Iron master, p.1
Iron Master, page 1
The Amtrak Wars
The Talisman Prophecies
Book 3:
Iron Master
PATRICK TILLEY
THE AMTRAK FEDERATION & ITS ENEMIES. 2990 AD
THE SEVENTEEN DOMAINS OF NE-ISSAN 2990 AD
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
A Note on the Author
The following list is a guide to the names given by the Iron Masters to major towns and locations in Book 3.
Ari-bani Albany, NY
Ari-dina Reading, Pa
Ari-geni Allegheny River
Ari-saba Harrisburg, Pa
Aron-giren Long Island, NY
Atiran-tikkasita Atlantic City, NJ
Awashi-tana Washington, DC
Awiri-kasaba Wilkes Barre, Penn
Awirimasa-poro Williamsport, Penn
Awo-seisa Worcester, Mass
Baru-karina Brooklyn, NY
Bari-timoro Baltimore, Md
Basa-tana Boston, Mass
Bei-sita Bay City, Mi
Bu-faro Buffalo, NY
Du-aruta Duluth, Minn
Eri-siren Ellis Island
Firi Philadelphia, Penn
Fyah-jina Virginia
Gofo-nasa Governor’s I, NY
Hui-niso Windsor, Ontario
Iri Lake Erie
Iyuni-steisa United States (of America)
Kara-li Carlisle, Penn
Kari-faran Cleveland, Ohio
Karo-rina Carolina
Kei-pakoda Cape-Cod, Mass
Konei-tika Connecticutt River
Mana-tana Manhattan I, NY
Mah-ina Maine
Mara-bara Marlboro, Mass
Masa-chusa Massachusetts
Mei-suri Missouri River
Midiri-tana Middle town, Penn
Mira-woki Milwaukee, Minn
Mi-shiga Lake Michigan
Nofo-skosha Nova Scotia
Nya-gara Niagara Falls
Nyo-jasai New Jersey
Nyo-poro Newport, RI
Nyo-yoko New York City, NY
Ori-enita Orient Pt, LI
O-hiyo Ohio River
Porofi-danisa Providence, RI
Pi-saba Pittsburgh, Penn
Ro-diren Rhode Island
Sa-piryo Lake Superior
Sara-kusa Syracuse, NY
Skara-tana Scran ton, Penn
Sta-tana Statenl, NY
Taro-ya Troy, NY
Uda-sona Hudson River
Uti-ka Utica, NY
The following extract is drawn from the First Family’s private archives stored within COLUMBUS, the guiding intelligence of the Federation.
RELEASE LEVEL: FF-1 thru 5 ONLY
IRON MASTER/S (generic noun of Mute origin)
A race of clear-skinned hairless anthropoids inhabiting the eastern coastal strip of America from Maine to North Carolina. The overground area under their control (known as Ne-Issan) includes the western flank of the Appalachian mountain range and extends across the Ohio state line as far as Cleveland, a navref point on the shores of Lake Erie.
Iron Masters have their roots in illegal immigrant communities of various asiatic sub-types that managed to infiltrate the major north-eastern urban centres during the pre-Holocaust era. Between AD 2300 and 2400, there was a small but significant influx of ‘boat-people’; asiatics who spoke a language known as ‘Japanese’. Allying themselves with the resident groups of similar origin, the boat-people rapidly seized power and have remained the dominant racial group ever since.
On the evolutionary scale, Iron Masters are positioned halfway between the Trackers and the Mutes, who are inferior to both. Officially categorised as a sub-human species, Iron Masters are, nevertheless, literate, numerate individuals with a high degree of manipulative skills, proficient in agriculture, fishing, wood- and metal-working (esp: weapons), weaving and building with dressed stone.
Through a process of genetic mutation common to all sub-human species and the lower animal orders, Iron Masters have become immune to atmospheric radiation but, once again, acquisition of immunity has had a negative impact on other vital functions. In the case of the Iron Masters, the most obvious side-effects are their diminutive stature, yellow-tinted skin, and total lack of body hair, but the greatest damage has been to the circulatory system. This manifests itself in a high incidence of haemophilia, and weak-walled blood vessels which can rupture under stress, bringing about a fatal haemorrhage.
Through bushido (see following reference) these inherent defects have acquired positive values, engendering a calm, disciplined approach to life and an unquestioning acceptance of death.
Iron Master society is a pyramidal class structure based on a 17th-century model ruled by warriors (samurai). Below them, in descending order, are – administrators and scribes, craftmasters, merchants, farmers. The base of this pyramid is underpinned by a large reservoir of slave labour; Mutes obtained through barter deals. At all levels of society, women are allocated a secondary, subservient role as consorts, housekeepers and child-bearers.
Supreme power is vested in the shogun, head of the leading samurai family and titular head of the government (bakufu). The shogun is, in theory, supported by the heads of the other samurai families who hold the title of domain-lords.
As their title suggests, these individuals derive their power and wealth from their territorial possessions and the population under their direct control. They also lead and maintain private armies pledged (again in theory) to the service of the shogun and the maintenance of law and order.
