Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys (32 page)

A well-trodden path ran away from the pier and then curved
and zigzagged up a steep hillside for over a mile. After a half hour of solid climbing, both men were close to winded.

'We've been living soft for too long.'

'Let's take a break.'

Reave got no argument from the Minstrel Boy, and both men flopped down on the soft turf.

'Goddamn.'

When the Minstrel Boy had caught his breath, he propped himself up on one elbow. 'How long do you figure we should go on following this trail? We've got to be nearing the lake by now.'

Reave looked up at the crest of the hill that still loomed over them. 'I'm assuming that when we get to the top of this hill, we're going to be able to see the lake and probably whatever kind of camp there is. If anyone's got half a brain, they'll have posted pickets out on the road at the hilltop.'

'So we go cross-country from here?'

'Have to. Though I wish I'd seen this country in daylight. We're working on too many blind guesses.'

They got to their feet and, leaving the road, started up the hillside, at times climbing on their hands and knees. After about five minutes, they hit a dry streambed and began using it as a guide. Then Reave slipped and almost stumbled.

'Watch out for loose rocks. They last thing we need is for one of us to break his ankle.'

Slowly the crest of the hill came closer. When they were only fifty yards away, Reave signaled to the Minstrel Boy. 'Keep low; we don't want to skyline ourselves.'

In a half crouch, they crested the hill. The lake was in front of them, contained in a bowl formed by the sculpted hills. Its mirror surface reflected the dozen or more bonfires that burned along its far edge. By the standards of the force that had attacked Krystaleit, the camp was a small one. Three armored cars stood side by side, and maybe a dozen tents were pitched in a loose circle. They could just make out the shapes of men moving around.

The Minstrel Boy lay in the grass and stared. 'There don't seem to be that many of them, but these're more than enough to make a mess of Palanaque.'

'Let's move in closer.'

'Do we have to?'

'Can't stop now.'

The Minstrel Boy sighed and followed Reave down the slope.

Things are bad

How bad?

Real bad

Bad

Bad

You know what I mean by bad?

Bad

Bad

Real bad

Awful bad

Bad

Bad

So bad

Too bad

Bad as hell

Bad

Bad

And you know something else?

It's getting worse.

Primary Stanza of 'The Bad Mantra'

by Clay Blaisdell

—
Pressdra Vishnaria

Fourth Appendix to
The Human Comedy

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IT WAS, BEYOND ANY DOUBT, A HUMAN ARM. ONE OF THE
FIN
GERS
even wore a ring that no one had bothered to remove;. The filthy hunched figure with the highspikes and bone earrings dragged it from the fire, oblivious to the fact that it was hardly cooked, and, juggling the hot meat from hand to hand, began snatching bites from it. The way the creature's teeth flashed in the firelight suggested that they were made of stainless steel. The Minstrel Boy stared in horror as blood and grease dripped down the thing's chin.

'They've sunk to cannibalism.'

Reave took hold of his arm. 'Just walk on slow and don't look surprised at anything.'

'That's easy to say.'

'Our lives depend on it, so walk on.'

A second figure lurched up to the one crouched over the arm and tried to grab it from him. They scuffled together, grunting and cursing. In front of a nearby tent a human head had been set up on the end of a spear. The face was bloated and unrecognizable, but the spear looked uncommonly like the ones used by the Palanaquii hoplites. Beyond the tent two vulture bats, the kind that the DNA Cowboys had first seen in Santa Freska, were picking at something in the grass.

'What the hell is happening to humanity?'

Reave could scarcely repress a shudder. 'I'm damned if I know, buddy. I'm damned if I know. It's like we're on the fast slope all the way down.'

They walked slowly on through the camp, avoiding the large knots of men. As far as Reave could estimate there were about 150 in the force, heavily armed, about the same mixture of shootists, Margin boys, and neoprimitives they had seen at
Krystaleit. They were in very bad shape. The only things there seemed to be plenty of were guns, ammunition, and rotgut booze. The soldiers looked ragged and haggard, and the whole camp stank of filth and unwashed men. The stink alone was a major shock after the perfumed courtyards and splashing fountains of Palanaque. The small army looked to be starving, and it was altogether possible that the cannibalism Reave and the Minstrel Boy had witnessed was a matter of necessity as well as calculated depravity.

The entire area was a picture of demoralization. As Reave and the Minstrel Boy had skirted the lake, taking advantage of the darkness, they had encountered no guards, patrols, or pickets. The raiding party clearly realized that it had little or nothing to fear from the army of Palanaque, but at the same time, it did not seem ready to launch an assault on the city. The men appeared to be resting, gathering whatever strength they had left.

'What do you think happened to these guys?'

'It looks like they recently took a bad beating. They're a mess.'

