The Amtrak Wars - Ironmaster Part 55

'Do you want them now?"

'No, later. Listen, I've been thinking. If you're able to put ideas into Toh-s.h.i.+ba's head, maybe you can get him to transfer me to the Heron Pool."

'What as - a Tracker?"

'No, that's too tricky. I don't have any ID. They've got me marked down as a Mute, so I'll have to stay that way till I see how things work out, then maybe make the switch later."

'So what shall I tell him to do?"

'Tell him to order an inspection of the post-house and everybody working there - including the roadrunners.

When he walks down the line, I want him to pick me out and have me transferred on to Cadillac's household staff.

It doesn't matter what as."

'Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Steve laughed quietly. 'Don't worry. After three months in the A-Levels up to my knees in sewage I can handle anything Cadillac cares to throw at me. A little humility never did anyone any harm - and being able to order me around is going to make his day." He took hold of her shoulders. 'I know it's asking a lot, but. can you do that for me?"

'I can try." She reached up and clasped her hands behind his neck.

'Well, it's a lot better than the other ideas you've been putting into his head."

'How many times do I have to tell you? He means nothing to me!" She tried to pull him down but he stayed there, unyielding.

'What about Cadillac?"

'We grew up together - like brother and sister. We shared each other's joys, fought each other's battles. I can never break the ties that bind us. But it is my strength he needs, not my love."

Steve succ.u.mbed to the pull of her arms and lay down close beside her.

'There's so much I have to tell you -' 'Ssshhh... ' Clearwater drew the coverlet over them both. 'The touch of your skin on mine tells me all I need to know. Hold me, cloud warrior. There is so little time left for us to share."

'But there are things I need to explain -' Clearwater stilled his lips with a kiss. 'Let go of the world, my love,' she whispered. 'We are like two leaves at the Yellowing, borne away on the West Wind. Our lives were shaped long before our spirits were poured into our mothers'

womb. The Wheel turns. The Path is drawn.

And we must go wherever it leads us..."

Her body became one with his. Hhooohhh! Jeer! Ohhh! Krrisstopher.t

It was dangerously close to dawn when Steve clambered ash.o.r.e at the point where he had left his clothes. Fortunately, he didn't have far to go. Two Island Lake formed the western boundary of the Consul-General's estate, and the main post-house, to which he'd been a.s.signed, was situated close to Toh-s.h.i.+ba's official residence. With time running out, he was forced to pa.s.s under the walls of the barracks where the regiment of government troops was quartered, but he managed to do so without being spotted and was back inside the roadrunners'

bunk-house before anyone was up and about.

Roadrunners, like all Mutes in Ne-Issan, were not locked away at night.

The punishment meted out to would-be escapees was so severe, only the foolhardy and those who had reached the limits of endurance attempted to run away. As the job of roadrunner brought the holder enviable privileges, it was a.s.sumed that no Mute lucky enough to be selected would do anything that might land him back on the dungheap.

The Iron Masters were harsh, demanding taskmasters but they were not totally heartless monsters. The captive Mutes, which they viewed as little better than animals, were allowed the same freedom to copulate at random, and those within the same workforce were permitted to form family groups. A slave-master might lose a few weeks of fieldwork during the latter stages of the pregnancy, but Iron-foot children were a welcome addition to the labour force. Not only were they delivered free of charge, they were a growing a.s.set.

For roadrunners it meant that, in off-duty hours, they were allowed to fraternise with the female Mutes staffing the kitchens, bath-house and laundry, or any others whose services were available in the immediate vicinity of the compound. The lake was some four miles away which put it definitely off-limits. Had Steve run into a watch patrol he'd have been in big trouble but, once again, his luck had held.

The following night, Steve got the opportunity to transmit his first message to Commander-General Karlstrom, head of AMEXICO. Using the tiny stylus, he ran the diagnostic program to check that the transceiver was fully operational, then keyed in his call-sign and details of his present position. This was followed by a summary of the information he had given to SideWinder and the news that he had made contact with his two remaining targets. He ended with the three-letter code requesting acknowledgement of his transmission, signed off as he had begun with 'HG-FR', selected the appropriate time-interval, then pressed the Auto-Transmit key.

Knowing that the set would now broadcast his message at regular intervals during the next allotted two-hour transmission time between 2200 and 2400 and again between 0400 and 0600, Steve rea.s.sembled the knife, put it back in its hiding place, and went to sleep.

Unable to understand how a radio with such a limited range could transmit a message back to the Federation, Steve had concluded that the First Family must have installed secret relay stations inside Ne-Issan.

In his ignorance, he had been thinking laterally, instead of vertically. Four times a day, when tracking an undercover operation, one or more aircraft belonging to AMEXICO, and of a type unknown to Steve, flew back and forth on preset flight-paths, with electronic ears tuned to the ground below.

