Assessor 3 cut in. ‘Underestimate them?! Heck, boy – you just confessed to increasing their goddam capabilities! What you did is tantamount to treason!’
‘No, sir,’ said Steve firmly. ‘You misunderstand the situation. I repeat – I did not teach them anything. Our current assessment of Mute skills is totally inaccurate. If I failed to tell this Board what I observed – if I remained silent in the hope of staying out of trouble – that would be treason. I’d deserve to have The Book thrown at me for betraying everything I believe in.’
The dark-haired President looked at Assessor 3. ‘I agree.’ She smiled approvingly at Steve. ‘We applaud your courage and your honesty.’
Damn right, thought Steve.
Assessor 2, a woman who had said little all day, leaned forward. ‘Steven, has it occurred to you that these “skills” you speak of – and incidentally seem most impressed by – could be part of a vocabulary of instinctive behaviour? In the same way that other overground animals are born with the ability to hunt – and birds and reptiles know how to fly or swim, and build nests in which to rear their young?’
The President smiled. ‘I’m afraid Steven doesn’t believe that Mutes are animals.’
Steve knew he was being drawn back onto dangerous ground but felt obliged to reply. ‘With regret, ma’am, officially, the Federation does not describe Mutes as animals. They are categorised as subhuman.’
‘That’s correct,’ replied Fran. ‘It means “Less than human”. It means they can never be our equals – or are you challenging that definition too?’
‘No, sir-ma’am.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Go on with your story.’
Editing the true sequence of events, Steve described the unsuccessful attempt to power the arrowhead with a motor from one of the wrecked Skyhawks and his decision to make do with an unpowered rig. And how, after completing the craft, he had overpowered two guards during the night, then fought and killed three more Mutes before making his dawn leap to freedom.
Steve told the story well. Fran, listening to her young golden-haired charge, was enthralled. ‘Do you mean to say that you leapt off the top of that cliff without even a test flight?’
Steve inclined his head with a modest smile. ‘It wasn’t all that much of a risk, ma’am. Aerodynamics was one of my best subjects at the Academy.’
Yes, I know, thought Fran. You scored 100 per cent. Just as you did in all the other exams…
On the fifth and final day, Steve stood to attention once again as the Board members filed in and the young President took her seat. While it was clear that many of his observations had been controversial, Steve was confident that he had struck the right balance between candour and servility. He was, after all, a wingman – a superbly trained, highly-disciplined lone-wolf capable of acting independently whereas others, like linemen for example – the ground troops of the Federation – could only function properly as part of a close-knit combat group. Wingmen were relatively unaffected by the morbid fear of the overground that assailed most Trackers. In a tightly controlled society such independence could be potentially dangerous. Not in the Federation. Wingmen were selected for their integrity and loyalty to the First Family. These were the guys who did everything by The Book. The guys whose zeal for the rules and regulations was only exceeded by Provos and Assessors.
Above all else, Steve knew how to radiate integrity. And he was pretty good on loyalty too. Endowed with a photographic memory, he could come up with an appropriate line from any of the First Family Inspirationals. The same went for the recorded wisdom of the President-Generals, and the Behavioural Codes from the Manual. No problem. Steve could quote chapter and verse. As he went to sit down, Steve was struck by the thought that, had he been a Mute, he might have been raised – like Cadillac – as a wordsmith.
Once again, the President of the Board of Assessors clasped her fingers together and fixed him squarely with her grey-brown eyes. ‘Steven, I’ve given much thought to your previous testimony – in particular, the account of your escape you gave us yesterday. I’ve also discussed it with my colleagues on this Board and we have been forced to the conclusion that you have not been completely truthful with us.’
Steve fought down a sudden feeling of unease and scanned the Assessors with an air of slightly bewildered disappointment.
