Iron master, p.28
Iron Master, page 28
‘On the other hand, should you for any reason decide to take out one or more of your… "opponents", or halt work at the Heron Pool, you may find that this particular long-dog could be used to achieve the desired result – and then be set up as the fall-guy.’
Yoritomo placed an elbow on the lacquered arm-rest standing next to his left thigh and pulled throughtfully at his lower lip. ‘Mmmmm. Interesting idea.’
‘It would be seen as intervention by a foreign power. And if Yama-Shita wasn’t the target, he couldn’t miss being hurt by the fall-out. Let’s face it, it is his family who’ve been importing all these outlanders. And if, for instance, there was some "incident" which resulted in the death of, let’s say… the Consul-General of Ro-diren and Masa-chusa…’
‘It could be interpreted as an attack upon the Shogunate–’
‘Which, at the very least, would require from those involved – however unwittingly – a major act of restitution.’
‘Right…’
There was a lengthy silence while the Shogun mentally reviewed various scenarios. Toshiro kept his eyes averted in the customary fashion until the Shogun spoke.
‘I feel bound to tell you that when this conversation began I had serious doubts about your career prospects. And when you started to tell me about the deal you’d struck with this "mexican" I really thought you’d gone over the edge. But I can now see this has a lot of possibilities. Well done.’
Toshiro bowed gratefully and sat back feeling extremely pleased with himself. His reading of the situation had been faultless. Even though the long-dogs were armed with the Dark Light, the samurai-warriors of Ne-Issan might find ways to repulse an attack by the Federation. But victory could still result in a defeat for the Shogunate. The debilitating effects of an all-out war would upset the present delicate balance of forces, creating a turbulent situation where the Toh-Yota family could find itself displaced by the Yama-Shita – the apostles of progress.
Faced with that stark prospect, Toshiro knew the Shogun would choose to sacrifice the Heron Pool project – settling a few scores in the process. And that suited the Herald very well indeed.
*
After four days of running mail back and forth between the numerous houses of the Min-Orota family and the Consul-General’s residence, Steve learned he had been assigned to the route which included the Heron Pool. No explanation was given, but he suspected that his masked benefactor had been pulling a few strings.
On his journeys to and from Ba-satana and down to Nyo-poro, Steve had kept his eyes peeled but had seen no aerial activity – an indication that the range of the glider Cadillac had constructed was fairly limited.
From his own knowledge of aeronautics – and he had been the best in his class – it seemed to Steve that without the aid of helium gas you needed an entirely different wing form to provide the lift for sustained soaring flight. If the young wordsmith had, as Mr Snow claimed, filched all the theoretical and practical knowledge Steve had worked so hard to acquire, then he must be aware of that too. The fact that Cadillac hadn’t acted upon it suggested he was intending to add a power-plant at some stage. In which case, the swept-back wing design Steve had seen on his way past the Heron Pool made sense. Cadillac was obviously testing the stability of the basic airframe while he figured out how to build an efficient engine using whatever materials and tools were available.
Terrific. Couldn’t be better. Had things progressed faster Steve might have found himself surplus to requirements. As it was, he still had a chance to make a useful input. There might be some initial hesitation but, providing Cadillac could be assured that he would get the sole credit for any bright ideas the two of them came up with, Steve was confident he would be able to persuade the Mute to take him on board. Cadillac might have picked his brains but he didn’t think the same way. The flaws in his psyche prevented him from using the stolen information to gain an insight into Steve’s thought processes. The knowledge he had gained was a valuable asset; knowing how to use it was a different matter entirely.
As Cadillac had already discovered.
This comforting realisation put an extra bounce into Steve’s stride as he headed west along the highway towards Mara-bara and the Heron Pool. Drawing closer to the small hamlet, he caught sight of something that gave him an even bigger kick. Three white-winged gliders flying in tight arrowhead formation broke out into the blue from behind a fluffy mound of low-lying cumulus.
