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only different. Never mind. Looks like you got a steep

learning curve ahead of you. Find out about all that and get your

hands on some.

The trip'll cost you five dollars a head." He began to back away.

'Plus the extras! Bring another twenty dollars, just to be on the safe

side?

'Sure! No sweat!" Steve signed off with a confident wave and ran down

the wharf past the line of moored boats. Money... dollars...

Columbus! As if he didn't have enough to worry about!

Side-Winder stood watching until Steve reached the ramp that led down

to the ferry. The small twin-paddleboat had just left the far side of

the river and was chugging its way back to the west bank. In a few

minutes Brickman would begin the next stage in his journey though in

view of the distances involved, 'odyssey' might be a better word.

Meeting him had been a lucky break, but it was not entirely

unexpected.

AMEXICO had alerted him to the fact that Steve had secured a job as a

roadrunner and might be heading in his direction.

How Mother had managed to figure that out remained a mystery, and how

Brickman had managed to get on board the system so fast was an even

bigger one.

Side-Winder had been forced to endure two years of hard labour and

brutal treatment, before being selected to work on the wheelboats, and

it had taken him a further twelve months to claw his way up to head

overseer. And he had only achieved that distinction by being the

meanest mother on board. No... Brickman's rapid advancement had to be

an inside job. Clearly a man to watch.

As he walked back towards the stevedores, SideWinder realised he had

forgotten to tell Brickman that Mutes and Trackers were not allowed to

possess money.

Slaves didn't own anything and couldn't earn anything: food, clothing

and housing came with the job but the rice in your belly, the shirt on

your back and the roof over your head belonged to your master - and so

did you.

Whilst it was less serious than carrying a weapon, to possess money was

still a punishable offence - as Brickman would soon discover if he did

his homework.

The boat tickets would have to be paid for, but they could only be

purchased by an Iron Master.

Side-Winder was not unduly worried. Anyone smart enough to get himself

promoted from illegal immigrant to roadrunner in less than six weeks

should be able to figure his way round a little problem like that.

CHAPTER TEN

While Steve was heading north for his unexpected meeting with

Side-Winder, the much-delayed road convoy to which Jodi Kazan and Dave

Kelso had been assigned finally reached Fin on the banks of the

Delaware. The bricks used to build Fin came from the ashes of

Philadelphia, city of brotherly love, incinerated in' AD 2015 - the

year that marked the end of what the Mutes called The Old Time.

For many of the travellers who had joined the convoy in the latter

stages of its journey this little riverside town - now awash with

merchants and traders drawn in by the forthcoming slave-market - was

the end of the line, and as soon as their presence had been registered

by the officials at the western toll-gate, they hurried away in search

of lodgings in one of the already overcrowded inns.

For Jodi and Kelso the long march, which had begun with their capture

by the M'Calls in Western Nebraska, was not yet over. The two Tracker

renegades were collected from the toll-gate by a pair of sturdy Korean

clerks working for a shipping agent who enjoyed the trust and

commercial patronage of the Min-Orota family. The clerks, their eyes

compressed into slits by prominent slanting cheekbones, conducted them

through the crowded streets to the agent's office for yet another round