Fran, who had snatched a few hours sleep in an adjoining room, welcomed him back to the land of the living with an exuberant kiss then shook his wrists. ‘Don’t you ever do this to me again!’ She sat down on the edge of the bed and gave him a searching look. ‘Roz is dead, isn’t she?’
Steve nodded and made a show of mastering his grief.
Fran reached out a hand and gently brushed away the brimming tears. ‘Never mind. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.’
Steve gazed out at the view through the triple-glazed window of Clearwater’s hospital room. A well-kept stretch of red grass, broken here and there by beds of flowering shrubs and trees in full leaf, ended in a high wall of dressed stone.
The window didn’t open, but a constant whispering stream of fresh filtered air entered through louvred ducts in the walls. The room itself was light and airy, part of a small suite consisting of the treatment unit where Clearwater now lay, a tiny kitchen/utility room, bathroom and a sitting room, where the sealed windows reached from floor to ceiling.
From her sitting position on the high bed, Clearwater was able to see the trees and grass, and glimpse the blue sky above the wall. Steve could not help comparing her surroundings with the cell he had occupied at Pueblo following his first adventures with the M’Calls. And the A-Levels – which was one vast prison camp, where the air was filled with smoke, dust and constant noise, in which there was no night or day. Finding himself there, with a three-year sentence hanging over him after those eye-opening, mind-expanding months on the overground had been a hellish experience.
Never again.…
A female nursing orderly came in carrying two vases full of flowers – part of a bunch that Steve had selected with the help of one of the Mute gardeners. It was a small token to help Clearwater keep in touch with the overground. He had brought the first soon after being given access to Cloudlands and had replaced them regularly ever since. The nurse brought them over for Clearwater to touch and smell, then placed one on the table and the other on the window sill. A third vase, containing yellow roses – which Steve hadn’t brought on his last visit – stood on the bedside cabinet.
As he watched the nurse make a last adjustment to the floral displays, Steve reflected on how much he had changed. Two years ago, before that fateful journey aboard The Lady, he had had no interest in any kind of plant life. He had viewed flowers as just part of the poisonous junk that littered the overground.
And now.…
He closed the door as the nurse left. ‘So … how are you feeling today?’
‘Much better. Look –’ Clearwater extended her arm and aimed her forefinger at the chair Steve was about to move from the table to her bedside. It shot away from his outstretched hand, slammed against the wall, then began to slide upwards as she raised her arm.
Steve leapt towards it and grasped the front legs. ‘Are you crazy?!’ he hissed. The tubular metal chair remained glued to the wall with its back rest touching the ceiling, resisting all his efforts to prise it loose. ‘Let go!!’
Clearwater dropped her arm. Steve caught the chair awkwardly as it fell on top of him and lowered it to the ground. ‘What are you trying to do?’ he asked, in the same harsh whisper. ‘Get us killed?’
‘Don’t worry. I know where the hidden eyes and ears are.’ She pointed to the air vents around the room. ‘But they cannot see or hear us.’ She beckoned him to sit beside her.
Steve eyed the vents uneasily as he carried the chair over and sat down. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because I have killed them.’
‘You can’t kill them,’ hissed Steve. ‘They’re not animals, they’re electronic devices!’
‘But they are dead. The power that runs through them like the blood in your veins has vanished and can never enter them again. Isn’t that the same thing?’
‘I guess it is.’ Steve threw his hands in the air, gave the vents another cautious glance then said: ‘You can do that – to machines?’
‘I’m learning.’
‘I was right. You are trying to get us killed.’
Clearwater squeezed his hand reassuringly. ‘No. I have done this twice before. They think it is their devices which are at fault. They blame and curse them, not me.’
‘How long have we got?’ laughed Steve.
‘About fifteen flicks.’
‘Flicks…?’
Clearwater indicated the wall-mounted digital clock. ‘The numbers. The last two change – flick, flick, flick.’
Steve laughed again. ‘Those are minutes! Sixty minutes in one hour, twenty-four hours in one day. You know what a day is, don’t you?’
