Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys (13 page)

The bandido's voice was a sob. 'I've had it . . . just stop the pain.'

Reave looked at the Minstrel Boy. 'You can only do him like he's asking.'

The Minstrel Boy drew his Colt and pointed it at the bandido's head but hesitated before he fired. 'I don't know about this.'

Reave didn't wait any longer. In one smooth, almost casual motion, he raised a pistol and shot the man squarely between the eyes. 'Now let's get the hell out of here.'

Back out in the sun, the Minstrel Boy shuddered. 'This shit is getting out of hand.'

Reave looked back once at the cantina and then walked purposefully toward the Saab. 'I'm going to turn the heat ray on that place.'

Billy, Renatta, and the Minstrel Boy watched the cantina burn as Reave proved as good as his word. Using both pistols, he systematically slaughtered the vulture bats. The four of them were taking a last depressed look around before leaving the ruins of Santa Freska when they heard the whine of the rocket motor. Reave immediately went into action.

'Incoming aircraft! Spread out, under cover! Billy, get back in the tank, on-line the ground-to-air.'

'You got it.'

At first it was just a dot on the horizon, flying low and follow
ing the path of the road. Even when it came closer, it was still hard to make out any details. Only when it made a slow circle of the oasis was the reason for their confusion clear. It was a flying man, or at least a humanoid shape, riding the air with a dorsal jetpack strapped across his shoulders. After a second circuit the flier altered the attitude of his body, hovered, and slowly dropped, boots first, for a soft landing beside the tank.

'I'm looking for Rajav Taraquin.'

The Minstrel Boy muttered under his breath. 'Doctor Livingstone, I presume.'

Renatta looked at him as though he had gone mad. 'What?'

'Arcane cultural reference.'

'You're nuts.'

If the newcomer had had any more steel or ceramic grafted to his body, he would have ceased to qualify as human. Even as he was, he was still very close to the verge of robothood. His head was totally enclosed in a massive, featureless bullet helmet. A huge yoke collar and chest plate, which must have housed his control systems and biode, extended over his back to where the weightless dorsal mounting held the rocket motor in position. Motion servos had been built into his biceps, and his hands ended in the blunt steel fists of his multiple-function assault gloves. More ropes of servos ran down his thighs to a pair of boots that could have held up a mobile crane. Power calipers helped support his overall weight. Even his voice was amplified and electronically enhanced.

Reave stepped out of cover and faced the flying man. 'Taraquin's been through here, but he's gone already.'

'That's too bad. Are you some of his men?'

'Just a party of honest travelers.'

Renatta and the Minstrel Boy stepped out into the open. They held their weapons down at their sides but were braced for action.

The flying man spread his huge metal hands. 'I really mean you no harm.'

As if to prove his point, he began to unscrew the bullet helmet, then lifted it over his head. The uncovered face was a complete contrast to the rest of him. It was soft and feminine. Large brown eyes were framed by long lashes, and soft, damp curls fell over his forehead. Stripped of the electronics, his voice was high and girlish. 'That's better; it gets hot in there.'

Reave nodded. 'I'm sure it does.'

'The name is Jet Ace.'

Reave nodded again. 'Reave Mekonta.'

Jet Ace held out one of his gloves in greeting. Reave touched it briefly.

'I'm pleased to meet you, Jet Ace. This here's the Minstrel Boy, and the lady's Renatta de Luxe.'

He omitted to mention Billy, who was still sitting in the tank. Jet Ace smiled. His soft, almost shy smile was wholly at odds with the ponderous metalbound way in which the rest of him moved.

'Haven't I maybe heard of you guys?' he asked.

'It's possible.'

'You're heroes, right?'

Reave firmly shook his head. 'No, not us. We're just travelers.'

'I'm a hero.'

'No kidding?'

'At least I will be, when I've made a name for myself.'

'Jet Ace is a good name for a hero.'

The Minstrel Boy asked the obvious question. 'Why were you looking for Taraquin?'

'I thought that I might hook up with his army. I'm something of a one-man air force.'

The Minstrel Boy nodded thoughtfully. 'I can imagine that.' He looked pointedly around at the carnage that had once been Santa Freska. 'From the way he left this place, it doesn't seem that this Taraquin is very pleasant person. Probably a psychopath. Hardly a suitable companion for a hero.'

Jet Ace slowly turned, shuffling his enormous boots. He took in the ravaged town. 'I see what you mean. Perhaps it would be a better idea if I was to kill him.'

'That would be one way of making a name for yourself.'

'I have this lizardbrain implant, and I sometimes become a little confused regarding my ultimate goals.'

'That's understandable.'

The Minstrel Boy leaned close to Reave and whispered in his ear. 'This guy's loaded out of his mind on cyclatrol.'

'You think so?'

'Sure, look at the way he's sweating. He's been finding his
own way through the nothings for too long. He's crazy. He's in worse shape than Billy.'

'He's also built like a human fighter plane.'

'That should make life interesting for someone. Let's hope it's not us.'

Jet Ace had moved off and was looking at the bodies under the palms. 'The more I think about this, the more I believe that it would be a very good idea to kill Ravaj Taraquin.'

'A lot of people might be real grateful.'

'You think so?'

'I tell you what. If it's any help to you, we heard where Taraquin was heading.'

Jet Ace clumped toward them. 'You did?'

