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ons were proof of their

superb craftsmanship but it was all low level stuff. There was no sign

of them possessing what the Mutes called the 'High Craft' - the

technological marvels of the electronic age.

The Iron Masters' society seemed to be pitched halfway between the

Trackers and the Mutes, taking something from each but totally

different from both.

They had taken a third way. But where had they come from? And how had

they survived the Holocaust? Were they immune to the sickness that had

been spread through the air by the poisonous presence of the Mutes?

Or were they merely another species of lump-head, a breakaway bloodline

that had come up in the world, and was now hiding their common ancestry

beneath the masks and armour and a coded nonsense-language?

More questions to which he would probably never find the answers.

But... if the Iron Masters were a different race that had survived the

Holocaust or had somehow sprung up later, then there could be others.

There might even be other lands beyond the eastern and western seas

with different people with different ways of doing things. People who

might never even have heard of the First Family.

Despite his rebellious nature Steve had been so thoroughly

indoctrinated he found that hard to visualise.

Back in the Federation everything had been so simple.

The world was divided into 'us and them', Trackers and Mutes. There

were no ifs and buts, no uncertainties. The way ahead was clear.

Everyone knew who they were and what they had to do. But now...

Steve's thoughts returned to Clearwater. He toyed with the idea of

swimming out to YamaShita's wheel-boat then decided to heed Mr Snow's

advice. At this point, there were too many unknowns. Better to wait

and see what happened.

At the end of the day, the Iron Masters retired to their ships and

backed them offshore to anchor in deep water for the night. Steve

listened to the shouted commands as the Iron Masters prepared to get

underway and could make no sense of the language at all. It sounded as

if they were speaking Basic backwards with their tongue stuck halfway

down their throats.

He returned to the lines where dozens of cooking fires sent up thin

columns of smoke. Around the bull-ring, the eight bonfires were

already well alight and a stick and drum group had swung into action.

And round the lines, there were Mutes chanting, singly or in groups,

accompanied by wind-pipes or percussion blocks, playing a game with

coloured pebbles on a piece of buffalo skin marked out in squares,

rapping in groups and generally having a good time. One of the prime

aims of the week-long festivities was to ensure that the journey-men

the Mutes who had been tapped to go down river - had the time of their

lives. As a result, the air was so thick with pipe smoke you got high

just by breathing in, and it was difficult to walk more than ten yards

in any direction without having to step over some heavy traffic.

The only group not participating in the festivities were the captured

renegades. Steve had taken care to steer clear of Dave Kelso and his

friends but he had continued to keep a friendly, if distant, eye on

Jodi Kazan. The breakers were still kept separated from each other,

and guarded twenty-four hours a day. Escape was not the only danger;

there had been occasions, in the past, when captured renegades had been

stolen by other clans - not always from rival bloodlines. And once

they had been spirited away they were almost impossible to get back

without a major bloodbath. The M'Calls had no intention of losing

valuable trading points.

Steve had not spoken to Jodi since being venomously rebuffed but he

bore her no malice. He wandered through the area where Malone's

breakers were being held and eventually found her. She didn't look

overjoyed to see him but, on the other hand, she didn't spit in his

face when he hunkered down beside her.

'You getting enough to eat?"

'Would it matter if I wasn't?"

Steve sighed. 'Jodi, come on - give me a break. We were on the trail

together. That still means something to me. D'you think I don't care

about what's happening to you and these other guys?"

'Yeah, well, you won't have to care much longer. I hear we'll be