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 b.u.t.tercup 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 gra.s.s-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 . . . s.h.i.t." 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 n.o.body'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, n.o.body 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 j.a.panese."

'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 sh.o.r.eline. Sunlight sparkled on the crystal gla.s.ses and polished cutlery being laid on the buffet tables by the Mute servants quiet as shadows.

What were they - rejects from the Life Inst.i.tute?