for nearly a

thousand years. Interstate 25 had long since crumbled into dust, and

the wagon train's progress has been slowed considerably by the

unchecked eastwards expansion of what had once been known as the

Roosevelt National Forest.

Steve was constantly amazed by the number of population centres marked

on the pre-Holocaust maps they now had access to. If they had all been

as densely packed as a Tracker base, or one of the larger way-stations,

there must at one time - have been tens, perhaps hundreds of millions

of people living in America. Looking down at the emptiness below the

Skyhawk's wheels, Steve found it difficult to imagine it crammed with

people; teeming with life. The history videos called it the greatest

country in the world.

The only country in the world.

Since joining the wagon train, he had learned that America lay

surrounded by sea on a spinning globe that sailed through space,

circling the sun once a year. To someone like Steve, whose horizons up

to his overground solo had been limited by the dimensions of a world

carved from what was known as the earth-shield, the idea that behind

the sky there was even more space that went on for ever was absolutely

mind-blowing. Even though he had now been flying the overground for

three months, his mind and body still welcomed each sortie with the

same secret, guilty pleasure. He resented the hours he was forced to

spend in the confines of the wagon train but he could not, dare not,

share this feeling with his crew-mates. They regarded it as a safe

haven. A home from home to which they returned with relief from the

awesome vastness that stretched away on all sides.

Jodi Kazan circled overhead while Gus and then Steve lined up on the

wagon train and lowered their arrester hooks. Throttling back to

twenty miles an hour for the final approach, Gus skimmed along the rear

section of the train, engaged the arrester wire and touched down on the

roof decking of the flight-car. The plump rear tyres flattened under

the impact, then the nose-wheel hit with its usual jarring thud as the

aircraft rolled forward nose down under the braking action of the

arrester wire. As Gus cut the motor, five ground crew-men scrambled up

from the side-platforms, unlocked and folded the wings of the Skyhawk

and went down with it as the front lift-section of the flight-deck

retracted into the car beneath. The Skyhawk was rolled clear and

stowed; the lift came up smoothly on cantilevered rams and locked into

the deck; the second .group of ground-crewmen crouched on the side

platforms on what was known as 'the duck-holes' - ready to receive

Steve. He skimmed along the tail of the wagon train, 'landing on' just

ninety seconds after Gus's arrester hook had engaged the wire. Behind

him, Jodi Kazan's Skyhawk angled in on the final approach.

The three wingmen went forward to the lead command car for the usual

debriefing session with the Flight Operations Officer - a dry-mannered,

stubby guy called Baxter. Steve told him he had seen what looked like

crop patterns about fifty miles to the north-west of the wagon train's

present position. The three of them checked their own maps against the

bigger one on the plotting table in the ops room. Gus's general line

of flight had been too far to the east, but Jodi confirmed Steve's

report.

The F.O.O. marked the agreed location on The Lady's battle map and

reported the find to Commander Hartmann.

The wagon master came down to the ops room with his Navigation Officer,

Senior Field Commander, and Trail-Boss Buck McDonnell. Hartmann and

the two execs took a quick look at the map, noting the contours of the

terrain around the position marked by the F.O.O. on the southwestern

flank of the Laramie Mountains.

'Did you see any settlements?" asked Hartmann.

'No, sir,' said Steve.

Gus shook his head too. 'It's hard to spot anything from fifteen

hundred feet. If we'd been allowed to go lower ' Both wingmen had

taken care to stay above the minimum altitude Kazan had given them

before beginning the patrol.

Hartmann nodded understandingly. 'You'll get your chance to cut

grass."

'It can't come soon enough for me, sir,' said Gus.

'They're down there,' said Kazan. 'When Brickman called me up to

report those cultivated strips, I went on over and took a closer

look."

Steve groaned. 'Are you going to tell me that there were huts as

well?"

'No, but there had been,' said Kazan. She favoured him with a

tight-lipped smile. 'You can see a lot more when you're six feet off

the ground." She turned to Hartmann and the execs. 'Whoever was there