第17节

h from the bottom up in red, white

and blue, slid smoothly out of the tunnel and eased to a halt with its

bullet-nose at the far end of the platform. The passenger and freight

doors opened with a hiss of compressed air and there was a sudden

bustle of activity as the loading and unloading process got underway.

A hand closed round each of Steve's arms but this time there was no

baton blow in the small of the back. 'This way, fella..." said

Gazzara. His tone was less .abrupt than before. Steve was walked a

short distance up the platform then wheeled round to the right. 'Okay,

mind your head."

Steve ducked down and stepped forward. The surface under his feet

changed from unyielding concrete to the more resilient, hard, rubber

tile flooring of the shuttle cars. He was turned again and felt the

edge of a seat behind his knees.

'Okay, sit down." Gazzara was obviously the one that did most of the

talking.

Steve did as he was told. He could tell from the shape and feel of the

seat that he was in one of the normal passenger cars.

There was a rattle of chains. Someone bent over him.

It was Delaney. 'I'm hooking you up to the chair. Just relax and take

it easy. Give us a break and no one'll give you a hard time. All

right?"

Steve nodded in silent assent. 'I need to go to the can."

'Arrghh, Christo!" spat Delaney. 'Listen, uh - you'll have to wait a

while. I'll get back to you after we pull out. ' Steve sat back and

tried to ignore the ache from his constricted bladder. He'd felt the

need to urinate on landing but had been hustled away by the Provos, and

somehow, at the end of his rather heavy audience with the State

Provost-Marshal when Bart had asked him if he had anything to say, it

had seemed a rather frivolous request to make.

Fifteen minutes after its arrival, the Central Liner headed out of

Roosevelt/Santa Fe on the next leg of its journey - to Reagan/Lubbock,

Texas, the base where the new Mark Two Skyhawk was being readied for

series production. The shuttle, which attained a top speed of 120

miles an hour, took around seven hours - including stopovers - to make

the eight hundred mile run to Grand Central.

A short while after they'd gotten underway, Delaney unlocked the chain

holding Steve to the seat and shepherded him along the aisle to the

washroom.

Delaney pushed open the door and followed Steve inside. 'Hold it I'll

pull the hood."

Once again, Steve found himself blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted

to the light. He took a deep breath and glanced appreciatively at the

DP.

Delaney responded with a nod. 'Knock on the door when you're

through.

The orders are to keep you hooded until the handover at GC."

'I understand. Is it the 17th today?"

'Yeah..."

'What time is it?"

'1408. We should get to GC around 2100 hours.

Okay?"

'Yeah, thanks."

Delaney shut the door behind him.

Steve stood against the wall-mounted urinal and unzipped the trouser

section of his black fatigues. The muscles had been locked tight

around his bladder for so long it took a couple of seconds to release

the tension and a good minute to empty it. He closed his eyes and

continued to breathe deeply.

Ever since he had entered the way-station at Pueblo, he had been struck

at the difference between the air that filled the underground world of

the Federation and that of the Plainfolk. After his crash, when he had

recovered consciousness to find himself a prisoner of the Mutes, he had

been unable to breathe without feeling nauseous.