'Okay, but promise me one thing."

'What's that?"

'That you won't make any moves - do anything foolish - without clearing it with me. I want to know what's happening - before it happens."

'Sure."

'And if it turns out I got it wrong and Min-Orota decides he is not going to re-staff the Heron Pool with his own people, then we forget the whole thing. If you want to take Clearwater back - fine. But I'm staying. Is that understood?"

'Absolutely."

'Okay. But..." Cadillac jabbed his forefinger at Steve while he searched for the words. He was fading fast. ' . . . if I, uhh - if I find you're trying to shaft me -' 'Christopher Columbus!" hissed Steve. 'What kind of person do you think I am? You saved my life!

How many times do I have to tell you? What happened with Clearwater wasn't my fault ' 'I don't care. about that!" 'Well I do! And I'm trying to make it up to you! There may be times when you have cause to doubt me, but I'm ourfriend! I told Mr Snow I'd come and find you, but if you want to stay, well - that's tough on him but its okay by me.

Clearwater and I will just fade away quietly. You won't even know we've gone." Steve thrust his right hand across the table and radiated sincerity. 'You have my word on that. Is it a deal?"

Cadillac eyed the offered hand. 'Maybe. I'll sleep on it."

Steve picked up the bottle of sake he'd removed and set it down in front of the Mute. 'Be my guest..."

Cadillac's reading of the situation turned out to be correct.

Permission to take Steve up in the newly modified glider was granted, and after stage-managing a few hesitant approaches and hair-raising landings, he went solo with twenty hours of instruction.

On the ground, Steve was still obliged to act out his public role as a menial subordinate. His newfound ability to fly brought a few belligerent comments about 'uppity Mutes', but Cadillac smoothed the ruffled feelings of the Tracker linemen by stressing the risky nature of the first proving flights. The fair-haired gra.s.s-monkey was a sacrificial victim who, if things did not work out, could end up as a burnt offering.

The modified glider was powered by five slim rockets' attached to the underside of a metal tray mounted beneath the fuselage pod. The trolley was fitted with two short-burn boosters ignited, as before, by means of a length of safety fuse; those under the aircraft were fired in succession by an ingenious trigger system which detonated a wad of the same paper caps used to fire bullets from the rifles which Lord Yama-s.h.i.ta had supplied to the M'Calls.

The glider was to be launched from a redesigned three-wheeled trolley based on the one used by Steve.

This new model had a low, ground-hugging profile to give extra stability during the take-off run and four quick-release shackles that kept the trolley attached to the glider until it was jettisoned by the pilot.

Since the Iron Masters did not possess the precise measuring devices and the computer-modelling techniques employed by the Federation, Cadillac's flying-horse had been constructed using the simplest calculations.

The same applied to the rockets. Using the mathematical formulae transmitted by AMEXICO, Steve was able to make a guesstimate of the foot/pounds of thrust generated during the burn. But the figures didn't mean much when your employers didn't measure in feet and inches, or calculate weights in pounds and ounces.

In his guise as errand boy, Steve shadowed Cadillac throughout the a.s.sembly process to make sure that everything was done to his own exacting standards. At his suggestion, Jodi and Kelso were picked to work with Cadillac behind closed doors through the night prior to the launch, enabling him to take an active part in the final adjustments.

By first light, they had tested and checked every joint and attachment and pa.s.sed them A-OK. One big question mark remained. The tests with the weighted ground trolleys had shown the rockets were powerful enough to move it through the air - but just how fast was this silk-winged coffin going to travel?

In a few hours Steve was due to get the answer. The flight, which was to be staged before the same high-ranking delegation of Iron Masters, was scheduled for mid-morning, and it was rumoured that the Consul-General of Ro-diren and Masa-chusa might grace the occasion with his presence. The cadre of j.a.ps who ran the Heron Pool drafted in an extra squad of cleaners and gardeners and hung out some banners and bunting, but they did not work themselves into a frenzy.

