surprise.

'You've got tools - here?"

'Some. We may be able to get others."

'Where do you get them from?"

'The people who make our crossbows. The iron masters."

'Who are they - Mutes?"

'No, they are unskinned, like you. But like us in other ways."

Steve tried to make his interest sound casual. 'Where do they live?"

'Beyond the eastern door. In the Fire-Pits of BethLem."

'Where is that exactly?"

Cadillac shrugged again. 'No one knows. It is said that there are

many lands beyond the eastern door but the Plainfolk have never been

there. We trade with the iron-masters when their wheel-boats ride the

great rivers. The Yellow-Stone, Miz-Hurry and Miz-Hippy."

Steve committed the names to memory. 'When do they come?"

'Once, sometimes twice a year. Some years not at all."

'And what do you trade?"

'Bread-stalk seed, buffalo meat. Dream Cap, men, women."

'You trade your own people?"

Cadillac smiled at Steve's reaction. 'Only those who are prepared to

go. Is that worse than staying and being killed because the clan has

no sharp iron?"

'No, I guess not,' admitted Steve. 'What else can you tell me about

the iron masters?"

'Nothing."

'But why do they trade you weapons?" insisted Steve.

'Why don't they use them to defeat you and the rest of the

Plainfolk?"

Cadillac answered with a shrug. 'Perhaps because they are too few in

number."

'Okay, in that case, why don't your people attack them, make 'em

prisoner and set 'em to work? Why trade valuable goods when you can

make slaves of them?"

Cadillac smiled. 'You're thinking like a Tracker."

'Come on,' riposted Steve. 'You kill other Mutes."

'Only in defence of our own turf."

'Yeah, sure..." Steve realised that it would be a waste of time to

argue the point further. He fisted Cadillac's arm.

'Let's get to work. We need a screwdriver, something to drill holes

with, a saw to cut this tubing, a flat file, a-' Cadillac frowned.

'What's a screwdriver?"

Steve sighed inwardly. 'Just show me what you've got..."

Aided by Cadillac, Three Degrees, another skilled Mute with the apt

name of Air-Supply and a score or more of willing go-fers, Steve

proceeded to construct a serviceable airframe. Throughout the process

of rebuilding, Cadillac worked alongside Steve, helping him every step

of the way.

Once again, Steve was impressed by the Mute's agile brain and his

mechanical aptitude. The young wordsmith had an almost instinctive

grasp of aviation technology and the theory of flight. What Steve

didn't know was that Cadillac's mental powers had enabled him to draw

the knowledge and understanding of these things from his own mind.

The wing fabric proved to be the biggest headache but after

sweet-talking the entire clan into handing back every usable scrap of

fabric that had been ripped off by trophy hunters, two sets of panels

were laboriously pieced together.

The overlapping patchwork seams were bonded with pine resin, then hand

sewn and then the two layers were fitted over the wing spars and

securely fastened together with parallel lines of stitching. There was

no way Steve could recreate the inflated aerofoil section wing of the

Skyhawk he had flown into captivity but, amazingly, the solar cell

fabric still functioned. Using short strands of wire from multi-cored