Fran’s mouth showed a hint of amusement as his eyes swept round the table to meet hers. ‘The point that concerns us is the remarkable degree of cooperation shown by your captors. You say that you offered them a trade-off but that, in the final analysis, none took place. We find that difficult to believe – particularly in view of your earlier claim that we have underestimated the Mute’s powers of reasoning. However, even if this clan was as dumb-assed as the Southern Mutes, they are led by two wordsmiths – both of whom you have rated as being of above-average intelligence –’
‘Beg pardon, ma’am – may I qualify that?’
‘Go ahead,’ said Fran.
‘What I meant was – “Above-average intelligence for Mutes”.’
Fran swallowed a smile. ‘I take the point, Steven. I think the Board is aware of your, uh – position on that particular subject.’
Steve cursed inwardly. His interruption had probably done him more harm than good.
Fran unlaced her fingers and placed her palms flat on the table. ‘But to return to what I was saying. We are puzzled by the fact no one seems to have thought that, once the arrowhead was ready, you might use it in an attempt to escape.’
‘But they did think of it, ma’am. They warned me that if I tried to make a break for it, they’d knock me out of the sky.’
‘And you believed them,’ said Assessor 4, the woman sitting on the President’s right.
‘I had every reason to, ma’am,’ replied Steve. ‘I’d already been shot down once by a crossbow bolt – and I’d seen most of my section aboard The Lady killed the same way.’
‘And yet that did not deter you,’ observed Fran. ‘You single-handedly overpowered two guards then killed three others who attempted to stop you taking off.’
‘I got high marks in close combat drills too, ma’am.’
‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘We all know what you are capable of, Steven. But is it reasonable given the precautions that – on your own evidence – the Plainfolk take to guard their settlements, to ask us to believe that you were able to do all this, steal what they must have regarded as an extremely valuable object, and leave without a general alarm being raised, or any further attempt being made to stop you?’
Steve laid a hand on his heart and radiated an almost tangible aura of sincerity. ‘That’s the way it happened, ma’am. On my oath to the President-General.’ The rest of the words spilled out before he could stop them. ‘I guess they didn’t expect me to go at night.’
The eight Assessors looked at one another then simultaneously flashed a request for a Supplementary onto Fran’s video screen.
Fran asked the question they were all bursting to put to Steve. ‘Why not at night, Steven?’
Steve knew he dare not hesitate. ‘Because the Plainfolk don’t really operate at night. In an emergency they’ll move the settlement under cover of darkness but – from what I observed – they don’t fight each other. When it get’s dark everything shuts down – and most of the guards go to sleep.’
Fran let Assessor 5 – the man sitting on her left – put the question. ‘Let me get this straight. Are you suggesting that if we attacked these lumps at night we would have the drop on them?’
‘Sir, it would be wrong for me to give the impression that it would be a walkover but I think it would be safe to say you would definitely achieve an element of surprise.’
The eight Assessors reacted with varying degrees of excited astonishment. Assessor 5 turned to Fran. ‘Ma’am – do you realise what we’ve got here? This could be the breakthrough the Fed’s been looking for. I think you ought to wire it through to AmEx straight away!’
Fran nodded
amiably. ‘I share your excitement. But let’s not go overboard. I know we have night-scopes and other infra-red weaponry but you seem to be overlooking the fact that a lot of our people are terrified of the dark too. However, I’m sure that’s a problem we will be able to overcome.’ She turned to Steve. ‘I must thank you for revealing such a valuable piece of intelligence – even if it took you four days to get around to it.’
Steve asssumed a chastened look. ‘Ma’am, in my defence, I can only say it must have been because of what you’ve just said. Knowing how most of our people feel about the dark, I guess the real importance of it just didn’t jump out at me. And with so many other things to tell you about…’
‘Yes,’ said Fran. Yes, she thought. I can see why people get sucked in by the winning smile, the strong, honest face, the direct, unflinching gaze. It’s the eyes, Brickman. You’re clever. You do your best to hide behind them but I can still see you in there. They’re right about you, Brickman. You’ve got potential. But you need a lot more practice. Or maybe a few private lessons…
Locking her fingers together, she flexed them back and forth then sat back with her elbows on the arms of her chair and placed her forefingers under her chin. ‘Let’s get back to the escape. I accept your explanation of why you were able to gain access to the arrowhead so easily but – when you took off – it was almost light. Did no one else witness your departure? Did none of these eagle-eyed warriors in the surrounding guard posts fire at you?’
