Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys (27 page)

Another of the crew, one of the two remaining women, grasped the primary control levers and eased back on them. The R1009 shuddered. She eased back farther. The shuddering increased, then, suddenly, the ship rolled, and the deck righted
itself. There was pressure under their feet, and then, with the twisted frame groaning loudly, the airship slowly rose from the ground.

'We have lift-off.'

The crew spokesman looked inquiringly at the Minstrel Boy. 'Are you ready to take the drug and merge with the remains of the biode?'

'How long will I have to be under?'

'As soon as we have a lock on Palanaque, we'll bring you out.'

'Make sure you do.'

'How shall we administer the cyclatrol?'

'An old-fashioned IV will do.'

— Pressdra Vishnaria

The Human Comedy, Volume 14:

The Damaged Perception

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE
MINSTREL BOY STALKED INTO THE SILVER BALLROOM,
stiff-legged and with a face like a mask. Strangest of all, he was carrying the veetar. Renatta was instantly on her feet.

'Are you okay?'

The Minstrel Boy completely ignored her. He walked to a chair on the far side of the ballroom and sat down. Billy, Reave, and Blaisdell watched silently from the bar. They had seen people coming off the horror of cyclatrol before. It was best to leave them alone. Interference in the process could produce a flash flood of irrational fury. Cyclatrol racked up a lot of short-term anger. Renatta looked around at the other three for some sign as to what to do. Reave placed a finger on his lips and shook his head, warning her to leave well enough alone.

The Minstrel Boy placed the veetar across his lap; his hands gently caressed it, and a wash of soaring notes flowed across the ballroom. He looked up with an expression of mild surprise, peering into thin air as though he were trying to see the music. The first experimental notes grew into an assured rhythmic cascade. The Minstrel Boy's eyes were closed, and his head was slightly inclined. A vein pulsed slightly in his forehead. He played experimentally, searchingly, for close to two minutes, as though feeling for a new power that he relished but distrusted. So far, so good. He started growing stronger each time he repeated the figure, and then his lips began to move. At first his voice was too soft to hear.

'The only thing to grasp for is my place in history.'

Again he looked into thin air as though wondering where the line had come from. He repeated it less tentatively.

The only thing to grasp for is my place in history

You hear me, sweet thing?

The boy is running thirsting

For that fatal dose

Rising from the vault of horror

Under the broken sky

Sea at his feet

And the fire of cities at his back

No time to sleep now

The only thing to ask for is my place in history

You hear me, sweet thing?

Clay Blaisdell undid the snaps on the case of his chromacon and then looked up at Reave. Reave looked uncertain and finally shrugged. What harm could it do? Blaisdell walked slowly toward the Minstrel Boy but received no acknowledgment. He squatted down on the floor, virtually at the Minstrel Boy's feet. His hands moved across the pressure angles, laying down a solid counterpoint to the Minstrel Boy's insistent drive. The Minstrel Boy briefly opened his eyes. He half smiled, then retired back into his own world.

The only thing to crave is immortality

And death is the last rube to cheat

You hear me, sweet thing?

Beyond the thunder

And behind the clouds

The rain is gentle as the massage of the lotus

But the damned can't linger

Hi ho silver lining

The only thing to trade is my place in history

You hear me, sweet thing?

The Minstrel Boy brought the poem to an abrupt halt. Blaisdell looked up in confusion, wondering what was going to happen next. The Minstrel Boy stared around at the others with a wolfish grin.

'You hear me, sweet thing?'

He laughed.

'You hear that? Fuck! I can do it again. I can actually do it!'

Billy, Reave, and Renatta broke out into spontaneous applause. There was no one in the Silver Ballroom of the R1009 who underestimated what the Minstrel Boy had been through. The only question was whether cyclatrol had freed a logjam in the Minstrel Boy's head or whether he had just been driven deeper into the swamp.

As the airship had approached the margin of the nothings, he had been strapped into a hastily rigged contour frame that looked ominously like an instrument of torture. The restraints on him were double-checked in order to minimize the chances of his hurting himself during the expected convulsions. The IV feed was inserted and taped down to his arm, intelligence cushion contacts were placed on the palms of his hands, and his hands were closed into fists and taped shut. With the preparations complete, the first drops of cyclatrol were introduced into his bloodstream.

The effect was instantaneous. His face distorted into what looked like a rictus. His mourn gaped wide in a silent scream, his eyes rolled back into his head, and his whole body twisted and strained against the straps. One of the crew maintained the flow of cyclatrol, and as the drug progressively flooded his system, the rest calmly studied the images that were beginning to appear on the display-sized pseudosurface that dominated the navigator's station.

Renatta put a hand to her mouth. 'I'm not sure that I can watch this.'

One of the crew members looked around. 'It would probably be less distressing if all of you left the control room. You have no function here.'

