Iron master, p.21
Iron Master, page 21
‘What’s he doing?’
‘He sleeps. He has been running.’
‘Running? Running away? Is someone after him?’
‘No, he runs because he chooses to. He… ’ Roz frowned as she concentrated on deciphering the images she was picking up. ‘He has been given messages to carry.’
‘Who for?’
Roz tried again, then shook her head. ‘I cannot say. The man who has given him this task has no name.’ She made another attempt. ‘His face and body are hidden in darkness. Only his eyes… ’ She pressed her hands against her forehead. ‘He makes false promises. My brother knows this man is dangerous but he is also powerful. By agreeing to work with him he is able to go where he wishes.’
‘What kind of shape is Steve in?’
Roz smiled to herself. ‘He is tired, but he is fit and well. He has found Clearwater–’
‘Is she with him?’ asked Karlstrom abruptly.
‘Not any longer. They have met but have not… been together.’
‘Does she still feel the same way about him?’
Karlstrom saw Roz’s eyes screw up tight. The blunt question upset her. It was meant to. Her hatred for Clearwater was the McGuffin that would keep this little pixel in a co-operative frame of mind.
‘Yes, she does.’
‘How about Cadillac? Has Steven pinpointed his location?’
‘Not exactly. But he knows the… general area.’
‘Show me.’
Roz’s fingers trembled over the map, but the information failed to come through. ‘Near the Eastern Sea. He must take the road to the east to the place where the birds are…’
Birds… the feathered or the man-made variety? wondered Karlstrom. He looked at the map. The road that caught his eye was the old Massachusetts Turnpike that met the Hudson south of Albany and ran east through Springfield and Worcester to Boston and the Atlantic Ocean. Hmmmm… ‘Does he have his radio – or any weapons?’
‘No. They were taken from him.’
‘Does he think of you? Does he… want to come back home – to the Federation?’
After a long pause, Roz said, ‘His thoughts are only for what he must do. I see images of death and destruction. They – ’ She broke off and tried to shake them from her mind. ‘They frighten me.’
As she spoke, Karlstrom saw her eyes come back into focus. She stared at him with surprise, then looked nervously round the room as if trying to work out what she was doing there. A moment later, Karlstrom saw her relax as the part of her mind that had reached out to her kin-brother returned and settled into place.
‘Uhh, have I…did I?’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘I know I made contact with Steve, but – did I say anything that made sense?’
Karlstrom laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘A great deal. I’m very impressed.’ He motioned her to rise and ushered her over to the turnstile. ‘You will, of course, speak to no one about this meeting.’
‘No, sir. But, uhh… the thing is, I don’t want for anybody to get into trouble over this. John Chisum said–’
Karlstrom cut her short. ‘Your friend Chisum has been very foolish and should know better. Still, I’m sure we all do things we shouldn’t from time to time. That doesn’t mean to say I approve of what has been going on at Santanna Deep. I don’t. But–’
Roz opened her mouth, searching for the words to lift the blame from Chisum and excuse her actions.
Karlstrom motioned her to remain silent. ‘The important thing is to do whatever has to be done for the Federation and the First Family when the call comes. Like the way you have helped me this evening. That won’t be forgotten. Indeed, I may ask for your help again. Steven is a very resourceful young man, but he may not be able to make it back here in one piece without our assistance. So remember, I’m counting on you.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll do whatever I can.’
‘I’m sure you will. The people outside will give you a special number to call if you should “hear anything” from Steven.’ He patted her on the back and guided her into the turnstile. ‘Now off you go back to college. Oh, and, uhh… congratulations on those good grades you’ve been getting. Keep up the good work!’
Karlstrom pressed the button which caused the cylindrical compartment to rotate, carrying Roz back into the adjoining office suite. The two execs rose from their chairs to meet her.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Roz?’
