第9节

no longer pressed on her inner eye. The octagonal

light panels in the low ceiling glowed and sparkled of their own

accord; moved upwards away from her - as if she was inside an expanding

balloon - then exploded silently into a thousand pieces. The fragments

receded; became a carpet of stars.

It was the moment known to Trail-Blazers as 'tunnelling out'; the Happy

Time...

Two days later, following another videogram from Grand Central, three

silver-blue Skyhawks with red-tipped wings and a similar craft

camouflaged in red, black and brown like the wagon-trains approached

Pueblo from the north-east and asked for permission to land. Seated

in his allotted place at the main console, Deke Haywood tracked them

with a wide-angle tv camera; saw them circle above the watch-tower in

tight diamond formation then drop down, one by one, to land into the

wind on the south side of the bunker.

Deke's interest was aroused by their appearance.

Pueblo had received an equipment update depicting the new Mark Two

Skyhawk that was being tested operationally, but this was the first

time Deke had seen one for real. Instead of the sweptback inflated

wing, these new aircraft had rigid constant chord wings with a straight

leading edge, a cruciform tail mounted on a boom above the pusher

engine, and a streamlined transparent cover over the previously open

cockpit. The whole appearance was sleeker, more powerful, more

deadly.

The camouflaged aircraft - the last to land - was different again. It

had a tubby fuselage pod and as it came into close-up on screen, Deke

saw it was a side-by-side two-seater.

The aircraft had been flown off the illustrious Red River

wagon-train.

Better known by its semiofficial nickname of Big Red One, its combat

record over the last eighty years was unequalled. It was the

Federation's number one killing machine and every Trail-Blazer with an

ounce of ambition aspired to serve aboard her at some time during their

overground career.

Wyman, the fair-haired, crew-cut wingman leading the airborne guard

detail saluted Anderssen with impeccable precision and handed over the

small, floppy-disc file containing a copy of the orders concerning

Brickman's transfer. Anderssen passed the disc to Jerri Hiller who

loaded it into the drive slot of the electronics module that sat under

the VDU, ran a validity test, then screened its contents.

Anderssen quickly scanned the one page movement order. The four

wingmen from Big Red One were to be Brickman's escort as far as

Roosevelt/Santa Fe. Buried deep under the desert of New Mexico, it was

the nearest base linked by shuttle to Grand Central. Brickman was to

ride, hooded and chained, in the two-seater. At Santa Fe, Brickman was

to be handed over to the Provost-Marshal's office from where he would

proceed to Houston/GC. The skyship he had constructed in captivity was

to be sent back aboard the next wagon-train calling at Pueblo.

Steve Brickman leapt to his feet and stood to attention as the door to

his cell opened. Three Deputy Provost-Marshals entered; a fourth held

himself at the ready in the corridor outside. Two of the Provos

carried out the routine check to see that the manacles on Steve's

wrists and legs were still securely fastened; the third, toting the

standard lead-weighted rubber truncheon, stayed two paces back ready to

deal with any trouble.

Following his initial interview, Steve had found himself in the

way-station hospital where he was ordered to strip. After an initial,

violent hose-down, he had been thoroughly scrubbed from head to foot by

two masked, rubber-gloved paramedics. They had allowed him to undo his

blue-ribboned plaits and wash his own hair. He had then been examined

in almost total silence by Pueblo's surgeon-captain. Afterwards he had

gotten the same blank-wall treatment when he had been issued with clean

cotton undergarments, a new pair of combat boots, and a set of black

fatigues - the mark of a defaulter.

They had a broad diagonal yellow cross on the front and back you could

spot a mile off- and which also made a good aiming point. Once

dressed, he had been immediately put back into chains and taken down to

the cells.