They passed another head on a pole — it was still wearing its plumed helmet and was definitely one of the company from Palanaque. Reave and the Minstrel Boy no longer looked too hard at what the figures beside the fires were doing.
A
line of tethered lizards made a sorry sight. They looked as though they had been ridden long and hard. Their necks drooped, their skin hung loosely on their bones, and every rib was visible.

Beyond the fires and the circle of dirty tents, two bulky objects were secured with guy ropes and covered in plastic sheeting.

'What do you think those things are?'

'Beats me.'

'Does it occur to you that they might be a couple of aircraft?' the Minstrel Boy suggested.

Reave nodded. 'It does, indeed. Let's drift casually in that direction and take a closer look.'

'After that, can we get out of here? I feel like we're pushing our luck already.'

'Nobody's given us a second look so far.'

'It only takes one. I don't particularly care to be some degenerate cannibal's breakfast. Besides, we're too damn clean and well fed. We stand out.'

'We'll take a look at those things, over there, and then we'll melt away.'

They started walking slowly in the direction of the plastic-sheathed objects. They were just passing through the circle of tents when Reave froze. Three men had emerged from a nearby tent, the largest in the camp.

'I don't believe it.'

Reave quickly turned on his heel and walked off in the opposite direction, head down and hiding his face. The Minstrel Boy quickly followed him.

'You know those men?'

'Vlad fucking Baptiste! He's still alive.'

'What?'

'That's Gord, his driver, and the Old Metal Monster walking with him. They're all alive. This must be all that's left of his army.'

'How in hell did he manage to survive?'

'He must have somehow gotten out of Krystaleit before it blew.'

'And we've got to get out of here right now. There's bound to be others here who can recognize you.'

' You 're not kidding.'

They walked as quickly as they dared toward the edge of the camp. It began to look as though they were going to make it — until a figure lurched drunkenly out of a clump of bushes where it had been relieving itself. To turn back could have been too obvious, so Reave pulled his hat down lower over his face and decided to brazen it out. As the drunk stumbled past them, he eyed Reave and the Minstrel Boy with a total lack of curiosity or even interest. Then, suddenly, he beamed.

'Hey, Reave Mekonta! You're looking good, boy.'

He stumbled back toward the fires. The Minstrel Boy turned and watched his staggering progress. He slid a knife out of his belt.

'He's drunk, but he's going to realize at any moment.'

The drunk stopped. He seemed to be thinking. He slowly turned. The Minstrel Boy held his arm loosely at his side.

'Here we go.'

The drunk's voice was an incredulous croak. 'Reave Mekonta?'

The Minstrel Boy's hand flashed in an underarm throw. The
blade caught the drunk square in the throat. He let out a surprised gurgle and collapsed. The Minstrel Boy ran to the body and retrieved his knife. As an afterthought he took the beat-up SG from the dead man's belt and hung it on his own.

'Now can we get the hell out of here?'

'What say we grab a couple of lizards and make a run for it?'

'Let's go.'

They unhitched a brace of the exhausted reptiles and led them quietly off into the darkness, away from the camp. Once out of sight, they swung onto the animals' backs, not bothering with saddles. It took a number of kicks to get the beasts moving, but finally they set to lumbering up the hill that lay between the camp and the stretch of river where the boat was waiting.

At the top of the hill, the Minstrel Boy wheeled his horse and looked back at the camp. 'There doesn't seem to be any kind of alarm.'

Reave pulled up beside him. 'They probably won't find him until morning.'

'If the vulture bats leave anything.'

Reave turned his lizard's head. 'Let's get going.'

The Minstrel Boy hesitated. 'I've got an SG.'

'I know you have.'

'I could beat it into the nothings.'

'Are you going to?'

'We could ride back into the camp and get another one.'

Reave shook his head. 'I don't think so.'

The Minstrel Boy raised an inquiring eyebrow. 'You don't?'

'I'd feel bad running out on the others.'

The Minstrel Boy did not say anything; he just sat motionless on his lizard.

Reave looked at him questioningly. 'So are you going, or what?'

The Minstrel Boy avoided Reave's eyes. He did not answer.

Reave glanced back. 'Don't fuck around, man. Just go. I don't blame you.'

The Minstrel Boy viciously spurred his mount. The reptile reared and wheeled on its hind legs, croaking in protest. He kicked it again and plunged back down the way they had come, running for the nothings.

Reave sat and watched him go. He slowly shook his head. 'I guess that's the end of that.'

