Steve grinned. 'Ahh, that's where you come in. I'm hoping you're going to be able to set up a skyhook."

'Jack me! You don't stop, do you?"

'I know it's asking a lot but - you're my only contact with the Federation."

'Yeah, okay. when's this likely to be?"

Steve threw up his hands again. 'Can't say. How long are you going to be working this route?" * 'Barring earthquake, flood, shipwreck, acts of war and civil disorder, we should be on this run for the next four months. The turnround point is 150 miles south of here. A place called Nyo-yoko. That's where this river meets the Eastern Sea."

'Yeah, I saw it on the map. There's a bunch of islands down there."

Side-Winder nodded. 'The Shogun has a palace on one of them. Did you know that, before the Holocaust, over twenty-five million people lived there? Twenty-five million jammed into a few square miles. Can you imagine that?"

Steve shook his head. 'That's probably why they ended up killing each other."

'Maybe . . . Anyway, for what it's worth, we sail at midday for Nyo-yoko, two days later we call back here, then go all the way to Bu-faro. There and back takes about three weeks. Bear that in mind.

If you can time it right, you can hitch a ride with us and I'll do whatever I can to help. These d.i.n.ks can be unpredictable. The trip might be easier if you have a friend on board."

'You're right." Steve fisted Side-Winder's shoulder.

'Gotta go, but - I really appreciate this. If it hadn't been for your help on the way in ' Side-Winder waved away his thanks. 'If we ever meet up back home when I've got these lumps out of my face we'll split a Korn-Gold and swap case notes. Buena suerte!" 'You too, amigo.

Hasta la vista!" Steve set off towards the ferry.

'Hey! I forgot something!" Steve halted as Side-Winder ran to catch up with him.

'You'll have to pay for the boat ride."

'What with?"

'Money. Didn't anyone tell you about that?"

Steve stared at him, uncomprehending.

Side-Winder grinned. 'Obviously not. It's like the credit ratings on our ID cards, only different. Never mind. Looks like you got a steep learning curve ahead of you. Find out about all that and get your hands on some.

The trip'll cost you five dollars a head." He began to back away.

'Plus the extras! Bring another twenty dollars, just to be on the safe side?

'Sure! No sweat!" Steve signed off with a confident wave and ran down the wharf past the line of moored boats. Money... dollars...

Columbus! As if he didn't have enough to worry about!

Side-Winder stood watching until Steve reached the ramp that led down to the ferry. The small twin-paddleboat had just left the far side of the river and was chugging its way back to the west bank. In a few minutes Brickman would begin the next stage in his journey though in view of the distances involved, 'odyssey' might be a better word.

Meeting him had been a lucky break, but it was not entirely unexpected.

AMEXICO had alerted him to the fact that Steve had secured a job as a roadrunner and might be heading in his direction.

How Mother had managed to figure that out remained a mystery, and how Brickman had managed to get on board the system so fast was an even bigger one.

Side-Winder had been forced to endure two years of hard labour and brutal treatment, before being selected to work on the wheelboats, and it had taken him a further twelve months to claw his way up to head overseer. And he had only achieved that distinction by being the meanest mother on board. No... Brickman's rapid advancement had to be an inside job. Clearly a man to watch.

As he walked back towards the stevedores, SideWinder realised he had forgotten to tell Brickman that Mutes and Trackers were not allowed to possess money.

Slaves didn't own anything and couldn't earn anything: food, clothing and housing came with the job but the rice in your belly, the shirt on your back and the roof over your head belonged to your master - and so did you.

Whilst it was less serious than carrying a weapon, to possess money was still a punishable offence - as Brickman would soon discover if he did his homework.

The boat tickets would have to be paid for, but they could only be purchased by an Iron Master.

Side-Winder was not unduly worried. Anyone smart enough to get himself promoted from illegal immigrant to roadrunner in less than six weeks should be able to figure his way round a little problem like that.

CHAPTER TEN.

While Steve was heading north for his unexpected meeting with Side-Winder, the much-delayed road convoy to which Jodi Kazan and Dave Kelso had been a.s.signed finally reached Fin on the banks of the Delaware. The bricks used to build Fin came from the ashes of Philadelphia, city of brotherly love, incinerated in' AD 2015 - the year that marked the end of what the Mutes called The Old Time.

