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ising that the Federation had

switched to putting everything on video. Chisum's overriding

impression of the book was that times hadn't changed much. There were

lots of battles, bad times, good times, people getting shafted - there

was one guy, Job - Christo! Now he really had a bad time! And then

there were a lot of guys making promises about a better tomorrow, a lot

of talk about right and wrong, and a place called Heaven, the Kingdom

of God. Like the blue-sky world - only better.

When the group had been rounded up, Chisum had hidden the book away

behind some loose bricks in one of the decaying tunnels. He'd meant to

return for it but a Provo demolition gang had blasted the gang's

hideout into a heap of rubble. Chisum often told himself it was the

best thing that could have happened. That book could have cost him his

life. As part of an undercover law-enforcement unit he knew what the

rules were but, having discovered that book, he could not understand

why possession of it should be a Code One offence.

From that moment on, Chisum had begun to examine more carefully what he

was asked to do: not to question orders - that would have been fatal

but to ponder the reasons why people like him were necessary. Some of

the ideas in that old book still stuck in his mind, and one persistent

question had remained to nag him. Just before the hide-out had been

raided, the old cee-bee had let Chisum in on a big secret: under

another part of Dallas he had discovered a big underground gallery

containing thousands of such books full of all kinds of stories,

pictures, and facts about the pre-Holocaust world.

Swore to it on the P-G's life. This old man had actually spent two

whole days just walking round it! Rack after rack of books from floor

to ceiling; set in long lines that seemed like they went on for ever.

He had promised to show Chisum where it was but, on the very day he was

due to lead him through the maze of tunnels, Chisum's team and their

Provo back-up had swooped in and bagged the whole bunch. That had been

five years ago.

Were those books still there? Chisum wondered.

Lying sealed behind the rubble? And did the First Family - who,

through the medium of the video archives, had only the barest

information to offer about

the pre-Holocaust period - know they were there?

The Board of Assessors that Steve found himself facing the following

morning consisted of five men and three women. The ninth member - the

President of the Board had not yet arrived. Steve stood at ease in

front of the chair that he was scheduled to occupy for the better part

of the next five days and tried to guess the demeanour of the

individual board members as they took their seats on either side of the

President's hand-carved, high-backed chair. The table, at which the

Assessors would sit, was semi-circular in shape, curving round on both

sides of Steve's chair so that he could be observed closely while under

interrogation.

Raising his eyes, Steve caught sight of one of the ever-present tv

cameras and mike units that would record everything he said and every

movement he made.

The videotapes would be carefully scrutinised later; every aspect of

his performance would come under review. It was the standard technique

applied to all Trackers, regardless of rank. Everybody below senior

executive rank was interviewed at three-monthly intervals by two

Assessors. An individual's performance and attitude were evaluated and

he was rewarded or penalised with plus or minus credit points. This

process began at the age of five and continued for most Trackers until

the bagmen called. Steve had always managed to do well in his

quarterly assessments but he had never faced a full board before. He

glanced discreetly at the board members and tried to guess their

ages.

He judged them to be between thirty and forty years old. The greying

hair was no guide at all. Some execs had white hair at twenty-five

and, after a particularly hard tour, a lot of Trail-Blazers ended up as

silver-tops too. It was said that, even if they were stark naked, you

could always spot an Assessor by the way they looked at you. That