Steve woke with his kin-sister’s name on his lips and his nostrils filled with the soap-scented smell of her hair. For a split second or so he was convinced she was in the darkened room with him. Or had been, and had just left. Slowly that certainty faded. It had been a dream, nothing more. He shivered, quickly retrieved the padded quilt that had slipped off his naked body and snuggled down beneath it.
It was amazing how the brain could create a mental landscape as real as anything you could see with your eyes open, right down to the smallest detail. It could bring you face to face with images of people you could speak with, reach out and touch, draw to you and embrace. Not only that, the dream state allowed you to savour the same emotions, the same sensations as when you were wide awake: the taste and the moist softness of their lips, the electric tingle of their skin under your fingertips, the delicious all-enveloping warmth generated as your body joined with theirs.
Did their sleeping minds, he wondered, share the same dream? Did they merge with yours on one of the invisible planes of existence Mr Snow had often referred to? In his dream, Steve had been with Clearwater. They were back in the hut where she had visited him only hours before he had made his escape from the M’Calls – the Mute clan that had held him captive during the summer of 2989. Clearwater’s naked body had been locked round his, but as she drew his mouth down on to hers he found himself embracing Roz. And they were no longer in Cadillac’s hut. He and his kin-sister were lying naked under a quilt in his bunk-space in the quarters allotted to the Brickman family at Roosevelt Field. The room seemed much bigger than he remembered it, and so did the bunk. It was then he realised that his kin-sister’s breasts had shrunk back into her body. Her skin was patterned like a Mute’s and she was now no more than ten years old.
As he drew back from her with mixed feelings of guilt and surprise he became aware that Karlstrom, the head of AMEXICO, was sitting on the end of the bed watching them with an amused smile. A man and woman dressed in black and silver-blue jumpsuits suddenly appeared. The man pulled the quilt from the bed. Steve tried to hold on to it but his fingers wouldn’t grip properly. His hands had become weak and boneless. The woman exec picked up Roz, only now his kin-sister had become a five-year-old. They wrapped her in the quilt and took her away. By the time they reached the door Roz was a little snub-nosed baby, eyes screwed up tight, her toothless mouth wide open – screaming…
Had Roz been trying to get in touch with him? Was she trying to tell him something, or was this another message from the furtive stranger who haunted the dark recesses of his own brain?
Jumbled fragments of his dream drifted through his mind as he began to doze off again. The world outside the shuttered log cabin lay quiet and still. Inside, the only sound to break the silence was the sonorous breathing of his sleeping companions – fourteen Mutes who lay head to head on two neat rows of mattresses.
The cabin in which Steve was passing the night lay near the post-house at Ari-bani, and he was here as a result of the deal he had struck with the man in black – or someone who sounded very like him. Within four days of leaving the post-house where he had met Clearwater, Steve had acquired the papers and ID plaque of a roadrunner. These were foot-messengers, the first tier in the centrally-controlled postal system which had been set up by the Toh-Yota Shogunate to keep the endless stream of paperwork flowing smoothly round the country.
The job of roadrunner was now the exclusive preserve of Mutes – selected for their ability to run tirelessly mile after mile, hour after hour. It was the best job a Mute journeyman could aspire to, and a much coveted position. Provided you didn’t get lost or lose the precious satchel of mail and arrived within the time allowed, you were clothed and fed, and while you were out on the road you tasted the nearest thing in Ne-Issan to the freedom that was the birthright of the Plainfolk. But if you fell sick, or committed some minor infraction, they took away your badge and sent you back down the road to work on the nearest dung-heap.
Since they were government employees, roadrunners were based at the Consul-General’s residence – where they were housed in a special compound – and at small depots attached to certain post-houses on the major highways, which acted as distribution points. The post-house had become synonymous with the wayside inn, because the more enterprising owners had set up their establishments next door in the hope of attracting the passing trade. The arrangement proved mutually beneficial and, as a result, post-houses and inns moved progressively closer together. Now, three-quarters of a century later, the majority had ended up sharing the same roof.