Steve judged their altitude to be around 2,000 feet. It was a hot day, so there were plenty of thermals rising from the surrounding cropfields, and once at cloud level a Federation wingman knew how to use the updrafts within to get a further lift.
Flying in perfect unison, the three gliders pulled round to the right in a vertical bank, then slid nose-down as their leader took them into a steep dive. Realising they were going for a loop, Steve stopped to watch, holding his breath as he waited to see if they had enough speed to make it all the way over the top. With an engine behind you there was never any worry about being able to power your way round, but these guys could stall before they went over the top and – being so close together – could find themselves in all kinds of trouble. Steve doubted whether the craft had airspeed indicators and wondered if Cadillac had made sure the airframes were stressed for aerobatics.
Steve’s fears proved groundless. The gliders stayed in one piece and nobody fell out of the sky. They went over the top in the same tight formation as if they were glued together, then banked out of the ensuing dive, crossing overhead towards his left.
Steve moved off again, settling down into the long, easy stride he’d picked up from running with the M’Call Bears. The three gliders had lost about 1,000 feet in that last manoeuvre. If they kept to their present curving course it would bring them back towards the road on the far side of Mara-bara, where the Heron Pool was situated. Provided he didn’t have to stop and kowtow to a passing samurai, he might just manage to arrive in time to watch the landing – and maybe see more of the general set-up.
The roofs of the buildings clustered along the left side of the road momentarily blocked his view of the formation, but as he cleared the hamlet he saw it was heading in the direction he’d expected. As he rounded a bend in the road, the Heron Pool came into sight way down over on the right.
Looking across at the approaching formation, he saw the glider on the left of the leader rock wildly and then break away, diving under the tails of the other two aircraft. There was something trailing from its port wing. Steve leapt over the irrigation ditch and ran across the cropfield as the glider wobbled drunkenly towards him, losing height rapidly.
The something trailing from the port wing was the shredded outer third of the fabric covering. There was still enough in place to generate some lift, but the glider was slipping and sliding all over the place. The pilot, who had to keep dropping the undamaged starboard wing to correct the imbalance, was obviously in a hurry to put the plane down before more of the fabric came adrift. If that happened the glider might flip over and go in nose-first.
In his instinctive haste to help a fellow-pilot, Steve had rushed forward blindly, only to find himself in danger of being mown down as the glider, now some fifty feet up, suddenly swerved towards him and came down steeply, one wing low. Unable to decide which way to run, Steve stood there, open-mouthed. For one gut-wrenching moment, it looked as if the whole caboodle was going to land on his toes, but it turned out to be further away than he thought. At the last instant, the pilot managed to bring the wings level. The glider hit the ground with a sickening crunch less than ten yards away from where he stood, then bounced back into the air, skimming over his head as he threw himself out of the way.
She-eh! Jack me! Breaking his fall with outstretched hands, Steve got a worm’s eye view of the glider as it dropped back to earth. It cut a wide swath through the standing grain and came to rest sideways on, with its right wingtip only inches from the banked edge of the field. Apart from the broken skid, which had ripped an untidy furrow in the topsoil, the pilot had got the plane down in one piece. With only one and a half wings that was no mean feat.
Steve ran forward, ducking between the ragged strips of white fabric hanging from the trailing edge of the port wing as the pilot eased himself gingerly out of the cockpit. He, or rather she, wore a white headband and a loose blue tunic and trousers. And she had a livid slab of scar tissue down the left-hand side of her face.
‘You wanna watch where you’re going,’ said Steve amiably. ‘Almost ran me over.’
Jodi Kazan froze with one leg over the side and did a rapid double-take. ‘Sweet Christopher! What the eff-eff are you doing here?’
‘I was about to ask you the same question.’
‘I got in first. Let’s hear it.’
‘It’s a long story but, among other things, I came to see you. I promised I’d look out for you – remember?’
Jodi threw him an old-fashioned look and swung her other leg out of the cockpit. As both feet hit the ground she buckled slightly at the knees.
Steve grabbed her arm. ‘You okay?’
