The Amtrak Wars - Ironmaster Part 71

It wasn't a question Steve had been expecting, but he took it in his stride. 'Yes, sire. It's a standard operating procedure which I'm sure even your organisation must use from time to time. We call it "s.e.xual entrapment"."

Skull-Face nodded. 'I see. Well, I suppose that's as good a description as any. Goodnight, Mr Brickman.

You are what used to be called "a plausible rogue". If you can manage to keep your b.a.l.l.s out of the jar I have a fbeling you could go a long way."

On the day before the display, Steve discovered he wasn't the only one who had been making plans. The Iron Masters had also been quietly putting their own act together. Shigamitsu broke the news to Cadillac while making his daily round of the workshops. The j.a.panese staff of the Heron Pool would be running things on the day, and the newly drafted team of Koreans, Viets and Thais would look after the ground-handling, together with the reloading of the rocket-trays and ground trolleys. All Trackers would be confined to their quarters the two long bunk-houses inside the walled compound.

In the last month, the strict rules governing the behaviour of slaves had been relaxed. To speed things along, captive Trackers were no longer required to kneel before samurai during working hours. This arrangement only covered the Iron Masters on the permanent staff; all visitors were to be shown the utmost deference.

As Cadillac's constant shadow, Steve was included in this temporary dispensation, but he was still required to bow from the waist when addressed and to keep his eyes averted whilst in the presence of samurai. He did so now and was able to steal a sideways glance at Cadillac.

When in the company of his new masters the Mute tried very hard to keep his face as expressionless as theirs. The Plainfolk called the j.a.ps 'dead-faces' on account of the fearsome metal masks they wore, but their real faces underneath were just as lifeless. They were a strange people. Given an angry dressing-down by a superior, or some really bad news, they became more blank-faced than ever. Laughter was occasionally allowed to break through, but only when among equals or when the top man present gave the cue.

On this particular occasion, Cadillac wasn't doing too well. Steve knew the Mute had been giving a lot of thought to what he was going to wear and how he was going to comport himself when he stood in line to get his share of the praise the domain-lords were bound to hand out.

But that wasn't going to happen. When Steve and his two friends were through the only things the d.i.n.ks would be handing out were neck-trims - if you were lucky - or a meltdown in boiling water if you weren't.

But at this point the Mute didn't know that.

After bowing from the waist, Cadillac enquired if, in view of his past and present contribution, he might be allowed to attend as a spectator.

Shigamitsu told him he had already raised this point with the palace.

The answer was 'No'. From one hour prior to the arrival of their distinguished guests, he and the other two pilots were to remain in the house Lord Min-Orota had graciously provided, and would not emerge until called upon to do so. The same ruling applied to the gra.s.s-monkey he had taken on as his a.s.sistant.

Cadillac and Steve accepted this with another deep bow and kept their heads down until Shigamitsu and his two aides had moved on. When they both straightened up, Steve found himself looking at a broken man.

Cadillac's pride had been dealt a mortal blow, his expectations cruelly shattered.

It was sad to see the new persona he'd st.i.tched together coming apart at the seams, but if he was hoping for sympathy he didn't get it.

'Don't look at me,' said Steve. 'You were the one who saw this coming, but you preferred to stick your head in the sand."

The Mute - who was not normally lost for words -didn't say anything.

Neither did Steve. Cadillac had always displayed a certain defensive arrogance, but this aspect of his character had been puffed up out of all proportion through the quite exceptional privileges granted to him by Lord Min-Orota and his subordinates.

In trying to ape Steve, Cadillac had lost touch with his own inner strengths, his true nature and his heritage as a child of the Plainfolk. In his eagerness to abandon his past life in favour of a new existence, he had blinded himself to the fact that it was totally dependent on the continued patronage of the Iron Masters. Now he was paying the price, and there was nothing Steve could do except stand back and wait until it was time to pick up the pieces.

'What are we going to do?"

'I'd say it was more a question of what they're going to do,' replied Steve. 'But, either way, I don't intend to hang around and find out."

Cadillac was too preoccupied to get the message.

