblins was their Achilles Heel, so it
was not surprising that when a howling banshee burst through the outer
wall and hurled streams of fire in their direction with her right hand,
Ryoku and his companions came perilously close to a collective 
cardiac
arrest.  A second burst, from the fingers of the banshee's left hand
struck the mattress-bed, turning it into a blazing funeral pyre.

To their credit, they tried to draw their swords - and found themselves
clutching the necks of fiery snakes!

Throwing them down only compounded the horror, for the serpents
shattered like a porcelain vase and the burning fragments grew in the
twinkling of an eye into a swarm of hideous, claw-fingered,
orange-skinned devils who were clearly intent on tearing them limb from
limb.

Captain Kamakura, returning with Shimoya and fifty men, found the four
unarmed samurai outside the entrance to the Shogun's apartments, still
trembling from their experience.  Listening to their account - which
caused the soldiers behind him to mutter nervously amongst themselves
Kamakura realised with growing dread that they had been the victims of
witchcraft.  There were, as far as he knew, only two exponents of this
grey art in the palace - and he had met both of them!

'Where is this banshee and her horde of devils now?"

'I do not know,' said Ryoku.  'They pursued us from the bed-chamber
but' - he paused, visibly perplexed 'the flames we saw consume the
Shogun did not spread.

Yet we saw the fire and smoke!  We smelt the odour of burning flesh!'
'Come with me,' said Kamakura grimly.  'The rest of you wait here!"

The five samurai followed him into the bedchamber.

There was no sign of fire, the woven straw matting was unscorched.  The
naked bodies of Yoritomo and Lady Mishiko lay exposed on the
blood-soaked bed.  Both their heads were missing.

Roz had not changed her mind and started a collection.

She had urged Cadillac to behead Mishiko to take the heat off Captain
Kamakura and his family.  From her trip around his brain she knew he
was one of the few honest men they'd come across.  There'd been enough
killing.  If he had his wits about him, he would - she reasoned quickly
realise that Mishiko had also been bewitched.  The authors of this
crime lay beyond the palace walls.

She was correct.  Kamakura cottoned on fast.  The fact that Lord
Ieyasu's head was also missing changed the whole nature of this
affair.

The power of magic had been present - that was evident - but the two
spirit-witches had done more than cast spells.  They were agents who
had skillfully plotted two audacious murders, and who had gained access
to the secret passages within the palace - passages that not even the
Shogun's bodyguards appeared to know about!

The heads had not vanished into thin air, they had been taken, in the
time honoured fashion, as proof that the Toh-Yota family had suffered a
mortal blow.  The hand of the Yama-Shita lay behind this, and Lord
Min-Orota had been their treacherous intermediary - for it was he who
had brought the spirit-witches to Lady Mishiko in the Winter Palace and
provided the boat to bring her to AronGiren.

The witches and their valuable trophies were probably still moving
through the secret passageway.  Kamakura knew the entrance lay hidden
behind the right-hand wall beam, but because he had kept his eyes
averted when Lady Mishiko had made her secret visit to the Shogun, he
did not know where to find the release mechanism.  The beam would have
to be smashed open.  To do that, heavy implements would have to be
brought and valuable time lost.  And when an opening was made - who
would have the courage to go in after them?

And there was something else he had to consider.

If a subsequent enquiry found that the assassins had made use of a
secret passageway to the Shoguns bed-chamber, and he revealed his
knowledge of it, someone who resented his meteoric promotion to Castle
Commandant might accuse him of complicity in the crime.

Kamakura decided to say nothing.  When the big names in the Toh-Yota
family arrived for the inquest, the air would be thick with charges and
countercharges.

There was no point in rocking the boat when he already had more trouble
than he could handle ....

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Steve checked the luminous hands of his old-style watch.

Two fifteen .  . . over three and a half hours since they were yanked
out of bed and thrown into a stinking hole in the ground, and they were
still without any clue as to what unpleasantness their hosts had in
store.  The only cheering note had been his contact with Roz, otherwise
they were in the dark, literally and metaphorically - just the kind of
situation he hated.

He sat down opposite Fran, leaving the width of the doorway between
them.

Her aggressive attitude and the threat to demote him stopped him
feeling sorry for her.  His wing-man training, followed by two years of
roughing it on the overground, in constant danger of losing his life,
enabled him to cope with this sudden downturn in their fortunes.  Fran,
on the other hand, was used to giving orders; being waited on hand and
foot.  Being sent to Ne-Issan with him was probably the biggest and
riskiest adventure of her life, but she had still been wrapped in
cotton wool.  Until their sudden arrest and confinement, they had been
privileged visitors, transported in relative luxury with japs bowing to
them all along the way.  There had been no whipping canes laid across
her back.

A pity.  Steve recalled the painful beating he'd undergone at the
post-house prior to his transfer to the Heron Pool.  An experience like
that might make her a lot easier to get on with.

Pushing Fran and her personality problems out of his mind, Steve dozed
fitfully for the next hour or so, then woke to the sound of several
pairs of feet tramping along the corridor.  The orange glow of an
approaching lantern illuminated the square hole in the cell-door and
spilled 
enough light inside for him to be able to make out Fran's
upturned face.

They both rose as the footsteps halted outside, then stepped back as
the heavy bolts were withdrawn.  Steve didn't resist as Fran searched
for his right hand and gripped it tightly.  The door was thrown open,
and the all-enveloping darkness inside the cell receded as the jap
holding the lantern raised it above his head.

Steve and Fran found themselves looking at five men.

Two were prison warders.  There was another pair, dressed as soldiers,
with helmets bearing the winged heron badge - worn only by the Shogun's
personal troops.  The face of one of them seemed vaguely familiar.

Steve couldn't place him but there was no mistaking the diminutive jap
who stood under the lantern.

It was Skull-Face, aka Fujiwara.  In his glittering battle-dress, with
its overlapping plates, he looked like an overgrown armadillo.

'Are these the prisoners you seek?"  asked one of the warders.

Skull-Face nodded.  'Bind them!'

The two warders and the soldiers entered the cell.

Steve and Fran offered no resistance as their arms were pinned behind
their backs and clamped into two sets of manacles; one around their
wrists, the other around their arms, just above the elbow.  The upper
manacles were attached to an iron bar which forced their shoulders back
unnaturally and soon proved extremely painful to wear - as was probably
intended.  As a final touch, their trail bags were hung around their
necks, pulling their heads forward when the rest of their spine wanted
to lean a different way.

With Skull-Face in the lead, Steve and Fran were sent stumbling along
the corridor towards the stairs that ran around the sides of the square
ventilation shaft.

Anxious faces crowded the windows of the other cell doors.  Hands
clutched the bars.  A confused medley of voices, begging, complaining,
protesting, swelled into a meaningless barrage of sound that was
quickly silenced as the two warders lashed out right and left with
their whipping canes, driving the frightened occupants back into the
darkness.

Steve's heartbeat quickened as they mounted the stairs, passed through
the last set of iron gates, then stepped out through the heavy timbered
entrance door into the main courtyard.  Fresh air and freedom.  He was
sure of it as soon as he saw the two soldiers who were waiting
outside.

These were part of the group who had been with Skull-Face on the
beach.

The pair who had been keeping watch outside quickly threw hooded capes
around Steve and Fran's shoulders, as.  Skull-Face masked his lantern
and switched from japanese to Basic.  'Follow me.  Stay close to the
wall."

He strode off quickly.  Fran went next, then Steve, each of them
steadied by one if Fuji's colleagues.

The scene in the courtyard was one of controlled confusion.  Squads of
foot-soldiers and cavalry were being assembled and despatched through
the open main gates and across the bridge into the darkness beyond.

Armed men patrolled the outer walls and galleries of the palace.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Steve saw a handful of cowed suspects
being hustled towards the underground jailhouse.  More late arrivals.

For many, besides themselves, ihis was obviously going to be a night to
remember.

They reached a large set of double doors, one of which contained a
smaller door.  Producing a key, Fujiwara opened it, then stood aside
until everyone had passed through.  Locking and barring the door behind
him, he unmasked the lantern and ordered his men to remove the
trail-bags and unshackle their prisoners.

'A thousand apologies for inflicting this painful subterfuge upon
you.

It was necessary to apply constraints in order to convince prison
guards we were taking you away for interrogation under torture."

'That's okay,' said Steve.  He and Fran rubbed the cramp out of their
arms and necks and took stock of their surroundings.  It was a vehicle
store.  Several carts, 
carriage-boxes and their wheeled chassis were
stacked neatly together, making the most of the available space.

Around the walls, at chest and shoulder height, a variety of saddles
hung over two staggered lines of short poles stuck into the stone
walls.

Fran addressed Skull-Face: 'I appreciate you getting us out of prison,
but before we go any further would you mind telling me just what is
going on?"

The diminutive samurai answered with a polite bow.

'We are removing you from the Palace for your own safety.  As they say
in the Federation, "the shit has hit the fan"."

'That's obvious!"  cried Fran.  'But you haven't answered my
question!

We were sent here as envoys of the Federation on matters of state and
we have been treated outrageously!  I must warn you now, Major - if we
are subjected to any further serious breaches of protocol, the
consequences to your country will be dire!"  'Cool it,' muttered
Steve.

'These guys are on our side."

Fran gave him a look that was pure venom.  'When I need your input,
I'll ask for it, Captain!  I'm the head of this delegation!"  She
turned back to Skull-Face.  'I'll ask you once again, Major- what is
going on?"

Fujiwara remained cool and inscrutable.  'The Shogun is dead - killed
by his sister, the Lady Mishiko.  Four hours after the crazed bitch put
paid to our master."

'ieyasu?  The Lord Chamberlain?!  Jeeezuss!  Both of 'em?"  Steve
turned to Fram She looked as stunned as he was.  When Roz had come
through on their private line, she had not revealed why she and
Cadillac were in the Palace.  Now he knew.  Unbelievable ....

'The Major wasn't kidding when he said the shit had hit the fan.  This
could split Ne-Issan right down the middle!"  Fran gave Steve another
withering look.  'Even I can see that.  But why were we arrested?"

'Because it was the Lord Chamberlain who arranged for you to come
here.

Everything was going according to plan until tonight when, without
warning, Lady Mishiko- who had only recently arrived from the mainland
- exposed my master's secret use of your communication devices.  I
cannot say how because none of us were there, but it must have been
arranged with the help of our enemies.  She was too stupid to have done
it by herself.  Lord Ieyasu knew the risks and -' He spread his
hands.

'- has paid the price."

'And the Shogun ordered the arrest of everyone who owed their position
to him,' concluded Fran.

Fujiwara bowed politely.  'Precisely."

Steve frowned.  'Yehh, but.  if the Shogun is dead, why are people
still being arrested?"

'The news has not yet been made public."  Skull-Face extended a hand
towards them.  'That is why we must hurry.  We must reach the mainland
before the island is sealed."

Fran didn't move.  'One last question, Major.  Why are you doing
this?

Why not just dump us and save your own necks?"

Fujiwara responded with a thin smile.  'Because, Commander, I and my
colleagues here have just lost our employer and all prospect of a
comfortable retirement."

Fran smiled.  'You're speaking my language, Major.

Get us home in one piece and you can write your own ticket."

'That's what we're counting on,' said Fujiwara.  'May we now
proceed?"

'Sure.  Let's go!'

What this arrogant bitch needs, thought Steve, is to have her tongue
stapled to the roof of her mouth ....

Still smarting from the public put-downs, he beamed hate into Fran's
back as Skull-Face ushered her towards the far corner of the room where
his four colleagues were now gathered.  A couple of them had flat iron
bars inserted between two of the large flagstones.  There were two
clicks as the bars triggered concealed locks then a brief grinding
noise as the cornerstone pivoted upwards against the rear wall of its
own accord, revealing a narrow flight of stone steps.

Taking the lantern from one of his subordinates, Skull-Face led the way
down into a small chamber with a 
tunnel leading off it.  He paused for
a moment while the counter-balanced cornerstone was pulled down and
locked in place, then hurried forward with Steve, Fran and the soldiers
following in single file.

Cadillac lifted up the lantern as he reached the four-way junction and
saw the scrape-mark on the wall of the narrow tunnel running off to the
right.  He sank down on his heels with a sigh and looked up at Roz.  'I
hate to tell you this, but I think we're lo st.  I made that mark about
half-an-hour ago."

He fished out the crude sketch map furnished by Lady Mishiko and tried
to figure out where they'd gone wrong.

Roz sat down with her back to the opposite side of the tunnel and
perched the lamp on top of her knees so that he could bring the map
close to the dimming light.

'There's something I've been meaning to tell you as well."

Cadillac didn't look up.  'And what's that?"

'Steve's here - in the Palace."

Cadillac marked their estimated position with a fore finger and slowly
raised his eyes to meet hers.  'He was

one of the envoys...?"

Roz braced herself for the inevitable blast.  'Yes.  He was sent here
with a member of the First Family to set up some kind of a deal for the
Federation."

'And got himself arrested!'

Roz ignored the resigned sarcasm.  'You heard the

Shogun give the order."

Cadillac digested the full implications.  'And now I suppose you want
me to rescue him 	' Roz gave her voice a cutting edge.  'How strange.

I had the impression this was a joint enterprise.  And now, at the
mention of Steve's name, it's suddenly become a personal burden."

'You know what I mean!"  'Yes!

And I heard what you said!  You're a wordsmith-aren't they supposed to
know how to express themselves properly?  I' 'And we're partners!"

cried Cadillac.  'Aren't they supposed to share everything- like
secrets for example?  I How long have you known he was going to come
and screw everything up?  From when we talked about him in the
post-house?  Or have you been stealing in and out of each other's minds
since we left the wagon-train?!"  'No!"  hissed Roz.

'It wasn't till we got here!  And he's not screwing everything up!

What happened to the idea of grabbing the envoys and swapping them for
Clearwater and her baby?

Remember how excited you were about that?"

."Roz, c'mon-be realistic.

The Federation are not going to exchange Clearwater for Brickman.  What
do they need him for?"

Forget Steve!

I'm talking about the woman he's with!  She's someone close to the
President-General!  The feeling I got was of a very strong
attachment."

'So what are you suggesting - that we free both, take her with us, and
send Brickman back to break the good news?"

'Yes!"  Cadillac's eyes narrowed as he thought it through.  'He's going
to love that.  When the Family find out you helped to capture her,
they'll blow him out of the water!"  'True but he's not going to tell
them.  If we can keep my involvement here a secret, Steve will be in
the clear."

'Yes, of course."  Cadillac nodded admiringly.  'Not bad."  'Not bad?

C'mon, Caddy, it's brilliant!  All he has to do is explain how he lost
her, then tell them they can have her back in exchange for Clearwater
and her baby."

'It may not be that simple,' mused Cadillac.

'That's why I'm leaving the details to you,' said Roz.  'All I'm doing
is outlining a deal that will keep Steve up and running."

'Yes, I can see that- but it may not be enough.  From what I've learned
about the First Family, they're not going to hand him a medal for
losing one of their own -especially if she's as important as you
suggest."

'He'll manage,' said Roz.  'Steve's talked his way out of worse jams
than this.  If he was sent to Ne-Issan as the escort for this high-wire
then the Family must trust him.

We have to make sure they go on trusting him- enough to let him help
organise the hostage swap.  It could provide a golden opportunity for
him to get away too.  We'd all be together.  Wouldn't that be
fantastic?"

'Yeah."  The idea of Steve coming back into their life was the less
appealing part of the plan.  'Meanwhile, that leaves us with two
problems- finding out where Brickman and this woman are being held, and
coming up with a rescue plan - and figuring how, in the name of the
Sweet Sky Mother, we're going to get out of this gopher hole before the
light-' Cadillac broke off and moved the lantern to a place of safety
as he saw Roz's attention turn inwards.  She pressed her fingertips
against her forehead and frowned, then her eyes widened in surprise and
a delighted grin spread across her face.  'We've only got one
problem.

Steve just came through.  He's free!  Some Iron Masters are helping him
escape from the castle - through a tunnel like this!"  'Great,' said
Cadillac sourly.  'Why don't you call him back?  Maybe he'll send one
of his friends to show us the way."

Roz got to her feet and extended a hand to Cadillac.  'I don't need to,
Mr Grouch.  Just follow me!"  Steve and Fran followed their rescuers
down several short flights of stone steps which took them deeper and
deeper below the castle.  Every so often, they came to a T-junction or
a crossing.  Some were ignored, but at others Skull-Face would suddenly
turn left or right.  The time and effort that must have gone into the
planning and construction of this stone warren was incalculable.

After several twists and turns, Steve asked: 'Do all these passages
lead somewhere?"

Skull-Face glanced over his shoulder.  'No.  Some are designed to
confuse pursuers.  The route we're following is part of a network that
allows the upper crust to travel to and from the key areas of the
Palace - and out beyond its walls."

'So how come you know about it?"

Skull-Face smiled his thin smile.  'I make it my business to know these
things .... ' After a while, there were no more junctions, but the
tunnel they were in was broken up into fifty yard stretches built on
alternate sides of an imaginary centre-line and joined together by a
right-angle section twelve yards long.

Being Steve, he had to ask why.

'Safety measure,' replied Skull-Face.  'If this tunnel ran in a
straight line from start to finish what chance would you have with a
bowman behind you?"

'Yehh, right,' grunted Steve, mentally reeling from the message Roz had
just left inside his head.  Compared to the trouble that was coming his
way, a bowman would have come as light relief ....

When they finally surfaced via a spiral stone staircase and out through
a hidden compartment in the back of an imposing roadside shrine, it was
nearly a quarter to five on a bitterly chill, pitch dark December
morning.  Steve had failed to keep an accurate count of the number of
steps he'd taken.  Following Skull-Face had prevented him from taking a
full stride, but he reckoned they were now about half a mile from the
Palace.

'There's a small house a little way down the road from here,' explained
Skull-Face.  'Belongs to a minor government official- but it's only
used by his family when the court moves to Aron-Giren.  I suggest you
take cover there while we organise some transportation, or you can
squat in the tunnel- whatever you prefer."

The tip of Fran's nose appeared from the deep hood of her cape.  'The
house sounds fine."

'Don't tell me you have a key,' said Steve.

Skull-Face laughed.  'We're not that organised- but our skills include
breaking and entering."

Their guides moved off.  Steve stretched out his right hand as Fran
went to shoulder her trail-bag.  'Here, let me carry that."

'It's okay, I can handle it."

'I'm sure you can!"  Steve pulled it from her grasp.  'I don't mind you
fucking me around in front of these guys, but if you want to play top
dog you've gotta act like one.

In Ne-Issan, the boss doesn't carry the luggage.  So after you,
Commander .... ' The single-storey house - built clear of the ground
like most private dwellings in Ne-Issan - was shuttered and barred, but
Fujiwara's team had a man inside in under two minutes.  He opened one
half of the main door and invited them in with a sweeping bow.

Skull-Face made a quick tour of the premises and returned.  'You're in
luck.  There's some quilts in a cupboard through there.  Use those to
keep you warm.

There is some brushwood and a few logs in the kitchen but you must not
light a fire.  And I also regret to say there is no food."

'That's okay.  We have some emergency ration packs in our trail-bags,'
said Steve.

Skull-Face nodded.  'Are you carrying any other useful items?"

'Such as?"

'A small powerful device we could to use to send a message to distant
friends...?"

Steve referred the question to Fran.  'You mean like now?"

'No, later, Commander.  Your aircraft may be able to reach Aron-Giren
but there are seven of us.  Unless I am mistaken, that will require at
least two aircraft, possibly three.  To stand any hope of success, the
pickup would have to take place in darkness - which means tonight at
the earliest or tomorrow morning.  By that time, this island will be
swarming with troops from end to end.  Nothing will be able to get in
or out.  We have to get onto the mainland."

'But that's over sixty miles away!"  cried Fran.  'The sun'll be up in
less than three hours!"  'I'm aware of the difficulties, Commander.  If
we can't find a way to move you overland in broad daylight, we may have
to take to the water."

'Steal a boat?"  asked Steve.

'Or talk our way onto one."

'llnngh!  Marvellous,' grunted Fran.  'I can't wait!'

Steve exchanged an understanding look with Skull-Face.

'Do your best, Major .... ' Fujiwara spoke rapidly to one of his
colleagues then presented him to Fran.  'I will leave Yoshijiro and the
lanterns with you.  The rest of us will return as soon as we can.  I'm
sure I have no need to urge you not to do anything that might draw
attention to your presence."

Steve laid his cape over the lanterns as the four japs edged sideways
out of the door, then put it back on again as yoshijiro shot the top
and bottom bolts and dropped the bar back into place.  The agent was
short and stocky like most of his compatriots, but what marked him out
was his amazingly wide, flat-featured skull set on top of an equally
wide neck.  It was like a dinner plate with a face drawn on it.

Yoshijiro removed the long flat quiver containing a bow and thirty
arrows from his back and settled down impassively to guard the door.

Steve weighed him up.

The two swords that marked him out as a samurai were still tucked into
the sash wound around his waist.  His hooded eyes had that deceptively
sleepy, watchful look of a man who could spring into action - fast.

He turned to Fran.  'Why don't you try and grab some sleep?  I'll help
this guy keep watch."

'Yehh, why not?  It'll make a change from watching you snore your head
off."

He followed her into the bed-chamber and dumped the trailbags on the
floor.  Fran pulled a couple of thick quilts from the wall-cupboard,
sniffed at them suspiciously, then wrapped herself in both and lay down
using her trail-bag for a pillow.

Steve took out the three-barrelled air-pistol that was packed alongside
the compact radio and the emergency rations in the false bottom of his
own bag, stowed it in his tunic, then laid a third quilt over her and
made sure she was well tucked in.

'I'll be in the other room.  If you want anything just call."

It was important that Fran was warm and comfortable.

Her going to sleep was part of the plan, just as earlier he'd insisted
on carrying her luggage.  He had not turned into a spineless toady; the
reason he'd given was pure hog-wash.  Walking behind her in the dark
had enabled him to ease back the zip of her bag, remove the pistol and
empty the magazine before replacing it in its foam-lined compartment.

Sweet dreams, Commander ....

He left quietly, taking the remaining pair of quilts with him.

Entering the main room, he passed one over to the silent Yoshijiro,
wrapped the other round his own shoulders and sat down by the door to
the bedchamber and waited for Fran's breathing to ease into the
rhythmic ebb and flow associated with deep sleep.

Not yet, Roz .  . . but soon....

Yoshijiro's sleepy expression vanished as he heard the faint voices.

Steve detected four or five, of varied pitch - all speaking what
sounded like japanese.  He could not understand what they were saying,
but the voices sounded tense.

He rose to his feet.  Yoshijiro beat him by several milliseconds.

'Trouble...?"

The samurai put a crack in the door, listened intently, then whispered:
'Search party from Palace."  He held up six fingers.  'Officer give
order to surround and investigate this house."

Steve whispered back: 'What should we do- hide?"

Yoshijiro shook his head.  'Not possible.  Must eliminate."

He took off his white head-band and wrapped a strip of black cloth
around his face.

'Then count me in.  Two against six is a challenge but it's not
impossible if we make the first move."

Yoshijiro smiled.  'We have advantage.  These are foot-soldiers not
samurai.  Fujiwara say you have great daring."

Steve bowed his head.  'He honours me.  Will you also do likewise by
allowing me to use your bow?"

He knew there was no hope of borrowing the samurai's swords.  The right
to wear them had to be earned the hard way.  It was not just a prized
status symbol.  Weapon and warrior were bound together by a strict code
of honour and the only thing that could separate them in battle was
death.

Yoshijiro handed over the quiver and bow without hesitation.  Steve
took possession of it reverently, then hung the quiver on his back,
tested the pull of the bow and notched an arrow to the string 'Okay,
what's the plan?"

The samurai drew his sword and gestured towards the door.  'I go left
along verandah, you go right.  Soldiers will have white head-band.

Only shoot them, not me!"  Steve gave him a thumbs-up then looked in on
Fran.

She hadn't stirred.  He shut the door to the bedchamber, doused the
lanterns.  Yoshijiro unlocked both doors, eased each one open in turn
to check the left and right flank then signalled the all clear.

Steve followed him out, tip-toeing along the verandah to the right as
Yoshijiro went left.  It was still quite dark.

Steve stopped and listened.  Not a sound.  He tightened his grip on the
bow and felt the cold sweat on his palm.

Do it, Stevie.  People are waiting.  One more, one less.

You can live with it ....

He turned, extended his left arm, drawing the spear-point of the arrow
back towards the bow and aimed at the back of Yoshijiro's neck.

Theee-yunngh.  The samurai heard the action of the bow and was halfway
through the turn when the arrow struck him below the jaw, severing the
jugular vein as it passed through his throat.  A second arrow punched
through his rib cage as he toppled like a felled tree off the far end
of the verandah.

Steve heard a movement behind him.  It was Roz.  He loosed a great sigh
of relief and hugged her fiercely.  'That was harder than it should
have been.  I must be developing a conscience ."

She hugged him back.  'I'd call that good news, wouldn't you?"

Cadillac appeared out of the darkness.  He took a look at the body they
couldn't see then walked along the front of the house and up the centre
steps.  'Good shot... All we need now is the sound of a violent
struggle to wake your friend.  Let's hope she likes you enough to come
to your aid."

Steve handed him the bow and quiver.  'Stand by."  Roz and Cadillac
faded into the darkness of the side verandah.

Drawing the pistol from his tunic, Steve threw himself violently
against the wooden wall of the house, stamped and slid his boots on the
verandah, grunted, huffed and puffed, and finally collapsed face-down
with the pistol lying a few inches away from his outstretched hand.

Fran, jolted awake by the noise, sat up and found herself in a
pitch-dark room.  'Steve?!'

No answer.

She ran her fingers nervously through her hair while she got her
bearings, then yanked open the zip of her trail-bag and found the
concealed air-pistol.  Crossing to the door, she slid it back a few
inches and saw that the main room was also in darkness.  There was no
sign of Steve or the jap agent.  The lanterns had all been extinguished
- and both panels of the front door which had been bolted and barred
how hung open, black against a dark grey sky.

'Steve...?"

No answer.

Fran swore quietly.  Easing off the safety, she selected Full Auto,
then tip-toed over to the door and peeked out to check both ends of the
verandah.  Steve's body lay sprawled face downwards in the right-hand
corner.  'Ohh, jeezusss!"  she breathed.  'This is all I need!'
Heedless of any external danger, she ran towards him and fell on her
knees, laying down the pistol in order to have both hands free to turn
his body over.  As she got him half-way round, a tall hooded figure
stepped into view.

Fran made a frantic grab for Steve's pistol but never reached it.  A
searing pain filled her head, billowing through her consciousness like
a scarlet veil ....

Steve pushed her unconscious body aside and hauled himself upright.

'You certainly took your time getting here."

'We had to find a pair of wheels first."

Steve followed Cadillac and Roz into the house.  'What did you get?"

'A hand-cart and some rope.  Saves carrying her."

Cadillac spotted the two quilts as he entered.  'Marvellous.

We can wrap her in these.  Are there more?"

'Yeah, in here."  Steve brought them then went to fetch the
trail-bags.

He placed his own pistol back in its hiding place, slipped a full
magazine into Fran's and showed Cadillac how to peel back the false
bottom.  'There's a radio in there that might come in handy - later
on.

And some of her clothes.  Do you want any help tying her up?"

'No."  Cadillac took out the grey leather holster, stuck the pistol in
it and strapped it on underneath his kimono.

'Have a word with Roz in case there's anything that needs to be
straightened out."

Cadillac went outside, and sliced the dead samurai's long black scarf
into strips which he used to blindfold, gag and bind Fran.  Then he
rolled her up inside two of the quilts, roped these tightly round her
calves and shoulders, then enclosed her in a third, and passed rope
round again, and lengthways, leaving enough space for air to get
through.  He then wheeled the handcart up to the verandah, and used the
last two quilts to make another bundle containing the heads of
Yoritomo, Mishiko and Ieyasu, and the trail-bags - roping it tight in a
similar fashion.

When both bundles were securely tied down onto the handcart, he went
back inside the darkened house.  He found Roz and Steve sitting on the
raised edge of the split-level bed-chamber with a lamp between them and
the door closed.

'Are you sure you're going to be able to manage without a gun?"

'I don't have much choice,' said Steve.  'If Fujiwara and his friends
find I've been packing a pistol, they're going to 
wonder why I didn't
use it to help fight off our attackers instead of borrowing that bow
and arrow."

'Yehh, I see what you're getting at.  Smart move."

'Which I'll probably live to regret - but it's a chance I've got to
take.  Skull-Face knows his way around.  If his team can't get me out
of here, I doubt that having a handgun is gonna save the day.  And I
don't need a radio.  These guys have their own hand-sets - courtesy of
AMEXICO."

Cadillac accepted this with a nod.

'Has Roz explained the setup?"

'Yeah."  Steve stood up.  'I can't say I'm overjoyed at being handed
the shitty end of the stick but..."

'You can't be the hero all the time."

'No."  Steve brightened.  'Roz told me how you did it.  I'm
impressed.

Whose idea was it?"

'Mine from start to finish.  This is one operation you can't claim any
credit for."

'True.  This time round you had another Brickman to lean on."

Roz jumped up as she saw Cadillac's face darken.  'Now stop this, right
now!  Clearwater was right about you always snapping at each other's
heels!  What is it with you two?!  We're supposed to be in this
together!"  Steve couldn't leave it alone.  'So why's he trying to
score off me?l' He fingered Cadillac.  'I taught this guy everything he
knows!  He's been sucking on my brain from Day One!"  Cadillac laughed
derisively.  'Listen to him!  Still peddling the same old shit!"  Roz
placed herself between them and thrust them apart.