Jodi straightened up stiffly. ‘Feels like my asshole’s been rammed halfway up my spine.’ Throwing off his hand, she cast her eyes over the stripped wing, walked round behind the tail boom to check the undamaged starboard wing, then knelt down to inspect the underside of the fuselage and the wrecked skid.
Steve peered into the cockpit. It was fitted with a woven cane seat, joystick and rudder bar, but, as he had correctly surmised, contained no instruments of any kind. He knelt down and took a look at the damage from his side. The laminated wooden skid was badly split and the supporting struts had been driven up through the underside of the fuselage pod. He straightened up and leaned over the nose of the glider.
‘Could be worse. When that wing started to unravel I thought you might not make it. But I see you haven’t lost your touch.’
Jodi raised her head but stayed on her knees. ‘Just what are you after, Brickman?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Come on, I wasn’t born yesterday.’
‘I was just on my way to deliver some mail to the Heron Pool. I work around here now.’ He smiled. ‘Just like you.’
‘You got some nerve, you know that?’
‘Not really. I meant what I said back in the Big Open.’ Steve looked over his shoulder and saw a small crowd of blue-and-white-clad figures running towards them from the direction of the Heron Pool. They were still a long way off. He turned back to Jodi, his voice taking on a new urgency. ‘Listen, we don’t have much time. Who else was up there with you?’
‘Kelso-’
‘How about that? Good ol’ Dave…’
‘Don’t count on it. If you run into him stand well back. He still blames you for being here.’
‘Who was the third man?’
‘You mean Number One.’ Jodi was unable to resist a smile. ‘He’s the guy who runs the project.’ She paused, then let him have it. ‘Goes by the name of Steve Brickman.’
Steve took the news in his stride. ‘Good. Any more wingmen on the project?’
Jodi, who had been hoping to see Steve knocked sideways, was completely thrown by his matter-of-fact reply. ‘No… ’ She got to her feet while her brain was putting the rest of the sentence together: ‘… just the three of us and a couple of dozen linemen.’ She paused, still bewildered. ‘I don’t get it. You know about this guy?’
‘Yeah. He’s the reason why I’m here. His name’s Cadillac. He’s a Mute. You’ve heard of straights – this one’s a super-straight.’
Jodi hid her surprise behind a sarcastic laugh. ‘Really?’ She cast her eyes over Steve’s black and yellow outfit and the swirling skin patterns on his face and arms. ‘And just what are you supposed to be?’
‘Hey, c’mon – don’t let’s go through all that shit again. What you see is what it takes to stay alive. Underneath it’s still me.’
Jodi eyed him suspiciously. ‘Yeah? I’ve only got your word for that.’
Steve glanced over his shoulder to check on the progress of the rescue party. ‘Wave to them. It may slow ’em down a little if they know you’re in one piece.’
Jodi stepped clear of the glider and waved both hands across her head, looking at Steve as she did so. ‘I really don’t know what to make of you, Brickman. But I’ll say one thing. You’re certainly full of surprises.’
‘Yeah? Well brace yourself. There’s another one coming up right now.’ Steve took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t give you the full story when we met up in Nebraska–’
‘You bastard. Malone was right. You are an undercover Fed!’
‘I’m not! I swear it!’ cried Steve. He dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. ‘But I am on an assignment.’
Jodi took a step back.
‘I had no choice! They threatened to kill my kin-sister and strip Poppa-Jack! I did escape from the Mutes just like I said, but I made it back home.’ He threw up his hands. ‘Biggest mistake of my life. Thought I’d be a hero. Instead of which the shit hit the fan and I ended up in the A-levels! Christo! Can you imagine what it’s like for one of us to have to live down there?’ He paused. ‘How far away are they?’
‘About a hundred and fifty yards.’ Jodi’s voice had lost its hard edge. ‘But they’re not running.’
She’s bought it. I’m in with a chance…
‘I made a big mistake when I was preparing to escape from the M’Calls. In order to get them to trust me, I persuaded this guy Cadillac to help me put this plane together from some bits and pieces they’d salvaged from Fazetti’s rig and that other guy’s…’
‘Naylor.’