Clearwater withdrew her hand from his. ‘Why do you mock me? I have heard them talk of hours and minutes but it means nothing. Life in the sand-burrowers’ world has a strange rhythm I cannot understand. Your time is not the same as ours.’
‘Maybe – but don’t let’s waste any of it.’ Steve stroked her hair, brushing it back away from her face. The Red River medics had cropped it short, shaving it down to the skull where a couple of bullets had furrowed her scalp. In the last six weeks, the spiky crew-cut had grown out into a soft, wavy bob just like Fran’s.
He leant forward and kissed her on the lips. Nothing heavy, but the tingle which had first set fire to his loins was still there. He sat back to catch his breath.
Clearwater ran her hand along the sleeve of his silver-grey jump-suit, with its two broad dark blue captain’s stripes, that marked him out as a member of the First Family, and looked deep into his eyes. ‘You don’t have to hide it from me.’
‘Hide what?’
‘The other woman in your life. Fran.’
Steve died a little. ‘How do you know her name?’
‘She came to see me.’
Steve eyed the vase on the bedside cabinet. ‘And brought you flowers.…’ He paused, not wishing to know more but the urge was too strong. ‘What did she want?’
‘To see me. To know me – and perhaps know more about you.’
Again, reluctantly, Steve asked: ‘And …?’
‘She’s very sure of herself.’
‘She has every reason to be. She’s Family.’
‘She is also very…’
‘I hope you’re not gonna say "beautiful".’
‘She’s not ugly – at least, not on the outside. I was going to say, hard, calculating – but then that element of danger appeals to you. Be careful.’
‘I will be.’
‘Is she very … physical?’
The directness of the question caught Steve off guard. He felt the colour rise to his cheeks. Damn …! ‘It’s not what you think. It’s a relationship that was forced on me.’ Steve found the vengeful barb he’d been looking for. ‘Like you and the Consul-General.’
If the shot went home it didn’t show, and he felt demeaned for having said it.
‘I see. Does that mean I can take my revenge – as you did?’
‘Watching him die made me feel better, but I didn’t kill him because of what happened between you. I was following orders.’
Clearwater took hold of his hands again. ‘You don’t have to justify yourself.’
‘I’m not trying to. I want you to understand. What happened then is exactly what’s happening now. You weren’t the victim, he was. You manipulated him. And that’s what I’m trying to do now.’
‘With this woman…’
‘Yes! Fran is our ticket to ride. She has the contacts we need and she can make things happen – just like your friend the Consul-General and the guy I took advantage of, the Herald Hase-Gawa.’
Clearwater nodded. ‘When the time comes, let me know if she needs persuading.’
‘I will. Trust me.’
‘Always.’ She pulled him towards her and offered up her mouth to his.
Why, Steve asked himself, should one simple word like that make me feel so lousy? ‘Listen –’
The door opened and two servicemen came in. Each of them was toti
ng a four-inch thick suitcase full of tools and test equipment, and they’d been running. Many more breakdowns like this, thought Steve, and there’ll be guys camping out in the sitting room.
‘’Fraid we’re gonna have to ask you to cut short your visit, Captain. We seem to have a problem with the air-conditioning.’
‘Sure, these things happen.’ Steve exchanged an amused glance with Clearwater which they didn’t see. ‘Thought it was getting a little stuffy in here.’
Three of the nursing staff came in, took hold of Clearwater’s bed and bedside cabinet and began to manoeuvre them out through the door. ‘We’re just going to move you to another room for an hour or so,’ explained the senior orderly.
Steve accompanied the procession down the corridor.
‘You’re free to stay if you wish, sir.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Steve. He gripped Clearwater’s hand and felt her fingers tighten round his. ‘I think we’ve said all there is to say for the moment.’ When they reached the chosen door he gave her a comradely pat on the shoulder and stepped aside as they wheeled her in. ‘I’ll stop by when I come off duty tomorrow.’
‘Please do,’ she said. As they wheeled her in she looked back over her shoulder, a knowing, conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.
Steve nodded to show he’d received the message.