'Shut up, both of you!  And keep your voices down!  You're wrong,
Steve.  You haven't been standing at the wrong end of a one-way
street.

You've both learned- from each other - ' 'Yeah, that's right.  Like me
teaching him to fly, and him showing me what kind of leaf to wipe my
ass on!"  Steve saw the disappointment in his kin-sister's face and
wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

Cadillac took hold of Roz's arm.  'Let's go.  We're just wasting our
breath!"  'No!  We've gotta get this straight once and for all'
'Absolutely!  It's a great idea!  But let's beat our breasts some other
time, when we haven't got half of Ne-Issan on our tail!  Have you seen
outside?  It's getting lighter by the minute!"  'I don't care!  There
may not be another time!"  Roz pulled free and faced up to Steve.  'You
learned something far more important than that on the overground.

Cadillac helped you discover who you were and why you're here.

That's worth a great deal.  Everything you done since- and everything
that he's done - has flowed from your meeting each other.  Why can't
you bring yourself to admit it?"

Steve looked at them both then asked Roz: 'Why can't he learn to stop
crowing?!"  Roz turned a beady eye on Cadillac.  'Yes.  Good
question..."

'I can't believe this!"  He saw her resolve and capitulated.

'Okay, okay, I spoke out of turn.  Killing the Shogun and Ieyasu was my
idea, but without the background information you gave me I couldn't
have got started, and without Roz's power I'd have been dead a dozen
times over."

'We both would.  Put it there, blood-brother."

Roz watched them exchange the grips and handclasps that made up the
warrior's greeting then threw her arms around both.  'And don't either
of you forget that Clearwater also saved both of you."  She hugged them
in turn then said: 'I'll make sure everything's okay outside."

Cadillac weighed up his long-time rival.  'I feel bad about leaving you
in the lurch like this.  You going to be able to handle it?"

'Sure.  It'll be a breeze.  How are you planning to get away?"

'We're heading north to the coast.  It's not fan about six miles.

Lord Min-Orota has promised to have a boat waiting offshore."

'And from there?"

'We've got a delivery to make at Sara-kusa, then - all being well - we
should be home by the spring."

'Where's home these days?"

'Not far from our old hunting grounds.  Roz and I have been adopted by
the Clan M'Kenzi."

Steve grimaced.  'I still can't understand why all the M'Calls had to
die like that.  It seems so pointless."

'We destroyed one wagon-train and cracked open four more.  I wouldn't
call that pointless."

'Yeah, but at what cost?"

'It was in the stones, Brickman.  The Wheel turns..."

'... and The Path is Drawn.  How does it pan out?

Do we all make it?"

'The Plainfolk will.  How's Clearwater?"

'She's fine.  Back in one piece, getting better every day - and
dreaming of home."

'And her child?"

'Due any day now."  Steve laughed awkwardly.  'I still can't get used
to the idea."

'But otherwise everything's okay?"

'Between us?  Yes.  Nothing's changed- why should it?"

'How do you stand with the Federation?"

Steve shrugged.  'I'm a hero.  That's why I was tapped for this trip.

Promotion, privileges, I'm allowed to visit Clearwater whenever I
want.

Things couldn't be better for both of us."

'Don't you find it strange - being underground again?"

Steve grinned.  'It's a long story.  But there is one thing I miss - Mr
Snow."

Cadillac's eyes reflected his feelings at the mention of his old
teacher's name.  The too.  When he died, it left a big hole in my
life."

'In all our lives,' said Steve.  'He was a wise man who knew that life
was not meant to be taken seriously."  He eyed Cadillac.  'He gave us a
lot of good advice.  Maybe it's time we started acting on it."

'Yehh, maybe we should."  Cadillac looked at the wristwatch he'd taken
from Fran.  Six thirty-five.  'We'd better go.  I'll send Roz in to say
goodbye."

They shook hands briefly.  Cadillac hesitated then said: 'About Mr
Snow.  This used to upset me but.  he liked you.  A lot."

Steve smiled.  'I like to think he did - even though I didn't always
deserve it."  He reached out and gripped Cadillac's shoulders.  'Thanks
for telling me.  I know what he meant to you."

'Take care .... ' Cadillac gave him a friendly thump on the ribs and
headed for the door.

'I will!  And Caddy-' 'Yeah?"

'I love the dress!"  Roz came in.  'Caddy says we have to keep this
short."

'Like the last time."

'You can always reach me."

'Are you happy?"

Yes.  Very.  Can't you sense it?  This is how it was meant to be,
Steve."  She read his thoughts.  'We'll always be like brother and
sister, but you must let go of the old me.  The colours on my face and
body are more than skin deep.  They go right through to my soul!  We
are of the Plainfolk!  I know you're involved with Fran, and I know
why, but be careful.  Don't let them tempt you into betraying us!  You
must help to free Clearwater!"  'I will!"  Cadillac poked his head
through the door.  'Roz!"  'I'm coming!"  She embraced Steve.  'Give my
love to Clearwater - and tell her we'll soon be together."

They walked out onto the verandah.  Cadillac was hefting the stick he'd
used to knock out Fran.  He grinned, 'This is the bit I've been looking
forward to.

Where d'you want it?"

'At the end of the verandah where Fran found me.  It'll help keep the
story straight."  Steve got into position and kne;t down.

'I was thinking of a wound to the scalp - a little blood is always
impressive - then a knock-out blow to the back of the head."

'Whatever.  Just don't knock my brains out.  I'm going to need my wits
about me when I wake up."

Cadillac moved behind him.  'Okay, this may hurt."

'Go ahead.  It's all in a good cause."

The first blow struck Steve on the right side of the head just above
the temple, knocking him to the ground.

'Owww!  Fuck me!"  He felt the blood start to trickle down his cheek.

Gritting his teeth, he raised himself groggily on all fours and then a
thunder-bolt collided with the back of his skull ....

When he came to, Steve found himself lying gagged and bound inside the
house, next to the body of Yoshijiro.

Sometime around dawn he heard the sound of horses, and a little while
later, Skull-Face and two of his colleagues entered.  Finding that
Yoshijiro had been killed in their absence produced the predictable
reaction, but again Steve didn't understand what they were saying.

Skull-Face looked at his head wound then cut him loose.  Steve sat and
nursed the lump that Cadillac had raised on the base of his skull.  Get
a grip on yourself, Brickman.  It doesn't really hurt.  You're a Mute,
remember?  Learn to shut off the pain.  Yeah, thanks a bunch ....

'What happened?"

'What ...?"  Steve blinked painfully.  'uhh, I'm not sure.  We both
heard voices.  Speaking japanese.  Yoshijiro thought there were six of
them.  soldiers from the Palace... coming to search this place."

'They couldn't have been - otherwise you wouldn't be here."

'No... obviously .... ' 'Did you see them?"

'No.  Your man wanted to take them out.  I offered to help.  We went
outside.  He went left, I went right - got as far as the end of the
verandah and.  that's the last thing I remember."  Steve dropped his
hands from his head and looked around in alarm.  'Where's Commander
Jefferson?!"  'Gone missing,' said Fujiwara.  'That's one of the things
that puzzles me.  why did they leave you?"

Steve looked bewildered.  'Search me.  If we knew who jumped us, maybe
we'd have the answer."

'Yes."  Skull-Face stared at him intently, but Steve's head wounds
provided him with a perfect excuse to screw his eyes up and look away
while he thought of what to say next.

'Does this mean our trip to the Federation is off?"

'No,' said Fujiwara.

'Because I'm sure I can cut you a deal.  I don't have the same pull as
Commander Jefferson, but I do have access to the President-General, and
the head of AMEXICO."

'Good.  We found some horses, but I think it's going to prove too
dangerous to try for the mainland.  We'll ride south to the coast and
try to get hold of a boat."

'Now - in daylight?"

'It shouldn't be too difficult."  Skull-Face swallowed a smile.  'This
is supposed to be one of the strongholds of the Toh-Yota, but it's
amazing the number of people that can be bought with money."

'That's something we don't have in the Federation."

'Wise decision."

Steve knew he was treading on dangerous ground but his need to know
overrode his caution.  'You mentioned one of the things that was
puzzling you, what was the other?"

'Ahh, yes."  Skull-Face's inscrutable black-button eyes fastened on
Steve.  'I can't understand how Yoshijiro came to get himself killed
with his own bow and arrow."

'I'm afraid that's partly my fault,' replied Steve.  'He gave it to me
to use when we went outside to beat off the intruders and that's when
.... ' 'You got hit on the head,' said SkullFace.  He gazed at Steve
intently then gave a satisfied nod.

'i'm sorry."

Skull-Face waved off the apology.  'These things happen .... ' 
It was
some time later, when they were running south with a full head of sail
away from Aron-Giren, that Steve discovered a major flaw in their
escape plan.

Fujiwara and his three remaining colleagues had ditched the powerful
hand-sets they had been using soon after hearing that Ichiwara had been
caught red-handed!

Terrific.  They were now left literally at sea, with no way of
contacting AMEXICO or any other Federation agency or outpost.  And that
meant there would be no quick, cosy airlift from the beach at Cape Fear
to Houston/GC.  They were going to have to do it the hard way ....

Back in the Federation, Karlstrom had passed the news of Fran and
Steve's arrival to the President-General, and both now expected this to
be followed up in a day or so by a progress report on their
negotiations.  Neither man had any inkling that the operator who had
sent the message from the hidden radio room had been killed, along with
Ieyasu and his top aides, for with their demise the lines between
Ne-Issan and the Federation had gone dead.

Supreme authority was vested in the Shogun but the real power had been
exercised by Ieyasu.  An unceasing stream of decisions and directives
flowed down from the top through layer upon layer of bureaucrats for
implementation at the appropriate level.  There were no independent
ministries.  Each layer of the pyramid was subservient to the one
above, and all officials, major and minor, worked within strict
guidelines.  Any problems that fell outside those parameters were
referred back up the chain.

While alive, Ieyasu had controlled everything- and had made it look
easy - but there was now a black hole at the centre of the web he had
spun and the strands were starting to fall apart.

That was why the radio operator still safely concealed in the Winter
Palace did not report leyasu's death to AMEXICO when the news reached
Showa by courier-pigeon.

Senior Secretary Shikobu, his immediate boss, who had been left holding
the fort, was not empowered to initiate transmissions with the
Federation.  But there was another more pressing reason.  The same
courier-pigeon had brought word of Yoritomo's death and the last order
he had given - the arrest of all members of the Lord Chamberlain's
Office on a charge of suspected high treason.

The sudden removal of the top two men in a single night, and the
accusation levelled by one against the other, had thrown the Court into
total disarray.  Promising careers came to a grinding halt, everybody's
position was imperilled, no one knew who to give their allegiance to.

In the circumstances, it was not surprising that contacting AMEXICO did
not even figure on Shikobu's list of things to do.

The only people with a compelling reason for bringing this critical
situation to Karlstrom's attention were the small number of mexicans
working inside Ne-Issan, disguised as Mute slaves.  As it happened,
none of.  them were stationed on Aron-Giren, but even if one of them
had managed to get wind of what had occurred, Karlstrom would have been
none the wiser.

The disguised mexicans were not working directly for him; they were on
loan to Ieyasu's spy network - and it was the secret section of the
Chamberlain's Office which controlled all communications between them
and AMEXICO.

This organisational weakness delayed, by several days, the news that
the Toh-Yota family was in serious trouble.

Indeed, it was not until a steam-powered junk sailed boldly into
Galveston Bay (the first ever to do so) that the hard facts began to
emerge.

At this particular point, however, the junk- with Steve Brickman and
Skull-Face on board - was still en route, heading south past Cape
Hatteras towards Florida and the Gulf of Mexico, and in Grand Central,
Karlstrom and the P-G, confident that everything was proceeding
smoothly, had switched their attention to news from another quarter.

According to Mr Snow, the Talisman Prophecy had first been uttered by
a wordsmith called Cincinatti-Red, some six hundred and fifty years ago
- a century before the Trackers emerged from their concrete burrows in
2465 AD - an event known in the annals of the Federation as the
BreakOut.

It was another three hundred years before the first garbled version
came to the notice of the Family and was quickly dismissed as the
pipe-dream of a race which - confronted by the growing might of the
Federation sensed it was destined for oblivion.  For a subhuman
species, this was a remarkable deduction; the plans to eradicate the
savage Mutes had not yet been drawn up, and the Trail-Blazer Division
which would conduct the fire-sweeps did not exist.  The first priority,
following the Break-Out, had been the construction of way-stations
across the Home State of Texas.

Way-stations were Tracker equivalent of the US Cavalry forts built to
garrison the West during the 1800s, and served a similar purpose; to
protect and house the new pioneer-soldiers whose future task was to
renew the exploitation of natural resources, mineral, vegetable and
animal - in the shape of marauding bands of Southern Mutes.  In those
early days, the emerging Federation was unaware of the existence of the
Plainfolk, their northern cousins.

The long-drawn out programme of construction between 2465 and 2700 AD
was a remarkable achievement.

It established, in an undeniable fashion, the Federation's claim to the
blue-sky world, but the transition from an underground to a
semi-overground existence was beset with problems which, at times,
brought the whole enterprise dangerously close to collapse.

Four hundred and fifty years of living in a warren of concrete tunnels
within the earth-shield had produced a race of agoraphobic pack-rats
soldier-citizens with an extreme fear of open spaces.  Prolonged
exposure caused disorientation which the victim tried to cure by
seeking shelter.  If no remedial action was taken, muscular and mental
paralysis set in, leading to death from exposure or starvation.  Some
Trackers were not affected so severely, but even they could only
function coherently when engaged in some form of group activity which
also kept them in relatively close visual contact with each other.

Isolation induced panic then collapse.

That was why the way-stations were little more than overground versions
of the divisional bases within the earth-shield - windowless structures
whose view of the outside world was supplied by batteries of
video-cameras - and why later, in the period of territorial expansion
which began in the early 2700s, the first wagon-trains were similar
enclosed environments, secure, sanitised, mobile bases into which the
same agoraphobics could retreat from the terrors presented by the
overwhelming vastness of the land- and sky-scapes and the unknown
perils of the night.

Around the same time, the first microlite aircraft, forerunner of the
Skyhawk line, had appeared - piloted by members of the First Family.

Aerial activity remained limited until the moment when - after a long
period of biological experimentation - a new type of Tracker started to
fill the cots in the Life Institute: an individual with a
high-resistance to ground-sickness - the disabling and potentially
fatal psychological state produced by the twin fears of open spaces and
isolation from the combat or workgroup.

Wing-men were able to resist both; the problem was their scarcity - a
result of the continuing high percentage of infertile males and females
in the population and the relatively short average life-span of forty
years.  Even now, nearly a thousand years after the birth of the
Federation, its population was only a.little over 750,000 men, women
and children and the statistics showed zero growth for the last nine.

The latest conservative estimates put the combined total of Southern
Mutes and the more numerous Plainfolk at around fifteen million.

These odds, combined with the now undeniable fact that the ancient
verses contained clear references to wing-men and Skyhawks
('cloud-warriors') and wagon-trains ('iron-snakes') made over four
hundred years before the Federation had gotten around to actually
building them, had forced the Family to rethink their attitude to the
art of prophecy.

If the creation of Skyhawks and wagon-trains had been foreseen then one
had to accept the other more sinister events predicted in the verses
would also come to pass.

Which was bad news since they described- in unequivocal terms - the
total destruction of the Federation by the Plainfolk led by Talisman,
the Thrice-Gifted One - a messianic warrior whose birth would be
heralded by a volcanic eruption.

Jefferson the 31st, and the hand-picked medical team at the Life
Institute were convinced the child that Clearwater was carrying within
her was the long-awaited saviour.  And they believed that the 'great
mountain in the West' that would speak with 'a tongue of flame that
burns the sky' was either Mount Rainier or Mount St Helens - both
located in what had once been the Pacific coast state of Washington,
home of the Seattle Supersonics and birth-place of the Boeing
Jumbo-jet.

Of the two, Mount Rainier was the highest, peaking at over 14,000 feet,
but the pre-H geological records held by COLUMBUS categorised Rainier
as extinct, with no evidence of any volcanic activity over the previous
2,000 years, whereas Mount St Helens, 9,600 feet high and situated
fifty miles SSW of Mount Rainer, had exploded with great violence in
May 1980, blowing off the entire top section and part of the
north-facing slope, in what was classified as a Vulcanian-type eruption
- the highest of four grades capable of registering up to 9.9 out of a
possible 10 on the Richter Scale.

The records for the world as a whole also showed that even extinct
volcanoes could come to life through shifts in the underlying
geological formations.  Mount Rainer was only one of several volcanic
peaks in the Cascade Range, which was why a long-dead Supreme Council
had decided a watch should be kept on them all.

Earth tremors could be detected at long range by seismographs which
produced the familiar needle-traces of the shockwaves travelling
outwards from the epicentre of the disturbance through the earth's
crust.  These were routinely monitored by all nine divisional
underground bases as part of their own security procedures, but it was
not always possible to differentiate between a severe earthquake and a
volcanic eruption.

To eliminate any misreading of the signs, electronic packages designed
to record the frequency and strength of earth tremors and then
broadcast the data at weekly intervals to the Federation had been
placed on the slopes of the likely candidates and had been in operation
for the last one hundred and fifty-seven years.

'The only snag was maintenance.  Because the instrument packages were
concealed to avoid attracting the attention of passing animals or
Mutes, solar panels had not been a viable power option.  The Federation
had used its unparalled expertise to produce batteries that only needed
to be changed every two years.  Recently, a new version with a
five-year life-span had been perfected and installed.  These were now
due for replacement, and the usual SIG-INT field engineer unit had been
despatched from Johnson/Phoenix, the divisional base beneath the
parched wastes of Arizona.

Travelling in six Bobcat amphibs, each armed with a multiple
rocket-launcher, and hauling a heavy trailerload of fuel, the team of
twenty-four combat engineers under the command of Lieutenant Jack
Marriot drove north past the way-stations at Flagstaff and Page,
retracing the route taken by the old US Highway 89 across Utah to Salt
Lake City, before swinging north-westwards onto the even more ancient
Oregon Trail which would take them through the vanished cities of
Boise, Idaho and Portland, Oregon - now both reduced to navref points;
names on a plasfilm map that marked turn-off points on the crumbling
hard-ways.

From here the Bobcats used their stern water-jets to propel them
across the Columbia River towards Mount St Helens on the western flank
of the Cascade Mountains.

The usual procedure was to start at the most northerly target peak and
work their way back down and this year was no different.  St Helens
would be their last stop before the fourteen hundred mile run for
home.

For several decades, the expedition had been mounted in the winter to
take advantage of the fall-off in the movements of Plainfolk Mutes.

The White Death was a period of semi-hibernation in which few hunting
sorties were made, and there was a corresponding drop in the number of
armed clashes when groups of young warriors invaded the 'turf' of a
neighbouring clan.

To a SIG-INT unit, a long way from home, it meant a relatively quiet
ride, and that outweighed any problems posed by floods, freezing rain
or heavy fails of snow.  The Bobcats were tough, reliable, all-terrain
vehicles with puncture-proof tyres and skin and a sting in the tail.

The odd, rare breakdown was something the engineers could handle, but
carrying out repairs under accurate cross-bow fire from unseen hostiles
was something everyone preferred to do without - and that also applied
to checking instrument packages and changing the batteries.

The fact that Marriot's unit happened to be in the Cascade Mountains in
the same month that Clearwater was due to give birth to an eagerly
awaited baby was a fateful, but quite accidental, coincidence.  The
expedition had been scheduled for December 2991 because the batteries
installed in 2986 were nearing the end of their useful life.

And so, unfortunately, were some of Marriot's engineers ....

Jefferson the 31st rose to greet Karlstrom as he was rotated through
the turnstile of the Oval Office.  The President-General was not what
you would call an excitable man, but on this occasion he was positively
bubbling.

'Ben!  Glad you could make it.  Sit down, sit down."

'Glad you could make it' was a polite extravagance.

Nobody turned down a summons to the Oval Office.

The P-G kept a firm grip on Karlstrom's hand as he guided him over to
the chair facing the desk and the curved window behind.  Today, they
offered a view of the snow-capped Rocky Mountains.

Jefferson went behind his desk and resumed his seat.  'I could have
screened this news through to you, but it's so good I wanted to tell
you face to face.  The Mute, uhh -' 'Clearwater...?"

'Yes.  She's gone into labour.  The first pains came an hour ago.  The
duty nurse logged the time."  Jefferson shook his head in wonderment.

'And this is the unbelievable part.  I checked with the Geo-Survey
Section.  They were processing the data on a strong underground tremor
that was picked up at Johnson/Phoenix, Monroe/Wichita and here in Grand
Central.

'The bearings from Johnson and Monroe were enough to give them a fix on
the location and with the aid of some geological jiggery-pokery they
were able to calculate the event-time."  He gave his voice dramatic
emphasis.  'The tremor came from Mount St Helens, and it coincided with
the onset of Clearwater's labour pains!  This has got to be it, Ben!"

He slapped the desk top.  'By Johnny!  If we pull this one off, we'll
sweep the board!"  The 'Johnny' he'd sworn by was John Wayne, hero of
the First Family and the nearest thing the godless Amtrak Federation
had to a patron saint.

Karlstrom, whose organisation kept tabs on all over-ground movements,
cast his mind back to that morning's overview presented by his
operational command staff.

'Don't we have a SIG-INT unit in that area at the moment?"

'Yes, we do.  They're in radio contact with Johnson/ Phoenix.  When
they called in, they were between Mount Rainier and Mount St Helens.  I
instructed SIG-INT to tell them to re-set the monitoring package so
that it broadcasts the seismic data every hour."

Jefferson read the unspoken question in Karlstrom's eyes and spread
his palms.  'They're out there to replace the batteries, Ben.  This
adjustment I'm asking for takes fifteen minutes at the most.  The
people at the Life Institute tell me a woman can be in labour for
anything up to eighteen hours."

'Or less than four .... ' 'There's no set time, Ben.  But since this is
Clearwater's first child, she'll probably be in labour for several
hours.  The SIG-INT unit will have plenty of time to get clear."

Jefferson smiled.  'It's not like you to be squeamish."

'I'm not - but getting run down by a stream of molten lava must be a
hell of a way to go."

Jefferson disagreed: 'No, I've been screening the data on this.  Unless
you're very unlucky, lava streams are something you can run away
from.

The thing you want to avoid is what they call a nue ardente - a
fire-cloud of hot gases and small, incandescent particles of rock like
coarse grains of sand.

'These fire-clouds- which are triggered by an explosive release of gas
- burst out of a volcano, then roll down the side like an avalanche.

Burns everything in its path - and here's the real bad news - they can
travel at speeds of up to a hundred miles an hour."

'Jeeezusss!"  Jefferson laughed.  'Fortunately, nobody inside the
Family can access this data if they have a below-5 rating.  Which means
that most people outside this office - including this SIG-INT unit
knows squat about volcanoes.  They were sent out to service some
equipment and that's what I expect them to do - whether the ground is
shaking or not."

'In other words, if it blows, they won't know what hit them.  '
Jefferson sat forward in his chair.  'Why the sudden concern, Ben?  You
didn't turn a hair when we sacrificed the crew of The Lady."

Karlstrom made a calming gesture.  'I must be sending out the wrong
signals.  It's not the men.  It's this whole prophecy thing that makes
me uneasy.  The birth tied in with the eruption.  If this child is the
Talisman, and he has these powers, we could be letting ourselves in for
more than we bargained for."

'That's why I've done everything to make sure the cards are stacked in
our favour.  We're playing for high stakes, Ben.  It's not just the
lives of the men in that SIG-INT unit that are at risk, it's the lives
of everyone in the Federation!  If we want to secure the future, it's a
gamble we have to take."  He smiled.  'There is, of course, always the
possibility that I've allowed myself to be totally misled by the
Institute.  And overexcited.

The cramps could be a false alarm, and the fact that this earth-tremor
occurred at the same time could be pure coincidence."

He hadn't, they weren't and it wasn't ....

The bi-annual expeditions to the Cascade range had kept a road open
through the dense pine forests from Mount Rainier to Mount St Helens.

It had once been a state highway, but was now little more than a muddy
logging track, running south-west to Davisson Lake.  Lieutenant Marriot
led the Bobcats across the headwaters at the eastern end, then snaked
round the western flank of Winter Mountain to begin the eleven mile run
south towards the strange, cratered, mud and lava landscape that
surrounded the meandering headwaters of the Toutle River.

From here, a track - last cleared five years ago - ran eastwards for
nine miles up towards Spirit Lake, a big stretch of water that filled
the saucer-shaped hollow between Mount Margaret and her southern
sister, Mount St Heleus.  From the lake, the track turned sharp right
towards the shattered mountain and continued on up for another three
and a half.  The equipment package was at the top of this spur, in the
open-ended caldera formed by the 1980 eruption.

It was as the column of Bobcats came out from behind Winter Mountain
that It Marriot had the luckiest breakdown of his life.  A fractured
drive shaft.  Fortunately, the unit carried a range of crucial spare
parts but it was a three to four hour repair job.

Marriot consulted his watch.  12.45.  This was his second run out to
the Cascades, but his first as commander.  To reach the equipment, the
'Cats had to travel another twenty-three miles over difficult terrain,
the package had to be fitted with a new power pack, then reset for
hourly transmissions and checked using its own built-in diagnostic
programme, and finally the radio signal had to be tested and confirmed
by Johnson/Phoenix.  Three hours at the most, but if they all waited
until his 'Cat was back on the road, they would run out of daylight.

Marriot talked it over with his No.2, Ensign Cantrill, and Sgt Lyman
who had logged three such trips.  Both agreed there was no point in
losing another day.  Marriot called the unit together and explained the
revised plan.

One Bobcat crew would stay behind to cover his own crew and help speed
the repairs, a third would wait at the Toutle River turn-off and the
remaining three, led by Ensign Cantrill and Sgt Lyman would head on up
to Spirit Lake, from where Lyman's crew would service and reset the
equipment while a second 'Cat rode shotgun.

The third, Cantrill's, would remain on stake-out by the lake at the
foot of the mountain road.

When the repairs were completed, Marriot's two vehicles would
rendezvous with the waiting Bobcat to which Cantrill's section would
also return.  The column would then proceed down river, pick up the old
Interstate, cross over into Oregon and then keep rolling with each of
the four-man crews taking turns at the wheel till they reached
Arizona.

Yess-surr.  Once the job was done, Marriot didn't believe in dragging
ass.

Three and a half hours later, as he stood wiping the grease from his
freezing fingers, the ground - which had been giving off the odd rumble
even before they left Mount Rainier - shook violently under his feet,
pitching him against the vehicle.  The second Bobcat was parked up on a
rocky outcrop which gave a better view of the terrain.  The unit hadn't
sighted any Mutes on the out-run, but when you were in Plainfolk
territory you could never afford to relax between sunrise and
sundown.

These lumpheads had a habit of popping up when you least expected it.

There was a sharp hiss from inside Marriot's vehicle as the parked 'Cat
made radio contact.  A voice burst from the speaker grille on the
dash.

'Better get up here, loo-tennant.  Somethin's happening' and it .  ..

smokin' lumpshit!"  There was a confused babble of voices.  · Marriot
looked up the slope towards the parked 'Cat.

In the sky beyond, it looked as if someone had turned a huge orange
spotlight on the thick blanket of grey cloud.

The top hatch of the 'Cat flew open.  A figure hoisted his butt onto
the rim and beckoned frantically.  Marriot signalled he was coming and
shouted over his shoulder to his three crewmen.  'Lock down the engine
covers and get inside the vehicle!"  He reached the top of the slope in
time to see a huge fireball collapse into a doughnut-shaped cloud
around the truncated peak of Mount St Helens.  A glowing necklace of
death, pink, orange, red and scarlet billows, roiling and boiling like
a speeded-up film of clouds - as they tumbled over each other in the
race to be first down the mountainside.

The densely-packed pines covering the ridged slopes were flattened by
the pressure wave and left blazing from end to end.  Sgt Lyman's crew,
who were busy servicing the instrument package, and those in the second
vehicle mounting guard, barely had time to comprehend the horror before
it engulfed them.

Down by the lake, Cantrill and his crew still had two minutes and
thirty seconds in which to react to the oncoming avalanche of fire.

Cantrill ordered his driver to high-tail it back down the road.  The
'Cat took off with the ensign standing in the roof hatch.

Seeing the unbelievable speed at which the glowing cloud was
descending, Cantrill realised they had no chance of getting clear.

Reasoning that a large expanse of water was the best antidote to fire,
he dropped back inside the speeding amphib and yelled at the driver to
change course.  The driver - who had arrived at the same conclusion was
already turning the wheel.

The sixty seconds spent driving in the wrong direction proved fatal.

They were still zigzagging wildly through the pines and down to the
water when they were overrun by the rolling wave of incandescent gas
and volcanic ash.  Trees crashed down around them and burst into
flame.

Others fell across the vehicle, pinning them down.

Escape was impossible.  Within a few seconds, the cabin temperature
rose to furnace heat, searing their lungs and blistering their skin.

The tyres caught alight, the fuel tanks ignited, and the metal and
glass-fibre hulls buckled and melted, frying the crew in their seats.

The fire-cloud rolled on, instantly turning the surface of Spirit Lake
into steam that exploded upwards, tearing the glowing mass to shreds
and hurling molten particles in all directions.

Four miles downstream, on the north bank of the Toutle River, the
stunned crew of the fourth vehicle saw the mountain grow a crown of
fire.  They had already been jolted out of their seats by the same
earth-tremor which had thrown Marriot off balance.  Now, this wall of
flame was expanding outwards and barrelling down the mountainside,
consuming all in its path at incredible speed.