‘Yeah. Naylor. Anyway, this Mute agrees to help – on condition I teach him to fly.’
‘Wowww… ’ breathed Jodi. ‘I bet the Assessors were thrilled to hear that.’
‘I didn’t tell ’em. But they found out anyway. The thing is, besides being a straight, unmarked Mute, this guy is also a wordsmith–’
‘They’re supposed to be the bright ones.’
Steve nodded. ‘This one is more than just bright. He’s got some of that Mute magic you’ve heard about but aren’t supposed to believe in. Don’t ask me to explain how it’s done, but if you teach him anything, he’s able to tap into your brain and siphon off everything you know just like sucking Korngold through a straw.’
‘Shee-ii-ittt…’
‘My sentiments exactly. Fortunately, no one back home knows about that yet. If they did, I’d still be in the A-levels. But after I’d done three months on the sewage detail, some high-wire gave me the chance to put things right-’
‘Or else they’d shaft little sister…’
Steve spread his hands. ‘I had to do it, Jodi.’
She nodded soberly. ‘Okay, assuming I buy that – how does it play from here on in?’
‘I have to find some way to lift that Mute out of here and get him back home in one piece. With his friend. There’s two of ’em.’
‘Sounds interesting. You planning to do this all by yourself?’
‘No. I’m hoping you’ll help me. For old time’s sake.’
Jodi’s eyes narrowed. ‘Jeez… you’ve got a fucking nerve.’
‘I know. You already told me. But let’s stop pretending. You don’t deserve to be here any more than I do. You’re not a breaker, Jodi, you’re a True Blue. If Malone’s gang hadn’t found you, you’d have made it back home – broken arm an’ all.’ Steve glanced over his shoulder at the advancing rescuers. ‘Look, just think about it. And in the meantime, why don’t you go weak at the knees so I can pretend to revive you and look as if I’m doing something useful.’
‘I’ve got a feeling I’m going to live to regret this.’
Steve treated her to one of his winning smiles. ‘What can you lose? If you don’t like the idea you can always turn me in. I’m in your hands.’
‘You’re right… ’ Jodi let her legs fold under her.
Steve ran round the nose of the glider and cradled her limp body in his arms. ‘Trust me,’ he whispered, patting her face. ‘If we pull this one off we’ll both be heroes.’
*
‘I can’t stay long,’ said Steve.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be okay for a while.’ Cadillac led the way into what he called his ‘study’. ‘I’ve fixed things with the head man. He’s sent one of our Mutes down to the post-house at Wah-seisa with a message telling them you’ve been delayed.’ He smiled. ‘You offered invaluable assistance at the scene of an accident and are now answering questions that may help us discover what went wrong. So relax. Make yourself at home.’ He swept a hand around the room. ‘What d’you think?’
Steve made a quick appraisal of the interior. Sliding wall screens afforded a view of the neatly trimmed areas of grass and various other types of vegetation that surrounded Cadillac’s dwelling place. The floor, on which they stood in stockinged feet, was covered with the ubiquitous tatami – rectangular straw mats that the Iron Masters produced in prodigious quantities and traded with the Mutes. A narrow raised section down one side of the room was fitted with storage space underneath.
The main floor area contained a low, box-type table and two sitting mats, a large drafting table set at an angle on trestles, a stool, a stand holding jars of what Steve presumed to be drafting implements, and a rack which held rolls of what the dinks called ‘paper’. Apart from the drafting table set-up which indicated an untidy human presence, the room bore the usual stamp of stripped-down anonymity that Steve had come to associate with Iron Master interiors.
‘Not bad.’
Cadillac responded with a dry, mocking laugh. ‘Not bad! It’s fantastic! Can you imagine what it’s like, after all those years living on your hands and knees in a skin hut, to actually be able to stand up and still not be able to touch the roof?’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘I tell you – these people know what living is all about.’
