《The Amtrak Wars I : Cloud_Warrior》23

What Steve needed was something he had never previously contemplated:
someone to confide in.  He had been the confidant of his kin-sister
but, even though they were close, he had always resisted the temptation
to reveal his own secret thoughts or desires.  With a supreme effort of
will, he sought out Mr Snow and found him perched cross legged on a
ledge above the settlement.

'I need to talk."

Mr Snow studied Steve's face.  'Okay, go ahead.  Talk."

Steve squatted down beside him and gave the old wordsmith a hesitant
and heavily-edited account of how, in stumbling across the bathing
party, he had discovered that Clearwater and Cadillac were straight
Mutes.  'It's amazing,' he concluded.  'There they were, right in front
of me but I just didn't see it!  I suddenly realised that I wasn't
looking at the colour of their skin but at them as, uhh - as people."

Mr Snow responded to Steve's confession with an indulgent smile.  'It
happens."

'Who is she?"  asked Steve with what he hoped was beguiling
innocence.

'What's her name?"

'Her name is Clearwater, first of three daughters born to Sun-Dance.

Thunder-Bird, her father, was a great warrior who fell in the Battle of
the Black Hills."

'What is her relationship with Cadillac?"

Mr Snow patted Steve's knee.  'Let me give you some good advice.

Questions like that could be bad for your health."

Steve pretended he didn't understand.  'Why?  You've told me all kinds
of things about the Plainfolk.  I'm just curious to know why she is
separated from the rest of the clan.  What harm is there in that?

Have they exchanged the blood-kiss?"

'Not yet.  But a match has been made."

'What does that mean?"

The old wordsmith sighed.  'They have been summoned before the council
of elders.  It is the clan's wish that - with Mo-Town's blessing - they
bring forth children in their own image."

'The clan's wish?"  Steve saw a possible loophole.  'Does that mean the
two of them didn't have any choice?"

'None of us choose what we will do or not do,' said Mr Snow quietly.

'The exercise of what some call "free will" is a cruel illusion.

Happiness, contentment, stems from recognition of this fact."

It was Steve's turn to smile indulgently.  'Ah, yes, I see.

We're all marching to Mo-Town's music."

'Go ahead, laugh,' said Mr Snow.  'You don't have to believe it.  Maybe
you're destined to have a difficult time on this trip."

Steve replaced the smile with an earnest expression which, this time
round, was genuine.  'What are you trying to tell me?"

Mr Snow moved dismissively.  'What can I tell a man who doesn't want to
listen?"

'I'm trying,' insisted Steve.  'But you don't seem to understand.  Some
of the weird ideas you have about the way things work are, uh - well,
they're kind of hard to take on board."

The old wordsmith eyed him.  'Don't try and tell me how hard it is.

I've been searching for answers ever since you and your guard-father
were no more than gleams in your President-General's eye."  He
paused.

'Tell me - is it really true he billies' every would-be mother in the
Federation?"

'The first President-Generals may have,' replied Steve.

'But now it's all done by artificial insemination.  The real action
takes place in culture dishes at the Life Institute."

'Sounds impressive."

'I'll explain it some other time,' said Steve.  'Let's get back to
Clearwater."

'What is it with you, Brickman?  Too much wax in the ears?  I told you
- forget you ever saw her.  Oh - by the way..."  Mr Snow leaned to his
left, pulled Steve's quarterstaff out from behind some rocks and
offered it to him with both hands.  'She sent you this."

Steve stared at it for a moment, then took it from him and laid it by
his side.  He tried to hide his embarrassment.  'Does Cadillac know?"

'Not yet.  Have you told anyone else?"

Steve shook his head.  'Who is there to tell?"

'Exactly.  However, I think I should warn you - the word has gotten
around.  You were seen."

Steve felt the colour flood through his cheeks under Mr Snow's piercing
gaze.  What was it with this guy?  He had always been able to hide
things so easily before.  'You mean in the woods?"

Mr Snow didn't answer.

'Oh, yeah... I forgot to mention that,' said Steve lamely.

'I was on my way back, walking along minding my own business, when
somebody with a crossbow tried to nail me by the neck to a tree.  I
didn't wait to ask who-whatwhere-why.

I just took off."

Mr Snow nodded.  'In the circumstances I'd have probably done the same
thing.  My brother Bears were under the impression you had reasons for
wishing to avoid them.  Is there anything else you've missed out?"