Realising they had to reach'-higher ground, the driver turned the
'Cat's nose towards Winter Mountain, put his foot on the floor and
forgot about the damage he was doing to the suspension.

The fire-cloud swept across the lake, washed up against the southern
flank of Mount Margaret, then turned left, like a flash-flood, driven
by its own momentum to seek the lowest level.  The encounter with the
lake had slowed it down and taken some of the heat from its turbulent
core but it was still lethal by the time it reached the rendezvous
point.

All it found was the fuel trailer that the crew of the fleeing BobCat
had wisely ditched.

Marriot ran over to the vehicle as it slid to a halt.  It was covered
with ash and hot to the touch.  Tiermeyer, the crew-chief, tumbled out
of the portside door, his face as grey as the pumice-stone coating.

'Sheee-itt!"  he croaked.  'What the fuck was all that?!"  'Something
they forgot to tell us about,' said Marriot.

He led Tiermeyer and his crew up to the vantage point where the other
men were clustered, and stood side by side, watching the mountain
burn.

Both of them knew there was no point in speculating about the fate of
the other crewmen.  Nothing in the path of that cloud could have
survived, and repeated radio calls had been met with silence.

Zwemmer, the crew-chief of the parked Bobcat, looked down from his
perch on the rim of the roof hatch.  'Hey, lootennant!  Ain't it time
we got out of here?"

'No,' said Marriot.  'I think we ought to stay here on the high ground
and wait till things quieten down."

Two hours later, after a series of minor tremors, they heard a long,
rumbling roar like the boom of the Trans-Am shuttle hurtling through
the approach tunnel towards a subway station.  Then there was another,
much louder, muffled peal of thunder that seemed to come from the very
bowels of the earth.

The ground shook- throwing the watching crewmen off balance.

'Jeezuss.  H. Kurrist!"  cried Tiermeyer.  'It's happening again?

He was right and wrong at the same time.  This wasn't another
fire-cloud, this was the big event; a full-scale eruption, the like of
which the Trackers had never seen - or hoped to see again.

A vast underground pocket of gas and glowing magma exploded with
colossal force, sending a towering column 
of fire into the' sky and
taking the lining of the vent with it.  The SIG-INT team arched their
necks and watched, open-mouthed, as several thousand tons of incendiary
debris rose several thousand feet into the air, reached its apogee then
arched outwards like one of Versailles' elegant fountains and rained
streamlined gobbets of magma and jagged lumps of red-hot rock over the
surrounding terrain.

The outcrop they were standing on was eighteen miles from the eruption
and on the fringe of the fall-out area.

Everyone dived for cover inside their vehicles as they saw a
wide-spaced shower of volcanic 'bombs' heading their way.

Marriot, realising the need to document the event as part of his
operational report, timed the second, main eruption at 16:42.

At precisely the same moment, at locations thousands of miles apart,
two other events occurred.  Both were linked to the eruption and each
other by the strange geometry of fate, forming a triangle whose
importance was to remain hidden by those who sought to gain control of
Talisman.

At 16:42, in the Federation's Life Institute, a dark-haired child was
gently eased from Clearwater's body and drew in its first life-giving
breath with a sharp, choking cry.

Clearwater, her vision slightly blurred from a drug injection, searched
for sight of her baby, but a raised green sheet, prevented her seeing
the lower half of her body.

The masked nurse who had sat at her shoulder during the delivery, leant
over and mopped the sweat from her brow.  'It's a boy,' she
whispered.

'A strong, healthy boy.

Lie back, they'll bring him to you in a minute as soon as he's been
cleaned and weighed."

Clearwater was overwhelmed by a feeling of desolation.

The nurse attempted to soothe her.  'Don't cry ...

don't cry."

Watching the scene on television, Jefferson the 31st could hardly
contain his excitement.  Talisman was in the hands of the First
Family.

The world was within their grasp ....

In Ne-Issan, in the domain of the Yama-Shita, in the family stronghold
at Sara-kusa, Roz lay sleeping in the bed-chamber that had been
prepared for her and Cadillac by their grateful hosts.

Placing the severed heads of Yoritomo and Ieyasu before Aishi Sakimoto
and the other members of the family council had won them the praise
they expected, and had left the Iron Masters in even greater awe of
their po.wer than on their last visit.

They were, in fact, regarded as unassailable - and even if they
weren't, who would be foolish enough to kill two geese which laid such
golden eggs?

The hospitality they now enjoyed and the circumspection with which they
were treated came as a welcome relief.  On boarding the junk that was
waiting offshore, both Roz and Cadillac had been shocked to realise
that they were mentally and physically drained.

The long land and sea journey from Sioux Falls, the deceptive imagery
they had been forced to weave around themselves, the plotting with the
Yama-Shita, the mounting tension of the journey south with Lord
Min-Orota, the nail-biting suspense and the blood-soaked climax had
taken their toll.  They had been running on a high octane mixture of
fear and adrenaline and the tanks were now empty.

Even so, they had not been able to unwind until they were out of reach
of the Toh-Yota in the relative safety of the Sara-kusa palace.  Then,
at long last, they had been able to take shelter in each other's arms
and shut out the world for a long, loving, tender moment.

That had been yesterday.  And now, as Roz lay in the darkened room, a
crucial chemical change was taking place inside her body.

Clinging to the wall of the uterine tube was a newly fertilised egg.

An egg which had succumbed to the 
advances of one out of two hundred
and fifty million potential suitors implanted by Cadillac.

Shorn of its tail, the sperm head had pierced the protective membrane,
then had chemically sealed it against his rivals.  And in the wondrous
alchemy that governs our existence, the successful suitor had been
transformed into what is known as the male pronucleus.

Within the maturing egg, a female pronucleus had also formed.

At 16:42, as Mount St Helens spoke with a tongue of flame, the two
pronuclei moved towards the centre of the egg, shed their protective
membrane and fused together.

And in that instant, a new, unique human being was created ....

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mount St Helens continued to erupt with varying degrees of violence
over the next seventeen days, pumping out a column of dense smoke and
hot ash into the upper atmosphere.  It was like an upturned space
heater incinerating the laundry that had been placed on it to dry.

The cold moist air sweeping in from the northwest over the Pacific
found itself riding a giant thermal which lifted it up over the Rockies
onto the plains beyond where it collided with the polar air stream also
warmed by the spreading plume of volcanic ash.

As these two unseasonably warm air masses came into contact with the
freezing earth, the result was not the expected heavy falls of snow,
but rain - precipitation on a scale that had rarely been equalled in
the annals of North America and which, in falling, dragged the
thousands of tons of grey ash out of the sky and cast it across the
landscape like a death shroud.

The snow that had already fallen was washed away, and the melt which
normally filled the streams and rivers in April and May was turned into
a flood as the incessant downpour drained off the surrounding land
bringing to pass the third line of the Talisman Prophecy: And the earth
drowns in its own tears ....

From the Milk River, the northernmost tributary of the great Missouri,
from the Yellowstone, the Cheyenne, the Niobara, and the Platte, the
silt-laden waters rushed eastwards to join the huge flood heading down
from the Dakotas, while from northern Minnesota, the mighty Mississippi
fed from both east and west by the St Croix, Chippewa, Cedar, Rock,
Iowa, Des Moines and Illinois swept south towards the looping junction
with the Missouri just north of navref St Louis.

By the time it was joined by the swollen waters of the Ohio River, a
hundred miles further south, the Mississippi had become an unstoppable
grey-brown tidal wave that overwhelmed the remains of the concrete
levees and run-offs which had been put in place during the mid-20th
century.  In the aftermath of the Holocaust they had been an
irrelevance, and by 2465 AD, the year of the Break-Out, they were
judged to be beyond repair.

Work on shoring up the river banks had begun following the
incorporation of Mississippi, Louisiana and Arkansas to the Federation,
but the continuing shortages of labour and heavy equipment and other
more urgent tasks had turned it into yet another on-going construction
project - which in this instance was still incomplete after two hundred
and forty-three years.

Even if the original flood-control system had been in place, it
probably could not have held back the gigantic volume of water now
descending onto the coastal plain.

The uncompleted system stood no chance at all, and within a matter of
days, some thirty thousand square miles were submerged - creating a
vast inland sea.

It was not just overground facilities that were affected when these
floods burst upon an unsuspecting Federation.

Surface water, percolating down through the sub-strata, raised
underground levels to a point where the pumping facilities of the
divisional bases at Le May/Jackson, Truman/Lafayette and Lincoln/Little
Rock were strained to the limit.

And as is always the case, the build-up in pressure found the weak
points in the outer concrete skin.  Cracks became open fissures then
gaping holes allowing water to gush through, flooding entire galleries
before cascading down through vent and lift shafts, escalator and
service tunnels to the levels below.  At one point, the TransAm subway
system was menaced, but sMft action brought the situation under
control- although not without loss of life.

Flooding of underground facilities was an ever-present danger in the
Federation and a great deal of thought and effort had gone into methods
of containing inflows.  In the same way that everyone knew the
emergency drill in the event of a fire, every Tracker on an underground
base had an assigned role with a Flood Control Team.

To help cope with a dangerous inflow, all levels were fitted with
watertight doors and vertical shut-offs which could be closed rapidly
to isolate a flooded section - and most of the fatalities occurred
amongst those unlucky enough to be in the wrong place when they lowered
the boom.

In an earlier age, closure had been a manual operation, but this had
not proved 100 per cent effective because of what an AmExec report had
called 'the emotionally-induced delay factor'.  Those ordered to close
the doors were found to be holding them open to allow their buddies to
escape - in some cases for far too long, leading to more widespread
disruption.

COLUMBUS, whose primary task was to ensure that the Federation
functioned efficiently, did not have the same problem.  Its logical
analysis of the situation and the resulting decision to implement
closure of a particular door was not affected by the hammering fists
and desperate entreaties of those trapped by the rising tide.

'Welcome back."  The President-General invited Steve to take the
armchair by the fireplace he had occupied on his first, memorable visit
to the Oval Office.  'Must have been quite a trip."

'It was, sir.  But I learned a great deal - including the fact that I
wasn't cut out to be a sailor."

'You and a few thousand others.  That's one of the reasons why we don't
have a navy."  Jefferson sat back in his rocker and stretched out a
hand towards the gas flames that leapt through the cast iron logs and
mica ash.  Karlstrom wheeled another chair in to complete the
triangle.

Steve waited, not knowing how it was going to play.

The P-G had welcomed him'with the usual ten thousand 
volt hand-shake,
but this time the voice had lacked warmth and he had not been greeted
by his given name.

Karlstrom caught Jefferson's signal to start the proceedings.

'Okay, Brickman, we've talked at some length to Major Fujiwara, now
we'd like to hear your side of the story."  He saw Steve's reaction.

'Relax.  We're not exactly overjoyed at what's happened but you're not
about to be strung up by the thumbs."

'Thank you, sir."

'And to save time, we accept Fujiwara's assessment as to who
master-minded this coup.  The Yama-Shita family - who used Lord
Min-Orota to set up Lady Mishiko.

A shrewd move.  Fuji's probably told you why she was happy to
oblige."

'Yes, sir, the Hase-Gawa connection.  Small world Karlstrom nodded.

'You and Commander Franklynne just happened to arrive at the wrong
time, but we were also taken totally by surprise.  Lady Mishiko
obviously had outside help - though how the Yama-Shita managed to
breach the island's security cordon is a complete mystery.  Anyway, the
people helping her must have been the ones who jumped you and Fram What
we can't figure out is why they didn't take you as well."

Steve knew this question was bound to come up, and throughout the
voyage home he had been searching for a plausible answer.  'If I knew
what hit me, sir, I might be able to answer that.  The jap who was
guarding us figured there were six soldiers closing in on the house.

We went out to take them on and.  the next thing I knew -' 'Fujiwara
was untying you, and Commander Frank-lynne was gone."  Karlstrom
pinched his nose thoughtfully.

'Okay ... here's another question - how d'you think the Yama-Shita
managed to get the goods on Ieyasu?  Who uncovered our deal to supply
his organisation with radios and surveillance devices?  One of his own
people?"

'I doubt it, sir.  You can check with Skull-, uhh, I mean Major
Fujiwara, but in my opinion, if any of Ieyasu's people were caught in
the act, they'd face death by torture rather than talk."

'Yes, well, to save them the trouble we also supply cyanide capsules.

A press-pack of five is included with every item we supply."

Steve nodded.  These guys had thought of everything.  He answered
Karlstrom's question.  'Sir, there is someone who could've tipped off
the Yama-Shita."  He paused before letting the name drop.  'Cadillac
M'Call."

Karlstrom and Jefferson looked at each other, then the P-G said: 'Would
you care to elaborate?"

'Yes, sir.  When Cadillac and I escaped together from the Heron Pool,
he was in a position to observe what happened every step of the way.

If I may recap briefly, we ditched our gliders at a pre-arranged
rendezvous near the Hudson River, set them on fire, then were hidden in
a house by an associate of Major Fujiwara until the wheel-boat arrived
to take us through the canal system to Bu-faro.

'This jap used a hand-set while we were in the house.

Side-Winder - a mexican - was on the boat disguised as a Mute, then
more of Ieyasu's people helped us get onto a fishing boat, from where
we transferred into inflatables to reach the air pick-up point on the
western side of Lake Erie.

'It was obvious they were all hooked into an efficient radio network.

From what I learned during my training at Rio Lobo, the hand-sets
Side-Winder and I were using weren't powerful enough to reach the
Federation.  The signals had to be relayed - probably from inside
Ne-Issan."

'It's an interesting supposition,' said Karlstrom.

Steve continued undeterred.  'Cadillac is one smart Mute.  Once he saw
that Side-Winder was working alongside Ieyasu's agents, and that they
had radios, it wouldn't take long for him to put it all together."

'I can see that,' said Karlstrom, 'but what makes you think he's been
talking to the YamaShita?"

'Because of something he said to me after Mr Snow 
and the She-Kargo
had destroyed the wheel-boats and most of the D'Troit.  He was going on
about how the Yama-Shita - when they realised they'd made a big mistake
in allying themselves with the D'Troit - might be persuaded to cut a
deal with the winners."

'And he was going to try and set this up?"

'That was the idea, yes."

'So how come you didn't mention this when you came back in with
Clearwater?"  asked Karlstrom.

'Because I- didn't believe he was serious.  You have to understand that
this is someone who believes he's a man of destiny.  He's full of big
ideas, but most of them are pure fantasy-land."  Steve shrugged.  'To
be honest, sir, I just couldn't see it happening."

'And now?"  said Jefferson.

'Maybe he found a way to get to them.  Having had a chance to think it
over, I realised that the YamaShita don't know that Mr Snow - the
She-Kargo's secret weapon - is dead.  After the way he wrote off their
punitive expedition I'd say they might be prepared to listen - wouldn't
you, sir?"  Steve addressed the question to the President-General.

'That would depend on what Cadillac had to put on the table."

'Exactly,' said Karlstrom.  'And it's now clear it wasn't furs and
buffalo skins.  It was a plan to destabilise the whole goddamn fucking
country!  But where did he get hold of the equipment?  The Yama-Shita
wouldn't have bought this story without some tangible proof!"  'Didn't
he steal a Mark 2 Skyhawk from The Lady, sir?"

'An aircraft was seen to take off shortly before she blew up, yes."

'Then that's where he got a radio from.  He also learned to speak
japanese while he and I were in Ne-Issan.  With the record facility, it
wouldn't be too hard to put on a convincing show of picking up a
transmission."

The P-G fixed him with pale, hard eyes.  'You make it sound like you
were there."

'With respect, sir, I am only putting together a scenario based on my
own experience.  The Iron Masters are scared stiff of anything to do
with the Dark Light.  They're not going to get too close or ask too
many questions.  As for Cadillac having the necessary expertise, he's
been inside my head and Malone's - and he got hands-on experience when
we were setting up the M'Calls for the attack on The Lady from
Louisiana."

'But you're not suggesting that it was his idea to murder the Shogun
and Ieyasu."

'No, sir, it couldn't have been.  He had no knowledge of the political
set-up.  On the other hand, if he was working closely with the
Yama-Shita, it would explain why whoever hit me on the head only took
Commander Franklynne."

	ti don't quite follow,' said Jefferson.

'It would be a way of getting his own back for what happened to the
Clan m'call.  Instead of having his jap friends capture or kill me, he
left me to take the full rap from the Federation for coming back
without a deal - and losing Commander Franklynne."

Karlstrom pinched his nose again.  'Yes, well, that's one
explanation.

But how did he - or they - figure you were going to make it?"

'I'm not sure, sir.  But since we'd managed to get out of the Palace
after being tossed in jail, it must have been obvious to the guys who
jumped us that we were in the process of being rescued.  The meeting at
the Summer Palace was supposed to be top secret, but whoever set up
this coup knew exactly what was going on, who was going to be there and
when - and had access."

	'Ye-esss 	' Karlstrom sought Jefferson's reaction to this.

Steve watched the silent exchange and knew he was out from under He
jumped up as the P-G and Karlstrom vacated their seats.  'Sir, I
realise that my failure to provide Commander Franklynne can't be erased
from the record ' 	'Damn right!"  exclaimed Jefferson.

'- but I'd like an opportunity to make restitution."

'Don't worry, you're going to!  This screw-up has brought her father
and half his kin-folk down on my back.  And pressure from that quarter
is the last thing I need."

Jefferson treated Steve to a mocking smile.  'But at least you've
learned you can't win them all.  Even so, you're still a lucky
sonofabitch.  In fact we both are.  It was Fran who talked me into
giving her this mission against my better judgement, and insisted on
taking you - instead of someone with similar experience who could
actually speak the language!"  He waved dismissively.  'Take him away,
Ben."

When Karlstrom and Steve emerged into the glistening marble lobby,
Steve asked: 'What's going to happen to Major Fujiwara and the other
men who helped me escape, sir?"

'They've been temporarily assigned to our language laboratory.  But
we'll probably send them back in to Ne-Issan to make contact with the
operatives we still have there and - hopefully - set up a new network
working directly for us.  If the Toh-Yota lose control of the ball, it
could all get very messy.  It's vital we keep tabs on what's happening,
so that we can be in a position to help the winning side."  A thin
smile.  'Who knows?  You may soon find yourself back in there dressed
up as a Mute - but this time with lumps in your face."

'Does that mean I still have my job on the Eastern Desk?"

'Not yet, Brickman.  You're down for a crash course in japanese - and
you're also going to be wargaming in the Simulation Room.  The Desk
Controller's office will give you the details?

'Thank you, sir."  Steve stiffened to attention.

Karlstrom returned his salute, then remarked casually: 'Oh, by the way
- there's something we didn't tell you in there.  Your hunch about
Cadillac was right on the money."

'Beg pardon, sir?"

'While you were all at sea, Monroe/Wichita picked up a signal from
Sara-kusa.  The Yama-Shita family are holding Commander Franklynne
hostage.  You'll be pleased to know she's alive and well."

'Wovww... jeezuss!  That's a relief."

'It's more than just good news, Brickman.  Remember our train ride?"

'Very clearly, sir."

'Then we may have one thing less to worry about.  The Yama-Shita family
have cut a deal with the She-Kargo.

They're offering to swap Commander Franklynne for Clearwater and her
baby son."  · 	Steve's jaw dropped.  'Baby...?"

'Yes, I forgot.  You're a father.  Congratulations."

Karlstrom stuck out a hand.  'But before you go rushing over there,
ride down to my office with me and I'll give you the rest of what we
have on the hostage front."

Steve looked down at the little screwed-up face then sat on the side of
Clearwater's bed.  They squeezed each other's hands and exchanged
kisses.

'Have you given him a name yet?"

'Yes, Sand-Wolf."  Clearwater lifted the dark-haired week-old baby out
of the bedside cot and cradled him in her arms.  'Because he was born
in the Great Desert of the South."

Steve laughed.  'Why do you still call the Federation a desert?  Don't
you ever look out of the window?  There are trees and grass out
there."

'I know - but what lies beyond the wall?"

'More trees, more grass, streams, rivers-things you've never dreamed
of.  There's more to the Federation than concrete warrens and
wagon-trains."

'Yes, I know.  It was the skill of their medecine men who saved my life
- while their brothers continue to wage war on the Plainfolk.  Do you
expect me to ignore that?

To forget how my kin-sisters and their children died?

I was not spared because they took pity on me, but whatever the reason
I will always be grateful - not to 
them but to you.  For it was you
who summoned help and gave me something to live for.  But not here."

Clearwater stroked Sand-Wolfs head.  'It doesn't matter how favoured a
life you can secure for us.  I don't want my son to grow up in a world
where they build walls."

'He won't have to."  Steve reached out and was allowed to take the
baby.  He held it awkwardly in the crook of his arm and slipped the
little finger of his right hand into one of its tiny clenched fists.

'Got some good news for you, Sandy.  You and your ma may be going home
soon."

Clearwater jerked forward off the stacked pillows.  'Is it true?!'
'Yes, well - let me put it this way.  It's true in the sense that it's
a serious possibility."  Steve explained about the message from the
Sara-kusa palace offering to exchange Fran for her and the baby.

Clearwater lay back with a puzzled frown.  'But why do the Iron Masters
want me?"

Steve flashed a warning glance the hidden cameras couldn't see.  'I'm
not sure.  There's an unconfirmed report that suggests they may be
doing business with the She-Kargo.  If it's true, then getting you back
could be part of it."

Clearwater caught on.  'And when is this going to happen?"

'Dunno.  That still has to be arranged."

'But you will be involved?"

'Oh, yes.  I've been given the job of making sure the hand-over goes
smoothly."

'Which means...?"

'That it will."  Steve's eyes gave another warning.  'If I don't,get it
right this time, I'm finished."

Clearwater reached out to stroke the baby and the arm that held him.

'Has it occurred to you that my son and I might not want to leave
you?"

Steve grasped the outstretched hand and squeezed it affectionately as
he raised his voice for the benefit of the concealed microphones.

'That's tough, because neither of us have any choice in the matter."

He looked down at the baby.  'Hey, you!  Small fry!

Don't just lie there.  Talk some sense into your mother."

He laid Sand-Wolf in Clearwater's arms.

'Are you pleased to have a son?"

'I think so.  To tell you the truth, I'm still getting used to the
idea.  Y'know - the two of us making a human being.

I grew up believing that the President-General was the creator of All
Life."

'And now you know it isn't true."

Steve gave another warning glance.  'Correction.  We know he doesn't
create Plainfolk."

'That's right.  There's something I have to show you."

.Clearwater peeled off Sand-Wolfs white nightshirt and turned him face
down on the bed.  On the light peachy-brown skin of his back were
several darker zebra stripes, running from his shoulders down to the
terry-towel nappy, and forming a roughly symmetrical pattern on either
side of his spine.

Steve ran a finger down one of the stripes.  'So what?"

'You're not angry?"

'Why should I be?  I think he looks great - don't you?"

'Of course I do."  Sand-Wolf gave a disgruntled gurgle as she replaced
his nightshirt and laid him in the cot.

'Then why are you crying?"

Clearwater brushed the tears from her face.  'If you were a woman,
you'd understand."

'But as I'm not, I can't."

'One day perhaps."

Steve took her hand.  'I'm sorry I wasn't here when -' 'You're here
now.  That's enough."

Steve glanced at the wall clock and sighed.  'And now I've got to go.

See you this evening."  He kissed her lightly on the cheek then placed
a hand on the baby's chest and rocked him gently from side to side.

'G'bye, Sandy."

As he turned to go, Clearwater threw aside the bedclothes.

'Wait!  I'll walk you to the door."

'Walk?  You mean without -?"

Clearwater laughed at his astonished expression.  'Yes!

Did you think I was going to be in this bed forever?"

She pulled up the hem of her knee-length maternity shift.  It was the
first time Steve had seen her legs in months.  The bullet wounds had
healed but her right thigh still bore the scars of the surgical
operations that had rebuilt her shattered thigh bone.

'Jeeezuss, that's look brutal.  Does it still hurt?"

'Mutes don't feel pain.  Isn't that what they say?"

Clearwater pulled on a long white bathrobe and knotted the sash.  'I
still have a slight limp, but the nurses have told me that will
gradually disappear."  She linked arms with Steve.

'Are you sure this is allowed?"

'Of course.  You're a member of the Family.  The nurses seem to think
you're a very important person now."

'Then make the most of it.  It may not last."

No one challenged them as they walked along the passage towards the
reception area.  Clearwater stopped at the double-doors that divided
the Long Term Care Annexe from the rest of the Life Institute and
turned towards Steve, her face raised expectantly.

They kissed and hugged one another, then separated.

A passing medical orderly picked up the cap which had fallen from under
Steve's arm.

Steve put it back on and adjusted it to the right angle.

'Are you sure you can make it back on your own?"

'Just watch me."  Clearwater held onto his hands for a moment longer
then turned and walked away.  With no arm to lean on, the limp was more
pronounced.  When she reached the side corridor, she looked back, waved
briefly and was gone before Steve could respond.

I should be happy, thought Steve.  I've got out of that fiasco in
Ne-Issan without anyone guessing what really happened.  Roz is safe and
has knocked some sense into Cadillac.  Fran will be handed back, shaken
but unharmed.  I have a son.  The woman I really care about is almost
restored to health and may soon gain her freedom.  So why do I feel
something terrible is going to happen...?

Ten days after the death of Yoritomo and Ieyasu, while the TohoYota
family were still trying to sort out the succession and the chaos
caused by the dead Shogun's order to arrest everyone working for, or
associated with, his great-uncle on a charge of treason, the YamaShita
family struck again - this time with their armies.

Before Cadillac and Roz departed for the Winter Palace, the Yama-Shita
and their allies had spent some time working out what action each would
take if the planned coup were to succeed, and the call to arms had been
sent by courier-pigeon to the expectant domain-lords within minutes of
Cadillac's arrival at Sarakusa with the severed heads of Yoritomo and
Ieyasu.

In a simultaneous pincer movement from east and west, foot-soldiers and
cavalry units from Min-Orota's army crossed over the Connecticut river
into the lower quarter of the Toh-Yota's huge northern domain a few
hours after the Yama-Shita had ferried troops across the Hudson under
cover of darkness.  Their objective was to secure a fifty-mile deep
strip along the coast facing Long Island.

A second Yama-Shita strike-force swung south into New Jersey, to secure
the remaining section of the west bank and mouth of the Hudson River
where it ran out past Staten Island into Lower New York Bay.

In the far north, the Fu-Jitsu family, long-time allies of the
Yama-Shita, launched an attack along the south bank of the St Lawrence
River, to link up with a third strike-force moving eastwards around the
northern tip of Lake Champlain.

But not everything went as the Yama-Shita family had hoped.  In the
north-east, the Hase-Gawa, regarded as 'reliable' neutrals by the
Toh-Yota, declined to join the Progressives despite being informed of
Lord Ieyasu's treachery, and his betrayal of a son from their noble
house.  They had fought alongside the Toh-Yota to depose the ruling
Da-Tsuni, and they responded to the Yama-Shita's invitation by
attacking the Fu-Jitsu's left flank.  The Ho-Nada family promptly
joined them, 
foiling the planned pincer movement.

On hearing of this vigorous response, the Na-Shona family, whose domain
covered the north-eastern tip of Ne-Issan, and who had pledged their
support during the secret meeting at Sara-kusa, decided to remain on
the sidelines - a move which left the Hase-Gawa, Ho-Nada and Naka-Jima
free to send their coastal fleets to harry the Min-Orota.

In the centre, its other principal allies, the Ko-Nikka and Se-Iko
began the process of mobilising their reserves.

Of the two, only the Se-Iko was in a position to menace the enemy's
front line.  Its domain butted onto the Traditionalist strongholds of
the Mitsu-Bishi, SuZuki and Toh-Shiba.  It was not strong enough to
take on all three at once and, in any case, multiple forested ridges of
the Appalachian Mountains barred a swift advance onto the coastal
plain.  The Se-Iko responded to the Yama-Shita's appeal by moving its
regular troops into defensive positions along the border, causing the
three opposing domain-lords to rush troops to the same area, thus
weakening the forces available to meet any further southward movement
by the YamaShita.

The news from the far south was as disappointing as that from the
north.  The Dai-Hatsu, another so-called neutral domain in the
traditionalist camp, was still wavering despite the lure of being
allowed to expand its territory beyond the Western Hills.

The neighbouring Da-Tsuni - the smallest and least powerful domain
neutered by marriage to Yoritomo's family - could have been easily
overrun, but without the Dai-Hatsu, the noose could not be drawn tight
around the Toh-Yota and its staunchest allies, the MitsuBishi, Su-Zuki
and Toh-Shiba.  Faced with the DaiHatsu's dithering, the San-Yo and
Hi-Tashi, the two families whose domains were at the southern end of
Ne-Issan, decided to sit on their hands.

The struggle for control of Ne-Issan had begun.  With the help of
Cadillac and Roz, the Yama-Shita had dealt the Toh-Yota a major blow
and had seized the military initiative, but a swift victory for the
Progressive faction was far from assured.

Despite Fran's absence, Steve continued to use the same suite of rooms,
commuting each day from the white colonnaded mansion to the Simulation
Room and underground language lab, where Samurai-Major Fujiwara - now
wearing a cut-down Trail-Blazer parade uniform with yellow rank stripes
- was endeavouring to explain the mind-boggling complexities of the
japanese language.

To cite just one example: each of the simple personal pronouns - the
'I, me, my, you' and 'your' in Federation Basic - could be expressed in
several quite different ways in japanese, and the correct choice of
word depended on whether the speaker was of superior rank to the
addressee - or vice versa - their social relationship and the degree of
intimacy between them, the nature of conversation, and the age and sex
of the person doing the talking.

