It was over in an instant. I jumped to the marqu6z’s side, tore aside the folds of his cloak.

“Damn! Bolivar-quick-the medkit from the floater.” There was blood everywhere. I used my dagger to cut away his sodden clothing. A hole in his leg, not important, a puncture wound in his abdomen. A bad one. Not much that first aid could do here. I sprayed on antibiotic, slapped pressure bandages on the wounds. Turned him a bit and did the same thing to an exit wound in his side. And tried to remember my anatomy. He had been shot in the gut, that was all too obvious, but at first look no important organs seemed to be hit. And the telltale revealed that his vital signs were still good. What was the next step? “Bolivar-can you fly this thing?” “I can fly anything. Dad. “ “Right. Drag out the pilot and take his place. James, take the marquez’s legs. Gentle does it, up into the seat.” “Shall I get him to a hospital?” Bolivar asked.

“No, that would just be murdering him. The Ultimados would see to it that he never left the place alive. The only chance he has is to get back to the castle. In behind them, James. These two-seaters will carry three in an emergency...” “But, Dad, you...” “They’ll never lift four. Start a saline drip going, watch his vital signs, you know what to do-now move. And don’t worry about your old dad. He’s been in tight spots before. Lift it!” They did. They were good lads. As the floater shot up into the air I dragged the pilot across the road and heaved him into the car. The Ultimado followed; I wasn’t quite as gentle with him. Someone looked out of a nearby house, then darted back inside. I had to get out of this area quickly-an imoortant first step for any survival plan I might come up with. I could hear the sirens coming this way already.

As I jumped behind the wheel I realized I should have asked Bolivar for a driving lesson. I didn’t share his enthusiasm for antique machinery. All I could do was gape at the hundreds of polished valves, handles, buttons and gauges. But this was no time to gape! I grabbed the largest handle and pulled.

There was a hideous roar, and an immense black and white cloud enveloped the car; I quickly pushed the handle back. I had blown the stack, used live steam to blast clean the exhaust. I worked more gingerly after that. Not too much later, after I had cleaned the windshield, turned on the lights, radio and music player, I succeeded in feeding steam to the engine and we trundled off down the road.

I took the first turning at random, then the next. The road led gradually up into the foothills and the houses began thinning out. I couldn’t hear the sirens any more so I slowed in order to attract less attention. But where could I go? There was no escape from airborne observation. They would be on to me any minute now. Another bend revealed a large home with attached garage. A car had just backed out of the garage and had turned into the road.

I hit the brakes, twisted the wheel, bounced over the curb and across the lawn and skidded into the just-vacated garage. I was still braking as the car slammed into the rear wall with metallic bang.

The steering wheel had caught me on the forehead, so I felt very rubber-legged as I climbed down and staggered out into the fresh air. I really wasn’t prepared for any conversation with the large and irate man who stood before me.

“Are you insane? What do you mean driving into my garage like this, wrecking it?” “Urggle,” I said, or something that sounded very much like that. I waggled my jaw a bit to free it up.

“What games are you playing at?” Words failed him as he spluttered with rage; violence overcame him. He swung a hard fist at my jaw.

Well, dizzy or no, this was a language I could easily understand. I stepped inside the clumsy blow and let him have a far better aimed, and possibly harder, fist into the midriff. His only option was to fold over and collapse, which he promptly did. A siren shrieked loudly as I stepped over him and clutched the handle of the overhead door. As I pulled it shut I had a quick glimpse of a police cruiser hurtling by. I swallowed loudly and listened for the squeal of the brakes as it stopped, turned, came back...

The sound lessened and died away. They hadn’t seen me.

For the first time in a century and half I let myself relax. And looked at my watch. That was exaggerating the time span a little bit. In fact less than two hours had passed since we had walked through the front door of the Presidio. So much for subjective and objective time.

Action over for the moment. A question presented itself that needed answering soonest. Was the owner of this garage and house alone? A small window set into the garage door let in a measure of light. I squinted through it to see the owner’s car still standing patiently before the house. Empty, All I could do was leave it there for the moment. If there were anyone in the house who saw it and came to investigate, why that bridge would be crossed if it were ever there to cross.

Next step. Plan. The house and car owner stirred and moaned and I gave him surcease from sorrow with a quick needle from my gun. I pondered his now-still form and bits of a plan began to come together. A change of identity was needed since my garish aristocratic rig would easily be noticed. A uniform? A possibility, but eventually a liability. But what about an excellently cut white summer suit, with wide-brimmed matching white hat decorated with a snakeskin band? A very nice one lay on the floor before me; all it needed was dusting off. And the owner of the suit had a car waiting for him outside. Nor did I feel too sorry for this not-too-innocent victim. Anyone who had prospered to his degree under the corrupt Zapilote regime had to be into something not too nice. I rationalized as I stripped him. Trying not to notice that all of his undergarments were lace-edged gold lame set with scarlet hearts. This hinted at situations best left unconsidered.

The first thing that had to go was my beard. There was solvent in my bag which loosened the adhesive so that I could tear the hair away in big chunks. I stuffed it into the bag to take with me, since the longer the forces of evil thought it was still attached to my face the happier I would be.

The suit made a really good fit as did, surprisingly, his shoes. We were like twins, except of course for our tastes in underwear. And I was still undisturbed. I placed my benefactor tenderly on the rear seat of the car, his feet resting on the face-down form of the unconscious Ultimado thug, then picked up my bag and let myself out of the garage. The sun shone warmly even though it was close to the horizon, there was no sign of activity in the adjoining house-and my car awaited at the curb. As I strolled towards it a large, black police vehicle roared back the way it had come. Paying me no heed at all. My car was bright red and sporty and, how considerate!, the motor had been left running. The controls were far simpler than those of the steam car, so much so that within a minute I was rolling majestically down the street.

Where to? The answer to that one was obvious. Back into the city. By now there woald be roadblocks on all the exits from Primoroso. And once the police begin to stop people to ask for identification they always get carried away by enthusiasm. Everyone gets stopped, all the vehicles are searched. And, though we were of tile same build, the car-owner’s ID would certainly not fit me. No, the best idea was to move away from the action, to seek the security of the big city. Then I could stop and think about the next step. A rat is always safest in the warrens of the city, a stainless steel rat no less.

I worked away at the controls and, after only a few mistakes, folding top up and down, a blast on the horn, I managed to find the music player controls. After this I rolled in comfort back to Primoroso, whistling melodically along with a catchy tune that was all syncopation and percussion.