‘No, sir-ma’am. I was glad they didn’t, of course but, like you, I found that kinda strange. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that both wordsmiths were away at the time. As I mentioned earlier, the clan always seemed to be a more cohesive unit – much more on the ball – when they were around.’ Steve paused, as if weighing up what to say next. In reality, he had it all worked out. So far – apart from the unintended revelation about the Mute’s odd habit of shutting down for the night – everything had gone as planned. The start had been a trifle sticky but he had recovered brilliantly. Onwards and upwards, Brickman. ‘A posse of them trailed me but I stayed high and soon lost them in the mountains. Ever since then, and especially over these last few days, I’ve wondered why they gave up so easily – and why they let me build the arrowhead in the first place.’
Fran raised an eyebrow. ‘And…?’
‘Ma’am, the only thing I can think of is that they wanted me to escape. That’s why they didn’t kill me right at the beginning when I crashed into the cropfield. They wanted me to bring back a message.’
‘And what message is that, Steven?’
‘The Talis –’
Fran cut him short with a wave of her hand. ‘That’s enough!’ she exclaimed abruptly. She punched a button on the control panel of her video and spoke into her table mike. ‘Rewind the current tape and give me an edit facility on this station.’ Her voice was hard-edged, efficient. Her presence took on an extra dimension. A commanding arrogance that went way beyond the assured manner with which she had controlled the proceedings of the last few days. It was fascinating to see the mask slip. Chilling, yet exciting at the same time.
Steve’s eyes met hers. I was right, he thought. You are Family!
Fran returned his gaze. Now he knows. NOW he knows!
Steve heard a high-pitched gibble-gabble of dialogue as Fran backtracked over the tape then hit the Stop button and went into Play.
‘… a posse of them trailed me but I stayed high and soon lost them in the mountains. Ever since then, and especially over these last few days, I’ve wondered why they gave up so easily –’
Fran hit the Stop button again then went back into Record and addressed Steve. ‘Thank you, Steven. We have been most impressed by your detailed and extremely interesting testimony. There being no other questions, I pronounce this session closed. Your examination is terminated. The Board will now retire to consider your statement and your request to be reassigned to an overground combat unit.’
Steve leapt off his chair and stood to attention as the eight Assessors followed Fran through the door. All of them left without a backward glance. What the heck was all that about, he wondered? He had been right about the dark-haired lady. She was Family. In a way, it was a complement. From what good old Uncle Bart had said, it was clear that his return was as welcome as a melt-down in the main reactor. In the circumstances it was not surprising the First Family had put someone special on his case – but why had she hit the panic button at the first mention of the Talisman Prophecy?
Two Provos escorted him down to a nearby mess-deck and left him sipping iced KornGold through a straw while they chatted to another pair of meat-loaves at a nearby table. Steve picked up his Beanburger and tried to summon up the enthusiasm to eat it. Before being captured by the Mutes, Federation food had been his staple diet since birth. Mute food had been vile in appearance and taste but, after hunger had forced him to overcome his initial revulsion, he’d gotten used to it. So much so that now, his palate could not readjust to the bland taste of the food prepared on the mess-deck. It was tasteless, plasticised pap and about as appetising as a used butt-rag.
‘Okay if I join you?’
Looking up, Steve saw Chisum standing over him. He was holding a mess tray. ‘Yeah, sure…’
Chisum put his tray on the table and glanced at his watch as he sat down opposite Steve. It was five after twelve. ‘You finished early today.’
