“For example-they searched us and took away everything we had on us. Every item except one. I still have a little souvenir in my shoe from my trip to jail. This.”. 1 held up the lockpick and his smile widened. “And it works-see.” I opened my paincuffand showed it to him, then snapped it back into place. “So when we are ready to leave-we leave!” By this time the grin had widened into a full smile. He reached out and seized my shoulder in a grip of true comradeship. “How right you are, “ he beamed. “We shall be good slaves-for a time. Just long enough to learn the ropes of this society, the chain of command and how to penetrate it, what the sources of wealth are and how to acquire them. As soon as I determine where the chinks are in the structure of society here we shall become rats again. Not stainless steel ones, I am afraid, -more of the furry, toothy kind. “ “A rat by any other name is just as sweet. We will overcome!” We had to leap aside then as the first of the crates was manhandled into the back of the cart, the fabric of its battered structure squeaking and groaning. When the last of the cases was aboard the loaders climbed in themselves. I was glad the light was so bad-1 really did not want to look at them too closely. Three scruffy, dirty men, unshaven and dressed in rags. Unwashed too as my twitching nose quickly informed me. Then a fourth man heaved himself up, bigger and nastier than the others, although his garments were in slightly better shape. He glared down at us and I smelled trouble, in addition to the pong.

“You know who I am? I’m the Pusher. This is my bunch and you do what I say. The first thing I say is you, old man, take off that jacket. It’ll look better on me than on you.” “Thank you for the suggestion, sir,” The Bishop answered sweetly. “But I think I shall retain it.” I knew what he was doing and I hoped that I was up to it. There was little room tct~move about in and this thug was twice my size. I had time for one blow, no more, and it had to be a good one.

The brute roared in anger and started climbing over the crates. The terrified slaves scrambled out of his way. I scrambled aside too and he ignored me as he passed. Perfect. He was just clutching at The Bishop when I hit him in the back of the neck with my joined fists. There was a satisfactory thunk and he collapsed on top of the crate.

I turned to the slaves who were watching in wide-eyed silence.

“You just got a new pusher,” I told them, and there were quick nods of agreement. I pointed to the nearest one. “What’s my name?” “Pusher,” he answered instantly. “Just don’t turn your back on that one when he comes to. “ “Will you help me?” His grin exposed blackened, broken teeth. “Won’t help you fight. Warn you though if you don’t beat us the way he did. “ “No beating. You all help?” All of them nodded agreement.

“Good. Then your first assignment will be to throw the old pusher out of this cart. I don’t want to be too close when he comes to.” They did this with enthusiasm, and added a few kicks on their own initiative.

“Thank you, James, I appreciate the help,” The Bishop said. “My thinking was that you would probably have to fight him sooner or later, so why not sooner, with myself as distraction. And our rise in this society has begun-for you have already climbed out of the basic slave category. Suffering satellites-what is that?” I looked where he pointed and my eyes popped just as far out as his. It was a machine of some kind, that much was obvious. It was advancing slowly towards us, rattling and clanking and emitting fumes. The operator swivelled it about in front of the cart as his assistant jumped down and joined the two together. There was a jolt and we slowly got underway.

“Look closely, Jim, and remember,” he said. “You are seeing something from the dawn of technology, long forgotten and lost in the midst of time. That landcar is powered by steam. It is a stearncar, as I live and breathe. You know, I am beginning to think that I will enjoy it here.” I was not as fascinated by neolithic machinery as he was. My thoughts were more on the deposed thug and what would happen when he came after me. I had to learn more about the ground rules-and quickly. I moved back to the other slaves, but before I could open conversation we clattered across a bridge and through a gate in a high wall. The driver of our steam chariot stopped and called out. ’ “Unload those here.” In my new persona as Pusher I supervised but did little to help. The last case was just dropped to the ground when one of my slaves called out to me.

“He’s coming now-through the gate behind you!” I turned quickly. He was right. The ex-pusher was there, scratched and bloody and red-faced with rage.

He bellowed as he attacked.

Chapter 20

Ilie first thing that I did was run away from my attackerwho roared after me in hot pursuit. This was done not through fear, though I did have a certain amount of that, but from the need to get some space around me. As soon as I was well away from the cart I turned and tripped him so he sprawled full-length in the muck.

This drew a big laugh from the onlookers; I took a quick glance around while he was climbing to his feet. There were armed guards, more slaves-and the red-garbed Capo Doccia who had cleaned us out. An idea began to formbut before it took shape I had to move to save my life.

The thug was learning. No more wild rushing about. Instead he came slowly towards me, arms spread, fingers extended. If I allowed him a sweet embrace I would not emerge from it alive. I backed slowly, turning to face Capo Doccia, moved to one side, then stepped quickly forward. Seizing one of my attacker’s outstretched hands in both of mine, pulling and falling backwards at the same time. My weight was just about enough to send him flying over me to sprawl full-length again.

I was on my feet at once-with the plan clear in my mind. An exhibition.

“That was the right arm,” I called out loudly.

He was stumbling when he returned to the attack so I took a chance and called my shot. “Right knee.” I used a flying kick to get him on the kneecap. This is quite painful and he screamed as he dropped. He was slower getting to his feet this time, but the hatred was still 140 there. He was not going to stop until he was unconscious. Good. All the better for my demonstration of the art. “Left arm.” I seized it and twisted it up behind his back, held it there, pushing hard. He was strong-and still fighting, trying to clutch me with his right hand, struggling to trip me. I got in first.

“Left leg,” I shouted as I kicked hard on the back of his calf and he went down another time. I stepped back and looked towards Capo Doccia. I had his undivided attention. “Can you kill as well as dance?” he asked.

“I can. But I chose not to.” I was aware that my opponent had stood up, was swaying from side to side. I turned slightly so I could see him out of the corner of my eye. “What I prefer is to render him unconscious. That way I win the fight-and you still have a slave.” The thug’s hands closed on my neck and he bubbled viciously. I was showing off and I knew it. But I had to provide a good performance for my audience. So, without looking at all, I slammed backwards with my bent arm. Sinking my elbow Jiard into his gut, in the center, just below the rib cage, in line with the elbows. Right into the nerve ganglion known as the solar plexus. His hands loosened and I stepped forward. Hearing the thud as he hit the ground. Outcold.

Capo Doccia signalled me to him, spoke when I was close.

“That is a new way to fight, ofiworlder. We make wagers on the ruffians here who battle with their fists, striking each other until the blood flows and one of them cannot go on.” “Fighting like that is crude and wasteful. To know where to strike and how to strike, that is an art.” “But your art is of no value against sharp steel,” he said, half-pulling his sword. I had to tread carefully now or he would be chopping me up just to see what I could do.