Karlstrom returned the salute of the two ensigns guarding the turnstile, stepped into the gleaming metal cylinder and was rotated through onto the blue carpet of the Oval Office, The President-General stood in his usual opening position, gazing out at the computer-generated landscape beyond the tall, curved windows.
Today’s picture was his favourite view of Pre-Holocaust New England in the fall, leaf-strewn grass overhung by yellow, gold and russet trees which framed a white wooden building surmounted by a tall spire with a cross on top. A church. A place where people gathered to worship. Religion. The Family had retained the concept but dispensed with the buildings. Twice a day, the soldier-citizens of the Federation gathered in various sized groups at their posts or work-places to offer up prayers to the Supreme Being which, in their case, was not God but the President-General.
Whenever Karlstrom entered the Oval Office for a one-on-one meeting, Jefferson always had his back turned. As a past-master himself in the art of manipulating people, Karlstrom believed it was a deliberate ploy by the P-G, part of a continuing programme to create and maintain the aura of unchallengeable superiority. By ignoring the person entering, he was saying: This view from my window which holds my attention is more important than you and the business you have come to discuss and, what is more, I do not feel threatened by your presence.
And by averting his face in those first few crucial moments, the P-G left his visitor wondering what kind of reception they were going to get. The uncertainty usually put them at a disadvantage which the P-G would then exploit in the subsequent conversation. Rule One of Man-Management: If in doubt, maintain effective control by undermining the self-confidence of your subordinates.
None of this had quite the same effect on Karlstrom because he had grown up alongside Jefferson and, for the last ten years, as head of AMEXICO, had conferred with him daily. He understood the process, knew the whole thing was an act, but Jefferson still kept on trying to put one over on him. Maybe he just liked to keep in practice.
Karlstrom halted at the appropriate spot, coughed politely, and waited for his presence to be acknowledged. What would it be this time – silver-haired statesman, Prince Machiavelli, concerned father of his people, or the regular guy – one of the boys?
Having psyched himself up into the appropriate mood, the P-G ceased his contemplation of Pre-H New England church architecture and turned on the charm. ‘Ben!’ The P-G offered Karlstrom a firm hand and ten thousand volts of sincerity, then invited him to take a seat.
Regaining the high-backed swivel chair behind the blue leather-topped desk, Jefferson gestured towards his video console. ‘I’ve been reviewing Brickman’s summaries of what occurred at the trading post and—’ he broke off. ‘How is our young hero by the way?’
‘Never better,’ said Karlstrom drily.
‘Good. Those casualty figures – nearly two hundred thousand dead – can we place any reliance on that?’
‘I think so. Brickman obviously didn’t do a body count. That was the casualty figure the Mute elders came up with. Their day-to-day computations don’t embrace numbers of this magnitude, but it squares with our own estimates based on the video-tapes made by the reconnaissance overflights.’
Jefferson nodded. ‘Yes, I saw them.’
‘They were subjected to careful analysis – but even if you allow for a thirty per cent error that still leaves a big pile of dead meat.’
‘Plus five wheel-boats…’
Karlstrom nodded. ‘Biggies. Great Lakes trade-ships with a hundred and fifty ratings and twenty-five officers. Plus military units; samurai cavalry – and perhaps infantry. At least two thousand men. Bad news whichever way you look at it.’
‘And the Yama-Shita lost a similar boat and its expeditionary force in the spring…’
‘On Lake Michigan. Hirohito’s stand-in at Syracuse must be tearing his hair out. Well – he would, if he had any.’
The P-G thought this over. ‘What’s been the feedback from our friends in Ne-Issan?’
The question caused Karlstrom to shift in his seat. ‘The reaction’s been somewhat mixed. Apparently, Ieyasu –’
‘The Lord Chamberlain.…’
‘Yes … was very upset when we sank the Lake Michigan wheel-boat without prior consultation.’ Karlstrom spread his hands. ‘I explained that our hand was forced by the time factor, but they seem to want to have their cake and eat it. The Shogun and the rest of the Toh-Yota family are hell-bent on destroying the Yama-Shita and with it, the rest of the Progressive movement. The trouble is, they can’t do it without our help, but they want to do it their way.