Reave kicked his own lizard and started down the other side of the hill, toward the river. There was already the ghostglow of pseudodawn beyond the mountains. He was halfway down the hill when the shooting started. At first there was just the sound of a sudden firefight. On the far side of the hill the quiet of the night was shattered by the angry ultrasonic hiss of particle beams and a series of impact bursts. After a couple of seconds there was the pumping chatter of an automatic weapon that could only be the Minstrel Boy's AK. Reave reined in and stared back, drawing one of his pistols. His first instinct was to charge back to the Minstrel Boy's aid, but he resisted it.

'Fuck him. He was the one who ran out.'

He did not, however, move on. He sat gun in hand, leaning on his saddle. Not for long, though. The Minstrel Boy crested the hill with energy flashes bursting around him. He was flattened along the back of his galloping mount; the strap of the AK was cinched around his shoulder so that he could use it with one hand, and he was firing wildly behind him. Reave's lizard skittered nervously, but he kept it on a tight rein and held his ground. The Minstrel Boy pulled up beside him.

Reave grinned. 'You're back.'

The Minstrel Boy was out of breath. 'I got to be insane.'

A half dozen riders came over the top of the hill. Reave stuffed the lizard's reins into his mouth and returned fire with both pistols. The riders scattered for cover. Reave put the spurs to his mount.

'Let's get out of here!'

They ran for the boat as fast as they could. As they galloped side by side, Reave yelled across to the Minstrel Boy. 'What happened back there?'

'I started wondering if I was doing the right thing, and while I was wondering, this bunch who were out drinking or jerking each other off or whatever, away from the main camp, spotted me and opened up. It was lucky they were too drunk to shoot straight.'

When they reached the river, the boat was still moored in midstream. Reave jumped from the saddle and yelled across to those on board. 'Throw down a couple of lines. We'll swim out. Get ready to go.'

He dived straight into the cold, dark water. The Minstrel Boy groaned, then splashed in after him.

The return to Palanaque was a headlong flight. The overseer used the lash unsparingly on the rowers, who stroked at a furious, heart attack pace. At one point Renatta drew the Minstrel Boy aside and questioned him about the SG hanging on his belt.

'Why the hell didn't you get out while you could?'

The Minstrel Boy, who was still in his wet clothes, drying off his knives, gave her a cold look. 'I just couldn't stay away from you, baby.'

'You're crazy.'

'Probably.'

After Reave and the Minstrel Boy had both given their accounts of what they had seen in the raiders' camp, the condition of the men, and the size of the force, there was a lengthy discussion not only about what might be done to protect Palanaque but also about how Baptiste had managed to escape the destruction of Krystaleit. It was quickly decided, much to the horror of the young ensign, who believed that he was hearing blasphemy, that the city was doomed unless it immediately revised some oiks fundamental religious beliefs and took account of the ways of the real world.

On the matter of Baptiste's survival, Renatta came up with one of the most convincing theories. 'You think it could have been that, after the capture of Krystaleit, the warlords fell out and started fighting among themselves? You said that Baptiste's men looked like they'd been on the losing end of a fight. Maybe they were run out of the city before whoever it was pulled the plug on the main generator.'

Reave nodded. 'Could be. Those kind of guys will have a falling out at the drop of a hat.'

The discussions on the boat were nothing compared with the talks that went down once they were back in the city. As soon as they landed, they were immediately escorted by Dass-el-Hame and a troop of soldiers to an audience with Parshew-a-Thar in the throne room of the Great Pyramid. It was there that the major frustration started to set in. The beloved Master seemed to have great difficulty grasping the real danger of his situation. He sat twisted in the lapis and gold throne with handmaidens at his feet and nefrites behind him waving ostrich-feather fans and did nothing but seize on irrelevancies.

'Couldn't we negotiate with this Baptiste? Offer him money to go somewhere else? There are always ways around these situations.'

The throne room did little to aid the visualization of the danger that lay at the other end of the settlement. Nothing could have been farther from the horror and squalor of Baptiste's encampment. Surrounded by such dazzling perfumed splendor, it was hard to believe that the filthy tents and wild-eyed cannibals hunched over the fires could exist in the same world. Anyone approaching the throne had to walk between twin lines of carved and gilded lotus pillars and across an elaborate marble and mosaic floor depicting the creation legend. Behind the dais that supported the throne, columns of scented vapor rose into the air and were crisscrossed by decorative lasers. Beyond the pillars, to the left of the throne, a knot of gaudily dressed courtiers, including the pair with the tall Aztec- style headdresses, watched the audience in silence while a vibra trio played a slow, soothing twelve-tone canon. To the right of the throne a squad of immaculate soldiers stood at attention, their spears at parade rest.

Reave slowly folded his arms across his chest. He was determinedly standing his ground at the foot of the dais, feet planted firmly on the mosaic sun mother and coiling snake. The Minstrel Boy stood slightly behind him and had so far let Reave do most of the talking. Both men were doing their very best to ignore the surroundings.