'He's supposed to be linking up with another warlord called Vlad Baptiste. They intend to storm the town of Idleberg.'

Jet Ace was already replacing his helmet. The electronics came back on, and his voice regained its previous heroic quality. 'I must make all speed to Idleberg.' He paused. 'You think I should kill this Vlad Baptiste as well?'

The Minstrel Boy nodded solemnly.

'Definitely.'

'Then I shall slay the pair of them.'

He bent his knees. The rocket cut in, and he rose swiftly into the air. When he was at treetop level, he turned his body to a horizontal position, stretched his arms in front of him, and sped away to the east. The Minstrel Boy, Reave, and Renatta watched him go.

Renatta shaded her eyes against the sun. 'You think he has a sex life?'

Reave laughed. 'I'd sure like to see that.'

The Minstrel Boy was peering into the distance. 'Is it a bird? Is it a plane?'

Reave looked at him blankly. 'Huh?'

Renatta smiled. 'Another arcane cultural reference.'

— Pressdra Vishnana

The Human Comedy, Volume 14:

The Damaged Perception

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE MINSTREL BOY WAVED A HAND AT THE GLOWING SPHERE
that dominated the display on the pseudosurface. 'That's Krystaleit.'

'Are you sure?'

'Sure as you can be of anything.'

'So we're going in?'

'That's the general idea.'

Billy leaned back in his berth and folded his arms behind his head. 'It's been a long time since I was in Krystaleit.'

Reave glanced up from cleaning his pistol. 'Are you sure you're not wanted there?'

Billy shook his head. 'I already told you. Not that I know of.'

Reave turned to the Minstrel Boy. 'What about you?'

'Clean, to my knowledge.'

'Renatta?'

'Nobody wants me anywhere.'

Reave grinned. 'I'm sure that's not true.'

Renatta giggled throatily, and the Minstrel Boy cocked an eyebrow. He was starting to wonder if there was something going on between Reave and Renatta. The trip from Santa Freska had been tediously decorous. Renatta had left him strictly alone, but he could not shake the feeling that she and Reave had engaged in some covert coupling while he and Billy had been asleep. He caught Renatta's eye, and she beamed at him with the same flash of promise that there had been when they had first left the Caverns in the gold submarine. He was now totally confused, but he knew that it was no time to have his concentration disturbed by romantic complexities.

'Going into Krystaleit can be a bit weird,' he said. 'It's just so big. Where most stasis settlements are built traditionally, from the ground up, with at least the illusion of land and sky, Krystaleit occupies all of its stabilized space. It's basically a vast sphere hanging in the nothings that's honeycombed with constructions on a dozen or more levels. You come in onto one of these huge ring platforms that circle the main sphere. At times of peak traffic these platforms get real crowded, and accidents do happen.

'Can you handle it?'

The Minstrel Boy shrugged. 'All I can do is try.

'Do your best there, boy. We don't want no accidents.' The decision to make for Krystaleit had come only after a good deal of discussion. There had been general agreement that the small backcountry settlements were becoming far too strange. The DNA Cowboys wanted no repeats of Santa Freska and no more psychos like Vlad Baptiste or, at the other extreme, lunatics like Jet Ace. It became a little more difficult when it was time to select one particular city as an ultimate destination. Even the little that Billy remembered about his criminal record seem to exclude him from two-thirds of the major cities in the Damaged World. Finally, Krystaleit had been chosen after Billy had assured the others that he would not be arrested the moment they rolled out of the nothings.

They came out into the middle of a funeral. The Minstrel Boy had to stand on the Saab's brakes, locking the treads, to stop them from plowing into the main procession. Angry heads turned as the Minstrel Boy backed the tank out of the way. The hundred or more mourners were dressed in flowing creations of pure spotless white. Krystaleit was one of the places where white was the accepted color of death. It was considered to be the symbol of completion, of all things made one. The mourners wore elaborate and immensely expensive costumes — high diaphanous headdresses with sweeps of muslin and lace that flowed and floated. Surprisingly, there was a lot of exposure of bare flesh, and a high proportion of the mourners were tall, long-legged, and extremely handsome women. The Minstrel Boy wondered who had died. The corpse, wrapped in a white lace shroud and wearing a gold crown on its head, was sitting upright in a litter, borne on the muscular shoulders of six identical young men in white loincloths and body paint.

As the procession wound its way to the edge of the nothings, the mourners sang a high, wordless chant that steadily grew in intensity. When they finally halted at the very edge of the non-matter, the song had reached the level of coordinated screaming. The Minstrel Boy had expected that after due ceremony, the corpse would be ejected into the nothings and the funeral party would return to the business of the living. Thus, it came as something of a surprise when nothing of the kind happened. The young men carrying the litter simply walked into the nothings without the slightest hesitation. Two by two, they smoked and vanished and became one with the non. There was a sustained sigh as the corpse itself and the last pair of bearers disappeared. Then the voices picked up a theme that was more jaunty and rhythmic, and the procession started back the way it had come. The Minstrel Boy wondered what had been done to the six young men to make them sacrifice themselves in such a seemingly pointless manner. Brainwashed or drugged or in the throes of some metaphysical madness? It was possible that they had been specifically created for nothing more than the funeral — mere products of the stuff receiver — and that nobody looked on their deaths as a loss. He was reminded that human behavior in Krystaleit could be exceedingly perverse at times.