‘They’re also still very angry over the number of high-ranking japs that Brickman’s crew took out at the Heron Pool. The thought of outlanders killing samurai offends their code of honour. That bushido shit is a real heavy number. When it comes to killing their own kind they like to do things by the book. And that means settling things between themselves.’
‘But you managed to talk him round…’
‘It wasn’t easy, but –’ Karlstrom shrugged. They’ve got more to lose than we have.’
‘You mean Ieyasu has. As I understand it, Yoritomo is still unaware that our covert support of Ieyasu’s intelligence network is helping to keep the Toh-Yota in power.’
‘Absolutely – and we plan to keep it that way.’
Gluing Karlstrom to his seat with an imperious gesture, the President-General got up and began to pace slowly between his desk and the fireplace on the far side of the room. Karlstrom slid round sideways on his chair to avoid getting a crick in the back of his neck.
‘Have you considered how this latest episode might affect the Federation?’
‘The Yama-Shita’s military expedition?’ The question caused Karlstrom to raise his eyebrows. ‘It’s nothing to do with us. They flouted the rules laid down by the shogunate. They tried to avenge the death of their domain-lord by an illegal act of war and came a cropper. End of story.’
‘Not quite. They also tried to divide and rule the Plainfolk – and almost succeeded.’
‘Until Mr Snow pulled the rug out from under them.’ Karlstrom smiled. ‘The son of a bitch may have wrecked The Lady, but in a round-about way we owe him a vote of thanks. If the deal with the D’Troit and C’Natti had gone through as planned, we could have been in big trouble.’
‘We still may be. Supposing they try again?’
‘They won’t,’ said Karlstrom firmly. ‘Not after the beating they took. Our inside sources all report that, as yet, none of the families involved – the Yama-Shita, Ko- Nikka or Se-Iko – have a clear idea of what happened at the trading post. All anyone knows – and th
at includes our friend Ieyasu – is that five ships were lost, probably with all hands.’
‘But the full story is bound to filter through eventually.’ Jefferson paused half-way through a turn and pointed to the VDU on the side-table on the left-hand side of his desk. ‘According to Brickman, anyone in the D’Troit, C’Natti and San’Louis delegations who survived was allowed to return home – to spread the word. That was nearly two months ago. More than enough time for that word to have reached any one of those five Iron Master out-stations.’
‘That’s true,’ admitted Karlstrom. ‘And the japs will then know that their boats were wrecked and their men were killed – along with thousands of others – by a tidal wave raised by She-Kargo summoner. Mr Snow might be dead, but as you saw from Brickman’s report, there are other powerful summoners. We got one ourselves. And that’s a threat the Yama-Shita can’t ignore.’
‘I take the point, but the Iron Masters don’t think like we do. They can accept defeat, but not loss of face.’ The P-G went on the prowl again. ‘Let me run a scenario by you and see how it sounds.’
‘Okay.…’
‘You’ve mentioned the involvement of the Se-Iko and Ko-Nikka families. They were given that trading concession by the Shogun as a pay-off for switching their support from the Yama-Shita to the Toh-Yota and here they are, two ships down and out of pocket. I shouldn’t be surprised if they haven’t already sent a delegation to the Shogun to ask for redress.’
‘Tough on them,’ said Karlstrom. ‘They got involved in an illegal operation and ended up getting their fingers burned. They won’t get any joy from Yoritomo – or Ieyasu.’
‘They certainly won’t get any compensation,’ agreed Jefferson. ‘But there are other forms of redress.’
‘Such as a government-led punitive operation against the Mutes…’
‘It’s not out of the question. Despite their fall from grace, the Yama-Shita still enjoy the covert support of the other Progressive domain-lords. And because of that support the Toh-Yota were unable to eliminate the Yama-Shita family and seize its lands – despite the treason charges levelled against them. Charges which were supported by the majority of the other domain-lords. And we know why. They all knew that if they stood by and let the Yama-Shita family go to the wall, they could suffer the same fate. Once the Toh-Yota had absorbed its most powerful rival, it could pick off the others one by one.’
Earth-Thunder Page 6
