Part 90 (1/2)

He raised the flask to Cadillac. 'All the more for you and me I' He knocked some back and held the flask out to the two Mutes. 'Okay, who wants it?”

Clearwater made an ineffectual grab, but Cadillac got in first. He put the flask to his lips, tipped his head back and started to pour it down his throat.

'Hey, Hey! Easy, easy!” cried the mex. 'Leave some for blue eyes and me!” Cadillac sagged forward drunkenly and let Clearwater take the flask from his hands. She drank a little more and giggled again. 'It makes the ground move!” 'No,' said Side-Winder. 'It's not the sake.

We were a long time on the water. It's the motion of the boat that makes it seem as if the ground's moving. You have some more of that and you won't feel a thing.”

Three minutes later, both Mutes were out cold.

Side-Winder emptied the last few drops of sake down his throat, then looked up at Steve. 'See? Told you it wouldn't be a problem.” He capped the empty flask.

'These monkeys can't take this stuff.” The mexican rose and switched on his hand-set. 'This is Farm-Boy. Come in Sky-Bucket. Tell me how you read. Over.”

There was a slight crackle of static, then: 'Five by five, Farm-Boy.

Sky-Bucket One and Two standing by.

Over.”

'Roger, Sky-Bucket, you are clear to land. Tell Mother we have a full load.”

'Wilco, Farm-Boy. We're on our way...”

Jodi was the first to spot them. She pointed out across the lake.

Steve and Kelso turned, searching for the two winged dots that quickly became two charcoal-grey Sky-Riders. Behind them, Side-Winder continued to exchange brief messages with the pilots.

The incoming planes flew a cautionary circuit of the headland, then turned across wind and made their final approach from the west, touching down within seconds of each other. The sky to the west was still a deep purple, but to the east a soft-edged wash of burnt orange was spreading along the horizon.

The two fat-bodied Sky-Riders taxied back down the mown gra.s.s strip owards them and parked alongside each other. To Steve, they were a familiar sight: he had had two flights as a pa.s.senger. First with Donna Lundkwist from the Pueblo way-station, and then with an anonymous MX pilot who had put him down in Nebraska.

The planes were second-generation aircraft built with totally new materials. They were equipped with enclosed c.o.c.kpits, augmented instrumentation, and all kinds of creature comforts. They had been a big surprise to Steve, making the Skyhawk - the long-serving workhorse of the Federation- look like something out of the stone age, and Cadillac's silken flying-horses look like a joke.

Yep. You had to hand it to the First Family. They were always one step ahead. Always had the answers...

Steve had briefed Jodi and Kelso on what to expect, but now that the aircraft were here, the urge to take a closer look was irresistible.

He ran over with them, leaving Side-Winder by the fire with the two semiconscious Mutes.

The mexican dropped some more ice into the mess pot.

Cadillac was snoring drunkenly. Clearwater was making feeble efforts to rouse herself, but did not seem to be able to get her head off the ground for more than a few seconds at a time.

The two pilots removed their black-visored crash-helmets, stowed them on top of the instrumental panel, then opened up their front-hinged perspex canopies and climbed out. The tight-lipped guy who had flown Steve to Nebraska had remained hidden and anonymous. This pair even had woven name-tags. BLACKWELL, B. and RITCHIE, K. - the human face of PMEXICO.

The three Trackers exchanged greetings with the two pilots. Both men ran a jaundiced eye over their painted faces as they shook hands.

'Protective colouring,' explained Steve.

'Glad to hear it,' said BLACKWELL, B. He glanced towards the three figures over by the fire-can. 'For a minute there, I thought we'd dropped in on a Mute convention.”