Roadrunners acted as two-footed packhorses. They delivered the bulk mail, which was then collected by local residents. Official documents for district functionaries were relayed to the addressee by couriers – a job usually awarded to a ‘mainlander’ of Korean or Vietnamese descent. Top-level communications were carried by a kind of ‘pony express’ staffed by samurai. Alongside this, the ruling families in each domain had their own messenger service to ensure that ‘sensitive’ private communications to relatives and friends did not pass through the hands of government agents.
Taken together, the system comprised a veritable army of mailmen, from the lowly roadrunner to the mounted samurai, and above them flew the courier pigeons bearing cryptically worded ribbons of rice-paper from government spies to the Shogun.
Steve was unaware of this last tier of communication, but the sheer size of the system and the volume of traffic caused him to wonder why they had not opted to go for a hi-tech solution. Iron Master society seemed to be suffering from arrested development. They had raised their craft and mechanical skills to an impressive level but seemed unwilling – or incapable – of making the next leap forward. He was sorely tempted to show them how, but that would only make it harder for the Federation to win the battle for the Blue-Sky World. Better to leave them with their Stone Age way of doing things. And to make sure they stayed there by putting an end to this ‘flying-horse’ project which – according to the man in black – Cadillac had succeeded in getting off the ground…
*
In coming to an arrangement with the cloud warrior, Toshiro Hase-Gawa was acutely aware that (a) he had put his whole future on the line and (b) he had done what he had wrongly accused Lord Yama-Shita of doing – making a deal with the long-dogs. Nevertheless he felt justified in doing so, for the basic charge against Yama-Shita still stood. He and Min-Orota had conspired together to subvert the Shogun’s brother-in-law, and Toshiro still hoped that he would soon be able to produce some hard evidence to back up the rumours that Yama-Shita was making preparations to recapture the Dark Light.
In his own mind, Toshiro did not see himself as acting on behalf of the Shogun, and he did not view Brickman as representing the Federation. The deal with the cloud warrior was a private contract between two individuals: a purely tactical manoeuvre to get himself out of an awkward corner. He had let it be understood that if Brickman did all that was asked of him, he and his two Mute prisoners would be granted safe passage out of the country. Brickman had accepted this with suitable expressions of gratitude, then had the effrontery to demand safe passage for another long-dog!
Once again, Toshiro had swallowed his anger, agreeing without demur. Four, fourteen, forty – the number was academic. Toshiro had not hesitated to kill Noburo and his two red-stripes in order to conceal his previous error of judgement; these three troublesome outlanders would meet the same fate. Once they were disposed of, there would be nothing to weaken his case. The conspirators would be either dead or fatally compromised, his own position in relation to the Shogun would be strengthened and he would be one step nearer to achieving that which he most desired.
From the post-house at Midiri-tana, Toshiro had ridden north through what was left of the night towards Ari-saba, with the cloud warrior slung face-down over the back of his horse like the carcass of a stag brought home by a huntsman. With dawn approaching, the Herald had taken the precaution of blindfolding his prisoner. For his scheme to succeed and to protect his own position, it was vital that Brickman did not discover the identity of his benefactor.
The twelve-mile journey did not take long. Waiting for him on the outskirts of Ari-saba were his own pair of red-stripes – part of the disguise obligingly provided by Ieyasu, the Court Chamberlain, second most powerful man in the Toh-Yota Shogunate. While his men held Steve, Toshiro swapped his black assassin’s garb for the travelling costume of a samurai, then remounted and led the two foot-soldiers and their prisoner through the dawn mists to the post-house where he had rented rooms the previous day. They arrived before the first servants had begun to stir, and were able to slip back into their quarters unobserved.
Steve was kept securely bound and blindfolded for most of the following day. He knew from the unintelligible conversations that he was guarded by two Japs, and he could hear the muffled voices of people in movement outside, but none of it made any sense. The only thing that marked the passage of time for Steve was the arrival of two bowls of rice topped with vegetables. These were delivered several hours apart by his unseen captors, who freed his right hand and guided it to the bowl placed on the floor between his knees.
