this mission? It's up to you."
He surveyed the intent young faces. "Well?"
Melinda spoke first. "Solo."
"No, Melly." Cesar shook his head at her. "I think we get more benefit working together."
Connery looked at Asparian.
"I agree with Cesar. We should cooperate."
"And you, Jake?"
Kallario looked at each of the others. His gaze lingered on Mike. I'll work with you when I have to, Asparian, it seemed to say. But not if I have a choice. "I say, we work solo."
"Two for each." Connery shrugged. "In that case, Kallario as senior member of the group breaks a tie vote. So you'll all be working solo. Remember what that means: you can each tell any of the others your thoughts or your findings, but you are not obliged to; and no one is required to reciprocate. Now, let's get you on your way."
The atmosphere in the plane during the Darklands flight had been unmistakably unpleasant. Mike knew that Jake was still furious with him, and Cesar was annoyed with Jake. Cesar was convinced they ought to be working together. Only Melinda had tried to smooth things over, speculating about the coronation ceremony.
"Spears and gold robes and ostrich plume hats, that's what I'm betting on."
"What have you been reading? Ancient history?" Cesar handed her a fat volume of briefing materials prepared by Daddy-O. "Here, Melly. Take a look at this, and bring yourself up to date. Rasool Ilunga wants the Ten Tribes to become more technological. He's already started to build a weapons arsenal."
"I don't call weapons technology. I'd rather he went in for gold and feathers."
"Well, Ilunga disagrees, and he owns the place—or he will, in two more days. Anyway, ostriches are extinct. They haven't been around this continent for half a century."
"More's the pity."
But now, walking across the scorching ground to the waiting cars, Mike saw to his delight that half a dozen of the waiting people were carrying long spears—and wearing headdresses decorated with the gorgeous plumage of ostrich tail feathers. He reached out to tug Melinda's sleeve. "It's red robes, not gold," he said softly. "Otherwise you hit it exactly."
Inongo Kiri had somehow heard him—the albino must have ears like a cat. He turned his head as he led the way. "Wait until the coronation, Mikal Asparian. You'll see your gold then—and a lot of other things you will like."
They had reached the leading car. Inongo Kiri made no attempt to introduce them to any of the standing natives. He ushered them into the enormous and antique vehicle, two in front and two behind, then took the driver's seat himself. After two minutes of fiddling with a control on the dashboard, he turned a long copper key, started the engine, and drove off at a sedate pace to the norm, following the riverbank. The car's motor coughed and choked. The exhaust spat out clouds of blue smoke behind them. To the surprise of the trainees, a couple of dozen of the people around the other cars, still ceremonially clad in their long robes, began to run along behind.
Mike Asparian and Melinda Turak were sitting together in the rear. She turned her head and watched the struggling runners. "A technological society!" she shouted to Mike.
With the racket from the engine, there was no chance that she would be overheard by anyone, no matter how good their ears. Mike could scarcely hear her himself, with her mouth only a few inches away from his head. "That's what the briefing materials said," he called back.
"Well, a bit of technology is long overdue." She banged the battered side of the car. "This is a mobile junk heap. Do you know, I believe it has a gasoline engine. Where are they getting the fuel?"
Mike merely shook his head. The reek of those exhaust fumes was poisonous—it was alarming to think what it must be doing to those running behind. The car was traveling at only a few miles an hour, and a great cloud of blue-black smoke marked their progress all the way from the airfield.
A cluster of new buildings was creeping
He surveyed the intent young faces. "Well?"
Melinda spoke first. "Solo."
"No, Melly." Cesar shook his head at her. "I think we get more benefit working together."
Connery looked at Asparian.
"I agree with Cesar. We should cooperate."
"And you, Jake?"
Kallario looked at each of the others. His gaze lingered on Mike. I'll work with you when I have to, Asparian, it seemed to say. But not if I have a choice. "I say, we work solo."
"Two for each." Connery shrugged. "In that case, Kallario as senior member of the group breaks a tie vote. So you'll all be working solo. Remember what that means: you can each tell any of the others your thoughts or your findings, but you are not obliged to; and no one is required to reciprocate. Now, let's get you on your way."
The atmosphere in the plane during the Darklands flight had been unmistakably unpleasant. Mike knew that Jake was still furious with him, and Cesar was annoyed with Jake. Cesar was convinced they ought to be working together. Only Melinda had tried to smooth things over, speculating about the coronation ceremony.
"Spears and gold robes and ostrich plume hats, that's what I'm betting on."
"What have you been reading? Ancient history?" Cesar handed her a fat volume of briefing materials prepared by Daddy-O. "Here, Melly. Take a look at this, and bring yourself up to date. Rasool Ilunga wants the Ten Tribes to become more technological. He's already started to build a weapons arsenal."
"I don't call weapons technology. I'd rather he went in for gold and feathers."
"Well, Ilunga disagrees, and he owns the place—or he will, in two more days. Anyway, ostriches are extinct. They haven't been around this continent for half a century."
"More's the pity."
But now, walking across the scorching ground to the waiting cars, Mike saw to his delight that half a dozen of the waiting people were carrying long spears—and wearing headdresses decorated with the gorgeous plumage of ostrich tail feathers. He reached out to tug Melinda's sleeve. "It's red robes, not gold," he said softly. "Otherwise you hit it exactly."
Inongo Kiri had somehow heard him—the albino must have ears like a cat. He turned his head as he led the way. "Wait until the coronation, Mikal Asparian. You'll see your gold then—and a lot of other things you will like."
They had reached the leading car. Inongo Kiri made no attempt to introduce them to any of the standing natives. He ushered them into the enormous and antique vehicle, two in front and two behind, then took the driver's seat himself. After two minutes of fiddling with a control on the dashboard, he turned a long copper key, started the engine, and drove off at a sedate pace to the norm, following the riverbank. The car's motor coughed and choked. The exhaust spat out clouds of blue smoke behind them. To the surprise of the trainees, a couple of dozen of the people around the other cars, still ceremonially clad in their long robes, began to run along behind.
Mike Asparian and Melinda Turak were sitting together in the rear. She turned her head and watched the struggling runners. "A technological society!" she shouted to Mike.
With the racket from the engine, there was no chance that she would be overheard by anyone, no matter how good their ears. Mike could scarcely hear her himself, with her mouth only a few inches away from his head. "That's what the briefing materials said," he called back.
"Well, a bit of technology is long overdue." She banged the battered side of the car. "This is a mobile junk heap. Do you know, I believe it has a gasoline engine. Where are they getting the fuel?"
Mike merely shook his head. The reek of those exhaust fumes was poisonous—it was alarming to think what it must be doing to those running behind. The car was traveling at only a few miles an hour, and a great cloud of blue-black smoke marked their progress all the way from the airfield.
A cluster of new buildings was creeping
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