第114节

Over."

'Roger, Sky-Bucket, you are clear to land. Tell Mother we have a full

load."

'Wilco, Farm-Boy. We're on our way..."

Jodi was the first to spot them. She pointed out across the lake.

Steve and Kelso turned, searching for the two winged dots that quickly

became two charcoal-grey Sky-Riders. Behind them, Side-Winder

continued to exchange brief messages with the pilots.

The incoming planes flew a cautionary circuit of the headland, then

turned across wind and made their final approach from the west,

touching down within seconds of each other. The sky to the west was

still a deep purple, but to the east a soft-edged wash of burnt orange

was spreading along the horizon.

The two fat-bodied Sky-Riders taxied back down the mown grass strip

owards them and parked alongside each other. To Steve, they were a

familiar sight: he had had two flights as a passenger. First with

Donna Lundkwist from the Pueblo way-station, and then with an anonymous

MX pilot who had put him down in Nebraska.

The planes were second-generation aircraft built with totally new

materials. They were equipped with enclosed cockpits, augmented

instrumentation, and all kinds of creature comforts. They had been a

big surprise to Steve, making the Skyhawk - the long-serving workhorse

of the Federation- look like something out of the stone age, and

Cadillac's silken flying-horses look like a joke.

Yep. You had to hand it to the First Family. They were always one

step ahead. Always had the answers...

Steve had briefed Jodi and Kelso on what to expect, but now that the

aircraft were here, the urge to take a closer look was irresistible.

He ran over with them, leaving Side-Winder by the fire with the two

semiconscious Mutes.

The mexican dropped some more ice into the mess pot.

Cadillac was snoring drunkenly. Clearwater was making feeble efforts

to rouse herself, but did not seem to be able to get her head off the

ground for more than a few seconds at a time.

The two pilots removed their black-visored crash-helmets, stowed them

on top of the instrumental panel, then opened up their front-hinged

perspex canopies and climbed out. The tight-lipped guy who had flown

Steve to Nebraska had remained hidden and anonymous. This pair even

had woven name-tags. BLACKWELL, B. and RITCHIE, K. - the human face of

PMEXICO.

The three Trackers exchanged greetings with the two pilots. Both men

ran a jaundiced eye over their painted faces as they shook hands.

'Protective colouring,' explained Steve.

'Glad to hear it,' said BLACKWELL, B. He glanced towards the three

figures over by the fire-can. 'For a minute there, I thought we'd

dropped in on a Mute convention."

Jodi checked out the cockpit. 'Hey, Dave! Take a look at this set

up!

This is amazing!" 'Is it okay if I sit in the driving seat?" asked

Steve. 'Just to see how it feels?"

'Sure. Go ahead."

As Steve climbed into the cockpit of the nearest plane, Kelso held his

handshake with RITCHIE, K. and introduced himself. 'Kelso, Class of

'??. Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Baby-faced RITCHIE, K. smiled. 'I doubt it. That was before my

time."

He disengaged and turned away as Side-Winder came forward to greet

them.

'Got some hot Java for you guys."

'Great,' said BLACKWELL, B. 'We haven't had anything since we left

GC."

Steve exchanged looks with Jodi and Kelso and closed the cockpit

canopy. The pilot had left a pair of black leather gloves inside his

crash-helmet. Steve pulled them on. He looked up and saw the two

Trackers walk round the nose towards the second plane, a move which

took them out of sight of anyone standing by the fire.

The two pilots stood over Side-Winder as he broke open the sachets,

poured boiling water into two cups, then handed them ove