For many of the travellers who had joined the convoy in the latter stages of its journey this little riverside town - now awash with merchants and traders drawn in by the forthcoming slave-market - was the end of the line, and as soon as their presence had been registered by the officials at the western toll-gate, they hurried away in search of lodgings in one of the already overcrowded inns.

For Jodi and Kelso the long march, which had begun with their capture by the M'Calls in Western Nebraska, was not yet over. The two Tracker renegades were collected from the toll-gate by a pair of st.u.r.dy Korean clerks working for a shipping agent who enjoyed the trust and commercial patronage of the Min-Orota family. The clerks, their eyes compressed into slits by prominent slanting cheekbones, conducted them through the crowded streets to the agent's office for yet another round of paperwork.

Through an opened screen which served as a door and window, Jodi could see a bustling food market crowded with buyers and vendors. The stalls had a staggering variety of food stacked on counters and hanging from their roof' frames. Some were selling raw items, others were cooking portions to be consumed on the spot. A delicious stew of odours drifting on the summer breeze reached Jodi's nostrils and made her feel faint with hunger.

A glance at Kelso showed he was similarly affected.

They had been adequately fed en route, but they had covered more than 300 miles since leaving Pi-saba - all of it on foot. The trek had left them leaner and tougher than before - and permanently hungry. They were destined to remain so for some time. The agent fed his family and staff and wined and dined his clients, but he was not in the catering business. As far as he was concerned the two long-dogs were just another consignment to be forwarded.

Armed with the necessary pa.s.ses for themselves and their charges, and a monosyllabic command of Basic, the two clerks herded Jodi and Kelso back out on to the streets and down to a ferry plying back and forth across the broad stretch of river which snaked past the eastern edge of town on its southward journey towards the open sea.

As they waited on the jetty for the ferry to complete its return journey the two Trackers witnessed the arrival of a now-familiar sight; the sealed carriage-box with its mysterious white-masked occupant and her two diminutive female attendants, who, like them, had joined the convoy on its formation at Pi-saba. Halfway through the journey, a strong force of mounted bandits had staged a dawn raid on the convoy, carrying off the White Lady and her two women as part of their plunder.

Their kidnappers had evidently had a rapid change of heart, because all three had been put back into circulation and had caught up with the convoy at Midiri-tana towards the end of the following day.

With no understanding of the Iron Masters' language, Jodi and Kelso could not make head nor tail of what had taken place, beyond what they had seen with their own eyes. And since no one had seen fit to offer an explanation in Basic they had been left guessing as to what it all meant - and whether it had any connection with what had followed. For the violent a.s.sault by close on a hundred ronin in which a handful of drivers and travellers had been killed had not been the end of the alarms and excursions. The morning after the kidnapped trio had rejoined the convoy, its progress had been further delayed by the discovery of three dead bodies - one of them a samurai - in the grounds of the post-house where the drivers of the plundered goods-wagons and the shaken travellers had paused to take stock and regroup.

For the Iron Masters, the unlawful killing of a samurai was a serious matter. Within minutes of the alarm being raised, a mini-hierarchy of officials descended on the post-house and unleashed a frenzied investigation, haranguing each other and everyone in sight with a stream of gobbledegook. To the untrained ear, it sounded like the shrill clamour raised by a flock of nesting crows alarmed by a marauding buzzard.

Staff and overnight guests were rounded up, questions were asked and statements taken; rooms and baggage were searched; the murder site was combed for clues. Jodi and Kelso caught a brief glimpse of the corpses as they were removed from a garden pavilion and carried back to the main building, but were not called upon to give an account of themselves. Since they had each spent the night in the customary fashion, bedded down under a wagon with their feet shackled to one of the wheels, they were not regarded as potential suspects. Eventually, after everyone's papers had been scrutinised for the umpteenth time, the road convoy was allowed to proceed.

Whips and prods were applied to the oxen drawing the wagons in an effort to get back on schedule, but the efforts of the perspiring drivers came to naught. Bellowing under the rain of blows, the big-boned beasts reluctantly changed up from a leisurely plod to a lumbering trot, but proved unable to cover more than fifty yards before dropping back down through the gears. At which point, the process began all over again.

After several punishing miles which found the animals

in better shape than their masters, it became clear to Jodi - to whom all this was a new experience - that the oxen had already made a major concession in allowing themselves to be put into harness and were temperamentally opposed to being run off their feet. The convoy-master evidently reached the same conclusion and, after a brief confab with the despairing drivers, they permitted the yoked pairs to proceed at their own measured pace without further molestation.