Cadillac had acquired his mastery of the language through the magical
equivalent of a brain transplant, but how in the name of the Great
Sky-Mother had Fran done it?

Steve's renewed respect for her linguistic abilities might have been
tempered had he known that Fran's studies had begun at the age of three
as part of a First Family programme to create a special cadre of
potential administrators that could take control of Ne-Issan when it
was finally subjugated by the armies of the Federation.

Whatever their faults, no one could accuse them of not thinking
ahead.

The Federation-wide celebrations held to mark New Year's Day, 2992 AD,
were matched on the overground by glittering receptions, dinner parties
and dancing on the various colonial-style estates spread across the
First Family's private enclave.

The twenty-four hour break from Fujiwara's language class gave steve's
brain a chance to come off the boil, but 
the rest of his body remained
restless.  As someone who had spent his life training for active duty
and had loved every minute of it, he still found it difficult to adjust
to the idea of 'spare time' - one of the many privileges enjoyed by
members of the Family.

Ordinary Trackers were allowed R&R, but the normal priorities of an
off-duty soldier were sleep, food and more sleep, and maybe- but not
necessarily- jacking-up whatever came within reach.  To be able to
wallow in your bunk long after reveille had sounded and have a buddy
bring you food down from the mess-hall was the dog-soldier's ultimate
dream.

In the past, it had been Steve's too, but since his promotion and
elevation to Cloudlands, he had been introduced to a more elegant
life-style that offered a greater element of choice and a range of
diversions that went far beyond the Shoot-A-Mute type arcade games-that
was the major legal form of entertainment for those down under.

And on this New Year's Day he discovered another.

From midday onwards, the presidential cortege conducted a leisurely
whistle-stop tour of the various estates, to meet, mingle and press
flesh with the inhabitants of each mansion at a lavish outdoor or
indoor reception.

The itinerary varied from year to year, and on this occasion, Savannah,
the mansion to which Steve had been assigned was the last call of the
evening.  Answering the summons to greet the P-G, he joined the other
residents assembled on the front steps; the men in their ' 	Confederate
grey uniforms and sword belts, or formal civilian attire, the women
resplendent in their wide-skirted ball gowns, soft elbow-length gloves
and silk or woollen shawls to protect them from the cold.

They did not have long to wait.  These visits were always carefully
timed.  The horse-drawn presidential cortege drew up, two lines of
ensigns from the honour guard formed on either side of the welcoming
red carpet, and Jefferson the 31st was warmly cheered and applauded as
he mounted the steps with his immediate entourage to be greeted by the
Chief Estate-Holder then taken inside.

Steve glimpsed Karlstrom among the pack of top brass.

Steve himself was not on the short list of people due to be presented
to the P-G, but as he mingled with the chattering throng sipping his
third glass of white wine, he felt a hand grasp his elbow.  It was
Karlstrom.

'Good evening, sir.  Happy New Year."  They raised and touched their
glasses.

'And to absent friends,' said Karlstrom.

'Have you heard any more about when the YamaShita are going to hand
over Commander Franklynne?"

'.Not yet.  But when I do I'll let you know.  How's it going at
school?"

Steve grimaced.  'My toughest assignment yet.  That language is a real
bitch.  Given the choice I'd rather be out doing damage to people and
property."

'There'll be plenty of time for that later.  If you put your back into
it, you should be able to read and speak with reasonable fluency in six
months."

'Six months...!"  'Six to eight.  That's all it took me.  And I was
over thirty.  Jeezuss, you're not even twenty yet!  Stop complaining.

Just get in there and give it your best shot."

'Don't worry, sir.  I will."

'You'd better - otherwise you could lose your star rating."  Karlstrom
eyed the surrounding throng of men and women then adopted a friendlier
tone.  'Have you lined up anything for this evening?"

'uhh, no, sir?  said Steve.  If Karlstrom meant what he thought he
meant, that would have been asking for trouble.

'Good."  Karlstrom checked his watch and began to move away.  'We're
due out of here in about fifteen minutes.  Come back with us to Grand
Palisades.  We're going to be running a little item that may interest
you .... ' Grand Palisades was the President-General's mansion - the
place where the very top echelons of the Family 
congregated.  As he
dismounted from Karlstrom's carriage, his host pointed out a
dark-haired powerful-looking man who had buttonholed the P-G.  'That's
Theodore "Bull" Jefferson.  Member of the Supreme Council, and
States-General of Texas.  If you leave AMEXICO out of the picture, he's
the second most powerful man in the Federation - and the father of your
missing bed-mate."  Karlstrom laughed.  'So keep well back because I
don't intend to introduce you."

After entering the mansion - which was even more spacious and splendid
than Savannah - another round of drinks and refreshments was offered to
the presidential party then a group of about thirty led by Jefferson
split off and filed out.  Karlstrom signalled Steve to follow.

Thickly carpeted stairs took them below ground level into a room with
panelled walls, a stepped sloping floor and eight rows of five
comfortable armchair-type seats like the one he'd seen in the apartment
in Santanna Deep.  Karlstrom signalled Steve to take a seat in the back
row, then walked on to join Jefferson and Fran's father at the front.

The P-G took the centre seat, facing a high curtained wall about
fifteen feet in front of them.

Turning round, Steve saw a line of four small square holes in the wall
behind him.  Weird.  Everyone was clearly waiting for something to
appear from behind the curtain - but what?  He settled down in his seat
as the lights dimmed.  Stirring music - richer than the usual stuff
piped through the Federation - issued from banks of speakers on the
side walls.  The curtains parted soundlessly to reveal a large white
rectangle - several feet wider than the block of seats, then as the
music swelled, a ray of light shot from the back wall and filled the
screen with colour.

How strange!  thought Steve.  This is not a video-wall - this is some
entirely different process.  This picture's being projected onto some
kind of special material.  The colours are so bright!  And the sound!

He watched openmouthed as the story unfolded.  A story about a fight to
the death by a small band of heroes facing overwhelming odds.  Steve
was watching his first cinemascope movie: The Alamo starring and
directed by the First Family's favourite hero.  John Wayne ....

Incredible.  And of course Steve believed he was watching the real
thing.  He was still rooted in his seat while everyone else was heading
for the exit.

'You planning to stay there all night?"

Karlstrom's voice brought Steve back to earth.  He leapt up.

'What did you think of it?"

'Staggering.  To have a visual record of something that happened over a
thousand years ago."

."Yehh... 1836 - what's the problem?"

'Nothing, sir.  It was kind of strange, y'know - the mexicans being the
bad guys."

Karlstrom smiled.  'They were the old kind.  Nothing to do with us."

Steve followed him to the door.  'D'you mind if I ask you something
else?  How did they make the cameras work?

There wasn't anything in that fort that used electricity.

And how did the guys who were taking the pictures get over to the enemy
side without being shot?"

The question made Karlstrom laugh.  'That language course really has
burnt your wires out!  What you just saw was a recreation of an actual
historical event.  Nobody got shot, nobody died.  Those weren't real
soldiers.  It was staged for the cameras in 1960 - more than a hundred
years after it happened!"  Steve tried to take all this on board.  He
had discovered that the Iron Masters made up stories about nonexistent
people and imaginary events, but for someone brought up on a diet of
training videos and educational documentaries, who had never held a
book in his hands and who knew nothing about the creative or cinematic
arts, the concept of fiction as entertainment was difficult to grasp.

Watching the story unfold on the screen had been a totally new
experience that had held him spellbound from start to finish, but after
learning from Karlstrom that everyone involved had been pretending, he
could not 
help wondering why anyone should want to make a fake version
of a real battle.  Having only received a practical education which
virtually excluded the imaginative process, the question was quite
natural, but he didn't ask it for fear of making a fool of himself.

'What was the process we were watching?"

Karlstrom took him into the projection room and provided him with a
succinct explanation of how film images were captured and displayed on
the big screen.

'That's why they're called movies."

'Sounds kinda primitive .... ' 'It is,' said Karlstrom.  'But it's also
part of our heritage.

You've only seen one, but we've got dozens of these movies.  They are
stories about heroism and self-sacrifice.

They express a set of values which have guided the First Family from
the very beginning.  They are the source of our inspiration.  They
represent what the Federation stands for, the kind of America we are
going to rebuild when we have conquered the blue-sky world."

Well it was certainly more watchable than the guff they pumped out on
the nine video channels.  'If that's so, sir, why keep them to
yourselves?  If they're as valuable as you suggest, wouldn't it boost
everyone's morale if they were shown nationwide?"

Karlstrom responded with a mocking smile.  'That's just the kind of
question I've come to expect from you.  Let's just say that they will
be shown one day, but not yet."  He led Steve out of the projection
room and back upstairs.  'What did you think of John Wayne?"

'uhh, yes... I saw the name.  Is that the same man whose ' Yes.  John
Wayne Plaza.  When you see more of his work and realise what he
represents, you'll understand why."  Karlstrom paused.  'What's bugging
you now?"

'They called him Davy Crockett... was that his code-name?"

Karlstrom propelled him in a friendly fashion towards the liveried Mute
manservant waiting by the huge front door.  'Forget it, Brickman.  Just
go home and go to bed!"  January the 15th turned out to be another day
to remember.  Forced to study late into the night to catch up with his
course-work Steve was unable to get over to the Life Institute to see
Clearwater for three days in a row.  On each occasion he had sent three
video-grams through to the LTC Admin Office asking them to pass his
apologies to the occupant of Room 18 together with the promise to be
there without fail on the 15th - the day when Sand-Wolf would be one
month old.

He passed his new up-rated ID card through the monitor on the reception
desk, waited while the relevant details were flashed onto the screen,
then got the nod from the duty clerk and was through the turnstile in a
matter of seconds.  The guy hadn't even bothered to read the data.  If
you had a valid ID and a silver-grey uniform formalities were kept to a
minimum.  You could bypass any line-ups at security barriers and, best
of all, the truncheon-wielding Provos all became fawning
brown-nosers.

Bastards...

Steve followed the now-familiar route down the sterile pale green
corridors, rappa-tap-tapped on the door to Room 18 and entered.  The
room was empty.  The bed had been stripped, the cot had disappeared
along with the vases of flowers.  A plastic cover had been placed over
the medical computer terminal.  The air was scented with the smell of
antiseptic cleaning fluid.

He went back outside and checked the number on the door.  No mistake
there - what the hell was happening?  'Simple.  She'd been moved
somewhere else during the last three days.  He stopped a passing
nurse.

'Room 18.  There was a mother and child in there.  Can you tell me
where they've been moved to?"

'uhh, I'm not sure.  I think they been discharged, sir."

Steve's stomach turned over.  'Discharged?!  Where to?!"  'No idea,
sir - but the Chief Nursing Officer should have the details.  If you go
to the end of this corridor and -, 'Yehh, I know where it is.

Thanks."

To avoid the confusion of inserting alien Plainfolk names into the
computer, Clearwater had been logged into the Life Institute as
Brickman C.W. The given name had not been spelt out; the W stood for
Washington- the divisional name for those born in Houston/GC.

The Chief Nursing Officer was not there when Steve arrived, but one of
his admin staff obligingly screened the nursing records.  'Here we are
... 9616 Brickman C.W. and 0987 Brickman S.W. Discharged from LTC, 1200
hours, 12 January 299 -' 'Jezusss!  Three days ago?  Where were they
logged out to?"

The staffer studied the screen then tapped some more keys and studied
the result.  'Strange... No destination has been entered."

'That's crazy,' said Steve.  'Let's get this straight.  I'm enquiring
about a 19-year-old woman and a newborn child.  Those are the records
you're looking at?"

'Yes.  Brickman S.W - born 1627 hours, 15 December, 2991."  The staffer
tapped a few more keys.  'I'll just check through the B file on either
side in case there's a double entry.  If someone types in the initials
back to front, the computer thinks it's a different person.  If the
mistake is repeated, you can end up with data held in two separate
files."

Steve contained his frustration.  'I thought the system was
foolproof."

The staffer smiled.  'Yes, I heard that too."  She studied the screen
again.  'Nope.  Sorry, sir, there -' An item caught her eye.  'Wait a
minute.  What's this...?"  She looked across the counter at Steve.

'The subject of your enquiry.  she just had the one child, right?"

'Yes, why?"

'Well, there's another Brickman listed here.  Lucas W. Brickman, born
1642 hours on the same day - 15

December.  Just fifteen minutes apart.  Multiple births are very rare,
but that's a typical time scale - which is why I asked if she'd had
twins."

This is getting stranger by the minute, thought Steve.

'Who's listed as the guard-mother?"

'Of Lucas Brickman...?"

A hard-edged voice behind Steve said: 'That's okay, Jenni, I'll handle
the captain's enquiry."

The staffer made a diplomatic exit leaving Steve facing the CNO.  A
brisk figure of authority who introduced himself as Major Bradman.

Steve repeated his original query about Clearwater.

Bradman checked the screen.  'Ahh, yes.  This file has a data lock.

One moment..."  He inserted his ID, typed in an access code and read
the displayed information.

'llnnh!  I'm afraid you're out of luck, Captain.  The woman and child
were discharged on receipt of a presidential order.  A PO-1.  Which
means it came from the Oval Office as opposed to somewhere else in the
white House.  There are no other details - and no onward destination.

See for yourself-' Bradman swung the screen round towards Steve, who
read the sparse strands of information with a sinking heart.  'But you
must know something!  Who took her away?  I' 'All I can tell you is
what's on the screen, Captain.  I don't know how well you're connected,
but as a member of the Family you can access more information than I
Can."

'Maybe.  what about this Lucas Brickman?"

Bradman spread his hands.  'I'm not authorised to answer that query,
Captain."

'Then who is, Major?"

'I can't answer that either.  Ask someone inside the Family."

Steve saluted curtly and walked out.  who the hell was he going to ask
inside the Family?  He had met both the 
President-General and
Karlstrom, but he had only ever been in their offices in answer to a
summons from on high.  He was a serving officer.  He wasn't able to
drop in on them whenever he felt like it.  There were channels to go
through, desks manned by senior officers who could bin any request he
made without giving a reason.

On the social front, it was the same story.  Wearing Confederate grey
didn't entitle him to walk into Grand Palisades and accost Jefferson in
the privacy of his famous rose garden.  Door-stepping Karlstrom wasn't
any easier.

The head of AMEXICO was the kind of man who was only seen when he
wanted to be seen - and Steve did not even have his Cloudlands
address.

No.  He was screwed.

Yet again ....

Coming out into the main reception area, Steve was so wound up with his
personal anxieties, he barely noticed the people around him.  He
threaded his way towards the exit through the blur of faces like an
industrial robot programmed to avoid obstacles.

'Stevie...?!"  A voice from the past.  Unforgettable.

He halted as someone stepped in front of him, focused on their face and
gasped.  It was Annie Brickman, his own guard-mother, in a dark blue
and white jumpsuit with red insignia - the uniform worn by admin
officers of the Provost-Marshal's Division.  They both stared at one
another, unable to believe the evidence of their own eyes, then hugged
one another happily.

Annie, her face flushed, held him at arm's length and gazed at him
approvingly.  'My!  You look just fine!"  She blinked away the tears
and lowered her voice.  'Roz told me you weren't dead, but I knew
that.

inside.  And here you are.  And she's gone."

Annie snuffled into a nose-wipe and dried her tears.

Steve hugged her again.  He wanted to tell her that Roz was still alive
but knew he couldn't.  'I never thought I'd see you again."  He held
onto her hands as he stepped back.  'What on earth are you doing
here?l' Annie hesitated.  'Didn't they tell you?"

'Tell me what?  What is it, Annie?"

Before she could answer, another voice made Steve's blood run cold.

'Ahh, there you are!  Been looking all over!"  Steve turned to find
Annie's kin-brother Bart Bradlee standing right behind him.  Crazy
Uncle Bart, State Provost-Marshal of New Mexico.  His piercing blue
eyes flared as they alighted on Steve.

'Christo!  Will you look at this, Annie!  Your little Stevie!"  He
pounded his nephew's shoulders.  'You son of a gun!  Last time I saw
you, you were chained to the godamn floor!"  'That's right, sir.

Waiting for the shuttle at Santa Fe.

November 2989."

Bart nodded.  'And now here you are all-dollied up in Family grey!  And
a captain, no less!  By Jimmy!  Poppa Jack would've been proud of you,
boy!  Hoo!  Why he'd'ye been doin' somersaults in that chair of his!"

He laid a hand on both their shoulders.  'All this time I've never been
able to breathe a word about seeing you, not even to my kin-sister here
- but this stubborn ole' mule always refused to believe you were
dead."

He sighed.  'Cryin' shame about Roz.  No call for her to volunteer for
overground duty.

Bright girl like that, could have gone right to the top.  But what can
you do?"

'Yeah .... ' Steve paused reflectively then asked: 'So what are you
both doing here?"

Bart moved to Annie's side.  'Just seeing a friend, Stevie.  Just
seeing a friend."

Anyone I know?"

'Can't say."

'Can't say, or won't say.  sir?"

'Don't press me, boy.  I don't need to tell you how the Family run
things.  You're one of them now.  If I didn't tell Annie you were alive
'cos I was told not to, I certainly ain't gonna start breaking the
rules now!"  'Of course, sir.  I understand.  And I apologise for
asking."

'That's okay,' said Bart.  'As long as you know how things stand .... '

'I'm just a little bit messed up right now.  I came here to see
somebody and they've, uhh.  just disappeared."

'Ain't nothin' I can do about it, boy."

A senior medical officer appeared at Bart's elbow.

'Marshal Bradlee?  I'm Colonel Halliday."  He gestured towards Annie.

'Is this S.A.O Brickman?"

'It is."

'Good.  Would you both follow me, please?"

'Sure.  G'Bye, Steve.  You take care now, huh?"  The mad blue eyes
widened as they shook hands.

As Bart turned away with Halliday, Annie embraced Steve, planted a
hurried kiss on his cheek and whispered: 'They've given Lucas to me!'
She slipped from his grasp and was gone before Steve had time to
react.

He stood there and watched her walk away flanked by Colonel Halliday
and the forbidding white-suited figure of Crazy Uncle Bart.

They've given Lucas to me... What the hell was he supposed to make of
that?  Who was this mystery child who shared his name... ?

Steve exited into the lobby served by six elevators and hit one of the
down buttons.  The elevator announced its arrival with a soft ting.  He
stepped inside and was followed by just one other person.

'Captain Brickman?"  It was the young staffer from C.N.O. Bradman's
office.  Her face was drained of colour.  She spotted a couple more
customers and hit the Door Close button before they could enter.

The elevator started down.  Steve stood against the opposite wall with
his hands clasped together in front of him and waited for the next
move.  She hit the emergency stop button - halting them in the shaft
between two floors.

He read off her name tag, then eyed her quizzically.

'What's going on, Sutton?"

She stayed pinned against the wall by the lift controls and grimaced
nervously.  'Listen, Captain.  If anyone finds out I've been talking to
you, they'll shaft me.  I mean I'm dead, right?"

'I'm listening."

'Look, I made a big mistake, back there.  I checked again, and there's
no entry for Lucas Brickman.  I don't know how the mix-up happened.  It
was just one of those days.  So, look - I know I have no right to ask
you this but please, please, don't take this query any further.

Because if it gets back to Bradman it's going to make all kinds of
trouble for a lot of people who don't deserve it."  She turned and
slammed her hands against the wall.  'Fucking computers!"  'Did Bradman
send you?  Tell me the truth, Sutton- or I will report this
conversation!"  'Yes, sir.  That information was supposed to have been
wiped."

'So who is Lucas Brickman?"  He saw the terrified expression on
Sutton's face.  'Don't worry, I promise you this won't go any
further."

'He's... he's the baby that the woman in Room 18 gave birth to.  The
one you saw was a..."

'... a substitute?  What's going on here?!"  'Ohh, shit,' groaned
Sutton.  'Please, Captain!  Don't ask me any more!  That's all I
know!

It was all taken care of by people from the White House.  I'm nobody!

I made a mistake and I'm in way over my head!"  Steve made a calming
gesture.  'Okay, okay.  I'm not going to make any waves.  Hit the
button."

Sutton did so.

'Now ruffle your hair and undo that front zip."

Her eyes widened.  'Beg pardon, Captain?!"  'Just do it!  When we reach
the next floor, people are going to be wondering what happened in
here.

We'll both live longer if they think I've been inside your pants.  Or
would you rather I told 'em you've been passing me state secrets?  I'
Sutton yanked down her front zipper- revealing a good firm pair of
breasts under a green T-shirt.

Steve ruffled her bobbed hair and pinched her cheeks.

'Now try and look as if you enjoyed it."

They switched lifts at the next floor.  Any questions people in the
lobby might have had died on their lips when they saw Steve was
Family.

Sutton hurriedly rearranged herself and went back up.  Steve carried on
down to take the short subway ride to the White House interchange and
the special turnstile that only accepted Family ID cards.

The first stage of the journey back to Cloudlands ....

Despite his casual demeanour in the lift, Steve's mind was in even
greater turmoil than before.  Clearwater had vanished with the wrong
baby.  Did she know they had been switched?  She must have, surely!

Was that why she had cried?

But why did she not say anything?  Was it to protect him?  Or was it to
protect Lucas Brickman?  Who had chosen that name for their son?  His
son - who had been handed over to his own guard-mother.  To be raised
by her and Crazy Uncle Bart.

It was a nightmare which didn't make sense.  If the PG was ready to
swap Clearwater for Fran after mounting a costly operation to capture
her, what was the point of the substitution?  Why would Jefferson want
to keep her baby?  And why was he, the father - the supposedly loyal
and well-rewarded servant - being kept in the dark?

Steve couldn't figure it out.  But then he didn't know that Mount St
Helens had erupted as Clearwater delivered her child into the world, or
that Jefferson the 31st was convinced that he, 8902 Brickman S.R had
sired the Talisman ....

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

As he turned off the shower, Steve heard muffled ,voices coming from
the bedroom.  The deeper one belonged to Joshua, the grey-haired Mute
Who was Head of Service at Savannah.  Steve pulled a bathrobe over his
dripping wet body and emerged, to discover who his visitors were.

He caught sight of Joshua exiting into the hall then glimpsed a sudden
movement behind him.  He whirled around and was sent staggering
backwards as Fran flung herself at him with an excited laugh.

'You pleased to see me?!"  Steve loosened the choking embrace and put
some warmth into his voice.  'Of course I am!  I'm only sorry I wasn't
there at the hand-over.  Karlstrom told me I was down for it and ' 'Who
cares?"  Fran silenced him with a hungry kiss.

'You're here, I'm here - both safe and sound.  That's all that
matters."  She hugged him happily.  'When I saw you lying face down on
the verandah, Christo - I thought you were dead!  Jeer!  Now that
really did frighten me!"  She looked as if she meant it too.  But for
how long?

Being around Fran was like walking on quicksand.  Steve hugged her
back.  'How d'you think I felt when I woke up, tied hand and foot and
found you were gone?!"  He led her over to the table which held the
crystal decanters of wine and the stiffer kind of booze he'd come to
rely on when Fran was around.  'What happened?"

'Can't say exactly.  Someone hit me over the head.

When I came to I was blindfolded and gagged and wrapped inside what
felt like a bed quilt."  She took the offered drink, toasted him, then
moved around the room as she talked, touching familiar objects like an
animal putting down territorial markers.

'Goddam nearly choked to death.  I was on or in some kind of wheeled
vehicle then, after a while I heard waves breaking on the shore.  I was
slung into a rowboat - I could tell that by the way it bobbed up and
down then transferred onto a junk.  Once that got underway, the sound
of the engine told me all I needed to know."

She came back for a refill.  'Anyway, they cut me loose from the quilt,
and took the gag off but I still couldn't see anything.  They put me
some place where I could hear water sloshing around - and there were
rats too!"  She shuddered at the memory.  'Jeezuss!"  Steve gave her a
soothing shoulder-hug.  'Sounds like you were down in the bottom of the
boat.  The bilges."

Fran resumed her walk-about.  'Yeah, well, it was goddam awful wherever
it was.  They kept me tied up, but some jap came and fed me spoonfuls
of boiled rice and a little tea.  They left the blindfold on till we
reached Sara-kusa.  The first thing I see is the inside of another
prison cell.  Only this one was clean.  It was me that stank."

She stopped in front of him.  'D'you know that all the time I was tied
up those jap bastards didn't let me go to the john?!  For nearly three
days!  First you go through the agony of trying to 'hold your water,
and then you suffer the humiliation of having to pee in your pants!

Ugnnhh!  I wanted to die!"  'Yeah, I know how it feels,: said Steve.

He'd been in the same jam after being 'posted' by Malone's renegades.

He poured himself another drink.  'Then what?"

'Things started to get better.  They brought in a tub, soap and hot
water.  towels.  and took my clothes away to be washed and pressed."

Fran unzipped her grey tunic and tossed it aside, sat down on the edge
of the bed and offered up her right leg.  'And I met your friend
Cadillac .... ' Steve straddled her leg and eased off the close-fitting
boot.  'He's no friend of mine."

'You're right there."  She raised her left leg.  'He made it quite
plain he hates your guts."

Steve worked up some indignation as he wrestled off the second boot.

'The feeling's mutual.  That bastard took Roz from The Lady and then
stood around and let her die."

'Yes."  Fran drained her glass and placed it on the chest that ran
along the foot of the bed.  'I asked him what happened - just to keep
the records straight.  He said she was one of several people who died
after eating some smoked meat.  Ironic, isn't it?  All the talents she
possessed - and yet she couldn't protect herself from the poisonous
crap these lumpheads stuff down their throats."

She stood up and caressed Steve's face.  'And she very nearly took you
with her.  It's really weird, isn't it - how your body reproduced all
the symptoms...?"

'Yehh - but none of the toxin.  It drove the doctors crazy."

'And me too.  That was one of the worst weeks of my life."  She kissed
him.  'At least there's no danger of that happening again."

'Don't be so sure.  You know what they say - "Trouble always comes in
threes."' 'Well, I'm going to make sure you stay out of trouble from
now on."  Locking her arms round his neck, she pulled him down onto the
bed beside her.  'So what happened after you came round?  How did you
get away?"

Steve outlined the nail-biting suspense that had accompanied the theft
of a junk, then touched upon the long sea-voyage around Florida and
across the Gulf of Mexico where the sea had been discoloured by a huge
plume of mud nearly a hundred miles long.

'Yeah, it's from the Mississippi,' said Fran.  'There's been massive
flooding in the east.  Some of the divisional bases and way-stations
have been badly hit."

Steve drew his head back.  'There's been nothing on Channel 9."

Fran kissed the tip of his nose.  'That's 'cos we don't believe in
broadcasting bad news.  What have you been up to since you got back?"

'Learning japanese and playing games.  And let me tell you - that
language is a real bitch.  I'm way behind."

'Don't worry.  I'll help you from now on.  If you want to learn a
language, there's nothing better than a sleeping dictionary.  We can
make love in japanese.  I've got one of their sex manuals.  We can go
through it, page by page."  Fran snuggled closer.  'And just who have
you been playing games with?"

Steve laughed.  'I've been assigned to the Simulation Room.  It's full
of computers and big screens, and there's this team of programmers who
set up various scenarios and strategies involving the Mutes, the Iron
Masters and the Federation, and then play 'em through and see how it
works out.  At the moment I'm pretending to be Cadillac."

He grinned.  'And the Mutes are gaining ground."

'Knowing you, that doesn't surprise me - the genuine article is no
bonehead either.  But he has one major character defect.  He can't
resist telling people how clever he is - especially if he's got a
captive audience.  It was · .  . most revealing."

A cold dart of fear struck Steve's heart.  When Cadillac had the upper
hand he tended to shoot his mouth off.  He tried to sound casual.  'Oh,
yehh - what about?"

Fran hesitated then half-rolled on top of him.  'No.

Maybe I'd better not tell you."

'Please yourself."  Steve braced himself for the inevitable assault.

She kissed him then lowered her voice to a whisper.

'I've finally got something on that boss of yours."

'Karlstrom?"

'Shuhh!  Yes .... ' 'I'd have thought he'd be the last person you'd
want to make an enemy of."

Fran's voice became a snake-like hiss.  'After the way he dumped us in
that mess?"

'Oh, c'mon!  It wasn't his fault ' .  'No?  He's had it coming for a
long time - and now we've finally got a chance to cut his balls off!'
'How d'you mean - get him fired?"

'Among other things.  There's a lot going on here you don't know about,
Stevie.  Let's just say that President-Generals don't live for ever and
leave it at that."  She sat up and stripped off the rest of her
clothes.  'You and I have got a much more urgent problem to attend to,
Captain."

	'Yessirr-ma'am 	' Steve moved obligingly towards the middle of the
bed.

Fran landed beside him like a cat on all fours and pinned him down with
a long, devouring tongue-sucking kiss that came close to tearing his
lips off.  'uhh, Stevie!  This is what I've been missing!  Those jap
rice balls are okay, but there ain't nothin' to match a regular diet of
firm red meat!"  She slipped her hand inside his bathrobe.

'Mmmm-mhhh!

Y'see?

Things are looking up already!"  Regardless of what his body was
saying, there was only one thought in Steve's mind: I've had enough.  I
gotta get out of here.

A couple of days later, Fran and Steve were invited to watch another
late evening movie at Grand Palisades.  'Is your father going to be
there?"  asked Steve· 'He might be,' said Fran.  'Why d'you ask?"

'Ohh, it was just that... Karlstrom advised me to stay out of his
way.

On account of-' Fran fastened the high collar of his jacket together.

'Don't be stupid.  If my father was out for your blood, d'you think I'd
be here?"

'Yehhh,' mused Steve.  'I never thought of that·' He watched Fran check
her appearance in the long bedroom mirror.

