t 190; Donna Monroe Lundkwist,

another cadet from Eagle Squadron who Steve had thought might make the

first ten had come top of the heap with a score of 192, and had been

nominated as Honour Cadet; winner of the prized Minuteman Trophy.

Brushing aside the congratulations of other A-Flight cadets in the

crowd milling excitedly around the screens, Brickman retired to his

shack, wedged the door shut, and spent two silent, solitary hours

trying to come to terms with what had happened. He went over every

move he had made in each of the tests and could find nothing that could

have cost him marks. His one error had been that fatal hesitation on

the ramp after landing but he could simply not believe that those seven

seconds had cost him not only the first place he was convinced he

deserved but also second and third.

And to find himself trailing fourth behind a no-hoper like Gus White

who had not even been close in the monthly class tests! It just didn't

add up ...

Admittedly there had been the additional problem of the three minute

break in the transmission of data from the sensors taped to his body

but he had talked this through exhaustively with the Adjudicators and

Ground Control after landing and they had accepted that the switch

could have been moved inadvertently. The data transmitter was not

fitted to Skyhawks when used operationally and during his discussion

with the Adjudicators they had admitted that it was positioned

awkwardly. But despite their apparent understanding he had been

savagely penalised.

No matter. One day, he would even the score. With Lundkwist, with Gus

White, Carrol, the Flight Adjudicators and the others - as yet unknown

- who had conspired to humiliate him. They would all pay. It might

take years but that would only make his revenge all the sweeter.

The decision did nothing to assuage his bitter disappointment but it

filled his breast with a harsh, cold joy. It enabled him to think

clearly, to function.

Rising from his bunk, Brickman showered, put on a fresh, neatly pressed

jump-suit, then sought out Lundkwist and Gus White amidst the raucous

celebration party in the mess and offered his congratulations; hugging

each of them in turn with heart-warming sincerity.

Faced with the astonishing results, CFI Carrol felt obliged to

commiserate with his star pupil. Brickman put on an outward show of

philosophical resignation but Carrol knew that he felt himself to be

the victim of a blatant injustice.

Inwardly, Brickman was suffering. And would continue to suffer.

Which, in so far as Carrol could understand these things, was how those

who ordered the affairs of the Federation wished it to be. For, in

addition to their luggage, the Adjudicators from Grand Central had

brought floppy-disc files on all the candidates. No one at the Academy

had been allowed to see what they contained but, in an unguarded

moment, Carrol had glimpsed an enigmatic notation on the cover of

Brickman's electronic dossier.

It read: 'This candidate is to be marked down'.

THREE

Armed with a crossbow and a handful of the precious iron bolts

fashioned in the Fire-Pits of Beth-Leto, Cadillac and Clearwater made

their way down to the grassy plain below the settlement. Clearwater

was the sixteen-year-old girl chosen by the clan elders to be his

soul-mate. They had not yet crossed wrists or exchanged the blood kiss

but since the Yellowing of the Old Earth they had lain together, skin

against skin, under his furs at each black moon - what was known to the

Plainfolk as 'sleeping between the wolf and the bear'.

Underneath the swirling pattern of black, brown and dark cream pigment,

Clearwater's body was smooth skinned, like Cadillac's. Her jaw was

small, her teeth evenly set and concealed by her lips; her long hair

was streaked with yellow and brown like the leaves blown from the trees

before the White Death; her eyes were a brilliant pale blue like the

morning sky that poured light into the lakes and streams, bringing them

to life and making them good to drink. Hence her given name of

Clearwater, blood-daughter of Sun-dance and Thunderbird, a great

warrior who filled ten head-poles before falling at the battle of the

Black Hills. She was tall and straight-limbed like Cadillac, swift as

an eagle, strong as a mountain-lion, and her heart was warm and filled