第16节

umbered with the task of escorting

this lumphead as far as navref Cheyenne, Wyoming. A journey which

placed his band of renegades in considerable danger.

This was the wrong time of year to be moving around.

April was the month when the Mutes hunted 'redskins'. - breakers; the

annual round-up of strays which were handed over to the Iron Masters in

exchange for goods and shipped east. Malone hadn't planned to leave

the camp that Brickman and his friends had ridden into until mid-May.

The site was in a commanding position, with good cover and running

water: ideal for a long stay. It had been chosen because AMEXICO knew

which way Brickman was heading and he was expected to pass close by.

At which point Malone - quite by chance- was to pop up and renew their

acquaintance. Everything had gone according to plan and then - thanks

to some asshole in a Skyhawk and two scumbags who hadn't seen it coming

- everything had gone wrong, forcing him to head west when every

sensible breaker was lying low.

The only solution was to travel at night. Mutes, for some reason

rooted deep in their collective past, were only active between sunrise

and sunset. After that, the hunting posses and turf patrols went home

or bedded down for the night. It wasn't the ideal time for travelling

cross-country but after umpteen years in the field, Malone had become

adept at reading the terrain and moving men across it under the most

adverse conditions.

Even so, he was sorely tempted to call up a sky-hook to take Cadillac

off his hands. But this was not his operation. The orders from Mother

had been clear and unequivocal. He had been detailed to intercept

Brickman at a given point during his journey, assess his reliability

and - with Mother's approval - to render assistance if and when

required. Brickman had said and done all the right things but he'd set

Malone's internal alarm system ringing. There was something about

him.

Maybe it was just Malone's instinctive antipathy towards clean-cut

blue-eyed golden boys, but Brickman was too smart for his own good and

just too good to be true.

In the previous year, six of Malone's people, including a class-mate of

Brickman's, had been sent north to provide him with the back-up he'd

requested to help kidnap the same three Mutes. In the last radio

contact made by amex called Donna Lundkwist, she reported the squad had

been sighted by a posse of M'Call Mutes - recognizable by the colour of

the feathers in their headgear. The Mutes had put up a smoking arrow a

sign they wished to parley. End of message. No one had ever heard

from those six mexicans again. Brickman had been running with that

clan. Painted up, grassed-out and leathered. His degree of

involvement in the backup squad's disappearance was a question that had

plagued Malone ever since.

He glanced up at the clear moonlit sky and saw a bank of dark cloud

building up on the northern horizon.

Malone was astute and resourceful but patience was not one of his

virtues - especially when it came to unwanted guests, and even more so

when that guest was a Mute.

Following the shooting of Clearwater, Cadillac had not regained

consciousness. To avoid any hassles, he had been kept in a drugged

stupor for the past two days.

Helped by clear night skies, they had covered some seventy odd miles.

One way or another, Clearwater was now beyond reach. It was high time

for this lump to stand on his own feet instead of having to be carried

around everywhere. When Mother had asked him to help Brickman, he

hadn't figured it would mean having to namby-pamby an uppity Mute.

That was the bit that really pissed him off - not the move.

He dug his boot into Cadillac's side. 'C'mon! Wake up you

sonofabitch! We haven't got all night!" Cadillac stirred drowsily.

'uh-humm, yeah . . . sure ..." His eyes fluttered open then closed

again as his mouth opened in a huge yawn.

Malone unhitched his water bottle and emptied it over Cadillac's

face.

Some of it went down his throat causing him to gag. He rolled about

choking and coughing then eventually sat up clutching his head.

'On your feet! C'mon! We're moving out!" Malone slid a hand under

his left armpit and hauled him upright.