Tonight she had chosen a dark blue evening dress with puffed
elbow-length sleeves and a deep curving neckline that offered an
enticing view of uplifted breasts and a smooth tanned back.

The transformation of Fran into a 'southern belle' for these formal
occasions never failed to amaze Steve.  The effect was always stunning,
but he could not understand 
how someone with so short and so vile a
temper could patiently allow herself be squeezed and trussed into a
tight-waisted corset by her Mute maid-servant before donning layer
after voluminous layer of petticoats.  And it took as long again to add
a new face and arrange the curled, beribboned hair pieces.

Fortunately they didn't have to dress up every night.

Steve parted the window curtains and looked down at the empty
driveway.

'Are we going by coach?"

'No, it's too cold.  We'll take the trolley."  She fluffed out the
sleeves of her dress, gave herself the final seal of approval and
presented herself to him.

'Terrific."  Steve picked up the matching shawl and draped it around
her shoulders.  'What's a trolley?"

'Follow me and you'll find out."

They went downstairs into the large hall and into a side-corridor.

Fran halted opposite a marble side table bearing a huge bouquet of
imitation flowers, and grasped the right hand side of a small framed
picture of a landscape.

Instead of being hung on a hook, it was hinged down the left hand
edge.

Behind it was a card-slot and keypad.

Fran produced an ID card from her small evening bag, inserted it into
the slot, keyed in four digits, then retrieved her card and swung the
picture back into place as two complete wall panels moved six inches
backwards and parted to reveal an elevator the size of the living room
Steve had shared with Roz and his guard-parents at Roosevelt/Santa
Fe.

They stepped inside and were carried down to a lower level which led
directly to a miniature, marbled subway station.

A two-car train running on a twin set of rails was drawn up at the
platform which was at the same level as the track; a second set of
rails ran alongside it and both disappeared into lighted tunnels lined
with glazed white tiles.  Each car, or 'trolley', was wide enough to
accommodate a lady in a full skirt and long enough to hold six of them
with their 'beaus'.  Motive power was gathered from an overhead line
through a sprung metal frame mounted on the roof.

The car bodies were made of framed polished wood panels with metal
reinforcements, mounted on two sets of four-wheeled bogies.  Everything
in sight was gleaming, spotless.

'Incredible,' breathed Steve.  'Who cleans all this?"

Fran laughed.  'Cleaners!  Who d'you think?"

Of course.  Stupid question.  An underground army of Mutes ....

A scanning device sensed their presence and obligingly opened the
sliding double doors.  Steve followed Fran inside.  The cars were
fitted with folding seats, but the row of polished brass poles that ran
down the middle of each car showed that they were designed to encourage
stand-up travel.  Fran punched in a six-figure code on the key-pad
mounted on a side partition by the doors, causing them to close as the
driverless vehicle whined into life.

Steve put a hand around Fran's waist and held onto the same pole as the
trolley gathered speed and moved towards its chosen destination at a
stately ten miles an hour.  'Quaint,' he said, surveying the antique
wooden interior.  'Is this another Family exercise in nostalgia?"

'Yes.  These are scaled-down versions of the trolley-cars that used to
run above-ground in a place called San Francisco.  Several decades
before the Holocaust."

'Never heard of it."  Steve looked out of the window as they came to a
wide intersection with curving rows of columns supporting the roof.

Between the columns he could see twin tracks running away into other
tunnels.

Other directions.  He turned back to Fran.  'How big is this system?

Does it run under the whole of Cloudlands?"

'The most important parts."

'Like the estates?"

'Among other places."

'So basically, it will take you anywhere you want to go."

Fran answered with a teasing smile.  'Provided you have the right card
and know the codes."

When they stepped out of the elevator at Grand Palisades, the P-G's
guests were already filing down 
the carpeted steps' into the viewing
theatre.  This time, there was an ensign posted by the door and armed
with a scan board and a light pen.  He checked everyone off as they
entered and gave them a seat number.  It was a full house.  Steve and
Fran had drawn seats in the centre of the fourth row, but as they
settled in, he saw people preparing to sit on the aisle steps by the
exit doors.

This time Steve was better prepared for what he was about to see.  He
had cottoned on to the idea the characters in movies were impersonated
by 'actors' in the same way that Side-Winder had disguised himself as a
Mute.  So he was not at all perplexed when John Wayne put in an
appearance as a marine sergeant in an army where they didn't wear
racoon-skin hats.

The movie was called Sands oflwo-Jirna- a story about men trying to
capture a heavily-defended island.  The one disappointment was the lack
of colour.  The movie was set in a drab grey world, but it was still an
enthralling experience.

The big surprise came in the shape of the enemy.

The tenacious defenders of the island were japanese, but the only
connection with the Iron Masters he had encountered were the samurai
swords carried by the officers.  In every other respect, the soldiers
were part of a recognisable modern army with modern weapons.

Steve was completely baffled.  If they'd reached that stage a thousand
years ago, why were they now riding around in suits of armour,
brandishing spears and firing bows and arrows?  What was it about the
past that made them and the First Family want to put the clock back?

The curtains closed, the music ended.  Everyone stood up and waited
until Jefferson the 31st and the top-ranking brass left, then joined
the general exodus.  Steve waited while Fran gathered her skirts
together then followed her along the row of seats.

She took his arm as they reached the aisle.  'Did you enjoy it?"

'Yes, amazing - but it looks like you didn't."

'Oh, no, it's not the film."  'She took a deep breath and gritted her
teeth.  'It's sitting down in this goddam corset.  It's practically cut
me in half!  Come on, let's get a drink."

Four glittering chandeliers hung from the high ceiling of what was
called the Rose Room, and beneath them, liveried Mute servants carried
trays of drinks and snacks to the chattering clusters of movie-goers
and house* residents who'd dropped in to spread or catch up with the
latest scuttle-but.

Fran introduced Steve to a trio of women who were obviously old
friends,-but he soon found himself on the margin of an animated
conversation about someone he had never met.  Making his excuses, he
slipped away, culled a glass of wine from a passing tray and set about
inspecting the paintings hung on the walls of the Rose Room.

The only pictures in the underground Federation were those supplied on
screen by the nine tv channels, or the holographic portraits of the
President-General.  These were different.  They reminded him of the
decorated screens and wall-panels he'd seen in Ne-Issan.

As he stared up at a large framed portrait of a man dressed in a
strange hat, long jacket and knee breeches, and carrying a
long-barrelled rifle and accompanied by two four-legged relatives of
the jackal, .he became conscious of someone standing beside him.

It was Karlstrom.  'What did you think of the movie?"

Steve told him - and relayed his puzzlement about why the Iron Masters
had chosen to go backwards in time instead of forwards.

Karlstrom smiled and made a sweeping gesture.  'The answers are all
here in Cloudlands, Brickman.  But your trouble is you want to know
everything, and you want to know it now.  Slow down.  You'll get a
great deal further if you take one small step at a time.  But let me
give you a friendly warning.  There's a saying- "A little knowledge is
a dangerous thing".  Knowing too much can also be bad for your
health."

They both saw Fran making her way towards them.

Karlstrom's voice changed gear - becoming louder and more abrasive.

'So tell me - are you pleased to have your bed-mate back?"  He
acknowledged her arrival with a wintry smile and raised his glass.  'We
were just celebrating your safe return, weren't we?"

Steve felt Fran's fingers slide through his left hand and tighten.  He
returned the supportive squeeze.  'I'm certainly glad things worked
out, sir, but I thought you had given me the job of managing the
hand-over.  It was only when I discovered Clearwater had gone missing
from her room in the Life Institute - and ran into a wall of silence
that I realised it had gone ahead without me."

'Ye-ess."  Karlstrom eyed them both.  'A change of plan.

The P-G decided the job should be given to someone else.  And I
agreed.

Let's face it, you'd already managed to lose Commander Franklynne
once.

Another foul-up would have reflected badly on the organisation."

'I can see that, sir - but why wasn't I told?"

Karlstrom gave a dry laugh.  'I think you overestimate your importance,
Brickman.  You're just a member of the team.  An elite team with a good
track record.  Don't do anything to spoil it."

'No, sir .... ' Steve stiffened to attention and held his salute as
Karlstrom walked away.

'The bastard!"  breathed Fran.  'After all you've done.

Don't worry, we'll wipe the smile off his face one of these days .... '
Steve was destined to see that face.  the very next day.  A trim female
lieutenant wearing White House insignia on her olive green fatigues
beckoned him out of the lunch line-up on the language lab's mess-deck
and took him through the usual obstacle course of card-controlled
turnstiles and elevators to their leader.

Karlstrom met him with a firm handshake as he entered, and shepherded
him to the chair in front of the desk which was only marginally less
splendid than the one in the Oval Office.

'Sorry to spoil your lunch, but I've got a tight schedule.

If you're hungry I can call you up a snack tray."

'No need, sir - but thank you."  What was happening?

Steve could not remember Karlstrom ever apologising for anything.

'Okay.  I'll get to it."  Karlstrom leaned forward and laid his hands
carefully on the desktop.  'I just want to explain that little exchange
we had last night.  That put-down over Clearwater was purely for
Commander Franklynne's benefit.  You, unfortunately, were the meat in
the grinder.  I felt it necessary to explain that personally, and to
reaffirm your standing within this organisation.

We still regard you as a key player."

'Thank you, sir."  Boy!  thought Steve.  This really is a snakepit!  He
laid on some clear-eyed sincerity.  'I'm grateful for this opportunity
to see you, sir, because there's something I think you ought to know.

Commander Franklynne was visited by Cadillac while she was held at
Sara-kusa and ' 'He gave her information that she intends to use to
discredit me."

'Yes, sir.  She didn't tell me what it was, but I think it could be
related to that problem we talked over last year in Cloudlands.  About
The Lady from Louisiana."

Karlstrom nodded and sat back.  'I remember it well.

And you're right on the button.  Your bed-mate has already paid me a
visit and threatened to make trouble if I don't fall into line on
certain sensitive issues."

'And can she...?"

'She has no hard evidence to support her claim.  We could argue that
Cadillac's motive in saying what he did was to create internal
dissension - and thus wreak more damage on the Federation."  Karlstrom
settled deeper into his chair, steepled his fingers and tapped them
thoughtfully against his chin.  'But if you, for example, were to tell
her what you told 
The surprises were never-ending.  'Finger the
organisation...?"

'Think about it.  Apart from the wing-men who were already airborne,
you're the only survivor.  And you're the only man who was on The Lady
when those explosions occurred - and lived to tell the tale.  That
makes you a key witness."

'But ' 'Just reveal your suspicions, Brickman.  About the nature and
force of the explosions and your conclusions as to how the material may
have fallen into the wrong hands.  What you do not tell her is that you
actually found the M'Calls' cache of PX, dets and one-oh-eights and let
it slip through your fingers.  She knows you're not perfect but there's
no need to give the impression she's working with an idiot.  Just feed
her enough to make her feel that (a) she's got a hot lead on this
story, and (b) she has you in her pocket."

'And then what?"

Karlstrom threw up his hands.  'Let's see where it takes US."

When the right moment came, and Fran's head lay close to his on the
pillow, Steve rolled over to bring his mouth close to her ear, and
whispered the poisoned words as per instructions.  The cumulative
effect on Fran was almost orgasmic - lending substance to the saying
that power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.  She kissed him fiercely,
hugged him to the point of suffocation then leapt out of bed to send a
video-gram to her father.

Theodore Bulloch Jefferson.  Known to his friends and enemies as
'Bull'.

The following weekend, Steve found himself crossing the railyard
towards Bull Jefferson's personal train.  A 4-6-2 loco and tender
hauling three luxury coaches and a long guard's van that housed the
Mute staff and a kitchen capable of providing three meals a day for the
passengers.

Steve pointed to the flatcar that was hitched to the front buffers of
the loco.  'What's that for?"

Fran threw him an odd look.  'In case of accidents."  She exchanged
familiar greetings with the driver and firemen as they passed the
cab.

Both wore Union hats and striped bib overalls and were clearly having a
great time.

'They family?"

'Yes."  Fran stopped as she reached the steps to the centre wagon.

'They're both cousins.  Not everyone's crazy about trains, but those
that are take turns to man the footplate."  She grasped the side rails
and climbed in.

'Come on - time to meet Dad."

Steve - who had been steeling himself for this moment since the meeting
had been announced - took a deep breath and followed.

Fran had already explained that the coaches were fitted out in a style
inspired by the furnishings of the white colonial mansions.  They were
certainly different to the harsh functionality of the wagon-trains.

The centre carriage was one big room with a conference table and chairs
at one end, deep buttoned leather banquettes and comfortable armchairs
at the other, and there was even a small counter with decanters of wine
and glasses racked on the wall behind.  The floor was carpeted and the
walls panelled with polished wood which rose to meet an ornately carved
cornice.  Two shallow crystal light bowls hung from the white ceiling,
and there were smaller fittings on the walls between the brocade
curtains that fringed the six large windows.

The antique decor contrasted oddly with the clothes of the occupants,
who were dressed in open-necked camouflage fatigues, or silver-grey
jumpsuits - like Steve and Fran.  The only difference was that most
people on board appeared to be two-, three- and four-star generals.

Everybody looked round but only Bull Jefferson rose from the head of
the table as Fran ushered Steve in.  He wasn't overly tall but he had
broad shoulders and looked fit and strong.  A tough customer with a
bullet-headed crewcut going grey at the temples and a deceptively
pleasant smile.

'Hello, honey -' Bull gave his daughter a shoulder pat and friendly
peck on the cheek.

'Dad- this is Captain Brickman."

Two deep-set grey eyes drilled into Steve like lasers as he stiffened
into a salute.

'Pleased to meet you, son.  It's Steve - right?"

'Yes, sir!"  He'd always fancied he had a strong grip, but Bull's
handshake was a real bone-crusher.

'Welcome aboard."  He turned to the only other captain in the room.

'Tell Torn we're ready to roll."

The captain left.  Bull introduced Steve to the other top brass around
the table and each one rose in turn to greet him with a brief
handshake.

The three most important were: John Adams Jefferson, Commander-in-Chief
of the Wagon-Train Division -CINC-TRAIN himself.  The top Trail-Blazer;
Andrew Jackson Jefferson, C-in-C Military Engineering Division - whose
men actually built and serviced the wagon-trains, and Zachary Taylor
Jefferson, current Head of the Design Bureau of MED - which had
originally created the wagon-train and was still engaged in a rolling
programme of modifications and improvements.

And they were all related to Bull.  John Adams was a brother; the other
two were cousins.

Bull steered Steve into the seat at the opposite end of the table where
everyone could see him, and resumed his place with Fran immediately to
his left.  'Okay, Steve.  I've got the gist of your story from Fran,
but I'd like to hear it again in your own words."  He saw Steve's
reaction.  'You have my assurance that nothing you say here today will
get back to AMEXICO.

Y'understand?"

'Yes, sir."  The train started with a series of jerks as the couplings
tightened and the buffers collided, then it moved slowly out of the
railyard.

'Okay.  Take us through it from where you put Clearwater on Red River
to the action on board The Lady - and don't miss out what you told Fran
about the explosives."

Steve gave them what they wanted, editing the story so that he was no
longer the prime mover for the attack on Red River.  As he now told it,
the idea to draw the Mutes into a rescue attempt had came from
Karlstrom to Malone and his renegades.  He was merely the hardworking
go-between building on the links he had already forged with the
M'Calls.  Links which were now fragile because Cadillac was no longer
sure he could be trusted.

He re-lived the moment when he and 'Malone' reached the train, seconds
before the M'Calls launched their attack with a series of explosions
that had immobilised The Lady and crippled its defensive systems, and
took his audience up to the time when he had been flown off on
Karlstrom's orders to Red River, while The Lady's crew made a last
desperate effort to hold back the invading horde of Mutes.  And he
repeated his suspicions about the type of explosives that had been used
in the attack and where they might have come from.

When he finished, his hosts exchanged thoughtful glances and muttered
amongst themselves.  Outside the windows, the overground stretched away
into the distance, muted tints of grey, brown and yellow under a pale
wintry sky.

Steve sat there, not knowing whether they were going to turn on him and
expose his duplicity before throwing him under the train, or award him
a Gold Merit Star.  But nobody tore into him.  Fran sent a 'Well Done'
signal with her eyes, and Bull's aide asked him if he'd like a drink.

Steve asked for a KornGold - a tangy synthetic
orange-fiavouredcordial.

The generals ordered the more potent Southern Comfort and stood up to
stretch their legs.

Nobody in the wagon appeared to have the slightest suspicion that there
was a murderer sitting in their midst.  Someone who had helped
slaughter Hartmann and his execs - Buck McDonnell and the others - in
an unforgivable but necessary act of betrayal.  Talking about it again
had made Steve wonder how he managed to sleep at night with so much
blood on his hands.  The blood of friends as well of enemies ....

Bull heightened the colour in his cheeks with a generous shot of grain
alchohol,land laid his folded arms on the table.  'Thank you, son.  We
appreciate your frankness in this matter.  Let me give you some more
background on why we asked you to come on this ride.  And this too is
strictly between us, okay?"

'Absolutely, sir."

'Last spring, CINC-TRAIN had a mutiny on their hands.  Yeah, I know
what you're thinking - inconceivable.

The crews called it a protest, but technically it was a mutiny."  He
motioned John Adams to take up the story.

'Only Red River stayed in line.  Basically what they wanted was
official recognition that there was such a thing as Mute magic.  But
they also demanded a relaxation in certain disciplinary measures - the
removal of ASE's from all trains, and elimination of judicial sanctions
against crews who failed to achieve their operational targets.

'The protest was quiet, orderly, contained within the division and the
whole thing was settled inside forty-eight hours with the aid of a
closed-circuit video address by the P-G.  As to whether or not any of
the concessions we made were justified is immaterial.  The point is,
demands were made and - more importantly - this whole thing blew up
without warning.  Internal security totally failed to pick up on
this.

You can imagine how this made us look."

Yeah, thought Steve.  Like a bunch ofBull cut in.  'One of the demands
was for the reinstatement of the executive officers of The Lady, led by
your old boss, Commander Hartmann.  It went against the grain but we
agreed - and that put us in an even bigger hole when AMEXICO decided to
use The Lady as a decoy."

'And dressed her up as Red River .... ' 'That's right.  We ain't never
gonna know how those M'Call Mutes managed to get close enough to plant
those explosives under that wagon-train but if Hartmann's crew had been
on the ball it could never had happened.  That night watch must have
been sleepin' on the job.  That's the only answer.  Whichever way it
was, it pointed up even further the woeful state of on-board
discipline.  It wasn't just sloppy.  It was criminally fuggin'
negligent!

Okay, so they paid the price - but once again it's CINC-TRAIN who ends
up holding the bag - for a decision made by Karlstrom and the PG!

'But that isn't all!"  continued Bull.  He pointed to his cousins.

'Andrew here oversees the construction of our wagon-trains and Zach is
in charge of the Design Bureau.  Those explosions didn't just cripple
The Lady, they showed up every design fault and constructional weakness
of the current model and damn near blew these boys' careers away!

Right, Zack?"

'Yehh!  Only it wasn't through lack of foresight on our part!  The
prototypes were built way before my time, but there's nothing in the
original specifications about making the wagons capable of withstanding
explosive charges."

'Right,' growled Andrew Jackson, C-in-C Engineering.

'There's plenty of people bad-mouthing us now, but none of them ever
mentioned it before.  It has never been an operational requirement!

Hell, as far as any of us knew, we were up against a bunch of
half-naked boneheads armed with knives and crossbows!"  Steve nodded
sympathetically.  'On the other hand, sir, this wasn't the first
explosive strike against a wagon-train.

Cadillac blew up the flight car of The Lady in the previous year."

'I agree,' said Zack.  'But that was an internal explosion in a
particularly sensitive area.  If on-board security had been tighter and
if the fire doors had been closed - as they should have ' 'But they
weren't!"  roared Bull.  'And that's why Hartmann and his execs were
relieved of their command and tossed in the slammer - only to be
reinstated by that sonofabitch Karlstrom so's he could play one of his
silly fuggin' games!"  
He fixed his eyes on Steve.  'You've probably
figured out why I'm so fired up by what you told us.  The loss of The
Lady from Louisiana has dropped everybody round this table into deep
shit and it was Karlstrom who put us there!  We got the P-G and the
rest of the Supreme Council accusing our family of letting things
slide, but the fact is none of this would have happened if that
slimebag hadn't handed a batch of lethal, ordinance to the Mutes on a
plate!"  'With respect, sir, it would be convenient to shift the blame
for everything onto Commander-General Karlstrom, but it wouldn't be
fair.  Some of the responsibility is mine.  If I'd managed to capture
Cadillac and Mr Snow - which is what I was sent out to do- The Lady
would not have been destroyed."

'Well that does you credit, son.  But these Mutes turned out to be a
.lot smarter than anyone bargained for.  If Karlstrom had told you
right from the outset that the decoy unit was carrying live explosives
you might have been able to get on top of the situation.  But you were
kept in the dark.  As it happened, we didn't come out of it too
badly.

We may have ended up with our buns in a vice, but we did get rid of Mr
Snow - and you brought in Clearwater.  She turned out to be a prize and
a half.

'Having said that, you're probably wondering why we swapped her for
Commander Franklynne.  Well, it wasn't because she was my daughter.

The Family are prepared to make the same sacrifices we demand from
everyone else."  Bull reached out and gave Fran's hand a fatherly
pat.

'She knows that if it was her life against the future of the
Federation, I'd face the pain of losing her.  Hell, if I wanted her
wrapped in cotton wool, would I have let her go to Ne-Issan?"

'I guess not, sir."

'Damn right.  We made the swap because Clearwater had become surplus to
requirements.  The guys in the research labs would have loved to have
had her as a specimen, but we've got something much more valuable - her
baby."

Steve took another chance and played dumb.  'But they were both
exchanged for -' 'You're wrong."  Bull grinned.  'She was given another
boy in the delivery room.  We have her son.  Your son, Steven.  And
like you, he's no ordinary baby.  Know what I'm getting at?"

'uhh, no sir."

Bull glanced at his kin-folk sitting around the table as if seeking
their approval for what came next.  'It really cuts me up to see how
some of our people are treated.

Guys like you put your life on the line for the Federation, and end up
being cheated by those they serve.  By people like Karlstrom and, yes
my brother - who talk about trust and loyalty and then sell their
dog-soldiers down the river.

'I'm going to share a secret with you that they wouldn't trust you
with.  A secret which is yours by right!"  Bull paused then said: 'We
have reason to believe your son is Talisman.  The child-saviour the
Plainfolk have been waiting for."

Steve's jaw dropped.  His surprise was totally genuine.

Everything was starting to drop into place.  Clearwater had not been
shedding tears over Sand-Wolf, but for the child the Federation had
taken from her.  Lucas... Had she known who he was?

'I won't go into the whys and wherefores,' said Bull, 'but it all lines
up with the Prophecy, and is confirmed by the medical evidence.  We got
him, Steve - and you gave him to us.  That's gonna earn you a place in
the history archives."

Steve gestured in surrender.  'This is all kind of, y'know
overwhelming.  I just had no idea."  He ran his eyes around the table
and came back to Bull.  'Will I be able to see him, sir?"

'Sure, all in good time.  Don't worry - he's in safe hands.  One thing
you can be sure of, he's gonna get the best of everything - and that's
what we want you to have too."

Bull took hold of Fran's hand again and squeezed it 
affectionately.

'Now you know how much Karlstrom trusts you.  Don't blame my brother.

He listens to the wrong people.  And if I'm not wrong, Karlstrom has
probably tried to poison your mind against Fran here.

Am I right?"

'Well, sin ' 'Yeah.  He probably said you were just the latest of a
long line of jack-dandies that got the heave-ho every six months.  Is
that near the mark."?"

Steve looked at Fram 'Something like that, yes."

'Well it's not true,' said Bull.  'No point in pretending my daughter
was tempted by the fact you were a handsome young buck, but we both
knew you were also intelligent, resourceful and brave."

Steve accepted this accolade with a modest shrug.

'Fran has kept tabs on you and Roz for several years.

She's been your Controller.  Now that may sound sinister but it
isn't.

Controllers look after the people we regard as "special".  Watch over
them - protect them."  Bull grinned.  'She's the last of a long line.

You and your late kin-sister have been on the Special Treatment List
since Day One.  It's all down in the file, Steve - and we both like the
way it adds up.

'This may embarrass you, in front of all these folk, but contrary to
what that slime-ball has said, she has deep and genuine feelings for
you, son."

'I've become aware of that, sir."  :eve made eye-contact with Fran
again.  There was complicity in her regard, but not the heart-warming
feedback he got from Clearwater.

Bull noted the exchange.  'Did you know she wants to pair off with
you."?"

'Beg pardon, sir."?"

Bull laughed at Steve's bafflement.  'You know what a pairing-off party
is, don't you?"

'Yes, sir.  It's where potential guard-mothers and fathers meet and
then, if they hit it off, they take out a co-habitation bond."

'Right - but in the Family, it's called "marriage".  The man and woman
become husband and wife - father and mother to their children.  I'm not
Fran's guard-father, I'm her natural father.  That's something else
which sets us apart from our soldier-citizens We can reproduce our own
kind - like you, son."

Yeahh, and I know why.  Because you're all super-straights ....

Bull continued: 'The First Family is a collection of families, united
by one dream - the conquest of the blue-sky world and the restoration
of America.  Our America - good, honest and true - swept clean of
striped lump-heads and yellow trash.  But although we share the same
dream, some of us believe the wrong people are in charge of the train
and that if we just stand by and do nothin' it could come off the
rails.  Know what I mean?"

'Yes, sir .... ' 'That's why we'd like you to join us.  A man in my
position needs people around him he can trust- and after the way
Karlstrom has treated you, I reckon you'd like to feel you were among
people you could rely on."

'Yes, sir."

'So how about it - would you like to marry my daughter?"

'I-I-I... don't know what to say, sir!"  The prospect was absolutely
staggering.  Appalling.

'Try saying "yes"!"  snapped Bull.  'I don't offer a deal like this to
every trouser-snake that comes along!"  'Dad!"  cried Fran.  'Give him
time to catch his breath!"  'I-I'd, uhh- be honoured, sir!  If your
daughter believes I can make her happy, then I'd like nothing better
than an opportunity to prove that she made the right choice.

She has ... come to mean a great deal to me too, sir."

'A great deal more than you know, son.  You're looking at the next
President-General.  As my son-in-law, that's gonna put you in the
line-up.  Twenty to thirty years from now, it could all be yours."

Steve nodded.  'Sir, you must, uhh - excuse me if I seem to be reacting
like a stumble-bum.  Getting hit with 
Talisman, then a possible
marriage and now this, well ·..  it's one helluva lot to take on
board."

'Sure.  There are a couple of problems, tho'.  If you marry my daughter
it will mean changing your name to Jefferson."

Steve managed a smile.  'I think I can live with that.

And the other one?"

	'Commander-General 	Karlstrom.

	He's the 	real 	stumbling-block."

	'Why is that, sir?"

'Because he's the other candidate for the big chair in the Oval Office
when my brother hands in his card.  He's a threat to my future and
yours."

Steve was conscious that all eyes were upon him.  'And you'd like me to
help remove that threat?"

Bull slapped the table happily.  'Now we're talking, Stevie!  Now we're
talking!"  He addressed one of his aides.  'Get John in here."

The aide got up and walked past Steve into the next carriage, returning
a short while later with another man wearing a silver-grey jumpsuit.

Bull invited him to sit in the chair vacated by the aide.  It took a
few seconds for Steve to realise the newcomer had played a key role in
his past.

It was John Chisum.  The mysterious medic and parttime fixer, supplier
of black-jack tapes and rainbow grass, owner of fake ID cards and the
Provo's friend.  The same man who had proved so helpful to him on his
arrival in Grand Central after his return to the Federation in
chains.

The man who had boosted his morale during his trial before the Board of
Assessors - chaired by Fran ....

The man who had set up a secret meeting with Roz in Santanna Deep
before his transfer to the A-Levels where they'd last met and almost
come to blows after Chisum had blamed her for bringing about his
demotion.

And all the time he had been working as an undercover agent for Fran
his Controller - and probably her father too.  Steve felt sick.  Where
did it all end?

Bull Jefferson smiled.  'I can see from your face there's no need to
introduce you.  John's one of us."

Chisum half-rose and reached across the table.  'Just doing my job.  No
hard feelings I hope."

'Of course not,' said Bull, as Steve took the offered hand without
rancour.  'This boy here is another master of deception.  He conned his
way in and out of the Plainfolk, then in and out of Ne-Issan after
blowin' half of it sky-high.

An' it was his contacts there who helped get him and Fran out of prison
- and undoubtedly saved her life."

'That's very generous of you, sir."

Bull's smile vanished.  'You misjudge me, son.  I reward loyalty and
endeavour, but I'm not a generous or a forgiving man.  If I thought
you'd connived in some way with Karlstrom to destroy The Lady from
Louisiana and put my kin-folk in the dock, I'd personally shove you
feet-first into.  the fire-box of the loco that's haulin' this
train."

'Dad!  Don't you dare accuse -' 'That's okay, ma'am.  I'm happy to say
my conscience is clear on that one.  But I get the message."

Bull eyed him shrewdly.  'Only there's still something' bothering you
.... ' 'Yes, sir.  I took an oath of allegiance to the
President-General.

I'm willing to help you in any way I can, but before this conversation
goes any further I have to tell you I couldn't do anything that would
go against that."

'Well said, son.  Let me put your mind at rest.  By helping us to nail
Karlstrom, you won't be betraying the President-General.  You'll be
rescuing him!  AMEXICO's been bamboozling my brother for years!  He
thinks it's one hundred per cent behind him,' but he's wrong!