It was just ten minutes before the combination of the damaged biode and the Minstrel Boy's brain implant located the reality of Palanaque and locked on it. The drug flow was cut as the biode took over the lock, and the Minstrel Boy started screaming out loud. It was twenty minutes before he stopped. When they brought him back to the others, he was white as a sheet and beaded with oily sweat. Billy tried to force cognac between his teeth, but his jaw was locked.

Renatta looked alarmed. 'Is he dead?'

'No, but I think he's in major shock.'

'What can we do for him?'

Reave shook his head. 'There's nothing we can do except let him be.'

The Minstrel Boy confirmed the wisdom of Reave's words just five minutes later when he let out a long agonized sigh and sat bolt upright. 'Okay, so hit it. Don't keep me in suspense. Let's get it over with.'

'He's in a world of his own.'

The Minstrel Boy stood up. With the expression of a zombie, he slowly and mechanically walked away. Renatta started after him, but Reave stopped her.

'Let him be.'

'Shouldn't we go with him?'

'If he wants to be on his own, that's probably for the best.'

'Suppose he kills himself or something while he's like this?'

'I doubt he would, but if he did, it would be his prerogative. A man who's just been overdosed with cyclatrol might have his reasons for not wanting to live any longer.'

But when the Minstrel Boy had been gone for more than three hours, even Reave began to worry. Despite his outward what-ever-happens-happens brand of fatalism, he still did not want to see anything happen to the Minstrel Boy. Thus it was a considerable relief when the Minstrel Boy came walking into the Silver Ballroom carrying the veetar, even though it was clear that he was not fully recovered.

After the first strange musical outburst, the Minstrel Boy went on playing, but with less of that passionate fury. He cut Blaisdell increasing amounts of slack, and inside an hour he had regained some of his color and was happily dueling while Renatta sat close and watched him adoringly. Reave noted that the Minstrel Boy seemed to be the hero of the hour.

As the time-vague nothings streamed by, the journey took on a whole new feel, There was no more to worry about. The disrupter was gone. The warlords and their raiders had destroyed themselves, and although Palanaque might have its drawbacks, life there could hardly be described as ruggisd. Waiting turned into a party as they drank what booze had survived the crash and watched the two poets working out. Even Jet Ace
and Stent came out and joined them, although they sheepishly remained in full armor.

The time went by so fast that it was something of a surprise when the PA announced that they were approaching stasisfall at Palanaque and that those who wanted to see the settlement as they came in over it should go to the; forward viewing gallery. There was considerable merriment as everyone, including the metal men, trooped forward to the gallery.

They were coming into Palanaque at night. Not until morning would they see the full formal grandeur of the city's architecture, but it was hard to miss the Great Pyramid. Floodlights played over the white polished marble of its surfaces, and red, green, and gold lasers flashed across the sky from its apex.

Billy glanced at Blaisdell. 'Does Palanaque have regular night and day?'

Blaisdell nodded. 'Sure does. Both of them, every day. Twelve hours of one and then twelve hours of the other.'

Tiny points of light moved below them like a bright living carpet. They were particularly concentrated at the base of the Great Pyramid. A wide, circular pool was bathed in blue light, and tiny figures could be seen swimming in formation in the illuminated waters. Green floodlights in a grove of palms gave the trees a weird, ghostly quality. The lights of small boats stood out on a dark area that, judging by the rippling reflections, had to be a river.

'Looks pretty busy down there.'

'Oh, sure, they know how to party in Palanaque. Only trouble is everything has to have some bullshit religious significance. Gets in the way of old-fashioned material fun.'

Billy continued to stare out of the gallery windows. 'So where do you think we're going to land this thing?'

The answer came from behind. 'We will put it down right in front of the pyramid.'

Everyone turned in surprise to see Showcross Gee standing there with the other metaphysicians in back of him. Reave wished that they would not sneak around the way they did.

He raised an eyebrow. 'Isn't that a little aggressive?'

'We have to exact our due respect from Great Master Parshew-a-Thar and his people.'

'Exact? We're refugees. Do you really think we should be exacting anything?'

'We are the twenty-seven metaphysicians of Krystaleit.'

'So we drop in on them like gods from the skies.'

'That is an exaggeration.'

The PA intrupted the exchange. 'Reave Mekonta?'

'Yo.'

'We are receiving electrical radio messages from the ground. Do you wish to answer them?'

'What do they want?'

'They wish us to identify ourselves. They seem to fear that we have hostile intent.'

Reave looked at Showcross Gee. 'You want to handle this?'

Showcross Gee shook his head. 'You are the bodyguards. This is your responsibility. We wish to set down exactly in front of the Great Pyramid.'