Steve eyed him.  'This is like being up in front of the Assessors."  He
gave a quick bitter laugh.  'What can I tell you that you don't know
already?"

'Not much,' admitted Mr Snow.

Steve decided that, whatever else she might have told Mr Snow,
Clearwater hadn't mentioned giving him the map, the food-pack and the
water-kit.  'Look, okay, it may have been stupid to run away but it was
you and Cadillac who warned me that not all the natives were
friendly.

I don't know what their story is.  I can only assure you that I haven't
knowingly done anything I was told not to do."

Mr Snow greeted this with an enigmatic smile.  'I'm sure you haven't.

Nevertheless your little jaunt yesterday has made things very
difficult."

'In what way?"

Mr Snow drew his hand down over his beard before replying.  'There are
certain people who feel that you should never have been taken alive and
that you now know too much."

Steve frowned.  'How did they work that out?  If you are the only
person Clearwater and I have spoken to..."

Mr Snow shrugged.  'Certain assumptions have been made."

'One of them being that I must have discovered Cadillac and Clearwater
are what we call "yearlings" - straight Mutes?"

'Yes - you could say that is their principal concern.  They wanted to,
ahh - question you ' 'I bet..."

'... I advised them to wait until you came to talk to me about it."

Steve looked down at his quarterstaff, ran his hand along it, then
looked up at Mr Snow.  'You knew I was coming... How?"

'There's no mystery about it.  I keep telling you.  All things are
known to the Sky Voices."

Steve tried to bite back a smile.  'In that case you must have known
what was going to happen yesterday."

'Not necessarily.  I said "All things are known to the Sky Voices".

That does not mean that I know everything."

Steve breathed an inward sigh of relief.  'Okay.  But why should these
red-heads want to jump on me?  "That path is already drawn" - isn't
that what you keep telling me?  So how can whatever's happened be my
fault?  You can't have it both ways.  If you guys are not happy with
the way things are going why don't you take it up with Talisman, or the
Sky Voices, or whoever it is that's supposed to be running things up
there?"

'Good point,' conceded Mr Snow.

'Here's another,' continued Steve.  'There's no need for anyone to get
worked up about this - not unless they're deliberately trying to stir
up trouble.  If I had bumped into Clearwater on any other day I would
never have known that she and Cadillac were straights.  And even if, by
chance, I had discovered the truth, why should it be such a big
secret?

You and I discussed this weeks ago.  The Southern Mutes have been
trading in straights for centuries."

'Not female straights."

'True,' admitted Steve.  'I overlooked that."

It was a lie, of course.  Steve knew perfectly well that, ever since
the Break-Out in 2464 when the Federation first learned of the
existence of unmarked, smooth-skinned Mutes and the first rare
specimens were found, no female straight had ever been captured or
handed over in lieu of tribute.  Indeed, it was widely believed that,
due to some genetic quirk in an already flawed process, female
straights simply did not exist.  The M'Calls had not only produced one
- they possessed a perfectly formed, highly intelligent, breeding
pair!

It was the kind of hard data that the Amtrak Executive would give their
eye teeth for and was bound to earn him good grades at his next
assessment.  Always assuming there was one.

Steve thought back to something Mr Snow had said in an earlier
conversation.  About the ancestors of the Mutes being straight-limbed
people from the Old Time.  Up to the moment of discovering the true
colour of Cadillac's and Clearwater's skin, Steve had believed that to
be a grotesque lie.  Since birth he had been taught that the Trackers
were the only true descendants of those who lived before the
Holocaust.

The hellfires that had consumed the Blue-Sky World had been ignited by
the Mutes who - according to the Archives - were already subhuman.

But what if Mr Snow's version of history contained an element of
truth?

What if Cadillac and Clearwater proceeded to give birth to their own
kind, and more like them amongst the other Plainfolk clans spawned
succeeding generations of straights?  Mutes would no longer be Mutes.

The whole basis for the centuries-old conflict would disappear.

Christopher Columbus I How would the Federation function if it had no
one to fight?  For over five hundred years, dispensing death had become
the way of life for generations of Trackers.  In every aspect of its
organisation, in thought, word and deed, the Federation was geared to
the conflict with the Mutes.  Since the age of five his own life had
been totally dedicated to learning how to kill lumpheads.

