The Amtrak Wars - Ironmaster Part 57

'They're called rockets - and they used green ones that didn't burst to signal where you had to land when you flew to Ne-Issan..."

'How did you know about that?"

'Clearwater told me. When we were being held by the rortirt. ' 'I still don't see what you're getting at."

'What you saw was a firework display. Pyrotechnics.

Behind those pretty coioured lights is a combination of chemistry and physics. A force exerted in one direction produces an equal and opposite force in the other direction. It's called "thrust"."

'I know about that,' interjected Cadillac. 'It's what the engines of your Skyhawks generate."

'Exactly,' said Steve. 'Well, the same, propellant charge that pushes up those rockets can be used to put your flying-horses into the air.

All we need is a bigger rocket that packs more punch."

'Yeah... I see what you mean." Cadillac mulled the idea over, then eyed Steve. 'How come I didn't think of that?"

'You just did. I only sweep the floors around here."

Steve waited for a more positive reaction. If someone had handed him an idea like that on a plate he'd have been turning cartwheels. But Cadillac just sat there.

'You don't look convinced."

'No, it's not that. I can see it has possibilities, but...

won't it be dangerous?"

'Not as dangerous as sitting here on the ground. You said yourself that Min-Orota was showing signs of impatience. If he decides to pull the plug - ' Steve swept a hand round the study - 'you can kiss goodbye to all this."

'Don't remind me . . ."

'There are risks, obviously. We just have to make sure we get the mixture right. We bench-test small batches of it first, then find a lightweight container that'll hold several pounds of the stuff. Some kind of tube, sealed at one end.

And it must be fireproof, otherwise we could find ourselves with flames coming out of our a.s.s.

'We then attach the tube - we'll probably need several to one of your ground trolleys. We load the trolley with stones to represent the weight of aircraft and pilot, light the blue touch paper and, uhh .

. see what happens.

What we want is a fast even burn. But not too fast. We don't want to rip the wings off."

'No . . ."

'It's an ideal solution. It'll require a little ingenuity on our part, but it uses available materials, basic engineering skills and - best of all - won't require any major alterations to your existing airframe.

We can just attach them to the underside of the fuselage pod and use a booster on the launching trolley."

'Launching trolley?"

'The ground trolley you use for wheeling the planes into the hangar.

We just strengthen it a little."

'But this propellant charge -' Steve tapped his forehead. COLUMBUS had come up with the data he needed. 'Don't worry, it's all up here.

Ingredients, proportions, mixing procedures, binding agents... ' He paused as he saw Cadillac's expression.

'I'll need your help, of course."

The Mute responded with a hurry laugh. 'Looks like you've got it all worked out." He clearly didn't like being upstaged.

Steve threw in a large dollop of soft-soap. 'Sure. I know what needs to be done. But at the moment, it's just words.

Hot air. Nothing can happen unless Min-Orota agrees to provide us with the materials we need. And you are the only one who can arrange that."

'Yes,' said Cadillac. 'And I can also arrange to have you shipped out of here. So watch your step."

Steve acknowledged this with a mocking bow and went back to sweeping the floor.

As Steve had antic.i.p.ated, Cadillac had been unable to resist this opportunity to cut him down to size. Now that he was clear-skinned he had the upper hand, and he was not going to let Steve forget it. But in any case, the rules concerning the treatment of Mutes were already well established. Steve was obliged to sleep outside the house in a small, low wooden shack and, since he had no means with which to prepare his own food, his meals were placed outside the kitchen door by Cadillac's Thai domestic staff.

Thais, who ranked below Vietnamese and just above the slave population, came perilously close in the eyes of their j.a.panese overlords to being non-persons themselves.

They were, nevertheless, notionally superior to captive Trackers, but, for the eight working in the house, they were at Cadillac's beck and call just as Steve was.

The Thais were able to cope with this because, first, they did not have a lot of 'face' to lose and, second, they were not really serving Cadillac but Lord Min-Orota. And-Steve didn't mind being treated like dirt, because things were working out just fine. Cadillac had a long way to fall. Oh, yes. When he hit the ground, they'd hear the thud in Houston/GC...

Rising at c.o.c.k-crow - a feathered alarm-system widely used in Ne-Issan to rouse the lower orders - Steve was required to perform several menial tasks before being given breakfast. The list of ch.o.r.es included splitting a set quant.i.ty of kindling wood and stacking it neatly by the bath-house, carrying away the previous day's ashes, and disposing of what was politely known as 'night-soil' buckets containing urine and a.s.sorted faeces.

In Ne-Issan, nothing .was wasted. All the kitchen refuse went on to the dung heap along with the c.r.a.p, to rot down before being dug back into the soil -just as the effluent produced by the Federation was processed and fed into the acres of shallow tanks that the Trackers used to grow soya beans and other vegetables.

After breakfast, and for the rest of the day, Steve became Cadillac's 'go-fer'. Bathed and wearing a clean set of brown clothes, he was obliged to follow the Mute everywhere he went like a dog on a short lead. When they were alone, working together in the study, Cadillac treated Steve as an equal. He was polite, friendly, willing to listen and eager to learn. But when they were with Jodi, Kelso and the other Trackers, or in the presence of ffon Masters, he became haughty and dismissive.

On these occasions, Steve stayed in the background and kept his mouth firmly shut. He knew Cadillac was enjoying every minute of it, but it was also necessary for him to act that way to avoid arousing the suspicions of the thirty-odd d.i.n.ks who acted as overseers. They did not partic.i.p.ate in the production process, they just looked over people's shoulders and generally kept a beady eye on what was going on.

A group of clerks took care of the paperwork involved in the procuring of the raw materials - timber, mild steel and woven silk needed to construct the flying-horses. Some of the accessories, such as trolley wheels and axles and woven cane seats, were built by local craftsmen and delivered complete.

After a week of running errands for Cadillac, Steve became a familiar figure around the Heron Pool. The area in which the Iron Masters were housed was off-limits, but apart from that he was able to move around with almost total freedom. Within days of his arrival he was able to build up a detailed picture of the operation and the overall layout of the site - knowledge that would come in handy when the time came to make their escape.

He also contrived to meet up with Jodi. There was no danger in being seen together in off-duty hours, provided it didn't happen too often and they kept their conversations short and sweet. Steve also had to be careful to keep his distance. Kelso was the only other person who had seen him coloured up as a Mute. As far as the rest of Jodi's male colleagues were concerned he was the real thing. If they observed him getting too friendly, it could lead to trouble.

'You amaze me, Brickman,' said Jodi, when they met.

'You come in as an illegal, row yourself into one of the best jobs going and now here you are working for the head man. How d'you always end up on the inside track?"

'Listen, I start the day emptying s.h.i.t buckets. Is that what you call being on the inside track?"