The overflights had begun fifty years ago, but their presence in the sky had remained undetected by the Iron Masters because of their operating alt.i.tude. Flying five miles above the Surface of the earth, they were virtually invisible from the ground, and they could not be heard because their specially designed slim wings enabled them to glide silently across the width of Ne-Issan from the Appalachians to the sea.

Once over the water, they turned on their engines to regain the small amount of height they had lost, then began the return leg, recording messages from agents, fixing their locations, and transmitting instructions from AMEXICO.

The next day, Steve's delivery run took him westwards to the place once known as Springfield - a 140mile round trip that meant spending three nights away from base. On the way back, he put on an extra spurt on his way into and out of Awo-seisa, so that he had almost forty-five minutes in hand when he reached the Heron Pool.

Once again, he was lucky. Cadillac was working in the house and caught sight of him through the open side-screens as he came up the path. As before, the Mute greeted him in a friendly but guarded fas.h.i.+on. Steve decided not to spoil things by mentioning he'd seen Clearwater and had spent a couple of hours in her bed.

Cadillac led him to the drafting table and they spent a short time discussing how best to convert the existing model into a two-seater.

Their conversation was interrupted when Cadillac was called away to sort out some problem in the workshops. Promising to return shortly, he left Steve alone in the study, suggesting that he make himself useful by sketching out his ideas for the conversion.

Steve did so, but he also took the opportunity to remove the radio-knife from its hiding place beneath the lining at the bottom of his mailbag. Checking the memory store, he found a brief congratulatory message from Karlstrom acknowledging receipt of his transmission.

The message also included an offer of a.s.sistance and the chilling line: 'DON'T WORRY IF OBLIGED MAINTAIN LONG PERIOD RADIO SILENCE/YOUR.

KIN-SISTER ROZ IS HELPING US KEEP TRACK OF YOU/MIKE X-RAY ONE'.

Karlstrom's call-sign.

It was a timely reminder that the lives of Roz and his guard-parents still hung in the balance. And if his kin-sister was still reading him in moments of stress and high emotion as well as she had done before, it also meant that the First Family had him by the short hairs.

Steve hurriedly keyed in another message requesting some background data and scientific formulae he required, selected Auto-Transmit, wrapped up the knife and hid it at the back of one of the floor storage units. It was an optimistic move based on the firm belief that he would soon be working alongside his rival, and also a precautionary measure. The data would be of no use unless he got to the Heron Pool and now that he'd made contact, there was no point in risking his neck by keeping the knife in his possession. AMEXICO knew where he was, and if they wanted to know what he was up to, all they had to do was ask Roz.

How much had she told them? The thought that the First Family were using her to reach into his mind made him feel like a trapped animal.

He cursed his stupidity for letting his own, similar power fall into disuse. But it was worse than that; he had deliberately suppressed it.

The ability to 'connect' had been part of their unique togetherness.

But in growing up, he had tried to grow apart from Roz, had tried to build a wall between them behind which he could plan and scheme in secret. All he had succeeded in doing was to build a cage that his mind could not get out of, while hers was still able to slip in through the bars.

Well done, Brickman. There was a lesson in there somewhere, just as there was something to be learned from being painted up like a Mute while Cadillac and Clearwater pa.s.sed themselves off as Trackers. The reversal in their roles had struck him forcibly during the brief moment he had spent in her arms. It showed that, in the final a.n.a.lysis, it was not the colour of the skin that mattered, but the person underneath.

On his return to the post-house, Steve found himself caught up in the frenzied preparations for a tour of inspection by the Consul-General.

He felt a surge of excitement. Had Clearwater worked her magic - or had all this been planned long ago? He would only know for sure when Tohos.h.i.+ba walked down the line and gave him his marching orders.

All the roadrunners were mobilized to help with the cleaning, and extra labour was drafted in to sweep and scrub, sc.r.a.pe and polish. Every speck of loose dirt and rubbish was carefully removed from the post-house yard, hollows and car-ruts were filled, the gate was freshly painted, signs and emblems refurbished. Walls were cleaned - even the tiled roofs were washed down, and in the laundry, the team of Mute women worked through the night preparing spotless sets of uniforms and bedding to be worn and displayed in the roadrunners' bunkhouse.

On the following day, three hours before the Consul-General was due, the post-master and his senior clerks emerged, impeccably dressed in their best clothes, and inspected every inch of the post-house and the other ancillary buildings within its official boundaries. The Chinese and Korean staff who made up the middle and lower echelons of the organisation stood like statues at their usual place of work, moving only to bow from the waist when the party of j.a.ps came upon them.