What would wingmen like himself do without a war?

As the complications multiplied rapidly, Steve blocked off this
alarming train of thought and switched back on to Mr Snow.  He found
the old wordsmith watching him with an amused expression.  'You've
overlooked something too.

I'm your prisoner.  You've ribbed me about escaping but we both know
I'm not going anywhere.  Who am I going to tell?"

Mr Snow shrugged.  'Who knows?  Things happen."

Steve wasn't sure what that meant but couldn't be bothered to find
out.

The old wordsmith loved to make things sound mysterious.  Why not?

Keeping people's attention was part of his job.  'Tell me something is
Motor-Head one of the guys who've got it in for me?"

'He's not the leader but, yes - he's one of them.  And you are right.

Despite what I've told them about you being under Talisman's
protection, they have been looking for an excuse to get rid of you.

Your, uhh - how can I put it... ?

Your interest in Clearwater could be the opportunity they've been
waiting for."

'Who said I'm interested?"

'Come on, Brickman - it's written all over your face."

Steve felt his cheeks begin to burn again.

'Don't be embarrassed.  It happens to all of us.  It's nothing to feel
bad about."  Mr Snow stopped and studied Steve intently.  ,I'm wrong.

You really are upset.  Is it because she's a Mute?"

'She's not a -' Steve bit on his lip to stop himself getting in
deeper.

'Yes, I see what you mean."  Mr Snow nodded understandingly.

'It must be difficult for you."

'Look,' said Steve.  'You're way off base, believe me.  The fact that I
now know Cadillac is a straight does not alter the way I feel about
him.  Clearwater is - well, another matter entirely.  I can understand
the clan wanting to keep her under wraps.  Let's face it, she's ..."

'... unique?"

Steve answered cautiously.  'I wouldn't know about that.

She's certainly a rare specimen.  But then you know that.

Just make sure you take good care of her."

Mr Snow chuckled.  'She can look after herself."

'This is nothing to laugh at,' insisted Steve.  'The wagon trains will
be back.  Lots of them.  It's only a matter of time before the
Federation starts treading on your turf.  When they do, the M'Calls may
be glad of the opportunity to trade Clearwater instead of paying
tribute.  She's your greatest asset.  Put her together with Cadillac
and you'll be able to write your own deal."

Mr Snow shook his head.  'The Plainfolk have never paid tribute and
never will.  What you say is true - Cadillac and Clearwater are like
bright jewels in the crown worn by a great king of the Old Time.  But
we possess something of even greater value.  The greatest asset of the
M'Calls is our readiness to accept our destiny.  That demands a courage
be]fond your understanding."

'You're right,' replied Steve.  'I don't understand."

'You will one day."

It sounded more like a threaVthan a promise.  Steve gazed at Mr Snow in
silence then said, 'So... what do you suggest I do?"

'Do?"  Mr Snow shrugged.  'You play it as written.  Life goes on.  The
Wheel turns."

'Is that all?"

'Not quite.  I've taken the liberty of assuring the clan elders that
you will say or do nothing now or in the future that will harm
Clearwater or her relationship with Cadillac.

And that you will not attempt to approach her or converse with her
except in the presence of others and only if requested to do so.  Is
that clear - and do you accept?"

Steve laughed.  'What d'you think I'm planning to do run off with
her?"

He saw the old wordsmith's expression and wiped the grin off his
face.

'I'm sorry.  Yes, of course I accept..  I don't imagine I have much
choice - right?"

Mr Snow waved the question away.  'I've also told them that you will
never, under any circumstances, reveal the existence of either to
anyone outside this clan.  Unreasonable?"

'No, unlikely.  As I already pointed out, I'm a prisoner but, yeah,
sure, I'll go along with that."

Since, in biting.the arrow, Steve had gained the status of a warrior,
Mr Snow briefly considered asking him to swear the traditional
blood-oath to guard the secret with his life.

He decided such a pledge would be meaningless to an individual who
scorned the ways of the Plainfolk and had no concept of honour.  Such
strange people, these sand-burrowers.

And such consummate liars!

Steve's eyes wandered briefly over the random pattern covering Mr
Snow's body.  'If no one is supposed to know their secret, why don't
Cadillac and Clearwater just leave the dye on their skin and paint over
it when it wears off?"

