Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys (33 page)

'Then you most probably heard what we were discussing in the anteroom.'

'We cannot release you from your contracts at this time.'

Blaisdell gave him a hard look. 'You can't expect us to simply stay here and die.'

Reave glanced at Lister Stent. 'Where do you stand in all this? Still just carrying out orders?'

The metal man inclined his head slightly. 'Quite the reverse. I'm with you in this. I cannot see how we can legitimately be ordered to remain here under the current situation. We have the right to protect our own lives in a set of circumstances that are quite beyond our control.'

Showcross Gee looked from one contract warrior to the next. 'Your lives will be preserved. You have my guarantee.'

Reave did not look as if he believed a word of it. 'You seem to be hanging on to a few illusions of your own. That's Vlad Baptiste up at the other end of the settlement. He's pathological about you people, and he isn't going to stop until you're all dead. We have no way of protecting either you or ourselves unless the Palanaquii wise up.'

Showcross Gee waited a full ten seconds before he spoke. He slowly extended a hand in the direction of the half-completed disk. 'All we need here is another forty-eight hours to finish our work.'

Billy Oblivion swayed. 'What the hell is that? An old-time flying saucer?'

Showcross Gee ignored him. 'When our work is done, there will be a unique escape route for all of us.'

Reave was unbending. 'This city won't hold for forty-eight hours. There's a chance that Baptiste may have a couple of aircraft.'

That was obviously news to the metaphysician. He was silent and thoughtful. 'It would be a mistake to leave here at this time.'

'It'd be suicide not to.'

'I've already told you that we can take control of the Great Pyramid and seal ourselves in.'

Reave was shaking his head. 'I don't know.'

'Consider this. There is one thing that could make Baptiste negotiate with the beloved Master.'

'What's that?'

'Us.'

Reave knew that he should have thought of that himself. It was glaringly obvious.

'You think that Parshew-a-Thar would ask Baptiste to spare the city if he turned over the metaphysicians?'

Showcross Gee half smiled. 'The metaphysicians and their seven mercenaries.'

'Okay, everyone's ass is on the line.'

Having made his point, Showcross Gee went on. 'I think it's almost a certainty. The court of Palanaque may be blinkered and stupid, but they're clutching at straws. It's bound to occur to them. It they don't think of it, Baptiste certainly will. You've described how his men are close to exhaustion. He may see it as a way to avoid an immediate direct assault on the city himself.'

'He'll never keep his word.'

'Of course he won't, but the Palanaquii will want to believe him so badly that they'll go along with any nonsense. Once he's disposed of us, he can destroy the city and its population at his leisure.'

'I still think our only practical option is to leave immediately. '

Showcross Gee was being unusually patient. 'Let me make a suggestion.'

Reave raised an eyebrow. 'An offer?'

Showcross Gee looked at him coldly. 'A suggestion.'

Reave sighed. 'Okay, a suggestion.'

'You will hold to your contract for two more days. Military contact with Baptiste's raiders will be strictly at your own discretion unless we are directly threatened. Your only duties will be to protect us in any situation where our lives and liberty are at risk, regardless of whether the threat comes from Baptiste or the Palanaquii. The moment the situation in the city becomes untenable, we will retreat in here and seal the pyramid.'

'All of us will retreat into the pyramid?' Renatta asked.

Showcross Gee eyed her curiously. 'You don't trust me at all, do you?'

'Should I?'

'I'm afraid you may have to before this thing's over.'

'So do we all get into the pyramid?'

'If it is humanly possible. You have my word.'

'And once inside you will include us all in this mysterious way out?'

'That's correct.'

'Do you want to explain this escape route to us?'

Showcross Gee shook his head. 'Not yet.'

'Just another item that we have to take on trust?'

'For the moment.'

Reave turned to Stent.'How does all this sit with you? You're the one with the fine-tuned sense of duty.'

Stent raised a metal hand. 'Under the terms of our contract, it sounds like a legitimate request.'

