第43节

deck.

Pronto!" 'Yess-sirr!" Steve sidestepped Mullins and doubled towards

the locker room. Down in the A-Levels you only saluted on ceremonial

occasions - and there were very few of those.

Mullins raised his voice again. 'Dover? I' Clan Dover straightened up

by the end of his bunk.

'Sir?"

'Pack up Brickman's gear, strip his bunk, and hand everything in to the

Quartermaster."

'You mean now sir?" asked Dover, already figuring that, if he spun it

out, the time-wasting chore could mean missing up to half a shift.

'No, not now, Dover. When you come off at 1600, you asshole!" 'Yeah,

and up yours,' muttered Dover, as Mullins strode away. Turning, he saw

his buddie Ty Morrison trying not to laugh. Dover aimed an angry

punch at his solar plexus but Morrison danced out of reach.

Steve found three Provos waiting for him at the turnstile to the main

elevator deck. The meat-loaf in charge asked for his ID-card, then he

was hooded and chained and hustled through the turnstile. When the

hood came off, he saw that his escort had changed. The two Provos now

facing him sported the White House shoulder flash. He was back in the

medical unit where he had first run into Chisum. The bigger of the two

meat-loaves ordered him to stand with his legs apart and his hands by

his side then moved behind him and unlocked the steel bands around his

wrists and knees.

'Okay, strip off,' said the other meat-loaf. He waved his truncheon

towards the adjacent wash-room. 'You've got five minutes to shower and

get back into uniform.

Move!" Steve didn't stop to ask 'What uniform?"; meat-loaves didn't

like being asked questions. He twirled on the shower tap, peeled off

his clothes, washed himself thoroughly, then rubbed himself down with

the aid of a disposable glove-towel in the warm air drier and emerged

with two and a half minutes to spare. The big meat-loaf had made

himself comfortable on the only available chair; the other had hoisted

his low-slung butt onto the edge of the table next to a neatly arranged

pile of clothing: a flight-blue jumpsuit, field cap, underclothes and

gleaming dark-blue parade boots.

The meat-loaf on the table pushed the pile of clothes towards Steve

with the point of his truncheon. 'Get this stuff on..."

Steve pulled on the pants, socks and T-shirt with a mixture of pleasure

and surprise. He'd been given a wingman's uniform, and when he opened

out the fleshly-pressed jumpsuit he saw that it bore his name on the

woven tag over the right breast pocket, and a pair of silver wings over

the left. It even had the correct unit arm badges; one that identified

him as coming from Roosevelt/Santa Fe; the other as serving aboard The

Lady from Louisiana. They - someone - some mysterious benefactor - had

given him back his identity!

He donned the jumpsuit and tried to fight down a rising feeling of

excitement. After all that had happened to him over the last few

months it would be foolish to raise his hopes too high. He adjusted

the field cap, straightened the long front zip of the suit and stood at

ease waiting for the-Provos' next order with seconds to spare.

The Provo lounging in the chair checked his watch then got up and

walked over to the door that opened onto the passageway beyond. His

buddie followed. Steve heard footsteps. The two Provos took up

position on either side of the doorway then jumped to attention and

saluted as an Amtrak Exec entered. Steve followed suit.

The Exec wore the rank stripes of a JX-2. She eyed Steve then turned

to the Provo-Corporal. 'Is this the interviewee?"

'Yes, ma'am!" The Provo-Corporal had palmed Steve's ID-card in

readiness for the hand-over.

The Exec lifted the flap of the protective wallet, glanced briefly at

the card, put it in a thigh pocket then swept her hand towards the

door. 'Would you come this way please?"

The gesture and the courteous tone were so unexpected, they left Steve

with his feet momentarily glued to the floor. The JX-2, whose name tag

identified her as Pruett, J.K was a slim, brown-haired woman of around