第23节

the upward climb and outward spread of youthful

branches; roots forever seeking a firmer foothold, wriggling snakelike

through the earth, splitting buried rocks with a primeval power that

defied comprehension.

The next move, now part of his daily ritual, was to check the tiny

radio transceiver hidden in the handle of his combat knife. Under the

wooden side-pieces was a marvel of microcircuitry with an alphanumeric

keyboard on which you could enter text or data for high-speed

transmission at a pre-set time. Incoming messages were preceded by a

signal that switched on the electronic memory. Steve unclipped the

tiny stylus and activated the recall button which caused any stored

messages to scroll across the fifteen-character liquid crystal

display.

Eleven familiar letters marched across the screen from right to left

and halted. MEMORY CLEAR.

Side-Winder, the undercover agent who had helped him stow away on the

wheelboat, had hinted that Karlstrom had been concerned by Steve's

failure to keep in contact. There had been reasons for that, but now

he had been given the means to do so he had no excuses and no wish to

increase the nagging doubts about his loyalty to the Federation.

Unaware that the device had been rigged to transmit his call-sign at

regular intervals, Steve had programmed it to broadcast HGFR in Morse

code for ten minutes twice a day so that a fix could be obtained on his

position.

When giving him the knife, Side-Winder had said, 'The Family always

keep one ear close to the ground."

Steve, ever curious, had been trying to figure out how.

The maximum range of the radio knife was fifty miles.

But he was now, at the very least, more than a thousand miles from the

nearest way-station or wagon-train. If the First Family were able to

track him, they must have installed some kind of secret network on Iron

Master territory which allowed them to pick up and relay the signals he

was pushing out. So far, he had drawn no response. Okay. Maybe that

was because he had not filed any progress reports or asked for help.

Even so, they could have let him know that somebody was on the other

end of the line.

Despite his years of training at the Flight Academy, Steve's knowledge

of radios - like that of most Trackers - was limited to their

performance specifications, how to operate them and how to replace

faulty circuit boards.

Elementary stuff. All you needed was to be able to read.

The communications equipment issued to Trackers contained diagnostic

displays which told you which bits needed replacing. You got a

requisition order, drew them from the stores, and plugged 'em in. It

was with the circuit boards that the mystery began. The knowledge,

skills and processes that had led to their design and manufacture, and

the fundamental scientific principles on which it was all based

remained the exclusive preserve of the First Family.

Steve closed up the handle of his knife and replaced the strip of rag

that had been wrapped around it. He knew his transceiver was

operational but was the network? The only sure way to find out was to

send a mayday call - the one thing he dared not do. He was in urgent

need of a map of Ne-Issan with a large 'X' marking the location of the

Heron Pool, and a videotape containing an instant course in Japanese.

But AMEXICO could supply him with neither. Even if Karlstrom

condescended to bail him out, a skyhook - MX slang for an airborne

rescue - would serve no useful purpose, and the arrival of a backup

squad would only make things more complicated than they were already.

No. He was responsible for the present situation and the only way to

come out looking good was to solve it on his own.

Steve made a long roll of the blanket, tied the ends together so that