Karlstrom's organisation is working against the rest of us!

He's turned it into his personal springboard to power!"  'I see,
well.

then I don't have a problem, sir."

'Attaboy!"  Bull turned to Chisum.  'Did you bring that gizmo with
you?"

'Yes, sir."  Chisum produced a flat rectangular box not much bigger
than two video-cassettes placed on top of 
one another.  He placed it
on the table in front of Steve.

'This is a portable tape-streamer.  Battery-driven.  It can record a
hundred megabytes of information in fifty seconds.  What we want you to
do is to plug it into one of AMEXICO's computer terminals, call up
certain information from their data-base and copy it onto the tape.

Once it's plugged in, it's just a matter of pressing buttons.  I'll
show you how to attach the unit to a standard terminal before you leave
the train."

'You've got a computer on the train?!"  Chisum laughed.  'Can you think
of a safer place?"

Steve turned the box this way and that and thought it over.  'Isn't
there some way we can access this data from the outside?"

'No,' said Chisum.  'The data we want to get at is held on a sealed
system.  AMEXICO's communications with the outside world is handled by
an entirely separate network."

'But aren't all these computers part of the system controlled by
COLUMBUS?"

'Yes, they are- but it's not as simple as that.  That name - COLUMBUSis
misleading.  It makes it sound like one massive box of flashing lights
and steaming microchips, when in fact there are hundreds of boxes each
one dedicated to performing a particular function.

'It's known as the controlling intelligence of the Federation, but
don't think of it as a brain - think of it as being the equivalent to
the complete central nervous system regulating the bodily functions of
the Federation as well as reasoning, calculating and remembering.  And
just as doctors can use drugs to prevent pain-bearing messages from
reaching the brain, AMEXICO has rendered COLUMBUS partially insensitive
to its presence."

'That's pretty damn clever.  What d'you want me to look for?"

'Well, in the first instance, we want you to copy off the list of
files, programs and any special routines held on the data-base.  Once
we've had time to analyse that, we'll get down to specifics."

'Okay, but what about access?  If this is a secure system, it's not
going to hand over this data to just anybody."

'You're right,' said Fran, breaking her uncharacteristic silence.

'We're going to give you a copy of Karlstrom's personal ID card and his
personal verifications codes."

'Jeezuss!"  exclaimed Steve.  'When you guys get into something, you
don't mess around!  How d'you manage that ?  I' 'With great
difficulty,' said Chisum.

'So are you ready to do your bit, son?"  asked Bull.

'Yes, sir.  I feel a whole lot easier in my mind now I know I'm working
for the A-Team."

Bull slapped the table with his powerful hands.  'Atta-boy!"  Chisum
picked up the tape-streamer.  'C'mon next door.  I'll show you how to
work this gizmo."

Bull Jefferson acknowledged Steve's salute and watched him exit with
Chisum.  As the door closed on them he turned to Fran.  'Y'know
something?  Marryin' that boy ain't really such a bad idea.  Ambitious
young stud, from a good stable.  Could do a lot worse."

Fran greeted the suggestion with a scornful laugh.

As he emerged from the Simulation Room, after another day-long session
of computerised war-games, Steve was intercepted by one of AMEXICO's
female staff-officers and taken via a backstairs route to Karlstrom's
office.

Karlstrom introduced the senior officer who rose to meet Steve as he
was ushered in.  'This is Torn McFadden, Deputy-Director of AMEXICO."

'How d'you do, sir."

'And your escort was Jo-Anne Casey.  One of his assistants."

'Ma'am."  AMEXICO's addiction to secrecy required all staff to remove
the Velcro name-tags from their uniforms while working within its
sealed headquarters.

Karlstrom left his imposing desk and invited everyone to take one of
the armchairs set around a low table in 
a corner of the room.  Jo-Anne
poured out cups of Java from a heated jug and handed them round.

'So... did you enjoy the train ride?"

'Yes, sir.  It was very instructive.  Gave me a chance to see how the
other half lives."

'And what exactly do they want you to do in exchange for the
Commander's fair hand?"  Karlstrom smiled as he saw the question hit
home.  'Just a lucky guess.  It would be counter-productive to bug the
train."

'And next to impossible,' said McFadden.  'It's swept for bugs every
time it goes out and their security screen is tighter than a gnat's
ass."

Steve turned to Karlstrom.  'So how did you know they'd made me an
offer I couldn't refuse?"

'I'll ask the questions, Brickman."

Steve gave them a blow-by-blow account of his meeting with Bull
Jefferson, but concealed his knowledge of the facts surrounding his
son's birth.  Karlstrom pulled and pinched his nose - which was no
doubt the reason why it was long and thin.  The others just sat back
and listened.

As he neared the end of his account, Steve produced the tape streamer
device and pushed it across the table.

Karlstrom gave it a cursory glance then passed it on to Casey and
McFadden.

'My first job is to pull out the list of files and programmes held on
AMEXICO's data-base.  And they've provided me with a copy of your ID
card and your access codes, sir."

'Fine."  Karlstrom stifled a yawn.  'Give them whatever they want."

Steve couldn't believe it.  'But, sir - ?!"  Karlstrom snapped back to
life.  'Brickman!  How many times do I have to tell you?  The world
doesn't revolve around you!  This is a big organisation!  At any one
time we're running a hundred field-ops and scams like this.

Maybe not at this level, I grant you, but we know what we're doing.

'It was only a matter of time before Bull Jefferson tried to get a foot
in the door; Everything's set up.  They're going to get a long list of
files and programmes - but it won't include everything and you won't
get it all on this."

Karlstrom picked up the tape-streamer and passed it across to Steve.

'You'll need several bites at the cherry.  Which is good, because we
need to put certain counter-measures in place.  So spin it out over the
next few months, and build in some suspense.  Make them appreciate the
effort you're making.  The danger, the difficulties, the constant fear
of discovery - you know the kind of thing.  If you get stuck, Jo-Anne
will provide you with a scenario - and she will also be your contact
from now on.  She'll give you the details of a video-terminal you call
up when you need to make contact."  He stood up.  'That clear?"

Steve jumped to attention.  'Yes, sir!"  'Good.  Well done."  Karlstrom
skirted the table and gripped Steve's left arm briefly.  It was the
first informal physical contact he'd ever made, and its warmth took
Steve by surprise.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Clearwater's return in exchange for Fran gave Cadillac an immense
amount of satisfaction.  It could not have been achieved without Roz's
help, but if he had not ignored her initially scornful reaction to the
idea, Clearwater and her child would still have been prisoners of the
Federation.  Knowing that he had also stolen a feather from Steve's cap
made him feel even better.

All his rival had to do now was save himself- assuming he still wanted
to.  In the past Steve's true motives had been open to question, but
Cadillac was now more than ready to give him the benefit of the
doubt.

Roz's unshakeable faith in her kin-brother and the conciliatory mood of
his last meeting with Brickman, had caused him to take a hard look at
himself.  For the first time in his life, he was now able to admit that
his own peculiar blend of pride, arrogance, insecurity and vaulting
ambition had been the root cause of much of the trouble between them.

The destruction of The Lady from Louisiana and Roz's arrival had marked
a new beginning, a chance to remake · himself from the inside out.  And
despite the occasional twinge of jealousy, Cadillac had made remarkable
progress.  In expressing the hope that Steve would find a way to rejoin
them, he was being perfectly sincere.

Steve was, after all, the fourth Chosen One.  Despite the arguments and
the bitterness they had proved they could work together in the past and
they would do so again.

Only this time their relationship would be on a different footing.  The
sheer brilliance with which he had conceived and executed the plan to
destabilise Ne-Issan would force his longtime detractor to accept him
as an equal.

At the beginning of their relationship when they had used bits and
pieces salvaged from wrecked Skyhawks to build the powered hang-glider
on which Steve had then taught him to fly, there had been a period of
real rapport.

It was Steve's involvement with Clearwater which had sown the seeds of
distrust.  In the interval between that painful episode and now,
Cadillac had come to understand that the betrayal - in which his
ex-soulmate had been a willing accessory - was part of a larger pattern
of events; a pre-destined step along The Path which had led to
Clearwater's journey into the Federation and the appearance of his true
life-partner - Roz.

Bringing the four of them together was more than a question of simple
symmetry.  Despite the bitter words that had passed between them, Steve
was the only close male companion - apart from Mr Snow - that Cadillac
had ever had.  The 'otherness' of his straight-boned body and
unblemished skin, and the fact he had been chosen as the next wordsmith
of the M'Calls, had always distanced him from his clan-brothers.  They
had shown respect for his status, but his peer group had cruelly mocked
his appearance as a child and later, on entering manhood, they had
treated him with benign disdain for not being a true warrior.

Brickman had been no better, but in a different, more exciting way.

Having expressed his gratitude for being pulled from the burning
wreckage of his Skyhawk, he had proceeded to show him absolutely no
respect at all.

He had challenged every assumption, questioned every decision, demanded
endless explanations - and had even muscled in on his own pupil-teacher
relationship with Mr Snow.

Cadillac had borne all this - though not always nobly because he
regarded Brickman as his intellectual equal.

A stimulating companion and thorn in his side, whose own courage and
daring had set the standard by which he now measured himself.  The
loving partnership with Roz had given him a new assurance and sense of
completeness, but there was still a gap which only Steve could fill:
the deep-seated bond between male warriors who have faced danger and
death together.

A similar bond united Roz and Clearwater.  A bond which went far
beyond the spoken word.  They were soul-sisters, twin spirits united in
mind and body by a shared destiny and the pain and joy of motherhood.

Clearwater had given birth to a child she would never see, the dark
star whose life-task was to destroy the Federation from within, and now
Roz carried the other half of this cosmic equation, Talisman, the
Shining One, who would become the saviour of the Plainfolk.

For the moment, this knowledge was theirs alone.

Cadillac did not know that Roz was pregnant, or that Sand-Wolf was not
Clearwater's true son.  Which was just as well, because he had more
than enough to occupy his mind - namely when they should leave
Ne-Issan, what they should demand by way-of payment, and how they
should deal with any attempt by the YamaShita to double-cross them.

Given the services they had rendered to the YamaShita, they should have
been able to sleep easily in their beds, but Cadillac did not wholly
trust their hosts, or any dead-face for that matter.  His familiarity
with their language and customs had enabled him to detect a subtle
shift in their hosts' demeanour since returning with their grisly
trophies from the Summer Palace, and it had made him reallse - more
forcibly than ever the unbridgeable gulf that lay between Iron Master
and Mute.

They might have made him an honorary samurai, but it was nothing more
than a convenient device to circumvent protocol and facilitate
face-to-face discussions on how to remove the Shogun.  In all other
respects, he, Roz and Clearwater were still regarded as non-persons.

The Iron Masters' sense of superiority did not flow from their
territorial conquests or their social preeminence.

It sprang from an inner certitude, and was so deeply engrained in their
psyche, it could not be eradicated by a military defeat.  When the
Plainfolk finally became a nation and their warriors swept into the
Eastern Lands to liberate the Lost Ones, the Iron Masters would die
with a contemptuous sneer on their lips rather than submit.

It was a pity.  Putting his taste for sake on one side, there were many
positive and pleasureable aspects to Iron Master society that he was
loth to abandon.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Clearwater and Roz.  Both
were anxious to return to the Plainfolk, and the combined pressure was
irresistible.  After spending weeks in alien environments in constant
danger of one kind or another, they longed for the moment when they
could let their minds relax and their guard drop - secure in the
knowledge that they were among their own kind.  · Flying north with
Sand-Wolf, knowing that she would soon be gaining her freedom, had been
a wonderful moment for Clearwater.  No one had told her she was to be
handed over to the Yama-Shita family at the borders of Ne-Issan.

Finding herself a house-guest in the Sarakusa Palace had been the
second unpleasant surprise.

In setting up the exchange, Cadillac had completely overlooked the
possibility that someone might recognise Clearwater as the 'white
witch' who had killed Lord Hirohito Yama-Shita and dozens of his
compatriots at the Heron Pool, just as Lord Min-Orota had eventually
seen through his own disguise.

Karlstrom had provided her with a set of body dyes and a spare pair of
hands to transform herself back into a painted Mute before leaving the
Federation,-but this had merely compounded the danger because her skin
markings now matched those she had carried on her first visit to
Ne-Issan.  It was only after Clearwater had voiced her concern that
Cadillac made all the connections and realised he had seen officials in
the palace who had been part of the original reception committee which
had grilled them before passing them on to Lord Min-Orota.

Officials who had seen Clearwater painted up just as she was now ....

The flight from Wyoming to the domain of the YamaShita had taken place
over two years ago, but in view of what had happened afterwards, this
particular set of Iron 
Masters were unlikely to forget.  If just one
of them made the connection, or Lord Min-Orota decided to drop in to
offer his congratulations, it could make life extremely complicated.

But not dangerous.  Despite the nail-biting uncertainty attached to
summoning, the combined power of Roz and Clearwater over mind and
matter made them virtually invulnerable to any form of violence.

Cadillac's optimistic assessment of their situation was shortlived.

Clearwater made it quite plain that he need not expect any
awe-inspiring displays of earth-magic from her while she was carrying a
babe-in-arms or from Roz- who chose that moment to tell Cadillac he was
going to be a father.

It was up to him to protect his brood, and the best way to do that was
to take them home.  Now.

Unbeknown to Cadillac, their principal host, Aishi Saki-moto, Acting
Regent of the Yama-Shita, was working on the same problem.  He and the
other leading members of the family had wanted the Shogun and the Lord
Chamberlain removed, but their pleasure was marred by a lingering
dissatisfaction which stemmed from the fact that the murders had been
engineered by grass-monkeys - albeit with their full support and the
direct involvement of Lord Min-Orota.

Even though it was Yoritomo who had killed Ieyasu, and Lady Mishiko who
had poisoned her brother, the knowledge that it was Cadillac who had
removed the Shogun's head left several members of the family council
feeling that the honour of the nobility had been besmirched.

Witchcraft might have achieved what a brave and selfless band of
samurai could not, but in their eyes, it was an unwholesome and
unacceptable way of achieving power which demeaned the warrior ethic
and should not be pursued further.

Sakimoto himself was privately unrepentant.  The deed had been done and
not one of the 'purists' now expressing reservations had raised this
issue before the Mute witches had been despatched.  What they wanted
was to have their cake and eat it, but Sakimoto - who did not enjoy the
same autocratic power as his predecessor - could not afford to alienate
them by pointing this out.

To maintain the unity needed to win the war against the Toh-Yota, he
agreed to dispense with the services of Cadillac and Rain-Dancer
forthwith, and reduce the lavish reward they had been promised to a
minimum.

All of which was easier said than done.  The friendly demonstration of
the grass-monkeys' magic had been alarming enough.  What hellish
creations might they unleash if they became angry?

With Clearwater and Roz demanding action, Cadillac knew he had to move
fast, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to cut through the
swathe of officials and gain an audience with Sakimoto.  The Regent,
who blamed the current civil unrest for his unavailability, was always
courteous and deeply apologetic for the brevity of their meetings, but
kept evading the question of the promised reward each time it was
raised.  Cadillac realised he was being given the runaround but he was
determined not to leave empty-handed.

Removing the Shogun and Ieyasu had not been the only reason for coming
to Ne-Issan, but it was the stunning success of that venture which now
hindered his hopes of concluding an agreement on trade and cooperation
between the Yama-Shita and the She-Kargo.

Aishi Sakimoto repeatedly assured him of the family's desire to
maintain trade-links with the Plainfolk, but explained that the bulk of
their energies and resources were now being poured into the armed
conflict with the Toh-Yota and the handful of domain-lords who had
rallied to their defence.

The giant wheel-boats used on the Great Lakes trading expeditions were
needed to ferry troops and to act as mobile gun-platforms in the river
war now being fought along the navigable length of the Hudson, and
around the island garrisons - such as Manatana, 
Sta-tana and Govo-nasa
that controlled access to the sea, to Aron-Giren and the coastal
domains further south.

Sakimoto also pointed out - with a remarkable lack of rancour - that
the present shortage of suitable vessels had been aggravated by the
loss of five large wheel-boats at the hands of the She-Kargo.  He
accepted Cadillac's assurance that he and his two female companions had
taken no part in that particular battle, but - as his honoured guest
'must surely understand - there could be no further trading expeditions
until those vessels had been replaced and the present conflict had been
resolved.

In other words, 'don't call us, we'll call you'!  Cadillac knew the
Regent was bluffing.  The Yama-Shita were pretending they didn't need
the business in the hope of wringing concessions from the Plainfolk.

The family needed to trade; opening up the Great Lakes route to the
Western Lands had boosted their wealth and power.

But they could afford to wait - and get even at the same time.  Having
squeezed the Mutes dry for years, they had a layer of fat to live off
until their raggedy-assed clients became so desperate, they'd cut each
other's throats in order to be first in line to do a deal.

Just like it was before ....

It didn't seem a good time to tell Sakimoto that the new Plainfolk
Council had decided to shift the trading post inland to Sioux Falls, or
that from now on barter rates on all goods would be fixed collectively
by the Plainfolk and - best of all - none of the clans in the She-Kargo
faction would be sending any more journey-men down the river to fill
the slave compounds and the dreaded Fire Pits of Beth-Lem ....

It was a frustrating time, but Cadillac refused to give up, and finally
managed to pin Sakimoto down on the question of the reward and the
provision of a suitable conveyance to take them to Du-Aruta.  Sakimoto
promised to do his utmost to find a seaworthy vessel- not easy in these
troubled times.  As for the reward, Cadillac should submit a list of
goods which, in his estimation, would be fair recompense for his
praiseworthy efforts.

The list, added Sakimoto, should not be too large, since it would only
be a small boat.

Okay, thought Cadillac.  If it's a list you want, that's what you're
going to get ....

The next time he appeared before Aishi Sakimoto, Clearwater was at his
side.  They both knelt on the appointed spot, touched their foreheads
to the floor then, as they sat back, Clearwater rekindled the blue-ice
fire in her eyes and speared the mind of the unsuspecting Regent just
as she had caught and controlled Nakane Tgh-Shiba, the Consul-General
of Masa-chusa and Rodiren.

Sakimoto found himself seized with an overwhelming desire to grant
these grass-monkeys whatever they wished.  He tried to fight it off,
and was struck with a blinding headache.  Yes, yes, of course!  What
was he thinking of?  He wanted to help them.  It made him feel so much
better!  Two scribes?  He sent one of his secretaries to fetch them.

The leading members of the family?  An aide was despatched to summon
all those within the precincts of the palace to the council chamber.

As they arrived, Clearwater transfixed each of them in turn with the
same electrifying stare, leaving them with but one thought burning in
their brain - to show their gratitude for what their honoured guests
had achieved by an unmatched display of generosity.

Cadillac dictated the list of items they required, the scribes wrote
them down one by one, the YamaShita family council nodded approvingly
then added their signatures and seals to both copies ....

At the beginning of March, 2992, when the heavy rains unleashed by the
eruption of Mount St Helens had given way to wind-driven snow, a
hunting posse of San'Paul Mutes from the Clan Shawnessee were alarmed
to see a ghostly white wheel-boat moving across the Great River towards
the site of the vanished trading post.

Those blessed with a vivid imagination took it to be a phantom vessel
returning to collect the wandering souls of the dead-faces who had
perished so far from home, but the boat was as real as the dark plume
of smoke that gushed from its funnel then was torn to shreds by the
keening wind.  Its ghostly appearance was due to the fact that its
decks and galleried superstructure were encrusted with snow and ice
collected on the long journey from Bu-faro on Lake In.

Inside the boat, the huge cargo decks were packed from stem to stern
with goods, animals and people.

The loading manifest, which ran to several pages, was akin to the one
compiled by Noah for the ark.  Ten stallions, fifty mares, twenty-five
breeding pairs of oxen, a similar number of ox-carts, wheels and
subassemblies to make a hundred handcarts, pigs, ducks, chickens, a
small mountain of farm implements and tools ranging from adzes, anvils,
augers, axes, brad awls, chisels, drills and hammers to lathes,
mallets, picks, pincers, rakes, saws, spades, shovels and vices;
various seed grains and vegetable plants, boxes of dried fish, sacks of
rice; cooking pots, pans, nails, knives, needles, thread, buckles,
bolts of woven cloth, straw matting, six hand looms, spindles, woollen
yarn, dyes, rope, pulleys, chains, candles, tinderboxes, lengths of
metal rod, angle iron and flat strip, finished timber; five hundred
crossbows, several boxqoads of metal parts for assembling two thousand
more on wooden stocks made by the Mutes themselves, five thousand
cross-bow bolts, boxes of arrow and spear heads, et cetera, et cetera,
and - the biggest prize of all - seven hundred and sixty-eight Mutes
from She-Kargo, M'Waukee and San'Paul clans who had journeyed eastwards
and had ended up as slaves in the Yama-Shita domain.

Their release had been Cadillac's proudest achievement.

The wheel-boat sent up the usual salvoes of green rockets to indicate
its peaceable intentions, but the beach was deserted as the flat nose
ran aground on the sloping shingle.  From the wheel house perched on
the roof of the top deck, there was no sign of last year's battle.  The
piles of bodies had been burned or picked clean by the death-birds; the
wreckage of the five wheel-boats had been stripped by hordes of human
scavengers and the remaining structures dismantled.  Every plank, beam,
pillar and bolt had been prised loose and carried away along with the
cannon and roundshot by teams of sweating Mutes who recognised them as
weapons of war, but did not know how to make them spit sky-fire and
earth-thunder.

Cadillac had acquired that knowledge.  He knew that the three
ingredients of black powder could be found in Plainfolk territory, and
that it was possible to grind and mix them by hand.  The problem lay in
the extraction process; obtaining worthwhile quantities required a
degree of cooperation and organisation that was beyond the present
capabilities of the Plainfolk.

They regarded themselves as warriors and hunters, not workers.  If his
own plans were to bear fruit, and Talisman was to forge them into a
nation, the old ways would have to go, their entire lifestyle would
have to change.

Dramatically ....

When the newly-liberated Mutes had unloaded the collection of goods and
animals, the wheel-boat captain bade Cadillac a polite farewell and
headed for home.

None of his fellow officers had returned from the last expedition, but
he had heard the stories gathered by the out-stations from the stricken
D'Troit and C'Natti clans.  He and his crew had no wish to remain a
minute longer than necessary on a lake which could throw up a murderous
wall of water to the height of the surrounding hills.

Cadillac, Clearwater and Roz - all warmly wrapped against the cold
watched the wheel-boat gather speed as it pulled away from the shore.

Around them, the liberated Mutes whooped and yelled, hugged one another
and danced for joy.

Roz and Clearwater - who was carrying Sand-Wolf against her chest
turned to Cadillac and gave him two fat kisses, one on each cheek.

'You're a genius,' said Roz lightly.  'But shouldn't there be someone
here to meet us?"

'It's all under control,' said Cadillac.  He interrupted the
celebrations of the nearest group of Mutes and asked them to pass the
word.  Buffalo-Soldier was wanted.

Now.

'The warrior from the Clan Shawnessee?"  asked Roz.

'That's right.  Their turf is just south of here.  We can stay there
till the snow melts."

'And then move on to Sioux Falls."

'Yes.  For the Plainfolk Council.  It'd be crazy for us to go all the
way to Wyoming in this weather then have to come all the way back
again."

Clearwater brushed a fleck of snow from Sand-Wolf's face, re-adjusted
his hood, then surveyed the cheerful throng of Mutes who milled around
them.  'Do you think they'll have room for all of us?"

Having got this far, Cadillac had no intention of letting the freed
Mutes disperse.  They, along with the goods and animals he had
acquired, were a vital part of the triumphal entry he planned to make
at the second Plainfolk Council.  Despite his youth, he wanted to come
away from that meeting as the leading policy-maker of the She-Kargo
faction.

'We'll make our own room,' he said.  'We've got tents, poles, rolls of
sailcloth, food - ' He broke off as Buffalo-Soldier appeared.  Just the
man I need."

They both climbed up onto one of the ox-carts to get a clear view over
the crowd.  'Now - where exactly do we go from here?"

Buffalo-Soldier cast a loving eye over the surrounding terrain.  'Many
snows have fallen since I last stood here but that is the one thing I
have not forgotten.  The smell and the shape of this land is in my
blood."  He pointed in the direction of his home turf.  'You will find
my people beyond the third hill."

As he spoke, the Shawnessee hunting party, who had been watching the
proceedings from a safe distance, decided to send up a 'white arrow', a
smoking tuft of grass tied to a crossbow bolt.  It was the signal used
when opposing groups of Mutes wished to parley.

Cadillac watched the trail of white smoke rise towards the dark grey
blanket of cloud then curve down towards them.  The Mutes clustered
around him greeted it with the traditional cry of approval.

'Heyyyaaaghh!"  Buffalo-Soldier leapt off the cart and darted forward
to join several Mutes who were running towards the point where they
expected the smoking arrow to land.  When they got there, they formed a
loose arc and stood with upturned faces as it fell towards them.  The
bolt buried its point in the snow-covered ground a few yards in front
of where they stood, extinguishing the smouldering tuft of grass.

Cadillac waited expectantly as the Mutes clustered round it.  They
would be looking for the notches on the shank - the clan mark which
established ownership.

Buffalo-Soldier gave a delighted whoop, grabbed the arrow and ran back
towards the crowd, waving it excitedly in the air.  'Shawnessee,
Shawnessee.  Shawnessee!!"  'Heyy-yaaaghh!"  The watching crowd of
returnees gave a ragged shout as the hunting party rose into view and
formed a line along the crest of a rise to the south of the landing
beach.  Each one raised an arm and displayed the open palm - the
traditional sign of greeting.

The crowd responded.  'Heyy-yaaghh!  Heyyyaaghh!--Heyyyaaghh!"

Cadillac looked down at Roz and Clearwater and turned on his modest
'man of the moment' smile.

'What did I tell you?  Stick with me and you can't go wrong."

Clearwater eyed Roz.  'I see what you mean."  Cadillac was becoming
more and more like Steve.  But not copying him.  It was as if their two
personalities were fusing together ....

In Sara-kusa, Aishi Sakimoto and the other leading members of the
Yama-Shita family were still shaking their heads over their copy of
Cadillac's shopping list.

The baffled whispers quickly became howls of rage and disbelief as the
bills from outside suppliers started coming in and the abacus beads
clicked to and fro under the nimble fingers of their accounting
staff.

Day after day the cost of their largesse mounted inexorably, like a
rising tide, and with it came the growing realisation they had been
duped.

But how?  What on earth, they asked each other, had persuaded them to
do such a thing?!  The Mute witches had made no threats, had conjured
up no demons.  They had been immensely grateful, and the family had
been delighted to provide them with what they had asked for.

Everyone could remember the overwhelming feeling of joy as they waved
goodbye to their guests from the dockside, but now that the euphoria
had worn off they realised it was not at all what they had intended.

These damned grass-monkeys were supposed to have been dismissed with a
flea in their ear - instead of which they had sailed away with an
emperor's ransom!

At the second Plainfolk Council, Roz and Clearwater were content to let
Cadillac steal the limelight.  The freed Mutes were given a rapturous
welcome from their clansmen; the animals, tools, weapons and other
goods were shared out between the various bloodlines.

Everyone undertook to make weapons, but some clans were allotted
specific tasks- the breeding of horses, oxen, pigs and poultry which
would then be traded as their numbers grew; others took on the job of
making carts and simple sailboats for use on the lakes and rivers.  In
the years to come, transportation and communications would play a key
role in bringing and holding the Plainfolk together.

Striking the balance wasn't easy, but eventually a consensus was
reached and no one was left feeling deprived.  The plan was to build on
the inter-clan trading that had proved so successful the previous year,
but Cadillac proposed that from now on, bartering should be a
year-round process.  Delegations from each clan would still meet at the
annual Plainfolk Council, but the venue should be changed from year to
year.  So far, these gatherings had managed to avoid the attention of
'arrowheads' from the Federation, but they could not expect to remain
immune to attack from the air.

Cadillac also won the delegates' support for two other parts of his
master plan: first, the setting up of a skills cadre, formed by the
newly-returned Mutes.  Aided by wordsmiths from the three bloodlines,
they would draw together everything they had learned about animal
husbandry, crop cultivation and the other occupations which had filled
their working day.  The wordsmiths would help to organise this
information into a coherent body of knowledge, and the ex-slaves - who
had already broken through the mental barriers that separated one clan
from another - would become the first generation of itinerant teachers
who would train others to pass on what they had learned, and so the
process would be repeated until all the Plainfolk were versed in the
'New Ways'.

The second proposal involved the election of equal numbers of male and
female delegates to a permanent council which would travel around the
territory held by the Plainfolk, visiting the various clans to bring
them up to 'date with what was happening elsewhere, check on how they
were progressing and settle any disputes that had arisen with their
neighbours.

Cadillac knew that the changes he was trying to introduce were not
going to bring peace and harmony overnight, but when the Second Council
broke up and the delegations departed, he had every reason to feel
satisfied with what had been accomplished.  Best of all, he had
established his authority and, despite his youth, had gained the
respect previously accorded to his much-loved teacher, Mr Snow.

Through the late spring and summer, as Roz's child grew within her,
and Sand-Wolf learned first to crawl, then attempted to take his first
faltering steps, Clearwater was never far from her side.  Both had now
settled down to life with the Clan M'Kenzi, and had become firm friends
of Magnum-Force, the clan's female wordsmith.

Cadillac, now heavily into his role as the first of The Chosen, was
totally immersed in his twin tasks as head teacher and member of the
roving Plainfolk Council.

Both took him away for weeks at a time, but he had promised faithfully
that he would be at Roz's side during the last month of her pregnancy
from mid-August to mid-September when the baby was due.