'I don't think you're quite grasping the situation.'

The beloved Master twitched angrily. 'Don't tell me I'm not grasping the situation.'

Reave went on regardless. 'These raiders are starving and desperate. They can't be bought off. They may not even have the option to go somewhere else. They're going to fall on this city like a swarm of heavily armed locusts and strip it bare. The only thing they aren't short of is firepower.'

'There has to be a way to reason with them, to appeal to their logic.'

'These are degenerates. You can't reason with them because they're almost certainly not sane. They don't operate according to logic; they're running on some murderous feral instinct, and you can't negotiate with bloodshot psychotics. You either kill them or get out of their way.'

'I can't accept that.'

'You'd better accept it, man. You'd better wise up to the facts, or you're going to find your city burning around your ears.'

The beloved Master turned puce and half rose from the throne. 'I will not be spoken to like that.'

He was about to order his guard to arrest Reave, but then he thought better of it. Despite all of Dass-el-Hame's protests, Reave was wearing his pistols openly displayed in his belt. Even Parshew-a-Thar was not going to risk bloodshed in his own throne room. Reave, who had figured that out from the start, made one final attempt to get the beloved Master to see sense.

'There is only one way to save your city, and that's to repeal this moronic prohibition on advanced weapons. You have a comparatively large army, and properly equipped, their numbers could make up for their inexperience, but they have to be armed.'

The beloved Master was shaking his head. He looked like a fat, frightened baby bird. Finally he clapped his hands over his ears. He was losing what small cool he had left.

'I won't listen to this. I've already told you how that subject is not open to discussion. General Zeum will take care of the defense of the city. I trust General Zeum. He doesn't upset me. You have upset me, and this audience is at an end.'

Reave finally lost his temper. 'You're a fatuous idiot.'

Parshew-a-Thar still had his hands over his ears.'I can't hear you.'

Reave gestured to the Minstrel Boy. 'Let's get out of this insanity.'

They turned on their heels and marched stiffly out of the throne room. The beloved Master was out of his throne and shouting at his guards.

'Stop them! Arrest them!'

Two of the guards approached Reave, who stopped them with a furious glare.

'I wouldn't try it if I were you.'

They didn't. Outside, in the first antechamber, Renatta, Blaisdell, and a somewhat groggy Billy Oblivion were waiting. They had heard a good part of the proceedings.

'I take it it didn't go well.'

'It's goddamn lunacy.'

Reave rounded on Billy. 'Where the hell have you been?'

Billy shook his head. 'Damned if I know.'

Dass-el-Hame came hurrying out of the throne room. 'You've done a terrible thing. The beloved Master is beside himself with rage.'

Reave snarled angrily at him. 'Terrible? You think that's terrible? When Baptiste gets here, you're all going to have to revise your definition of the word "terrible."

Renatta interrupted the exchange before it could go any further. Reave was starting to look as though he might hit the courtier.

'More to the point, what are we going to do now?'

Reave calmed down a little. 'We're going to see Showcross Gee. If nothing else, he can release us from our contracts. We can't be ordered into a situation that is plainly suicidal.'

Showcross Gee appeared to be expecting them. It was the first time any of them had been in the section of the Great Pyramid that had been taken over by the metaphysicians. It was another shiftspace, an internal area that was much larger than the external dimensions would logically allow, much like the one Reave had seen in the ziggurat in the little settlement that had been the target of his final raid with Baptiste. It had the same pyramid-shaped space, with a square floor and triangular sides that leaned in to a central apex point. A larger but otherwise identical pyramid-shaped block hung in the air with no visible means of support. Unlike the starkly bare chamber inside the ziggurat, this one seemed to be undergoing some kind of highly technological construction. Cables and glowing plasma conduits snaked across the floor, and a towering rack system housed a complexly sophisticated biode. A large disk-shaped object some thirty feet across was being assembled in sections directly beneath the floating pyramid.

Showcross Gee's only companion in the chamber was Stent. It was starting to look as though the metaphysician was using the metal man as a permanent bodyguard. Reave was curious to know what the man thought he had to fear. There was no sign of any of the other metaphysicians, and it had to be assumed that this chamber was not the only space they occupied in the Great Pyramid.

'I understand that you have seen the enemy.'

Reave looked slowly around the chamber and nodded.'That's right. We went to their camp.'

'And I also understand that the beloved Master is having a little trouble discarding his illusions.'

Renatta regarded the metaphysician with deep suspicion. 'You seem very well informed.'

'We loosed a few snoopers into the environment of this pyramid. These people have no means of detecting them, although why they should even bother is debatable. They are incapable of keeping secrets.'

'So you only use the snoopers for a little electronic early warning?'

Showcross Gee nodded. 'Exactly.'