"Who does know?"

"We cannot tell you.  If you don't know, then that information cannot be wrested from you.  We assure you, though, that Jedrik isn't one of our people."

McKie didn't like the sound of that warning.  ". . . wrested from you."  As usual, BuSab sent you into the tiger's mouth without a full briefing on the length of the tiger's fangs.

Bahrank gestured toward his tracked vehicle.  "Shall we go?"

McKie glanced at the machine.  It was an obvious war device, heavily armored with slits in its metal cab, projectile weapons protruding at odd angles.  It looked squat and deadly.  Aritch's people had mentioned such things.

"We saw to it that they got only primitive armored vehicles, projectile weapons and relatively unimportant explosives, that sort of thing.  They've been quite resourceful in their adaptations of such weaponry, however."

Once more, Bahrank gestured toward his vehicle, obviously anxious to leave.

McKie was forced to suppress an abrupt feeling of profound anxiety.  What had he gotten himself into?  He felt that he had awakened to find himself on a terrifying slide into peril, unable to control the least threat.  The sensation passed, but it left him shaken.  He delayed while he continued to stare at the vehicle.  It was about six meters long with heavy tracks, plus other wheels faintly visible within the shadows behind the tracks.  It sported a conventional antenna at the rear for tapping the power transmitter in orbit beneath the barrier veil, but there was a secondary system which burned a stinking fuel.  The smoke of that fuel filled the air around them with acridity.

"For what do we wait?" Bahrank demanded.  He glared at McKie with obvious fear and suspicion.

"We can go now," McKie said.

Bahrank turned and led the way swiftly, clambering up over the tracks and into a shadowed cab.  McKie followed, found the interior a tightly cluttered place full of a bitter, oily smell.  There were two hard metal seats with curved backs higher than the head of a seated Human or Gowachin.  Bahrank already occupied the seat on the left, working switches and dials.  McKie dropped into the other seat.  Folding arms locked across his chest and waist to hold him in place; a brace fitted itself to the back of his head.  Bahrank threw a switch.  The door through which they'd entered closed with a grinding of servomotors and the solid clank of locks.

An ambivalent mood swept over McKie.  He had always felt faint agoraphobia in open places such as the area around the rock.  But the dim interior of this war machine, with its savage reminders of primitive times, touched an atavistic chord in his psyche and he fought an urge to claw his way outside.  This was a trap!

An odd observation helped him overcome the sensation.  There was glass over the slits which gave them their view of the outside.  Glass.  He felt it.  Yes, glass.  It was common stuff in the ConSentiency - strong yet fragile.  He could see that this glass wasn't very thick.  The fierce appearance of this machine had to be more show than actuality, then.

Bahrank gave one swift, sweeping glance to their surroundings, moved levers which set the vehicle into lurching motion.  It emitted a grinding rumble with an overriding whine.

A track of sorts led from the white rock toward the distant city.  It showed the marks of this machine's recent passage, a roadway to follow.  Glittering reflections danced from bright rocks along the track.  Bahrank appeared very busy with whatever he was doing to guide them toward Chu.

McKie found his own thoughts returning to the briefings he'd received on Tandaloor.

"Once you enter Jedrik's cell you're on your own."

Yes . . . he felt very much alone, his mind a clutter of data which had little relationship to any previous experience.  And this planet could die unless he made sense out of that data plus whatever else he might learn here.

Alone, alone . . . If Dosadi died there'd be few sentient watchers.  The Caleban's tempokinetic barrier would contain most of that final destructive flare.  The Caleban would, in fact, feed upon the released energy.  That was one of the things he'd learned from Fannie Mae.  One consuming blast, a meal for a Caleban, and BuSab would be forced to start anew and without the most important piece of physical evidence - Dosadi.

The machine beneath McKie thundered, rocked, and skidded, but always returned to the track which led toward Chu's distant spires.

McKie studied the driver covertly.  Bahrank showed uncharacteristic behavior for a Gowachin:  more direct, more Human.  That was it!  His Gowachin instincts had been contaminated by contact with Humans.  Aritch was sure to despise that, fear it.  Bahrank drove with a casual expertise, using a complex control system.  McKie counted eight different levers and arms which the Gowachin employed.  Some were actuated by knees, others by his head.  His hands reached out while an elbow deflected a lever.  The war machine responded.

Bahrank spoke presently without taking his attention from driving.

"We may come under fire on the second ledge.  There was quite a police action down there earlier."

McKie stared at him.

"I thought we had safe passage through."

"You Rimmers are always pressing."

McKie peered out the slits:  bushes, barren ground, that lonely track they followed.

Bahrank spoke.

"You're older than any Rimmer I ever saw before."

Aritch's people had warned McKie about this as a basic flaw in his cover, the need to conceal the subtle signs of age.

They'd provided him with some geriatric assistance and an answer to give when challenged.  He used that answer now.

"It ages you in a hurry out here."

"It must."

McKie felt that something in Bahrank's response eluded him, but dared not pursue this.  It was an unproductive exchange.  And there was that reference to a "police action."  McKie knew that the Rim Rabble, excluded from Chu, tried periodic raids, most often fruitless.  Barbaric!

"What excuse did you use to come out here?"  McKie asked.

Bahrank shot a probing glance at him, raised one webbed hand from the controls to indicate a handle in the roof over his head.  The handle's purpose was unknown to McKie, and he feared he had already betrayed too much ignorance.  But Bahrank was speaking.

"Officially, I'm scouting this area for any hidden surprises the Rimmers may have stored out here.  I often do that.  Unofficially, everyone thinks I've a secret pond out here full of fertile females."

A pond . . . not a Graluz.  Again, it was a relatively fruitless exchange with hidden undertones.

McKie stared silently ahead through a slit.  Their dusty track made a slow and wide sweep left, abruptly angled down onto a narrow ledge cut from red rock walls.  Bahrank put them through a series of swift changes in speed:  slow, fast, slow, fast.  The red rock walls raced past.  McKie peered out and downward on his side.  Far below lay jungle verdure and, in the distance, the smoke and spires of Chu - fluted buildings ranked high over dim background cliffs.

The speed changes appeared purposeless to McKie.  And the dizzy drop off the cliff on his side filled him with awe.  Their narrow ledge hugged the cliff, turning as the cliff turned - now into shadows and now into light.  The machine roared and groaned around him.  The smell of oil made his stomach heave.  And the faraway city seemed little closer than it had from the cliff top, except that it was taller, more mysterious in its smoky obscurity.

"Don't expect any real trouble until we reach the first ledge," Bahrank said.

McKie glanced at him.  First ledge?  Yes, that'd be the first elevation outside the city's walls.  The gorge within which Chu had been raised came down to river level in broad steps, each one numbered.  Chu had been anchored to island hills and flats where the river slowed and split into many arms.  And the hills which had resisted the river were almost solid iron ore, as were many of the flanking ledges.