All the Plainfolk knew of the eruption - the word that the great
mountain in the West had spoken with a tongue of flame had been passed
around during the gathering at Sioux Falls.  Everyone's expectations
had been raised, but Cadillac still had no idea that the Sky Voices had
told Roz she was carrying Talisman.

An inner voice also told her she should pass on the parts of her
medical knowledge that could be usefully applied in a world where there
were no thermometers, stethoscopes or diagnostic instruments of any
kind, no antibiotics, sterile bandages, swabs, IV-drips, scalpels,
suture needles, thread, clamps- in a word, nothing.

Apart from Dream Cap - a narcotic used as a painkiller - all the Mutes
had were herbal remedies to cure sickness, stop infection and heal
wounds.  They knew how to set simple bone fractures and amputate limbs,
and there was the occasional shaman, like Mr Snow, who had 'healing
hands', but basically, only the healthy survived.  The process of
natural selection.

As a doctor, Roz's primary concern was the coming birth of her child.

Her studies had covered the various stages of pregnancy and childbirth
and it was this, above all, that she wanted to pass on to Clearwater.

All clans had female elders who acted as midwives, but their knowledge
was based on practical experience and observation.  It was totally
unscientific and they had very little idea of what happened inside the
womb.

The fact that infant mortality was relatively low and complications few
was entirely due to the basic toughness and physical fitness of female
Mutes.

Roz had Mute blood in her veins, but she had been brought up in a
softer environment, inoculated against infection and knew far too much
for her own peace of mind about the changes taking place inside her
body and the dozen and one things that could go wrong.

There was also one extra factor the video-texts hadn't covered - the
telepathic link with Steve and its bizarre side-effect which caused her
body to reproduce' wounds inflicted on him.  Roz wasn't plagued with
every cut, bruise or knock Steve suffered; the wounding or injury had
to be accompanied by a severe emotional shock.  It was mental trauma
that was the trigger, and the basis for Roz's unexpressed fears that
Steve might unknowingly endanger the life of her unborn child.

Clearwater understood this without being told, for Steve was also
uppermost in her mind.  Her love for him had not diminished.  She
continued to hope that he would find his way back to them, and the
knowledge that her soul-sister shared her feelings drew them even
closer together.  Now, when Roz's mind reached out towards Steve,
Clearwater's thoughts travelled with her and in that moment they became
one ....

Steve had got the message, but so far he had been denied the means and
the opportunity to escape.  From New Year's Day through spring and
summer, he had been working below ground, wargaming in the Simulation
Room, and learning japanese in the language lab.

With Fran's help, he was becoming increasingly fluent, and had even
managed to impress Major Fujiwara.  The Major had been assigned to the
Eastern Desk, but had hinted that he might soon be leading his team
back into Ne-Issan to try and re-establish a network using known agents
which would be run directly from the Federation.

Steve knew there was little hope of being given another field
assignment in the near future.  With Karlstrom's tacit approval, he had
been trawling through AMEXICO's private data bank and passing on
enticing morsels to John Chisum.  With Fran, he was now a regular
visitor to Bull Jefferson's train, and had even been awarded the
privilege of stoking the fire-box and in July - as a special treat for
his birthday which had come and gone - he was allowed to drive it over
a fifty mile stretch of track and toot the whistle.

And these men were going to rule the world.  It was insane ....

Near the middle of August, Karlstrom met the other AMEXICO operative
who was working inside Bull Jefferson's camp.  'Is everything in
place?"

'Yes.  What about Brickman?"

'Brickman?"

'Aren't you planning to tip him off?"

'No.  He's served his purpose - and he knows too much."

The operative smiled.  'Don't we all?"

'There's a difference.  Brickman is concealing information.

You're not."  It was Karlstrom's turn to smile.

'At least, nothing of any importance."  Which was not the case with
Brickman.  Karlstrom now knew about Steve's chance meeting with Annie
and Bart Bradlee and his conversation in the stalled elevator with
Sutton.

Karlstrom had called Crazy Uncle Bart and asked him to apply some
pressure.  Fearing she might lose custody of Lucas, Annie had
immediately revealed her indiscretion.

Given her relationship with Brickman it was a for-giveable lapse.  But
the young man had said nothing, and to Karlstrom that spelled bad
news.

Given Brickman's track record, he could not risk him gaining access to
his son.  Now or later.

Steve had said nothing because Roz had come through to explain the
painful sacrifice he and Clearwater had to make.  He had already
abandoned any idea of rescuing his son - but Karlstrom didn't know
that.  Which was a pity, because if he had, and had then proceeded to
ask himself why, the Federation might have avoided the trouble that was
coming their way.

But that was not how it was meant to be ....

At the end of the second week in August, Steve and Fran boarded Bull
Jefferson's train to inaugurate a newly completed 200-mile stretch of
line from Grand Central to Eisenhower/San Antonio.  As this was a
special celebration, everyone was dressed up 'Southern style'; Steve in
the rebel grey, and Fran in a full-skirted walking-out dress made up in
her favourite colour buttercup yellow.

They steamed out of the yard to the sound of music, piped from the
concealed speakers inside the wagons.

Everyone joined in with the recorded voices, echoing the words and
bouncing to the rhythm of a song about a railroad called 'The
Aitchison, Topeka and Santa Fe'.

The railway took them outside the protected borders of Cloudlands, but
the First Family had ensured their privacy by erecting a chain link
fence backed up by robot watchtowers at a distance of one mile on
either side of the railway line.  It was along this wide corridor,
adorned with landscaped clumps of trees and small grass-fringed lakes,
that Bull Jefferson's three-car train now travelled at a steady fifty
miles an hour.

The morning sun, already high in the sky, had begun to bake the
landscape.  Much of the dusty terrain beyond the fence, where gangs of
sweating Mutes worked under Tracker overseers to extract mineral ores
from the ground, was blanked out by a heat haze.

Steve still found it incredible that these two contrasting lifestyles
could exist alongside each other.  He knew that the First Family were
feared and revered by ordinary Trackers.  Though less impressed than
most, he had shared those emotions, and accepted that because of their
exemplary role as leaders and visionaries, they had to hold themselves
aloof from the lower ranks.

That faith had been misplaced; the vision which had inspired uncounted
generations of Trackers was a flawed illusion.  The First Family might
live longer, but in all other respects they were no different to, or
better than, anyone else.  In fact they were worse, because they knew
the truth and had buried it beneath a monstrous edifice of lies.  They
demanded continuing sacrifice and preached unity, while they enjoyed
undreamt of luxury and plotted to unseat each other.

Steve had tasted that luxury and been tempted by it, but the enormity
and extent of the deception had proved too much even for him to
swallow.  And the realisation that the Family owed much of their
pre-eminence to the Mute blood in their veins had left him with nothing
to hang on to.  There was no hidden Store of Truth waiting o be
discovered.  The only thing he could be sure of was himself.

He heard two sharp clicks and found Fran snapping her fingers in front
of his face.  She was sitting on the opposite side of a small table set
against one of the train windows.  Behind her, at the big table, Bull
Jefferson and his cronies were-playing a game of stud poker.  The other
guests had formed conversational groups or were looking out of the
windows.

'You playing this game or what?"

'Wha- ?  Ohh, yes!"  He looked down at the chessboard and saw the
threatening position taken up by Fran's black queen.  'Whose turn is
it?"

'Yours."

'Ohh, yehh .  . . shit."  His hand hovered indecisively over his
beleagured pieces.

'You're absolutely hopeless, I don't know why I bother.  What were you
dreaming about?"

Steve moved his one remaining knight.  The...?  Oh, I was just
wondering what the people on the other side of those fences think when
they see us and this train going past."

'It's not their job to think,' replied Fran.  'And there's not much
they can see anyway.  They're too far away.

Those robot watch-towers have proximity sensors which trigger
loudspeaker warnings to keep away from the fence."

'And we have the same system around Cloudlands?"

Fran smiled.  'Why?  Are you thinking of running away?"

Steve swept a hand around the carriage.  'From all this?

I'm not that crazy.  No, I'm just amazed that in all the years I spent
down below, no one ever breathed a word about Cloudlands.  I can't
figure out how it's remained a secret for so long.  Okay, no one can
get through the fence or past the watch towers, but with all the air
activity that's going on, how come nobody's spotted all those big white
mansions?"

'I'm surprised you have to ask,' said Fran.  'But then we did have a
heavy night.  It's a prohibited zone.  No one's allowed to fly over it
or near it.  That's why we have our own air force."

'Of course.  The silver Skyhawks."

'The wagon-trains roll out from Nixon/Forth Worth, so their 'hawks only
operate north and west of the state line - unless of course they're on
supply runs to way stations.

Any planes put up by the divisional bases are normally on routine
patrols or supporting a ground action against marauding bands of
hostiles.  I hardly need to tell you that pilots are not allowed to
take off from any of our bases without filing an approved flight plan
but' - she smiled 'even if someone was consumed with curiosity, nobody
but us gets to fly within a hundred miles of Grand Central.

Satisfied?"

'Yes."  The First Family airbase was definitely the answer to his
problems.  'Sounds as if you've got it all covered."

'We've got everything covered, Brickman."  She picked up the black
queen and took the white knight with it.

'Checkmate."

'Again,' sighed Steve.  He pulled out the side drawer and swept his
pieces into one of the boxed sections.

Fran did the same with the black.  'I'm surprised you're not better at
this.  I mean ... when you consider I 
managed to teach you
japanese."

'Yes, I know.  Maybe we ought to take a chess set to bed with us."

'That sounds like a good move."

Steve looked up to find Eleanor Jefferson, Fran's mother standing at
his shoulder.  John Chisum was just behind her.

Eleanor's smile broadened.  'But first, we'd like you both to join us
for a picnic."

Steve jumped to his feet.  'With pleasure, ma'am!"  The train stopped
about fifteen miles from 'San An-tone' as it was called.  Everyone
climbed down off the train and trooped across to the edge of a
tree-shaded lake, where they sat down on rugs and reclining chairs in
the dappled sunshine, or strolled around the lakeside while the Mute
servants brought out hampers of food and drink and laid everything out
on folding tables covered with sparkling white linen cloths.

Sighting a narrow landing stage with a railing on one side, Steve
walked over and found it was attached to a small boat house containing
two slab-sided dinghies.

Fran accepted his invitation to row on the lake, and sat on the rear
seat under her yellow parasol, trailing one hand in the water.  The air
was cooler over the lake, but Steve decided to strip off his jacket and
roll up the sleeves of his white shirt.

Pulling on the oars reminded him of the journey across Lake Michigan
with Cadillac.  Compared to the idyllic scene that surrounded him now,
that had been a nightmare.  Fran, seen in repose, conveyed the
impression of someone soft and alluring - demure, even.

Animated chatter and laughter drifted across from the people dispersed
along the shoreline.  Sunlight sparkled on the crystal glasses and
polished cutlery being laid on the buffet tables by the Mute servants
quiet as shadows.

What were they - rejects from the Life Institute?

How did they feel about what they saw around them?

He'd meant to ask Joshua the Head of Service back at Savannah, but had
never gotten around to it.  Compared to the Mutes in the chain gangs,
they had it easy - and if they'd been born into it, they probably
didn't even question their status.

Steve heard the rapid tinkle of a small silver bell.  'That sounds like
lunch."

'Don't worry, there'll be plenty for everybody.  Take me across to the
far side of the lake."

It didn't take long.  The lake was only about two hundred yards wide.

Steve shipped the oars and let the boat glide towards another small
landing stage.

'Now get out."  · 'What?"

'Get out!  I'm going to race you back to the picnic!"  Fran closed her
parasol and tossed it into the bow of the boat and took her seat at the
oars.  'Wait till I turn around!"  she commanded.

Steve checked the perimeter of the lake.  'Do I get to choose the way I
go?"

'No!  You have to go the long way!"  Fran paddled the boat towards him
until the stern touched the bank then got a firm grip on the oars and
positioned them just above the water for the first pulling stroke.

'GO!"  Steve started running.  It was a lot further than it first
appeared - and Fran was rowing strongly despite being hampered by her
wasp-waisted corset.  He piled on the speed.  Bull Jefferson, his wife
Eleanor and their family guests, seeing the contest, divided their
support between the two, some shouting encouragement to Fran, others
urging Steve to make a greater effort.

By now, Fran was halfway across the lake and Steve was flying like the
wind.  The running brought him back in tune with the overground.  With
who he really was.  It felt good!  Fran's strike rate had dropped, but
she wasn't the type to give up.  The cheers from the shore spurred her
on.

Coming round the second bend, Steve switched from thinking he couldn't
make it to thinking that perhaps he could, briefly considered throwing
the race to humour 
Fran, then decided against it.  No!  Screw her He
kicked into a higher gear, making a controlled finish, reaching her
arrival point while she was still three yards out.

Everyone cheered themselves hoarse.

Bull slapped him on the back.  'Well done, boy!  For a minute there, I
thought you were going to throw the race.

But, heh-heh - that's not your style.  An' that's good.  I like it.  I
got enough brown-nosers around me already!"  Steve retrieved his jacket
and the yellow parasol then helped Fran ashore.  She pinched his hand
and gave it a savage twist.  Steve responded with an even harder
squeeze.

She didn't flinch.  'You bastard!"  'You can't win 'em all."  Steve
returned her defiant stare, then they both let go by common consent.

'Bring me something to eat."

Steve bowed politely and handed back the yellow parasol.  'My pleasure,
ma'am!"  Just after two in the afternoon, when everybody had finished
lunch, Steve saw John Chisum heading back up towards the train with
some of the other men.  He ran to catch up with them.  'Where are you
going?"

'We're going to take the train down to the end of the line and turn it
around - then pick up everybody for the return trip.  D'you want to
come?"

'Of course he does."  Bull Jefferson came up from behind and moved
between them.  He gave Steve another pat on the back as they walked
on.

'Bean meaning to thank you for that last batch of tape you brought
us.

You're doin' a great job."

'I'm only sorry it's taking so long.  I never imagined the data files
would be encrypted."  He looked across at Chisum.  'How're you doing on
that?"

'We're managing,' said Chisum.

Bull slapped Chisum's back and said to Steve: 'Cleverest man I've
met.

Don't know what we'd do without him."

Ten miles down the line from the lake the single line track ran out
into a small shunting yard with several sidings, a turntable, water
tower, coal hopper and a shed containing a squat shunting loco powered
by massive batteries and plugged into the mains supply.  And all this
had been installed so that the First Family could play with trains.

This was where Steve discovered that riding the rails was only part of
the fun for Bull and his friends.  He was given a pair of overalls, and
a union hat to change into, then put to work with an uncoupling hook as
the carriages were shunted back and forth, swung on the turntable, then
reassembled in the right order behind the big loco which now stood with
its nose pointed towards Grand Central.  While Steve and his workmates
had been ducking in and out under the buffers and tapping the wheels,
Bull's half of the team had topped up the engine with coal and water,
oiled every bearing in sight, hosed off the dust and polished the
brasswork.

The shunter was rolled back into its shed, then everyone went into the
shower and changing room built against the outside wall, tossed their
overalls into a hamper that was carried off by two of the Mute train
staff, then soaped off the grime under the line of shower heads while
they sang several rousing choruses of 'She'll be coming round the
mountain'!

Chisum, who was standing alongside Steve, caught his eye and winked.

'This is the life, eh?"

'I'm not so sure,' said Steve.  He twisted the tap around to cold and
jerked as the ice-cold needles hit his chest.

'when are you and I going to have that long talk you promised me?"

'Soon.  Things are a bit difficult right now."

They donned their uniforms and rejoined the train, along with the
footplate crew who had handed over their oily rag and shovel to Zachary
Taylor Jefferson, head of the wagon-train design bureau, and another
relative of Bull's for the return trip.

Steve stood on the rear observation platform on the way back to the
lake.  Looking up the line, he caught sight of the picnickers moving in
small groups towards the 
track and heard the driver whoop the whistle
in greeting.

As the distance between them narrowed, the passengers formed an
expectant line along the track.  Steve glimpsed the bright yellow
splash of Fran's dress near the head of the line.  He climbed down onto
the bottom step of the platform as the train slowed then jumped off as
it ground to a halt.

Fran took the offered arm.  'Did you enjoy yourself?"

'Yes, but not as much as your father.  He was in his element back
there."  He helped her climb up onto the observation platform.  'Am I
forgiven?"

She folded her parasol and gave him a backward glance as she entered
the carriage.  'For the moment,' Steve paused in the doorway.

'Wouldn't you prefer to stay out here?"

'And get soot all over my dress?"  Fran walked along the corridor past
the galley towards the centre carriage.

Steve followed as the Mute train staff loaded the picnic hampers and
the folding tables and chairs in through a side door.  In the centre
carriage, everyone was settling down for the return journey.  Some were
yawning from their exertions in the fresh air.  Steve saw the member of
the Family who was acting as the guard on this trip walk past outside
towards the rear of the train, flag in hand.  The whistle sounded.  The
loco hooted.  There.was a series of squeaks and clanks as the couplings
took up the strain, then the train moved off.

'I'm going to lie down for a while,' announced Fran.

'By myself.  Okay?"

'Sure, go ahead.  Want me to unhook your dress?"

'As long as you don't get any ideas."

'I don't think this is quite the place for it, d'you?"

'You'd be surprised."  Fran threaded her way around the armchairs and
past the big table where Bull had started another card-game.

The lead carriage was fitted out with toilets, six sleeping
compartments, a small private study cum bedroom reserved for Bull, and
closest to the loco, the room housing the computer workstation, the
radio equipment that kept Bull in touch with Cloudlands and the railway
control system, and the battery of small videoscreens linked to the tv
cameras that displayed views of the roof, sides and underside of the
train and the track beneath.

Steve helped Fran out of her dress and caught the sullen look in her
eye.  'Don't tell me you're still upset about - ' 'The race?  Of course
not.  While you were down the line, I had to listen to my mother
telling me what a wonderful person you were, and how they both couldn't
wait for me to marry you."

Steve concealed his own feelings.  'Would that be so terrible?"

'It would if I had a baby."

'Which is what they want .... '

'Don't try to pretend you didn't know."

'I didn't.  And you've got to believe that.  None of that means
anything to me."

'Not even the child you had with Clearwater?"

Steve shrugged.  'That was an accident."

Fran gave him a searching look.  'Yes, well, all this mother, wife and
baby talk has given me a headache."

She hung up the yellow dress then flopped down onto the bunk bed and
vented her exasperation by pummelling the mattress.

Steve opened the-door, placed the 'Do not disturb' sign into the
eye-level slot, then looked back and smiled.  'See you later."

Emerging into the corridor, he walked past the other sleeping
compartments, knocked on the door of Bull's stateroom then, receiving
no reply, entered and went on through to the communications room.  One
of the two ensigns detailed to watch the screens turned in his swivel
chair.  'Can I help you, sir?"

Steve looked around the room.  There was another door on the far side,
marked 'Toilet'.  'Is Captain Chisum through there?"

'No, sir.  I haven't seen him in a while."

'Okay, thanks."

Steve closed the door behind him, exited from the stateroom and checked
the other five sleeping compartments.

One of the doors was shut, the other four were empty.  He knocked on
the locked door.  'John .  . . ?"

No reply.  He knocked again, but there was no response.

Pausing in the doorway to the crowded centre carriage, he surveyed the
interior then walked through into the last carriage.

In the crowded galley, some of the Mute staff were catching a late
lunch while others washed up the dishes from the picnic.  He went past
the guard's cabin, towards the door that led to the rear observation
platform.  It had a glass panel in the top half with a view of the
track running away into the distance behind them.  He opened it, fully
expecting to find John Chisum admiring the view.

The platform was empty.  Where the hell had he got to...?

There was only one answer - Chisum had to be in the second occupied
sleeping compartment.  And if he hadn't answered, it was because he'd
got lucky and didn't wish to be interrupted.  So why hadn't he put out
the 'Do not disturb' sign?

Steve felt his stomach tighten.  He had started out with the idea of
pinning down Chisum for that promised talk while Fran was asleep and
out of the way.  The observation platform would have been ideal.  But
now a more alarming idea was creeping into his brain.  He went back
inside, checked the guard's compartment, baggage room, store and galley
on his way through.

As he came back into the centre carriage he suddenly felt giddy.  He
steadied himself in the doorway.  Ahead of him was a sea of blurred,
animated faces.  Their laughter sounded tinny and their voices echoed
sharply - as if the sound was coming down a long tunnel.  And then
other voices filled his head, a growing whisper that swelled to a
warning crescendo like the wind building to a storm-force gust.  Steve
suddenly realised what he had to do, and knew he had only seconds in
which to do it.

He stepped across to the nearest free-standing armchair, grabbed hold
of its female occupant, threw her aside, picked up the chair, hurled it
through the nearest window then, to a chorus of startled cries,
launched himself head-first through the gaping hole in the shattered
glass.

The window was only some eight feet above the track bed but it seemed
an eternity before he hit the ground.

He stretched out his hands in an instinctive effort to break his
fall.

As he curved downwards he saw the observation platform flash past him,
and as it did so, all three carriages exploded sideways and upwards,
throwing the rear of the tender and loco up in the air and Steve's own
world blew apart ....

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Roz's eyes opened wide with the shock.  She staggered forward as her
legs buckled under her.  Clearwater and Cadillac caught her
outstretched arms and saved her from falling.  They eased her gently to
the ground and knelt beside her.

'What happened?!"  cried Cadillac.  'Is it the baby?!"  Roz leaned back
and tried to regulate her breathing as she clutched her swollen
belly.

'No, no... I It's, uh...

uh, someone just tried to kill Steve!"  She drew in several deep
breaths through her nostrils.  'But it's.  it's okay.

He's... alive.  It's all right!"  The M'Kenzi elder who had come with
them to act as a midwife, brought a waterbag from the ox-cart and
applied some to her patient's forehead.  True to the promise he had
made, Cadillac was bringing Roz back to the place where the M'Calls'
settlement had been to wait out the last month of her pregancy.  She
had been riding on the ox-cart, but had insisted on taking a short
walk.

Cadillac looked worriedly at Clearwater.  'What are we going to do?"

'Pray to the Great Sky Mother that he comes to no harm.  What else can
we do?"  The idea of losing Steve and Roz did not bear thinking
about.

Roz clutched at her left shoulder and gasped: 'Oh!

Jeezuss!"  'Steve...?"  asked Clearwater.

'Yes."  Roz's mind got on top of the pain.  'Feels as if he's broken a
collarbone."

'Don't move,' said Cadillac.  'I'll fetch the cart."

The impact with the ground knocked all the breath out of Steve's
body.

He tried to drag some air down his throat but his chest seemed to have
locked up.  In fact, he seemed to be paralysed from head to toe.

Eventually, as the shock wore off, some movement returned to his limbs,
but despite the high threshold of pain he was supposed to possess as a
Mute, it hurt like hell whenever he tried to move anything - especially
up near his left shoulder.

He kicked and rolled himself over onto his right side and found himself
looking at the smouldering carcass of a Mute - with no head or arms and
only one leg.  There was debris everywhere, and more mangled bodies
with most of the clothes stripped off them.  The three carriages had
been turned into matchwood.  The bogies had been tossed carelessly off
the track, and the loco he had seen lifted into the air by the force of
the explosion had been sent.  into a sideways spin, rolling along the
track before splitting open and spewing red-hot coals and scalding
steam.

It was still spewing out now.  Steve was glad he hadn't been riding the
footplate - or in any other part of the train for that matter.  He lay
back and thanked the Great Sky Mother.  The sixth sense that had saved
his neck so many times in the past had come to his aid again.  But how
long would his luck hold?  And where - assuming he could walk - was he
going to go from here?  He would never know whether Chisum had been in
that locked sleeping compartment or not, but it no longer mattered.

There was only one person who had both the means and the motive to
destroy the train and everybody on it - Karlstrom, perhaps with the
tacit approval of the P-G.  And you could bet your last meal credit
Karlstrom had a list of the people who'd been invited to the picnic.

Yehh, and he'd decided that 8902 Brickman, S.R. was surplus to
requirements.  Steve wiped the dust off his tongue and lips, then
rubbed his forehead.  Pulling his hand away he saw the palm was smeared
with blood.

What a mess.  and he had no one to turn to.  Now that Karlstrom had
pulled the plug, he couldn't go back to Cloudlands.  Annie - the only
person that might help 
him - was locked up tight with Crazy Uncle
Bart.  He was going to have to get out of the Federation - but how?

On his own two feet, that's how.  C'mon, move, Brick-man!

He rolled over onto his belly and hauled himself up onto his hands and
knees.  Looking down he saw his knuckles were scuffed and bleeding.  He
had definitely done something to his left shoulder, any pressure on it
soon became unbearable.  Well, he was going to have to bear it.  He put
the weight on his right arm and tried to get his left knee up and under
him, but his left ankle didn't seem to be working properly.

It was in that position, with his head hanging down, that he heard the
sound of a vehicle.  He looked over his left shoulder and saw a
camouflaged Bobcat bumping across the railway line in his direction.

It stopped nearby and the two occupants jumped down and ran over to
him.

Both of them were dressed in red, black and brown camouflage fatigues
and field caps, with shoulder badges that showed they were with an
overground Mines and Mills Unit based at Eisenhower/San Antonio.  Their
breast tags named them as Coombs and Murchison.

Coombs squatted down beside him.  'You okay, good buddy?  Jeezuss!  You
must be the luckiest man alive!"  Murchison surveyed the litter of
broken bodies.  'Looks like he's the only man alive!  Shee-itt!  This
is something, ain't it?"

'Could you help me up?"  gasped Steve.

'Sure!"  said Coombs.  'Let's get you over to the 'Cat.

We got a first aid kit in there."

'Looks like you need it,' added Murchison.  He sat Steve up against one
of the wheels while Coombs climbed into the vehicle to get the kit and
some water.

'How did you get here?"  asked Steve.

Murchison shrugged.  'Saw the'explosion, reckoned something' was
wrongdrove straight through the goddam fence."

'I'm glad you did."

Coombs knelt on the platform that ran alongside the cabin section of
the amphib and cleaned Steve's headwound.  'uhh, that's not too deep,
but you might need some stitches."  He applied some antibiotic gel then
gave Steve the wet cotton swab.  'Clean off your hands, they look like
they could use some gel too."

Murchison hunkered down in front of him.  'How's the ankle?  D'you want
it splinted up?"

'No.  I think I just twisted it.  It'll come right."

Murchison eyed the grey leather boots and the rest of Steve's torn and
dirt-covered Confederate uniform as he straightened up.  'Pretty fancy
rig you got there - what's left of it."  · 'Yeah,' said Steve.  He
loosened some buttons on his tunic, reached inside and produced his
silver ID card.

'Family... can you run me to San Antone?"

Murchison saluted.  'Yessirr, Captain?

Steve gestured towards the scattered wreckage of the train.  'Have you
called this in?"

'No, sir.  We just saw it happen and steamed over.  Who would you like
us to call?  We can do it right now."

'That won't be necessary.  I'll make the calls when I reach your
divisional base.  This is the work of subversives - I'm going to have
to speak with the State Provost Marshal and the White House.  But I
shall need you to come back here and guard that breach in the fence
until our people get here."  He masked the pain that wracked his
body.

'Okay, let's hit the road!"  Murchison pulled out the retractable step
ladder between the second and third portside wheels.  As Steve turned
towards the vehicle, he saw a crumpled swathe of yellow material pinned
underneath the rear tyre of the Bobcat.  It was part of the dress Fran
had been wearing.

The one she had hung up before lying down to take the nap she would
never wake up from ....

He climbed onto the hull, entered the four-seat cabin through the side
door and settled down in the back row.

Coombs, the smaller of the two, got in behind the wheel.

Murchison took the seat on his right.

Steve saw the two carbines racked on the side walls of the cabin and
glanced at his watch.  16.24 .  . . the afternoon was almost gone.

'Can you make the base by 17.007' 'We can try, but it's gonna rattle
your bones,' said Coombs.

'That's the least of my worries,' said Steve.  'Go for it."

The duty crew watching the screens in the observation tower atop the
huge concrete bunker that formed the interface between the overground
and the subterranean world below, saw the camouflaged Bobcat approach
at speed, then slew round and stop facing the other way as it neared
the main entrance ramp.  An onscreen check of the code letters painted
on its roof identified it as belonging to the Mines and Mills
detachment which had been booked out that morning to PFC.Coombs and
Murchison.

A voice through the speaker tuned to the open channel.  'Tower, this is
8753 Coombs, Cat H-94.  We're dropping off someone from Grand Central
who's been involved in a traffic accident.  He's able to walk in, but
requests assistance at the ramp.  We're heading back out to complete
our assignment.  Over."

One of the duty Comm-Techs responded.  'Roger, H94.

Over and out."

He looked at the screen relaying pictures from the tv cameras
monitoring the ramp.  A guy with blond crewcut hair, dressed in
camouflage fatigues emerged from the driver's side of the Bobcat, waved
to the people inside, then closed the door and jumped down as the
vehicle moved off and headed across country.

The Comm-Tech who had taken the call keyed himself through to Main Ramp
Security and told them they had an incoming who might need medical
assistance.

Steve pulled the field cap firmly down over his scalp wound and limped
through what was known as the single access door onto Level Ten-10 of
Eisenhower/San Antone.  Two Provos, anonymous behind the mirrored
half-visors of their red and white helmets, and a medic, stepped
forward to meet him.

'Where's your name-tag, soldier?"

Steve pushed his silver ID card towards their faces.  'I'm not required
to wear one, Sergeant!"  The realisation that they were dealing with a
member of the First Family brought a radical change of attitude.

'uhh, no SIRR, Captain?  barked his first interrogator.

'How can we be of assistance, sir?!"  barked the second Meat-Loaf.