As expected, the main features of such a society are (a) its martial character and (b) its respect for authority and tradition. Over the years, these attitudes have been codified into a belief-system (bushido) which lays great emphasis on duty/obligation to one’s superiors (giri), to which any human feeling (ninjo) takes second place. The result is unquestioning obedience and loyalty, first to one’s own domain-lord and through him to the shogun.
Succession is through the male line, and some shogunates hold sway for several generations before being displaced by a stronger rival. As the leadership of the First Family is unchallenged and inviolate, this systematised impermanence requires clarification. For Iron Masters, the shogun is regarded as ‘first among equals’; a domain-lord whose family has won pre-eminence by the consent of his peers or by force of arms. As a result, the power of the shogunate ultimately depends on, and is maintained by, alliances with other domain-lords whose loyalty is spiced with a large measure of self-interest – a pernicious by-product of all ‘open’ systems.
Although ruled by a warrior caste, the Iron Master’s principal activity is internal trade. Mineral resources, agricultural produce and manufactured items are shipped on a supply-and-demand basis from one area to another. All domain-lords are required to make annual support payments (taxes) to the shogunate. The amount paid by each represents a percentage of the assets of their domain. Since the valuation is carried out by government agents, this has, in the past, proved to be a potent source of disaffection.
These payments, together with the sale of trading licences and manufacturing monopolies, provide the revenue needed by the bakufu to carry out the various functions of government.
All surplus goods are bought and sold via a pre-H medium of exchange known as ‘money’. This takes the form of small, thin, rectangular sheets of compressed wood pulp (dollars) and small metal discs (yen), each representing a given number of exchange units (currency) which confers an equivalent purchasing power upon the holder and gives rise to the curious notion of personal ‘wealth’ – an outmoded concept that the Federation has wisely dispensed with.
EXTRACT ENDS
See related entries: CHINKS, DINKS, GOOKS, JAPS, MEATBALLS, NIPS, SLANTS, V-C, YELLOW PERIL.
Prologue
Cadillac handed his bathrobe to his servant, stepped into the deep tub and sank down until the steaming water lapped his chin. Two more female dead-faces, naked except for their white cotton headscarves, stood in the water on either side of him, waiting to cleanse and massage his bronzed body. He motioned them to begin, then closed his eyes and reflected, once again, on his good fortune. Even though he was able to read the future in the seeing-stones, they had not revealed that, in a few short months after leaving the Plainfolk, everything he had ever wished for would be within his grasp. Power, responsibility, a task worthy of his talents, and – most important of all – standing.
His life had been utterly transformed and, for the first time, he felt truly content. The warmth of the water pervaded his body, gently dissolving the flesh and bone. With his eyes still closed against the flickering yellow light of the lanterns he had the sensation of floating, formless, like a spirit-being poured by Mo-Town into the womb of its earth mother.
He cast his mind adrift…
*
Shortly after Steve Brickman had soared into the dawn sky, pursued by several posses of Bears, Cadillac began the construction of a second arrowhead from the parts which the clan had kept
Cadillac smiled as he remembered how careful he had been not to learn too quickly. Brickman had gone back to the dark world of the sand-burrowers without realising he had given away the key to a treasure house of information. Using the power granted by Talisman, he had made a mental carbon copy of everything the cloud warrior knew; every fact he had acquired, every learning experience since birth. The entire range of Brickman’s talents, skills and knowledge were now his to command.
Yes… the loss of Clearwater’s soul was a small price to pay for such gifts.
*
The craft was powered by an electric motor culled from one of the Skyhawks that had fallen in the battle with the iron snake. It was the same motor that Brickman had fitted to Bluebird and then discarded just before his escape because he could not make it work properly. Cadillac did what Steve, in his haste, could not be bothered to do; he took it to pieces, checked every part, rebuilt it with loving care, and then continued to work on it until it functioned perfectly.
Now the equal of Brickman in the air, he took off from the bluff above the settlement, skimming with the same lack of fear over the edge of the steep escarpment into the void. He felt the wind embrace him, felt its cool sweet breath upon his face; was overcome by a rapturous sense of freedom as he was borne upwards in great sweeping spirals like the golden eagles who nested on the nearby mountain peaks.
Higher and higher he went, into the sky-world with its ever-changing sunlit terrain, climbing and diving between the towering walls of the cloud canyons. From afar, they looked like vast impregnable wind-carved snowdrifts, but the curving terraces and lofty pinnacles that cried out to be explored melted away as he approached, dissolving into a soft formless veil that enveloped his craft and swallowed the sun – like the dawn mists that shrouded the earth at the Yellowing. For this was the domain of the Sky Voices; a magical landscape that existed only in the mind’s eye – serene, awe-inspiring, majestic; endowed with the same fugitive beauty as a rainbow – forever beyond the grasp of mortal man.
Looking down, everything seemed so small. The problems that were so burdensome on the ground shrank into insignificance. The sense of release was so overwhelming, he stayed aloft for two whole hours. Even after landing, he was on such an emotional high, his feet hardly seemed to be touching the ground.