'What?"

'I'm going to take one of these planes we've built and fly out of here with Clearwater. And if you've got any sense you'll do the same."

The news caused the Mute to look beyond the ruins of a once-promising career. 'You're crazy. You'll never get away with it."

'You got a better idea?"

'No, but... ' Cadillac looked over his shoulder to see who was near by, then dropped his voice even further.

'There'll be eight pilots on parade tomorrow - twelve if you count the glider pilots. Even if we managed to steal a couple of planes they'd be able to follow us."

'Then we must make sure they don't..."

Cadillac's eyes flickered uneasily as he considered the implications of Steve's reply. 'You mean. spike the rockets?"

'Something like that." Steve wasn't yet ready to reveal' his hand.

'Any objections?"

'I don't know. I'm not sure." Cadillac took another look round. 'I I need time to think about it."

'There is no time!" hissed Steve. 'Tomorrow's our one and only chance! We have to take it!" 'But how are we ' 'Never mind how! Are you willing to go for it? Yes or no?"

Cadillac sighed heavily. 'Since I don't seem to have much choice, I suppose the answer's yes. Satisfied?"

'You don't sound too sure. Once we commit, that's it.

You're not going to be able to turn round and say - "Sorry Mr Shigamitsu, I didn't mean it"."

'I know that! I'm not an idiot, Brickman. It's just that this is all happening so fast!" He swept both arms round the busy workshop. 'I worked my buns off to make all this happen." He dropped his voice again. 'And now you're asking me to help you destroy it!" 'Yes, I am,' said Steve. 'Before it destroys you!" It was true, and Cadillac knew it. His face contorted as his mind twisted around like a fish trying to get off the hook. 'You still haven't explained how we're going to spike the rockets."

'I don't have to. That's not how it's going to happen."

'But ' 'Forget it! It's already been taken care of."

Cadillac may have been robbed of all certainty about his future prospects, but he knew exactly how he felt about Steve. 'You lying sonofab.i.t.c.h! You gave me your word!" Steve bared his teeth. 'Yeah, that's right, I did!

Double-crossing you was the only way to save your a.s.s! If we'd played it your way we'd be standing here now wringing our hands. Instead of calling the shots we'd have been totally shafted! This way at least we've got a better than evens chance of making it back to Wyoming. So stop all this name-calling c.r.a.p and start cooperating?

Lord Hiro Yama-s.h.i.ta had already begun his journey towards the Heron Pool some days before Cadillac reluctantly decided to terminate his career as a designer of flying machines. Accompanied by his usual entourage of aides and escorted by a hundred samurai and an equal number of foot-soldiers, he boarded his red and gold wheelboat for the trip down the Hudson River. At Na-yuk, the last river port in his domain, his party and their horses transferred to three large ocean-going junks which took them through the straits of Nyo-Yoko into the open sea to the south of Aron-giren, then north around the coast to the port of Ba-satana.

Yama-s.h.i.ta would have had a much shorter journey if he had crossed the Hudson at Arib-bani and travelled to Ba-satana along the main east-west highway, but in this case distance was no object. He preferred to remain for as long as possible in an environment over which he had total control. Yama-s.h.i.ta had made a triumphal progress by road through the domain of his close allies, the Se-Iko, but they were a long way from the centre of power. His friends the Min-Orota occupied a more vulnerable piece of real-estate.

It was 170 miles by road from Ari-bani to Ba-satana; a mere four-day journey. The trouble was the first eighty of those miles cut across the original domain of the Shogun's family, the Toh-Yota. From its southernmost point at Nyo-Yoko, it ran northwards between the Uda-sona and Konei-tika rivers to the great ice-river boundary that divided Ne-Issan from the Fog People.

While crossing their territory his column would have been exposed to prying eyes every step of the way. No.

Yama-s.h.i.ta preferred the comfort and privacy of his own state-rooms especially when he was transporting a valuable and highly sensitive piece of cargo.

Packed inside a chest which, when opened, appeared to contain richly woven bolts of silk, was the engine which had powered the long-dog's original flying-horse.