'Help me over to the Ramp Office.  I need some information, and while
you're getting it, I'd be grateful if the medic could bandage my left
ankle."

'Yes, SIR!  This way, SIR!"  Brown-nosing bastards...

The medic and the first Meat-Loaf assisted Steve to the Ramp Office,
while the second cleared the way ahead.

Steve slumped down gratefully into the offered chair and fought off the
pain generated by the bone-shaking ride, and his leap off the moving
Bobcat.  He looked down at the kneeling medic.  'Just bind it up as
tight as you can.

And if you've got a couple of Cloud Nines, I'll personally arrange a
Class One Citation."

The medic passed them over to him, tested the swelling on his ankle,
,sprayed on some Novocaine and began to bandage it.  Steve swallowed
haft of one of the strong pain killers, pocketed the rest for later and
caught the eye of the desk clerk.  'Could you check the time of the
next shuttle to Monroe/Wichita?"

'Rightaway, sir!"  She called up the information on the nearest video
screen.  'That'll be the 17:15, sir, stopping at Fort Worth and
Tulsa... arriving Wichita 23:00."  She looked at the wall clock.  The
time was 17:11.  'Looks like you're going to miss than one, sir.  The
next is at ' 'Call the Platform Master.  Tell him to hold the train.

'But, sin ' 'Just DO it!"  yelled Steve.  He flashed his silver card.

The clerk looked uncertainly at the two Provos.  They gave her the
nod.  She switched her video to communications mode and keyed in the
required number.

Steve levered himself upright.

'I'm not through with your ankle!"  said the medic.

'You can finish it in the elevator!"  cried Steve.  He limped out of
the office, followed by the medic.  When he reached the turnstile to
the elevator lobby, Steve turned and jabbed a finger at the Provos.

'And you!  Make sure they hold that fucking train!"  The two sergeants
leapt to ttention and saluted as one.

'Yess -SIRR!"  As they doubled back to the Ramp Office, Steve carded
himself through the turnstile, followed by the medic.  He passed the
first major hurdle.  The fact that the computer-controlled mechanism
had let him through meant his card was still valid.  Karlstrom must
have been so certain that everybody on the train would be killed, he
had not yet gotten around to arranging for his card to be cancelled.

He was in with a chance.  If he could cover the next six hundred and
thirty miles without running into trouble, he would be in Kansas, one
of the new Territories.

The divisional base of Monroe/Wichita had just been completed, but they
were still not fully up and running - and best of all, Monroe was the
only base in the whole state.  Wagon-trains were still busy trying to
drive out the Mutes.  If he could get.  to Level Ten-10 and past Ramp
Security, he was almost home and dry.

The medic followed him into the nearest open elevator and got to work
on the ankle as Steve hit the button marked 'Subway'!

When Bull Jefferson's train failed to show up at the Cloudlands
railyard at 19:00 hours, the time originally scheduled, no alarm was
raised.  It had been a warm, sunny day - ideal for outdoor pursuits his
party had probably decided to extend their outing.  Even so, it was no
way to run a railway.  There had been no radio contact between the
train and the Line Master's office since' its reported departure from
the shunting yard in mid-afternoon.

At 20:00 hours, after repeated attempts to contact the train, the Line
Master's office called Security Brigade HQ.  They put a Skyhawk up to
fly down the line.  It wasn't long before the pilot discovered the
wreckage of the train and whilst manoeuvering to make another low pass,
spotted the breach in the security fence.

The President-General was immediately alerted to what looked like a
major act of sabotage by subversives who had penetrated the enclave.

The first question he asked was how the fence could be breached without
triggering the alarm system which was supposed to indicate the sector
where the illegal entry was taking place.

An embarrassing question.  The red-faced respondent was obliged to
explain that the sector alarm system was not yet operational, and the
video cameras had not been installed in the robot watch-towers.  Only
the proximity sensors - which reacted to the movement of any solid body
towards the fence and issued a recorded warning through loud hailers
were up and running.

For Karlstrom, the breach in the security fence was a heaven-sent bonus
- especially as Bull Jefferson had known about the uncompleted alarm
systems when planning his inaugural trip down the new stretch of
line.

The mystery deepened and took a new twist when Mines and Mills at
Eisenhower/San Antonio sent out four Bobcats to look for a missing
vehicle and received a radio message at 21:15 that it had been found,
nose-down in an irrigation ditch.  Coombs and Murchison, the two
crewmen, were strapped in the back seats.

Both had been shot in the head.  Murchison had also had his neck broken
by a heavy blow to the side of his skull.  His boots, camouflage
fatigues and field cap were missing.  The engine had stalled but the
vehicle's cruise control was still set and locked on 40mph.

This information was routed through the communications room in the
observation tower that had handled the earlier exchange with H-94.  But
there had been a change of shifts.  The new crew were unaware that H-94
had returned to base and dropped off a passenger.  Steve's desperate
ruse might have succeeded had it not been for the chance social visit
of an off-duty Comm-Tech from the earlier shift.  Hearing his
colleagues discussing the incident, he recalled the arrival of the
camouflaged 'accident victim', and alerted Ramp Security - mainly to
cover his own ass.

The two Provos were also off-duty.  Summoned in mid-swallow from the
mess-deck, they couldn't remember the name on the ID card that had been
thrust in their faces.

The shock at being confronted by a First Family ID card had frozen
their brains.  All they had recorded was that the photo on the card
matched the face and that the owner held the rank of captain.

The Provo Commander - like everyone else on the base - knew nothing
about the explosion that had occurred some twenty miles away.  He
wasn't over-eager to get involved in Family business, but the fact that
the captain with the silver card had been wearing camouflage fatigues
with M&M and San Antonio shoulder badges indicated that he'd taken them
from one of the dead crewmen.  Which linked him to their murder.

Whatever happened later, a Code One violation had been committed within
his jurisdiction - and it was his duty to follow it up.

The first thing he had to do was establish the captain's identity.  The
card-operated turnstile to the elevator lobby recorded the name and
number of everyone who passed through - and the card would have been
used again before boarding the shuttle.  The computer records could be
accessed - but not instantly.  The Provo Commander set the ball
rolling.

As soon as they had the captain's name and number, the information
could be fed back to the central computer.

Once alerted that the card was invalid, the computer would deny entry
to all controlled sectors, elevators and long-distance
transportation.

It would also alert local security as to his whereabouts - for there
was no guarantee that the mysterious captain was still heading for
Monroe/Wichita.  He could have already changed at Fort Worth and gone
west to Santa Fe, northeast to Little Rock or .  . . back to Grand
Central.  In fact he could already be there.

The Commander was aware there was still time to alert the Provo
Commander at Kennedy/Tulsa, but he was reluctant to meddle with the
Family.  They operated in a realm of their own and were not answerable
to the ordinary law enforcement agencies.  He was not prepared to
jeopardise his career by acting without the proper information.  When
that was at his disposal, he would contact the Black Tower and ask them
to relay it to the White House.

While the Commander was wrestling with his little local difficulty, the
senior office-holders of the White House were trying to come to terms
with the full horror of the disaster which had wiped out an entire
branch of the First Family.  Neither the President-General - who had
taken on the task of informing the nearest relatives of the train's
passengers - or Karlstrom, knew about the dead crewmen inside the
Bobcat, or about the long-distance traveller who, with each passing
minute, was getting nearer and nearer to the end of the line ....

Having made up the initial delay on the run to Fort Worth, the MagLev
shuttle slid smoothly into the subway station at Tulsa at precisely
21:45.  for its second fifteen minute stop before the last leg to
Monroe/Wichita.

Steve had taken one whole Cloud Nine at Forth Worth to deaden the pain
from his ankle and left shoulder.

Unless he could get some more, that left one half dose to carry him
through the rest of his journey to Wyoming.

On the jolting drive in to Eisenhower/San Antonio, he realised he'd
cracked some ribs too but there hadn't been time to bandage them.  It
hurt to breathe, but the pill plus 
the right mental attitude made it
bearable.  The next big hurdle would be getting out of
Monroe/Wichita.

The three months spent working as a Seamster had given him some
knowledge of the behind-the-scenes passageways of the Federation, but
he certainly wasn't in any shape to climb up one of the thousand
foot-deep ventilation shafts.

The pill had made him feel drowsy, and he slept through most of the
journey from Fort Worth to Tulsa.

Now it was time to sit up and look alert.  At each stop, a four-man
team of Provos always walked through the train checking the cards and
movements orders of anyone who caught their eye.  Steve knew he was
bound to attract attention.  Trackers didn't normally travel in
camouflage fatigues, and if they were moving between bases, they would
usually have a trail-bag.

His ID had been sufficient to allay any suspicions at Fort Worth, but
sooner or later, that Bobcat would be found and the hunt would begin if
it hadn't begun already.  Until he got to Monroe/Wichita there was
nothing he could do but sit tight and brazen it out.  The quarter-hour
ticked by minute by interminable minute.

Steve glanced out of the window and saw a group of Provos on the
platform.  They were all facing inwards as if listening to a briefing,
but now and then one of them would glance up and down the platform or
at the waiting shuttle.  The tension was unbearable.

'I don't believe this!"  said a voice.  'Steve BriCkman?"

Steve looked, up at the owner of the voice, dressed in wing-man blue,
who was standing in the aisle just behind his seat.  He could hardly
believe his eyes.  It was Pete Vandenberg from Condor Squadron, Class
of '89 at the Flight Academy.  A fellow-graduate who had come third in
the honours list, relegating him to fourth position by two points.

Steve ignored his burning joints and levered himself up.  'Pete!  What
the heck are you doing here?!"  'I was going to ask you the same
question!"  Pete shook Steve's hand vigorously and fisted Steve's
injured shoulder.  Steve almost fainted.  He sat down quickly, with his
left side out of harm's way against the side wall of the compartment.

Vandenberg stowed his trail-bag on the overhead rack and sat down
facing him.  'Jeer, man!  We got word you were dead!  What happened?"

'It's a long story,' said Steve.

'Well, we got an hour to Wichita.  You can give me some of it."

Vandenberg gave Steve's left knee a friendly slap.

That hurt too.  The blood from the skinned kneecap had stuck to his
trouser leg and kept tearing away every time he moved.

'Great to see you!"  Vandenberg leaned forward.  'Did you know the left
side of your face was swollen?"

'Yeah.  I tripped over my own feet and fell off a Bobcat."

Vandenberg put his face to the window, checked the platform then said:
'So how come the uniform?"  His nose wrinkled.  'Mines and Mills?"

'That's another long story."

Vandenberg caught sight of two people passing the window.  He rapped
hard with his knuckles, then leapt up and ran along to the open door.

Steve didn't look to see what was happening.  Keeping perfectly still
seemed to be the best remedy to all his ills.

Vandenberg returned and gestured towards Steve.

'Now do you believe me?"

Two overlapping voices chorused:'Holy shit I - Sonora-bitch!"  Steve
found himself looking into the grinning faces of Mci Avery and Sonny
Ayers, two other '89 graduates of the Flight Academy.  But Melanie and
Sonny had been his classmates in the top-rated Eagle Squadron.  They
were also dressed in blue with gold wings above the left-hand tunic
pocket and lieutenant's sleeve stripes.  Steve shoved out his hand but
didn't get up.  The two of them were so excited they almost pulled his
arm off.

'What the hell are you doing here?"  they both asked.

'He won't say."  Pete Vandenberg tapped the side of his nose.

'Special assignment."

'That's right,' said Steve.  'So why don't you guys tell me what you're
up to?"

Before they could reply, two Meat-Loafs walked along the centre aisle
and stopped as their eyes lighted upon Steve.  'You got no name,
soldier?"  asked one of the sergeants.

'Step out into the aisle,' said his colleague.

Steve reached into his pocket and held out the wallet containing his ID
card, but made no move to get up.

The second sergeant took the wallet, lifted the flap, showed the card
to the other Meat-Loaf, then handed the wallet back to Steve and gave a
short salute.  'Sorry about that, Captain."

'That's okay, Sergeant."

'A captain?  With no rank stripes?"  Vandenberg eyed Steve then
exchanged glances with Avery and Ayers.

'Tell me about Wichita,' said Steve.

'We're going out to join Leatherneck,' said Mci Avery.

Steve tried to sound casual.  'The Fighting Leathernecks?

The wagon-train?  You're kidding."

'Why?"  asked Sonny.  'Are you shipping out on it too?"

Steve grinned.  'Wish I was.  Unfortunately I've got some other
business to attend to.  But I'd love the chance to come on board for an
hour or two.  When are you due to leave?"

'Day after tomorrow,' said Pete.  'We're replacing a guy who bought a
farm and a couple more who got injured."

He held out his hand.  'Okay, Steve, show us the ID."

Steve locked eyes with him for a moment then laid the wallet on
Vandenberg's palm.  Vandenberg opened it and studied the silver ID then
angled it towards Avery and Ayers before handing it back.

'Does that mean what I think it means...?"

Steve nodded.

'Family...?"  breathed Avery.

Steve nodded again.

'Smokin' lumpshit!"  muttered Ayers.

It was Vandenberg's turn to nod.  'Always had you down as someone who
knew where they were headed."

If only they knew!  Steve responded with a modest smile.  'Just the
luck of the draw, Pete."

Mci Avery tapped Vandenberg on the arm.  'Did you tell him who we're
meeting up with at Wichita?"

'No,' said Vandenberg.  'Let that be another surprise .... ' With a
dozen different escape scenarios milling around inside his head, Steve
mentally gathered himself up for a final effort as the shuttle eased to
a halt at the brand new subway station.  Part of it was still festooned
with construction trestles.  Vandenberg secured a wheelie for which
Steve was quietly thankful - and they all piled in and drove up the
ramp to the domed central plaza.  The main concourse had been paved and
planted, but they were still pouring concrete over on the west side.

As the wheelie droned along the vehicle track that ran around the
concourse towards the cluster of elevators, Steve saw someone with
sandy hair and a blue uniform rise from one of the tables outside a
coffee and soft drink unit.

It was Captain Bob Carroll, the Chief Flying Instructor from the Flight
Academy at Lindbergh Field, New Mexico.  The man who had watched over
the progress of Steve and his fellow graduates for three years.  It
seemed too good to be true.

Carroll, now sporting commander's rank stripes, returned their salutes
and greeted Steve warmly.  'Good to see you, Brickman."

'It's Captain Brickman, sir,' said Vandenberg.

Carroll looked Steve over.  'In that case I won't ask what happened to
your wings - or why you're working for Mines and Mills."

'I'm not, sir.  I'm still on active duty."  He passed Carroll his ID
wallet.

Carroll eyed the contents with raised eyebrows then passed it back.

'Congratulations - and good luck.  Always knew they couldn't keep a
good man down."

Steve pocketed the ID.  'Same goes for you, sir.  Still at the Flight
Academy?"

'Yes, but I'm on a three-month detachment.  Always good to get a taste
of the real thing.  I'm shadowing the Wagon-Master and the Flight
Operations Officer on Leatherneck."

It was getting better by the minute.  Steve went for it.  'Can I ask
you a big favour, sir?  I don't have to meet my contacts until tomorrow
morning.  Is there any chance of being able to come aboard tonight?

Apart from a brief spell on Red River last year, I haven't seen the
inside of many wagon-trains lately.  Been too busy driving SkyRiders to
strange places."

Carroll didn't know about AMEXICO or its private air force but he got
the message.  'Sure."  He grinned.  'If we can't find you a bunk, we'll
ask Mel here to move over.

Let's go."

After passing through Ramp Security, Carroll led them out through a
bulkhead door into the warm night air.

A full moon hung in a cloudless sky, obscuring all but the brightest
stars.  Two Bobcats stood on their shadows, headlights gleaming.  The
wagon-train lay about a quarter of a mile away, drawn into a straight
line.  Its flight deck was extended and lit, and circling high above
were two winking red points of light attached to dark, winged
silhouettes - Skyhawks.  It was all coming together ....

Steve paused, slipped the remaining half-dose of painkiller into his
mouth, took a deep breath and strode forward, willing himself not to
limp.  You can do it, Brickman.  Bear it.  Walk tall.  You are a
Plainfolk warrior.

Carroll led them up the ramp into the belly of the forward command car
and took Steve to see the wagon-master while the other three reported
to the Trail Boss and went aft to settle in.  'Shack' Torrenson, the
Leathernecks' commander, cast his eye over Steve's ID, listened to
Carroll's pitch, arranged for Steve to be logged in as a visitor and
issued with a pass, then shook his hand and expressed the hope he would
enjoy his short stay.

Carroll pulled a wheelie off the line for the run back to the flight
car.  'I imagine you'll want to go topside."

'If I can, sir.  Why have you got aircraft up this late?"

'New routine we're trying out,' replied Carroll.  'We've heard that
Mutes usually keep their heads down after dark.  So we're working up
for night operations.  The idea is to have a high-flier pin-point the
settlements during the day, then go in after dark behind a navigation
leader who will mark and light up the target with flares for the main
force.  We'll be able to go in low and fast, lay down the napalm, then
strafe them as they come running out with their pants down.  And of
course the night sky gives us perfect cover.  Can't fail."

'No.  It sounds good,' said Steve hollowly.

They went up into one of the duck-holes set along the edges of the
flight deck and watched several dummy approaches, hook-on landings and
catapult launchings from the steam-powered booms.  Half of the wing-men
on board had been tapped for night-flying exercises, and they were
taking it in turn to practise take-offs and landings, using the faster,
twin-boom Skyhawk Mark 2.

Pete Vandenberg, Mel Avery and Ayers joined Steve in the duckhole.

Carroll turned to Steve.  'Do you want to try your hand at a couple of
circuits?  May be your last chance for a while."

Steve tried to sound interested but not overeager.

'Well, yes - if you're sure it's okay."

'Go ahead,' said Carroll.  'I trust you."  He stopped as a thought
struck him.  'You have flown the Mark Two, haven't you?"

'A few times,' lied Steve.

'Then you should be okay.  Most of the systems are duplicated on the
SkyRider.  Should be no problem.  Do a few dummy approaches.  If you
find yourself running 
out of deck, go round again and land
alongside.

We'll haul you aboard on the boom."

Sonny Ayers chortled at the prospect."Ohh, this I gotta see!"  They
waited until the next Skyhawk landed on, then climbed out and followed
it as the deck crew manhandled it onto the starboard catapult.  Carroll
stopped the departing wing-man and borrowed his helmet.  He handed it
to Steve with a smile.  'This takes me back a few years."

'Yeah, me too, sir.  There's another question I've been wanting to
ask.

Maybe you'll feel unable to answer it, but .  . ."

'I think I know what it is, but go ahead anyway."

'The passing-out exam.  Were the final marks rigged?"

'Yes, they were.  You scored 197 - close to the double century you were
aiming for."

'So what happened?"

Carroll shrugged.  'An order came through to mark you down.  That's all
I can tell you - and don't ask me why.  But you're still top in my
book.  Best pupil I ever had.  And that silver card shows that other
far more important people think very highly of you too."

Steve laughed.  'Yehh, you're right."  He shook Carroll's hand.  'Thank
you, sir.  You don't realise how much this means to me."

Carroll waved his words away.  'Just show us what you can do, Brickman
- and don't bend it!"  Steve saluted, climbed into the Skyhawk,
exchanged his field cap for the visored bone-dome, checked the
instruments and control movements then closed the cockpit cover.  The
catapult boom lifted to form an angle of fifteen degrees with the
deck.

The crew chief crouched low on the deck, and gave Steve the windup
signal.  He selected ten degrees of flap and opened the throttle to
full revs.  When the needle hit the mark, he braced himself in his seat
with his head against the backrest and spoke into the helmet mike.

'Flaps set, trim set, speed set, Go!"  WhhoooossssshhhHH!  Steve gave
an exultant yell as he soared into the night sky and climbed steadily
upwards towards the beckoning moon.

Some fifteen minutes after Steve had left the flight-deck, the central
computer system picked up his exit from the elevator lobby on Level
Ten-lO at Monroe/Wichita and Karlstrom was now on the case.  It did not
take long to discover that he had talked his way on board the Fighting
Leathernecks, and had coolly borrowed a Skyhawk that he obviously had
no intention of bringing back.

Brickman had demonstrated his resourcefulness yet again.  How he had
escaped the blast was a mystery Karlstrom did not intend to waste time
solving.  The runaway had to be stopped, not because he could damage
AMEXICO, or the Federation, but because he had become a challenge
Karlstrom could not ignore.

This was personal.  He could not allow anyone to get the better of
him.

A crestfallen Commander Carroll had supplied the necessary
information.

The Skyhawk, which was powered by methane gas, had not been fully
tanked up.  The maximum distance Brickman could travel before he ran
dry was one hundred and fifty miles.  That would bring him down far
short of Wyoming.

Karlstrom checked his watch.  If he was flying at the most economical
cruising speed, Brickman would be making a dead-stick landing on
unfamiliar terrain at around one o'clock in the morning.  The reports
from Ramp Security at San Antonio had established that the damage to
his ankle would severely hamper any journey he attempted to make on
foot.  Come first light, he would not be too hard to find ....

'Do you feel better now?"

Roz opened her eyes to find Clearwater sitting beside her bed of
furs.

She eased herself up into a sitting position and found she could not
support herself on her left arm.

Clearwater saw her grimace.  'Steve...?"

'Yes..."  Roz touched the crown of her head, her left shoulder, ribs
then pointed towards her left foot.  'He is hurt in so many places.

But he has escaped.  I can feel it.  He is much nearer than before."

She closed her eyes and turned her thoughts inwards.  'Two rivers
running together."

Cadillac poked his head through the door flap in time to hear this.

'That is where we fought the battle with the Iron Snake!  Is that where
he is?  Shall I gather a posse and go to meet him?"

Roz laid a hand on her swollen belly.  'No.  You are to wait here with
me."  She stretched out her right hand towards Clearwater.  'Come
closer.  He wants to speak to you through me."

Clearwater bent over her.  Roz laid both hands on her forehead.  They
both remained motionless for a long moment, then Roz said: 'Help me
outside.  I want to see the sun."

Cadillac backed out and held the flap open.  Clearwater wiped the tears
from her face and helped Roz onto her hands and knees.  Roz clutched
her arm and whispered: 'Get Meri!  It's close.  I feel it!'
Mexicali-Rose was the M'Kenzi midwife.  Clearwater said: 'But you still
have another moon!"  Roz shook her head violently.  'Get everything
ready and remember the lessons I gave you!"  Clearwater and Cadillac
helped her from the tent into the morning sunshine.  She knelt down by
the deep metal pan - one of the prizes from their trip to Ne-Issan and
splashed water on her face to hide her own tears.

Steve blinked himself awake from a confused dream in which he had
surmounted a series of ever increasingly difficult obstacles with a
growing feeling of powerlessness, and found himself slumped down low in
the cockpit of the downed Skyhawk.

The full moon had helped him pick out some reasonably flat terrain when
the fuel ran out.  Without a map, he had been obliged to guess the
right course for Wyoming.

He decided to head north-west, and had spotted the line of the North
Platte river when the fuel ran out.  Gliding down from his cruising
altitude of four thousand feet he managed to add several more miles to
his journey and, by a curious stroke of fate, had come down within a
few hundred yards of the confluence of the North and South Platte near
to the spot where The Lady from Louisiana and the Clan M'Call had both
been destroyed.

The site of his last great betrayal ....

With only one shot at a landing, he had done his best, but had ripped
off the nose wheel and portside main wheel on landing - and no doubt
had mangled the propeller.  Not that it mattered.  The semi-controlled
crash hadn't improved the condition of his left ankle or his cracked
ribs.  But he was still a lot closer to home.

All he had to do was get out and start walking.

He hauled himself upright in the seat and took stock of his
surroundings.  Spread out in a line ahead of him, walking cautiously
towards him were twelve, thirteen, no · .  . fourteen Mute warriors.

Half of them carried loaded cross-bows raised against the shoulder,
ready to fire.  The others had their knives out.

And 8902 Brickman, their Plainfolk brother was sitting in a Federation
Skyhawk, dressed in the camouflage fatigues worn by the hated occupants
of the iron snakes.

No good relying on the nose-mounted Vulcan.  The six barrels were
buried in the dirt underneath the nose and in any case, since it fired
on a fixed line, all they would have needed to do was step out of the
way.  The only gun on board, the pistol in the emergency survival kit,
was in a special outside compartment behind the cockpit on the port
side.

Nice one, Stevie.  . .

While he was trying to work out an appropriate way of introducing
himself, death and deliverance dropped out of the sky.  A blue 'Hawk
came round the far edge of the larch forest behind his starboard wing
and swept in at zero feet with all six barrels pumping steel.  The line
of Mutes attempted to scatter, but the 'Hawk pilot had 
positioned
himself well, catching the line end on.  All fourteen went down
spraying blood as the needlepoint rounds scythed through their
bodies.

Steve threw the cockpit cover open, and hauled himself out with
infinite care.  He could no longer put any weight on his left ankle.

Terrific .... He shifted his butt onto the rim of the cockpit and
watched the Skyhawk make a climbing turn to port.  Steve shuffled along
to the port side emergency panel, released the catch, and got his hands
on the survival kit.  He tossed the rations and first aid packages
aside, revealing the loaded pistol in its neatly packed
shoulder-holster.  Pocketing the spare magazines, he pulled out the
pistol, then limped back towards the cockpit and stood with his right
hand thrust inside, concealing the gun.

He was hoping the Skyhawk pilot might land and offer a lift on his
buddy frame.  If he did, Steve planned to shoot him and move on.  But
the Skyhawk did not land.

It continued to circle overhead.

Commander Bob Carroll was not in a rescuing mood today ....

Steve gazed up at the 'Hawk and tried to work out what to do.  The
problem was solved by the arrival of a camouflaged SkyRider.  The kind
used by AMEXICO.

Definitely not good news.

The SkyRider made a low pass over Steve's position, then climbed back
to make an approach and landing on his port side, bumping to a halt
about eighty yards away.

Beyond the effective range of his air pistol.  The pilot kept the
engine running.  The passenger canopy opened.

A helmeted figure in camouflage fatigues got out, came round the nose
of the SkyRider and stood watching him.

Steve tightened his grip on the hidden pistol.

A second helmeted figure came out from behind the SkyRider carrying a
rifle.  He went down on one knee and took aim.  The rising sun that
warmed Steve's back flared briefly off the lens of a telescopic sight
as a triple volley tore into his right shoulder, slamming him back
against the cockpit.  The pistol flew out of his hand as it jerked
open, bounced off the seat and fell beyond reach.

It doesn't hurt, Brickman.  Nothing hurts any more.  Steve straightened
up and put his weight on his good leg as the first helmeted figure
pulled a pistol from his shoulder holster and walked towards him.  As
he got closer, he raised his helmet visor.

'Hiya, John.  So this is how it goes, huh?"

Chisum nodded and levelled the pistol at Steve's chest.

The three barrels were barely a foot away.  'I hope you understand.

This is nothing personal."

Steve gave a tired laugh, remembering Malone.  Forgive me little
sister!  A short agonised cry burst from Roz's lips as she was hurled
backwards from the water pan by an invisible blow to her chest.  The
force lifted her off her knees and sent her sprawling on the dusty
ground.

Cadillac, Clearwater and Meri rushed to pick her up, carrying her by
the arms and legs to where a blanket had been spread out.  Cadillac
knelt down and cradled her head.  Roz looked shocked and bewildered.

Her eyes moved desperately from face to face but didn't seem to
focus.

'Oh, Sweet Mother!"  cried Cadillac.  He threw out a hand to try and
staunch the blood that welled from a jagged hole between her breasts.

Roz gripped Clearwater's wrist fiercely.  'The knife!

Use the knife!  Save my child!"  Clearwater began loosening the thongs
that held Roz's leather bodice together.  There was blood everywhere.

She turned to Meri.  'Quick!  Unwrap her skirt, then bring the cloths
and water."

As the woman got busy, Clearwater ran to fetch the knife which lay on
the whetstone.  When she returned, Roz's eyes had started to glaze.

Clearwater straddled her right thigh and told Meri to hold her down her
other leg.

'What are you going to do?!"  cried Cadillac.

Clearwater blocked his outstretched hand and pushed it away.  'What
she asked me to do!  Be strong' She took a deep breath, called upon
Mo-Town to aid her, then placed the knife against Roz's distended belly
and made a lateral cut through the skin and then another deep cut
through the abdominal wall.  A crescent-shaped gap opened up, exposing
the swollen uterus, covered with a film of blood.  Clearwater began to
cut it open from the top down, to free the unborn foetus within.

Cadillac gave an anguished shout then shut his eyes and held onto Roz
as her life drained away.  He heard the sucking cry of a new born'
child.

'It's a girl,' said Clearwater.

Cadillac looked up.  The lower half of Roz's body had been covered
up.

The baby' lay on a clean cloth, its umbilical severed and tied.  Meri
cleaned its eyes and finished drying it then passed it to Clearwater,
who cradled it tenderly and let it suckle her left breast.

Cadillac read the comforting message in her eyes.  The shared sorrow,
the shared love.  Their lives had come together again.  The bond
between them had always been.

Now it would take on a new richness, for they both knew that within
them lived the spirit of the one the other had loved and lost.  As long
as they drew breath, Roz and Steve would never die.

He laid Roz gently to rest on the blanket, kissed her still warm lips
then reached out to touch their child.  The baby's head was perfectly
formed and covered with wispy white hair.  She was smooth-boned with a
pale flawless body and dark arms - like wings.

And they called her Snow-Raven.

"... Man-Child or Woman-child the One may be Whosoever is chosen shall
grow straight and strong as the Heroes of the Old Time The morning dew
shall be his eyes the blades of grass shall be his ears and the name of
the One shall be Talisman..."