Mr Snow, in his characteristically sly way, let him wallow in the glow of self-adoration for a few days then brought him down to earth with a bump by telling him about the bargain he had struck with the Iron Masters. He made it sound so simple: an arrowhead complete and undamaged plus a cloud warrior in similar condition in exchange for new, long, powerful sharp iron. Rifles…
Cadillac responded with a baffled stare. There was no arrowhead. The wrecks of the craft launched from the iron snake had been picked to pieces. And the cloud warrior was long gone.
Mr Snow, seated on the other end of the talking mat, read his thoughts and answered with a glum nod. ‘You’re right. I guess that means it’s down to you.’
Sweet Sky Mother. Cadillac went cold at the thought. For no Mute had ever returned from the Fire Pits of Beth-Lem.
Mr Snow brushed aside his objections. Such ingratitude. Was this how he rewarded Talisman – who had made him a wordsmith and seer, and had now made him the equal of any cloud warrior? Gifts such as these were given to be used on behalf of the Plainfolk. ‘Don’t ever forget what I’m about to tell you,’ he said, solemnly wagging his finger. ‘There is no such thing as a free lunch.’
‘Free lunch…?’
Mr Snow brushed aside the question and proceeded to explain the plan in greater detail. Cadillac was to fly north to the Yellow Stone river, then turn east towards the trading post in the lands of the San’Paul. From there he was to follow the shoreline of the great river, the first of several. The last, which ran north to south, was called Iri. Beyond its eastern shore lay the land of the Iron Masters and the domain of Yama-Shita, lord of the wheelboats. To reach the trading post would mean a perilous journey across hostile turf held by the D’Troit and the C’Natti, but by flying high he could evade the bolts from their crossbows. And although it was asking a great deal, it would be safer still if he was prepared to fly when the world slept under Mo-Town’s starry cloak. By leaving at sunset before the next full moon he would – if all went well – reach his destination sometime during the following day.
At this point, Mr Snow broke off and rummaged through his untidy pile of possessions. After much cursing he eventually unearthed two folded pieces of cloth which, when opened out, proved to be rectangular banners made of fine white fabric.
In the centre of each was a blood-red disc – the mark of the Iron Masters. The banners – which had been brought from Beth-Lem aboard one of Yama-Shita’s wheelboats – were to be fixed beneath the wings of the arrowhead where they could be seen by people on the ground. To ensure its safe reception, the craft was also required to give off a trail of white smoke as soon as it reached Iron Master territory. Green rockets – which Cadillac had seen fired into the sky on his last visit to the trading post – would signal where he was to land.
So far so good. The Iron Masters appeared to have covered all the angles. All except one – the possibility that Mr Snow might proceed to embellish the agreed plan with a few details of his own. Cadillac was to shed his body-paint and go disguised as a Tracker, wearing the clothes of one of the fallen cloud warriors whose head was now staked outside Clearwater’s hut. With his clear skin, his newly acquired knowledge and a short haircut, no one would suspect he was not a Federation wingman. But there was more. The ribbon sewn above the right-hand pocket of his tunic would identify him as ‘8902 BRICKMAN S.R.’
The irony of the situation triggered a burst of shared laughter, obliterating all thoughts of danger – and the equally daunting prospect of losing his long black hair.
While Cadillac tried to strike a mental balance between the risks and the benefits that might flow from accomplishing such a challenging task, Mr Snow unveiled his final surprise. The craft Cadillac had built would need an extra seat for his armed escort.
Clearwater.
Dressed as a She-Wolf, with her unblemished olive skin hidden under swirling patterns of black and brown, Clearwater would pose as an emissary from the clan M’Call. Her real task was to provide moral support and – if the need arose – use her formidable powers as a summoner to protect him and ensure their safe return.
Cadillac bit his lip, choosing not to speak of what he had seen in the stones – that the bond between Clearwater and himself had been broken. Despite the outward pretence, she was no longer his soul-mate. Her thoughts and earth-longings were now centred on the cloud warrior; the Death-Bringer who was fated to return and carry her away on a river of blood.
The blood of the Plainfolk.
At the time when Cadillac had drawn this knowledge from the stones, he had also seen the place where Mr Snow would give up his life so that he, Cadillac, might be saved. In his grief he had shed bitter tears, cursing the gift of seership, and he had silently vowed never to pick up a seeing-stone again. The Wheel turned, the Path was drawn. If nothing could be changed then it was better not to lift the Veil. Let the future hold its secret sorrows; the pain of the present was burden enough.
In the days that followed, as he lengthened the slim fuselage pod and fitted a second seat behind his own, Cadillac tried to come to terms with what had happened. Standing on the bluff with Clearwater and Mr Snow, watching the cloud warrior rise on the freshening wind and turn over the hills towards the south, he had decided there would be no accusations, no recriminations. The true warrior did not allow himself to be deflected by such unworthy emotions as envy or jealousy. But Cadillac had only just begun to take the first few faltering steps along The Way and had not yet attained the necessary degree of philosophical detachment.
Clearwater’s infatuation with the cloud warrior had hurt him deeply. Already persuaded by his own inner demons that he lacked standing, he could not bear the idea of being second-best. Had he wished to avenge his honour, he could have denounced her in front of the assembled clan and demanded her death. By the laws of the Plainfolk, her trial would have been a mere formality.