‘Yeah,’ grunted Steve morosely. ‘Must have been something I said.’ He grimaced and straightened up a little. ‘The Board have now retired to consider their verdict.’
‘How’d it go?’
Steve shrugged. ‘All right.’ Except that it hadn’t. He had planned to climax the account of his months in captivity with the revelation of the Talisman Prophecy. By exciting their curiosity about the content of the verses – which had predicted wagon-trains and wingmen centuries before the Federation had envisaged their use, he had hoped to make the Board receptive to his testimony about Mute magic. But the subject was obviously taboo. Why else would his mention of the Prophecy have been erased from the tape and his examination hurriedly terminated? It could only mean one thing; the First Family already knew about the Prophecy which, in turn, meant they not only knew about wordsmiths, but about summoners, seers and magic. Just as he had come to suspect. And not only did they know about it, they were taking it seriously.
But where did that leave him? Had he improved his chances of reinstatement and promotion by his knowledge of it? Or would he end up being shafted for knowing more than was good for him? Shit and triple shit… Steve hated to find himself in irretrievable binds like this. Most of the time, his nimble mind was always able to do a critical path analysis of encounter situations, pinpointing the danger areas well in advance. If things looked tricky he always left himself an emergency escape hatch. It was something he took pride in. This time, he had fallen through a trapdoor he could not possibly have foreseen.
Chisum demolished his own Beanburger in two and a half bites. Still chewing on the last mouthful, he pointed at Steve’s untouched portion. ‘You want that?’
Steve shook his head and pushed it towards him then watched as Chisum set about it with obvious relish. ‘How can you eat that shit?’
Chisum shrugged. ‘Don’t know any better I guess. Can’t be worse than the stuff you’ve been eating over the last few months.’
‘No…’ mused Steve. ‘I guess not.’ He pulled his eyes away from the four Provos seated nearby and spoke in a low voice. ‘Listen. I’ve been thinking about what you said about me getting a clean sheet healthwise – and about not being the first.’
Chisum nodded and kept chewing. ‘I was wondering when you’d ask me about that.’
Steve lowered his voice further. ‘This is serious, John. You and I both know it doesn’t make sense. In the five months I was overground, I must have had more exposure to air-sickness than my guard-father had in all his twelve tours! Plus body contact with Mutes and a bellyful of con
taminated food! Yet he’s the one who’s dying, while I never felt better! How come? Why him and not me?’
‘Good question.’ Chisum pushed the last of Steve’s Beanburger into his mouth and chewed methodically until it was all gone.
‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’
‘I’m not a doctor.’
‘You work with ’em, though. Don’t you have any ideas?’
‘Do you?’
‘It’s a pretty wild one.’ Steve glanced across at the Provos, put a hand up to cover that side of his mouth and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Over the last three hundred years there’s supposed to have been a reduction in the level of air-sickness. Right? We know that because of measurements taken by the Family. But who checks those figures? They do. Who manufactures and controls the measuring devices? They do. We have no way to prove or disprove whatever they choose to tell us. We don’t know what the present level of radiation is. Okay, it put my guard-father in a wheel chair – but it hasn’t touched me.’ Steve leaned across the table and seized Chisum’s wrist. ‘It may have dropped away to nothing! All of us could be free to move around up there. There may be no need for any of us to stay down here at all!’
Chisum grimaced and brushed a crumb from the corner of his mouth. ‘Interesting thought.’
‘You got a better one?’
Chisum shrugged. ‘I don’t believe in conspiracy theories. They can be bad for your health.’
‘It was you who started me down this road.’
‘I said you were clean. I don’t have any hard answers as to why that should be. I just thought you should know that you’re not the first – that you’re not some kind of a freak. And what happens? Before you can say Beanburger, your brain’s gone into overdrive and you’ve got the First Family involved in some great secret plot against the Federation! What’s the matter with you? You got some kinda persecution complex or somethin’?’
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