第52节

fully stiff but the pleasure of

regaining a measure of mobility more than outweighed any discomfort.

Three Degrees watched with a delighted grin as Steve got the hang of

one-legged walking and began to move more rhythmically. 'Is good?"

Steve nodded approvingly. 'Terrific."

Three Degrees looked at Cadillac uncertainly.

'A word from the Old Time,' said Steve. 'It means very good."

'Numero Uno,' explained Cadillac. 'Prima."

'Ahh, dig. Right on." Three Degrees smiled broadly as he gathered up

his tools. 'Have a nice one." He patted Steve on the arm and ambled

away.

One of the female Mutes who had brought Steve food on several occasions

approached carrying his camouflaged flight fatigues rolled up under her

arm. They had been washed and inexpertly sewn together where they had

been torn in the crash. Cadillac helped Steve back into them. All the

pockets that held his survival equipment were depressingly empty. It

made Steve feel half-naked.

'How far am I allowed to go?"

'As far as you want,' said Cadillac. 'But for your own safety it might

be better if you stayed within the bounds of the-settlement." He

smiled. 'The overground can be a dangerous place."

Steve nodded. 'Is that all?"

'No. Don't go into any huts without being invited, don't pick up any

sharp iron or tools you might find lying around, don't take any food

unless it is offered to you." He smiled again. 'There are people here

who would dearly like an excuse to put your head on a pole.

Capeesh?"

'Terrific,' said Steve, mentally filing 'capeesh', 'dig' and the other

new words he had just heard from Three Degrees.

He had discovered that the Mutes had two distinct speech modes. The

first was a kind of ceremonial language with a curious elliptical

syntax in which the words were full of imagery. Mute songs were

written in this style - probably the reason why it was known as

fire-speech. It was the favoured speech mode of warriors when greeting

people, in formal discussions and in encounter situations. Cadillac,

who seemed very concerned with status and protocol, had used it a lot

in the beginning but now he and the old wordsmith were conversing in a

mixture of Mute and Basic - the language of the Federation they had

picked up from Steve. The second, more informal, speech mode known as

'sweet-talk' was closer to Basic, and possessed the raw juicy

directness that characterised Trail-Blazer jargon. Sweet-talk also

embraced a fascinating sub-set known as 'jive'. A semi-secret warrior

tongue which was almost impossible for a stranger to understand without

an interpreter.

Steve adjusted the crutches comfortably under his armpit

and set off on his first walk through the settlement. The M'Call huts

were scattered across a high wooded plateau where the days dawned crisp

and clear. The adjacent slopes were thinly covered with the same dark

red-needled trees; to the west, a further range of hills rose even

higher. Steve remembered being moved at least four times. From his

general knowledge of the area gleaned from study of the maps aboard the

wagon train he reckoned that the clan had moved in a westerly

direction. The trouble was that, without a map, he had no idea how far

they had travelled but the fact that many of the huts had been set up

on open ground without any attempt to conceal them from the air implied

that the clan now judged themselves to be beyond the range of the

patrolling Skyhawks.

As he hobbled around the M'Call settlement, Steve began to discern the

daily pattern of Mute activity. Each morning, posses of Bears and

She-Wolves went out on hunting expeditions, returning soon after

sundown with game of various kinds - mountain deer with thick curving

horns, and, once, a buffalo. The She-Wolves specialised in snaring

birds and fish. Other mixed groups of warriors chosen for guard duty

squatted motionless on high ground around the settlement or patrolled