e boy's hands and placed them over his own on the handle

of the knife. Little-Feet gripped his hand and wrist tightly.

'Now!" he cried, pulling hard on the knife.

'Drink, Sweet Mother!" Mr Snow thrust the long blade swiftly and

cleanly into Little-Feet's heart. 'Mo-Town drinks,' he said,

quietly.

He sat back on his heels and watched the boy's life ebb away.

And wished yet again that, with the help of the Sky Voices, he might

truly understand why the world was ordered thus.

ELEVEN

The storm which had swept over the wagon train cleared with the same

mysterious rapidity with which it had developed. Less than an hour

after the flaming wreckage of Jodi Kazan's Skyhawk had plunged into the

raging flood waters, the Now and Then River had been reduced to a

narrow ankle-deep stream linking a chain of muddy pools, leaving The

Lady from Louisiana high and dry, its lead cars lying tilted across the

river bed, trapped amidst a crazy tangle of trees, boulders and sodden

vegetation.

Hartmann, the wagon master, was relieved to see clear skies overhead

but he, like Steve Brickman, sensed that The Lady's ordeal was far from

over. He ordered Colonel Moore, the Senior Field Commander to despatch

his linemen to form a defensive perimeter around the wagon train while

Stu Barber, the First Engineer, took-a party out to inspect the flood

damage.

Steve had a word with Ryan, the wingman who had been made acting

section leader following the loss of Kazan, then sought out Buck

McDonnell and asked permission to take a small party downstream to look

for Jodi.

The big Trail Boss turned him down flat. 'She was skewered, roasted,

then drowned in mud sauce, Mister.

Nobody walks away from that. Besides which, we don't waste wingmen on

bag jobs. Get back to your post and get ready to fly."

Wearing sealed helmets fitted with armoured glass visors, moulded face

plates, air fdters and two-way radios, and clad in flexible body armour

that gave them the fearsome anonymity of warrior ants, the linemen ran

down the ramps dropped from the belly of the train and formed quickly

into eight-man combat squads. Each man was armed with a

three-barrelled air rifle and bayonet. Spare magazines, six

canister-type flame-grenades, a machete, reserve air bottles and

rations were carried in belt packs and pockets on the chest and

thigh.

The force was led by Captain Virgil Clay, the Junior Field Commander

and they were followed out of the wagon train by Barber, the First

Engineer, Buck McDonnell, and the twenty-strong damage control party.

Clay, known by his radio call-sign 'ANVIL TWO', sent two squads

upstream, two down, and sent three more squads up each bank to cover

the open ground on each side. Aboard The Lady, the rest of the crew

manned the weapon turrets, or stood ready to reinforce the groups on

the ground should the perimeter come under attack.

They didn't have long to wait. Ginny Green, the first lineman to clear

the mud-slide on the right-hand bank took a bolt through the chest.

The impact of the ten inch-long missile lifted her clean off her

feet.

Arms outstretched, her body did a sloppily executed back-flip and hit

the ground like a sack of rivets. The seven linemen behind and on

either side of her hit the deck, shoved their rifles out in front of

them and peered cautiously over the top of the bank. The first guy to

poke his head up got a bolt through the back of his neck.

'Shit!" cursed the squad leader. He ducked below the top of the slide

and flipped the transmit switch on his helmet from the squad channel to

the Field Commander's. 'Anvil Two, this is East Side One. We have

struck out twice and are taking fire from both banks. Advise. Over!'

Clay's voice came back through his earphones. 'East Side, this is

Anvil Two. Mow the lawn. Standby to jump-off.

Out."

'Mow the lawn' was lineman jargon; a call for an extended, heavy burst

of out-going fire in which a stream of bullets were pumped into every

hummock of grass, every bush or piece of scrub in the fan-shaped area

that formed a group's immediate front. Anything that could furnish

cover for a Mute warrior was riddled with lead.

Stu Barber, the First Engineer, moved under one of the wagons and spoke

to Hartmann via one of the outside tv cameras fitted for that

purpose.

Buck McDonnell, toting a three-barrelled air rifle, stood guard beside

him.