swivelled round to face

Kazan. 'The only force to be feared is that of the Federation."

'That's official,' she said.

Steve wiped the text, retrieved his ID-Sensor card and put it back in

its protective wallet. 'Yeah, but - is it true?"

Kazan's eyes narrowed. 'I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

On the sixth day, the depot was crowded with the kin-folk of crew-men

from nearby Nixon Field. Harried by Provos, they streamed in orderly

fashion across the roads - the long, pillared bays where the wagon

trains were housed - and pressed three deep against the crush barrier

to watch the crew form up, section by section, alongside The Lady under

the gaze of Hartmann and his ten execs.

On the booming command of Buck McDonnell, the crew snapped to attention

and the flag-waving crowd fell silent as the familiar, heart-stirring

Fanfare for the First Family echoed through the depot's loudspeakers.

The face of George Washington Jefferson the 31st appeared on the

ubiquitous television screens and delivered a short, inspirational

address in a firm, well-modulated voice - to which the crew of The Lady

and the crowd responded with a thunderous 'HO! I'.

On the command 'MOUNT WAGONS!" the crew climbed quickly aboard and

took up their stations. The airtight hatches were locked down; the

waving crowd became an electronic image on the train's visicomm

system.

Up in the saddle - the control centre of the lead command car Hartmann

settled in the Commander's chair, called a systems read-out and spoke

the eagerly awaited words into the mike. 'Wagons ROLL!" The clusters

of jumbo-sized turbines whined shrilly up to full revs. Power flowed

through the drive motors. The giant steel-clad tyres began to turn,

easing the camouflaged, serpentine bulk of the wagon train out of its

parking bay, and past the crowd of flag-waving spectators.

On the screen above him, Steve saw the crowd break up and run

alongside; heard them cheering; felt the glow of excitement as the

music flooded through the depot and the wagon train; joined in the

singing as The Lady from Louisiana began the long haul up the

one-in-twelve gradient towards the overground to the echoing strains of

the Trail-Blazer anthem, 'The Yellow Rose of Texas'.

EIGHT

Within a few days of the time predicted by Mr Snow, a posse of Bears

returned to the settlement and announced breathlessly that they had

seen arrowheads in the sky. They pointed to the south; to that part of

the sky where the dark rainclouds and the thunder were stored beyond

the rim of the world.

'How far away were you when you saw them?" asked Mr Snow, when the

Bears faced the hastily gathered clan-elders.

'Two days running,' said Mack-Truck, the leader of the hunting party.

'Does this mean that the iron snake comes?" said Cadillac.

He sat in his appointed place, beside the silver-haired wordsmith.

With the exception of those Bears manning the outlying guard posts of

the settlement, the rest of the clan was gathered round them.

Mr Snow nodded. 'Yes, this is the one predicted by the Sky Voices.

The cloud warriors seek the best path for the snake. He paused, then

added grimly, 'They also seek us."

An awed murmur came from the squatting crowd of Mutes.

'Should we not run?" asked Long-Tooth, a clan-elder.

Mr Snow shook his head. 'We cannot outrun the cloud warriors. They

can soar over mountains like eagles, and can see as far. But we should

hide our huts from the sky. We must move the settlement into the

forest that lies four bolts north of where we stand."

Plainfolk Mutes did not like forests. They preferred to sleep under

open skies. 'It will be dark,' said a warrior called Hershey-Bar. 'I

have seen this place. The trees are set close one upon the other and

the branches press heavy on our heads. We will not be able to

breathe."

'The darkness will hide us,' said Mr Snow. 'And it is good that the