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d at

her for a while, unable to understand then, as the memories of his

death flooded back into his mind, he threw his hands across his face.

And when that failed to halt the tide of blood, he turned over on his

belly and hugged the ground.

Roz stroked the back of his neck and whispered, 'It's all right. You

are safe. It's over."

Cadillac smelt the grass and the earth beneath him. It seemed real

enough. He slowly eased himself up onto his elbows and scanned, his

immediate surroundings. They were alone. No shattered bodies, no

blood, nothing.

The D'Troit warriors whose breath, weight and steel had overwhelmed him

had been summoned out of thin air. In recreating Shakatak, Roz had

drawn upon and fleshed out his deepest fears. And she had used the

same power to transform herself- in his eyes - into the Old One,

Clearwater and Brickman.

It was terrifying...

She stood up and offered him her hand. As they came face to face she

said, 'If I can do that to you - whom I love - just imagine what I can

do to our enemies..."

Cadillac nodded but said nothing.

They ate in silence and later, when their bodies came together in the

dark, he had not still uttered a word.

As he entered her, Roz whispered: 'I know what's going through your

mind. Relax." She locked her legs around the small of his back and

thrust upwards to meet him. 'What you can feel is not a figment of

your imagination. Trust me. This is for real!" And it was. Oh,

yes.

It was. It was ....

CHAPTER TWO

In the heart of the Federation, a thousand miles southwest of the

pine-forested slopes of the Laramie Mountains, Steve Brickman was busy

working both ends against the middle.

Six weeks after his promotion to captain and probationary membership of

the First Family, he still found it hard to believe his good fortune.

In Cloudlands the large overground estate where the First Family lived

in colonial-style splendour - Steve was now the acknowledged companion

and bed-mate of Franklynne Delano Jefferson, a close and favoured

relative of the President-General. And the liaison with Fran provided

him with an entree to the highest levels of the Family. The contacts

at this stage were purely social but they provided Steve with an

opportunity to make himself known and, above all, to be seen.

In eighteen action-packed months, he had risen from a workgang in the

A-Levels to the charmed inner circle at the top of the tree. And in

between, he had travelled further, seen things that others only dreamt

of, and had been involved in more violence and intrigue than most other

Trackers would meet in their entire lifetime - and he was still only

nineteen!

Up to a few short weeks ago, Steve had always figured he had only

another twenty or so years ahead of him.

Trackers who avoided a violent death usually died from natural causes

between the age of 40 and 45. But Steve had discovered that he and his

kin-sister Roz were Plainfolk Mutes - smooth-boned clear-skinned

'super-straights' - reared in the underground world of the

Federation.

For some reason he had yet to fathom, Mutes had a greater life

expectancy than Trackers, remaining alert and active into their

mid-sixties. Like the First Family.

They were also immune to the lethal radiation still present in the

atmosphere - again like the First Family - a fact that had only become

apparent to Steve after his arrival in Cloudlands.

At the first mention of the name he had guessed it was an overground

installation, but he had been surprised to discover it was not a sealed

environment. The entire estate was open to the sky.