Toshiro, meanwhile, remained in his own quarters and worked out his next moves. When he was satisfied he had every angle covered and knew what he would say in advance to the cloud warrior, he made his way to the room occupied by the red-stripes and told them to stand guard outside while he interrogated the prisoner.
Before he switched into Basic, the Herald rolled up two small strips of cotton and stuck them inside his cheeks to alter the sound of his voice. Adopting the identity of an unidentified colleague of Noburo and the man in black, Toshiro laid out his plan of action. The blindfolded cloud warrior listened attentively and did not raise a single query or objection. The Herald found this new-found reticence so unsettling he felt obliged to enlarge upon the possible dangers, stressing the points at which he felt extreme caution would be needed. Brickman greeted these strictures in the same offhand manner, dismissing potential problems with the phrase ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.’
The young man’s assurance was breathtaking. Toshiro realised that he would have to be careful not to be misled by his own innate feelings of superiority into underestimating this ill-mannered individual. Brickman might come from a different world with totally different values, but he was endowed with an intelligence that was every bit as penetrating and devious as his own.
The Herald proceeded to outline his scheme to integrate Steve into the labour system as a roadrunner. As soon as he was registered, arrangements would be made for his immediate transfer to the government’s chief postal depot in Lord Min-Orota’s domain. This would enable him to move openly and legally across Ne-Issan.
The Heron Pool lay some four hundred miles from their present position. The journey would take several weeks to accomplish for, in his new role, Steve would be required to carry mail along the route that would be mapped out for him. However, upon reaching his destination he would be at the heart of the action, attached to the residence of the Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba – towards whose aching arms Clearwater was presently being conveyed. He would also find himself delivering and collecting paperwork from the Heron Pool where his prime target, Cadillac, was busily building a small fleet of flying-horses.
The next meeting, promised Toshiro, would take place in the domain of the Min-Orota, after Steve had joined the postal staff of the Consul-General. When he had had the opportunity to assess the situation on the ground for himself, they would then consider how Steve could shed his grass-monkey disguise, and join the staff of the Heron Pool as a long-dog.
‘Supposing I need to get in touch with you before then?’
It was the question Toshiro had been expecting. ‘You can’t. From here on in, it’s a case of “Don’t call me, I’ll call you”.’
‘I see… I thought we were working together on this.’
‘We are, but that’s the way it has to be, sport. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure someone keeps an eye on you.’ Toshiro was lying. He could not put the spies and informers who worked for him in Lord Min-Orota’s domain on to Brickman’s case. It was too risky. But there was no harm in letting the cloud warrior think he would be under surveillance from here on in. It might minimise the chances of him trying to pull a fast one.
‘Okay,’ said Toshiro. ‘That about wraps it up for today. We have to go on to Ari-dina to get you registered as a roadrunner. That’s where the Consul-General for this domain is located. After that you’re on your own. Provided you watch that lip of yours, there should be no problem.’
‘I’ll try and remember that. This, uhh… place we’re going to – is it a long way from here?’
‘Fifty miles.’ An alarming thought struck Toshiro. ‘Can long-dogs run that far? Since you’re disguised as a Mute I assumed…’
Steve nodded. ‘That’s why they picked me for this job.’
There was one last piece of business Toshiro had to attend to. ‘My colleague who met with you and Samurai-Captain Naka-Jima told me what happened when the Se-Iko hit the ronin’s base camp. How about telling me your side of the story?’
‘Do we have time?’
‘Sure. We don’t leave here until tomorrow morning.’
Steve began with the surprise appearance of the ronin crossing the highway with the Se-Iko in hot pursuit, and fed him everything up to the moment when he had sung for his sake in front of Noburo. The one thing he omitted to mention was the fact that he had been held in a cell next to Clearwater for several hours. Since he was not questioned about her, Steve could only presume that his unseen interrogator was unaware that the only thing separating them had been a slatted wooden screen – or did not view it as important.