Reave sighed. 'Whatever you say, boss.' He turned to Billy. 'You come with me. The rest of you stay here.'

In the control room Reave was handed an antique microphone. A voice was coming from an equally ancient speaker.

'Palanaque ground to unidentified airship. You have violated our reality and airspace. Please identify yourself.'

'We are Airship R1009 out of Krystaleit.'

'Please say again, R1009.'

Reave repeated it. 'I say again, we are Airship R1009 out of
Krystaleit.'

There was a long pause. When the radio voice came back, it was flat and hard. 'Krystaleit is no longer.'

'We were the last ship out.'

'To whom are we speaking?'

'I am Reave Mekonta, Master of Arms on the R1009.'

Reave had remembered Blaisdell's warning that they might have to do some fast talking if they wanted to keep their weapons. It was never too early to start laying the groundwork.

'Who else is on the ship?'

'The twenty-seven metaphysicians of Krystaleit.'

'We cannot allow you to land.'

'Why not?'

'It is inauspicious. We are in the middle of the Cha'a festival.'

That certainly did not sound like the tolerance Showcross Gee had talked about. Billy grimaced.

'Maybe the top banana here doesn't want any competition. That's often the way of it among the devout.'

Reave covered the microphone with his hand. 'Any ideas?'

'Tell him the ship's busted, and if we don't land, we'll crash into the pyramid.'

Reave spoke into the mike. 'Our ship has been badly damaged in an encounter with a disrupter. We have to land. I say again, we are damaged and have to land.'

There was another long pause. Then the reply came. 'R1009, you have permission to land.'

'Thank you, Palanaque ground.'

Reave grinned and handed the mike back to the nearest crewman. 'Take her down, right in front of the pyramid, if you please.'

The R1009 slowly circled. The four underside-mounted spotlights that were still intact probed down into the Palanaque darkness, crossing lush parkland and the roofs of geometric single-story buildings, and closed on the Great Pyramid with a definite inevitability. In front of the pyramid there was a wide area of hewn white stone, a plaza with more steps of its own leading up to it. One of the crew members glanced at Reave, and Reave nodded.

'That looks like our spot.'

Unfortunately, the plaza was crowded with people, presumably out celebrating Cha'a.

'Just float overhead, holding a steady position. I'm afraid we're going to have to break up the festivities.'

Close up, the pyramid proved to be exceptionally large, the equivalent of fifty or so stories. The R1009 hung over the plaza at about half its height, a giant, battered silver cigar with four beams of light stabbing down. At first the people on the plaza just stared, as though mesmerized by the visitation. It did not seem to occur to them that the ship might be preparing to come down.

Reave looked down at the situation and then turned to the crewman who was waiting on his orders. 'Start slowly taking her down. Let's show them what we mean to do.'

The R1009 started to descend. The people on the plaza seemed to get the message, and those directly beneath the ship began to back away.

The radio crackled into irate life. 'R1009, this is Palanaque ground. You cannot land at the point you are approaching. I repeat, you cannot land at the point you intend.'

Reave held out his hand for the microphone. 'We're coming down. We have no more power. R1009 out.'

A phalanx of soldiers or militia in white kilts and tunics and carrying long batons cut through the crowd and then formed a square in the center of the plaza. The square quickly expanded to become a growing cordon, herding the celebrants away from the area where the airship would touch down. When everyone was clear below, one of the crew members cut in the mooring beams; like radiant, green fingers, they drew the R1009 to the ground.

Reave hurried back to where the others were waiting. 'We seem to have gained ourselves a reception committee. They don't look to be anything more than spear throwers, but it's good to be careful. We haven't endeared ourselves to anyone here so far. What I suggest is, as soon as the ramp's down, we walk out with our weapons in full view in a discreet show of force.' He glanced back to where Showcross Gee still waited with the other metaphysicians. 'If, of course, that meets with your approval.'

Showcross Gee nodded. 'I see no harm in an initial show of force if Palanaque is being difficult. There must be no violence, however. No violence, under any circumstances.'

'If we're attacked, we reserve the right to return fire. I think you'll find that in the contracts.' Reave was getting heartily sick of Showcross Gee and his detachment.

The ramp lowered, and the main port slid open. By the time the ship touched down, the seven contract warriors were ready. They stood in the port bay with their weapons either cradled in their arms or down at their sides. As soon as the port was fully open, they advanced with purposeful strides and grim expressions. But the soldiers of Palanaque did not look like any particular threat. They were built more for ceremony than for speed, their short, pleated kilts and sleeveless tunics as spotless as the metaphysicians' bodysuits. Their only weapons were polished ten-foot batons, like double-sized pool cues. They might be good for crowd control on a religious holiday, but Billy's multiplex alone was capable of taking out the whole phalanx in under a minute. Stent, in his battle suit, could probably do the job in half the time.