They were required to treat the Shogun's permanent representative with due deference, but they weren't government employees like the post-master and his quivering clerks. The Consul-General only exercised absolute power within the borders of his estate. The Heron Pool formed part of the domain of Lord Min-Orota, and everyone who worked there was subject to his rule - and under his protection.

Steve didn't return to his shack until four in the morning, but since it was his big day he was allowed to skip the obligatory quota of yard work. Around 0500 he felt like getting up and strangling the c.o.c.kerel, but he managed to fall asleep again, and did not wake until one of the servants banged on the door three hours later.

As a Mute, Steve wasn't allowed to use the bath-house, only a tub in the yard, but on this occasion Cadillac summoned him into the section reserved for the house-owner and invited him to take the plunge. Steve slipped off his work-stained clothes and jumped in. Since the deep tub was already occupied by Cadillac and two of his body-slaves, things were a little crowded at first, but they eventually managed to disentangle themselves and proceed with the serious business of getting clean.

The two dark-eyed Thais, wearing nothing but polite smiles and headscarves, were somewhat disconcerted to find themselves sharing the same tub as a Mute, but hunting the elusive bar of soap proved a real ice-breaker.

After a memorable scrub back and front, Steve attempted to climb out, but the girls, egged on by Cadillac, hauled him back in and started to give him a second going-over just for luck. Ordinarily, Steve would

have been more than happy to co-operate, but at that moment he had more on his mind than fun and frolics.

As they ducked him playfully he slipped out of their grasp and plunged between their legs to the bottom of the tub. The move caused considerable excitement but their squeals of delight turned to cries of disappointment when he surfaced holding the big wooden plug and hurled it across the room.

Besides learning the Iron Masters' tongue-twisting language, Cadillac had picked up their love of ceremony.

The communal bath was followed by an invitation to eat breakfast in the house wearing one of Cadillac's wrap-around robes - supplied courtesy of Lord

Kiyomori Min-Orota.

'Feel nervous?"

'Haven't given it a thought,' said Steve lightly. It was a lie of course, and he could see Cadillac didn't believe him.

When they had finished eating, one of the body-slaves brought Steve a white cotton outfit: the usual loose square-sleeved jacket and wide, calf-length trousers. On top of the neatly folded garments were a fresh set of underclothes, white cotton socks and rope-soled, lace-up sandals. There was also a white headscarf bearing several blood-red j.a.panese word-symbols.

Cadillac folded it carefully, laid the portion with the symbols across Steve's forehead, then knotted it on the nape of his neck. 'That too tight?"

'No, just right." Steve looked at himself in the small, square wall-mirror. 'What does all this junk mean?"

' "We praise the wisdom of Lord Min-Orota and the greatness of all his works." '

'Hmmmph... D'you write that?"

'I could have, but that would have been unwise. So I composed the line in Basic and got one of the scribes to translate it for me."

Steve pushed the headscarf clear of his eyebrows.

'You're turning into a real toady."

'It's part of the basic survival kit, Brickman. You should know that better than anyone."

'Just kidding. C'mon, let's go."

Cadillac escorted Steve over to the Heron Pool. The aircraft they had worked on till dawn stood poised on its launching trolley at the edge of the field, with a short stepladder leading up to the c.o.c.kpit. Jodi Kazan and Dave Kelso, still red-eyed from their extended nightshift, stood by in fresh worksuits. A long stretch of fishing net had been raised on poles on the far side of the field to snare the speeding trolley, and most of the Tracker wOrkforce were ranged behind it presumably to pick up the pieces if Steve should fail to get off the ground.

Cadillac and Steve positioned themselves on the straw mats placed by the nose of the aircraft and knelt to pay homage to the a.s.sembled Iron Masters, who were seated some fifty yards away on a cloth-covered dais with their aides ranged behind them. Long bamboo poles with narrow banners bearing three different emblems fluttered above their heads.

'The ones on the left are the Min-Orota,' whispered Cadillac. 'Those on the right belong to Yama-s.h.i.ta, and the group in the middle are the Toh-Yota - the Shogun's house."

'A neat way of saying we've got you surrounded,' said Steve.

They bowed again, touching the mat with their noses.