'It has to be removed at regular intervals to prevent their bodies from
being permanently discoloured,' replied Mr Snow.

'But... ?"  Steve looked baffled.

Mr Snow smiled.  'Isn't it obvious?  There may come a time when they
will need to appear un-skinned."

'You mean.  disguised as Trackers?"

'I would not discount that possibility,' admitted Mr Snow.  'As
servants of Talisman they may be required to assume many guises."

Steve nodded.  'Okay, then let me give .you a word of advice in case
you've been picking my brains with the idea of breaking into the
Federation.  Forget it.  Even if they managed to find a way in, they
wouldn't get ten yards without an ID-card.  It's the key to everything
- and they're nontransferable."

Mr Snow digested this valuable piece of intelligence with a thoughtful
expression.  'Thanks for telling me."

A couple of days later, Cadillac returned sporting his new paint job.

As far as Steve could see, it was an exact duplicate of his previous
body markings.  He had even been rubbed down with something - probably
a fine dust - to kill the fresh colour.  Steve took care not to pay him
undue attention, greeting him casually, as if he had been away for
several minutes not several days and did not remark upon, or seek the
reason, for his absence.

Shortly afterwards Steve glimpsed Clearwater moving about the
settlement accompanied by her two sisters, or in a group with other
She-Wolves.  Although he was never conscious of a deliberate effort by
the clan to keep them apart they somehow never managed to meet face to
face.  If their paths crossed it was always at a discreet distance.

Despite his desire to get better acquainted Steve held firmly to the
promise he had given to Mr Snow and contented himself with just looking
at her whenever the opportunity presented itself.  It was very seldom
that their eyes connected and for the most part, her expression
remained neutral but, from time to time, he found himself on the
receiving end of a brief, tantalising glance which, had she been any
closer, would have burnt the soles off his boots.

Steve took care not to let his frustration hinder his growing
friendship with Cadillac.  He introduced him to the quarterstaff and
when the young wordsmith had once again demonstrated the ease with
which he could acquire new skills, put forward the idea of teaching him
to fly.  Cadillac's response was non-committal but, two days later,
Steve emerged from their hut to find the dismantled remains of three
Skyhawks arranged in several neat piles inside a large semi-circle of
seated spectators.

Curbing his excitement, Steve made a casual but beady-eyed inspection
of the various bits and pieces.  Some of the struts and wing spars were
badly distorted but most of the airframe components he needed were
available.  The crumpled, vandalised cockpit pods looked beyond
repair.

The sole surviving engine looked more or less intact but it had a
broken propellor.

Cadillac appeared at Steve's shoulder.  'What do you think?"

'It's a possibility, no more."  Steve's doubt was genuine.

'I'm not sure we have enough wing fabric,' he added, realising he had
torn up strips of the precious material to plait into his own hair.

'But the biggest problem is the fact that we don't have any metal
working tools."

'What kind of tools do you need?"  asked Cadillac casually.

It took Steve several seconds to recover from his surprise.

'You've got tools - here?"

'Some.  We may be able to get others."

'Where do you get them from?"

'The people who make our crossbows.  The iron masters."

'Who are they - Mutes?"

'No, they are unskinned, like you.  But like us in other ways."

Steve tried to make his interest sound casual.  'Where do they live?"

'Beyond the eastern door.  In the Fire-Pits of BethLem."

'Where is that exactly?"

Cadillac shrugged again.  'No one knows.  It is said that there are
many lands beyond the eastern door but the Plainfolk have never been
there.  We trade with the iron-masters when their wheel-boats ride the
great rivers.  The Yellow-Stone, Miz-Hurry and Miz-Hippy."

Steve committed the names to memory.  'When do they come?"

'Once, sometimes twice a year.  Some years not at all."

'And what do you trade?"

'Bread-stalk seed, buffalo meat.  Dream Cap, men, women."

'You trade your own people?"

Cadillac smiled at Steve's reaction.  'Only those who are prepared to
go.  Is that worse than staying and being killed because the clan has
no sharp iron?"

'No, I guess not,' admitted Steve.  'What else can you tell me about
the iron masters?"

'Nothing."

'But why do they trade you weapons?"  insisted Steve.

'Why don't they use them to defeat you and the rest of the
Plainfolk?"

Cadillac answered with a shrug.  'Perhaps because they are too few in
number."