第20节

of dark grey smoke drifted

up into the sky from an area where there seemed to be several large

fires. Finally, the paddles slowed, stopped, then went into reverse.

Ropes were thrown ashore and anchored round bollards by teams of

waiting men and, after much heaving and shouting, the wheelboats

drifted gently into contact with the woven rope bumpers hanging from

the wooden jetty.

It was the signal for a mini-horde of white-stripes and boot-licking

Mute overseers to go on the rampage. They ran through the closed deck,

cracking their whipping-canes across the shoulders of their human

cargo, yelling at them to get to their feet and form up in the groups

to which they had been allocated.

Having helped to pull the huge wheelboats through the canal system, the

Mutes and Trackers were now given the privilege of unloading their

cargoes. But first, their wrist shackles were removed. Every item

carried aboard at the trading post had been checked, labelled and

listed by tally-masters, and now the whole laborious process went into

reverse as the bales and bundles were carried down the gangways to be

carted away and piled neatly in stone-walled storage units that had

curious sloping roofs.

The only overground constructions Jodi had seen before coming to

Ne-Issan were the almost featureless way-station bunkers, the

forbidding work camps with their towers, traps, and wire cages, and the

fortress-like access ramps at places like Nixon/Fort Worth. She had

never seen any buildings whose design pre-dated the Holocaust - in this

case by several hundred years- and the video archives she could access

with her ID card contained no record of them.

The unloading was completed as darkness fell, the final checks and

tallies being made by the light of lanterns while the newly arrived

additions to the labour force devoured a generous ration of steaming

rice, shredded vegetables and meat balls, washed down with a draught of

hot, pale green liquid.

It didn't taste anywhere near as good as java but what the hell,

thought Jodi, it's no good pining for the tastes of yesteryear. We

ain't ever gonna get our lips round a cup of that again.

As she watched the tallymasters and their clerks comparing their stock

lists with the bills of lading, Jodi found herself wondering why some

bright spark hadn't gotten around to generating electricity. After

all, they had steam power, everything she had seen so far had been

beautifully made, and the way the clerk had keyed all that data on to

the page was proof of their amazing dexterity.

It was really strange. They had all the skills and the tools 'they

needed, and it wasn't as if they didn't know it existed. The present

batch of renegades were not the first to be interrogated, and the

questions she and the others had been asked showed that they were

anxious to discover what made the Federation tick.

So how come they were still in the dark ages?

When the brief meal-break came to an end, Mutes and Trackers were

ordered to wash their thin metal cups and bowls in big wooden tubs

before putting them away in the small cotton bags that had been

distributed with the eating utensils. The bags had ties so they could

be fastened around the waist. There were no knives, forks or spoons.

You ate with your fingers and licked or drank whatever was left.

The next thing on the schedule was a clothing issue.

The Mutes had been stripped down to a cotton loincloth and their

moccasins; the Trackers had been allowed to keep their T-shirts - if

they had them - and their camouflage trousers and boots. The night of

10 June 2990 was mild and dry, but they were all issued with ponchos

woven from coarse strands of jute, wide cone-shaped straw hats, and a

thin cotton quilt. As with everything the Iron Masters did, the

distribution was smoothly organised, the strange sign and number on

their armplate being quickly stencilled on their poncho, hat and quilt

as they waited in line to pick them up.

Once they had been kitted out they were ordered to reassemble in their