第60节

g all

hopes for a new age of progress.

As a key participant in the 'modernist' conspiracy, Min-Orota had

therefore been at pains to create the impression that, whilst he was

prepared to back the flying-horse project, it did not have his

unqualified support. To this end he had slowed down the pace of

development by trimming back Cadillac's constant requests for more

manpower and resources, and he had let it be known in court circles

that even if a craft capable of sustained powered flight was eventually

constructed, he feared that, in the long term, its impact on Iron

Master society would be more adverse than beneficial.

All lies, of course, but it bore the appearance of a face-saving

exercise whilst expressing his support for traditional values. And it

also provided him with an escape hatch if Yama-Shita's plan to

recapture the Dark Light backfired - an enterprise which certainly did

not have his wholehearted support.

Translated into Basic, the message he was beaming towards the Shogun

read thus: 'I'm only going along with this because you guys twisted my

arm."

It was a neat ploy. The whole deal had, of course, been put together

on the back-stairs by Yama-Shita, but the records would show Kiyo

Min-Orota hadn't pitched for the business. It was Ieyasu, the wily old

Court Chamberlain, who had advised the Shogun to grant the

manufacturing licence to the Min-Orota family without going through the

usual process of soliciting the highest bid from other interested

parties. All that remained now was to find some way, short of death,

to prevent Nakane Toh-Shiba, the Consul-General, from screwing things

up - both literally and figuratively - and everything would fall into

their hands.

Jodi caught up with Simons as he passed through an archway in the back

wall of the compound, opposite the main gate. There were more

buildings beyond. Simons paused expectantly.

'Listen,' said Jodi. 'Before this goes any further I just want to say

that Dave is okay - y'know what I mean? I know things got a little out

of hand back there, but the truth is, uhh . . . neither of us expected

to run into Brickman again so soon." Jodi shook her head in

wonderment. 'I don't know how the guy does it, but he certainly gets

around." She fell into step beside Simons.

'Are you sure his name's Steve Brickman?"

'That's what he calls himself. I can't see why he would want to lie

about something like that, but what difference does it make? He's

giving the orders and he seems to know what he's doing. It's only you

guys who seem to have a problem."

Simons led her down an alleyway between two long single-storey

structures. The facing walls had matching sets of sliding doors at

regular intervals and they were all wide open, giving Jodi a clear view

of their interiors. They were both large, airy workshops. The one on

the left contained stacks of sawn timber and rows of benches for making

sub-components; the one to her right contained several trestle jigs on

which ribs and spars were assembled into wings, while on the others,

formers and stringers were turned into fuselages.

Running down the centre was a primitive production line on which the

various pieces were mated together. In all, Jodi counted a dozen

airplanes at various stages of completion. Several Trackers in blue

outfits were putting tools back into racks and tidying up workbenches;

others were sweeping the floor. The job looked as though it demanded

skill and intelligence, the whole environment looked clean and healthy

and, above all, the atmosphere appeared relaxed - with not a

white-stripe or a whipping-cane in sight. Jodi could understand why

Simons and his co-workers didn't want anyone spoiling things.

But there was something that didn't add up. Simons had been drafted to

the Heron Pool in March and had implied that Brickman had already set

up the operation.

But she and Kelso had first run into Brickman when still part of

Malone's renegade band back in the early part of April, and they had

last seen him at the end of May, hob-nobbing with their Mute captors at

the trading post.

Jodi was not sure of the exact dates; her standard-issue calendar watch

had been ripped from her wrist when she was washed downstream in the

tangled wreckage of her Skyhawk. But a day or two either way didn't

matter, the questions remained: if Brickman was in Plainfolk territory

during April and May, what in Columbus's name was he doing there when

he was supposed to be running the Heron Pool - and how the eff-eff had