Reave scowled. 'And if it was couched as a direct order, you'd be compelled to enforce it.'

Stent reluctantly half bowed, his armor making a soft, sad squeaking noise. 'I'm afraid that I would.'

Reave faced the metaphysician. 'It looks like you have your two days.'

Showcross Gee laid a calming hand on his arm, 'You shouldn't take it all so personally, Reave Mekonta.'

Reave's shoulders sagged. He was suddenly very tired. Although he hated to admit it, the metaphysician was right. The man was doing the best he could according to his own weird priorities. 'All we can hope is that Baptiste takes his time coming.'

As it turned out, Baptiste took a day and a night to reach the city. There was plenty of warning of his approach. General Zeum had organized a system of signal fires all along the river, starting just a few miles below the rapids. As Baptiste's force was sighted, the fires were lit and those who had been keeping
watch made themselves scarce. From the intervals at which new fires flared in the dark, it seemed that the raiders were moving very slowly. The moment the first signal was sighted, Reave, along with the Minstrel Boy, who also seemed unable to sleep, climbed to the same vantage point on top of the gatehouse from which they had watched the parade of the Grand Army. They stared silently at the pinpoints of flame in the dark. The beloved Master had ordered the pseudostars extinguished for better visibility, and the night beyond the lights of the city was black as pitch. Reave could imagine the line of ragged men with their cruel, hard faces and worn-out mounts. In his mind's eye he could see the drooping necks of the spavined lizards as they dragged themselves toward yet another slaughter.

'This has got to be the end to it, one way or another.'

The Minstrel Boy, who was watching from farther along the parapet, straightened up and looked at him. 'You say something?'

'Just talking to myself.'

'Just as long as you ain't talking to one of those gods they're so strong on around these parts.'

Reave laughed despite himself. 'You know me better than that.'

A sudden burst of music cut through the night air of the quietly waiting city, complex cascading figures from a chromacon played by an expert.

'Clay Blaisdell.'

'Grandstanding as usual. Trying to make it into history.'

Reave smiled, but he could not shake the oppressive melancholy. The music only made it worse. 'You think we'll hear him play that thing again?'

The Minstrel Boy looked at Reave in shocked surprise. It was not like Reave to give in to that kind of pessimism. 'Will you put a cover on that talk?'

Out of the flatland, beyond the city walls, other lights were moving. Zeum's preparations for repelling the invaders were in full swing. Reave had to admit that even though it was a suicidal fantasy, it was also a textbook defense. Neat shield squares were positioned in staggered rows, taking maximum advantage of the contours of the ground. If Zeum had been expecting three hundred Spartans, he would have been in fine shape.

The raiders came across the horizon just as the first gray of
dawn flashed gold with the coming sun. Just as Reave had imagined, they were strung out along the riverbank, black shapes plodding through the early morning ground mist like a dejected wolf pack, dispirited as men can be when there is no alternative except to perpetuate the horror. Reave could feel it as strongly as if he were down among them.

In comparison, Zeum's troops were magnificent. Their white tunics and scarlet plumes were dazzling. The sun flashed from their armor, and the horses of the small cavalry unit pranced eagerly. Reave turned away. It was too depressing to watch. They were quite insane.

The Minstrel Boy yawned. 'So now they're here, what do we do?'

'Absolutely nothing. I'm going to stay right here and observe.'

The Minstrel Boy looked curiously at Reave, who seemed to be in the grip of a grim fatalism. It was probably time to start getting everyone drunk. It might be the only way to get through the day.

The engagement started painfully slowly. At the same plodding pace, the raiders turned inland from the river. The Minstrel Boy noticed that there were no armored vehicles with the column. It was possible that they had no more fuel. They crossed the top end of the flatlands until they were spread out in a loose skirmish line — and there they stopped. They did nothing except lean on their saddles and wait. They reminded the Minstrel Boy of a flock of vultures waiting for a death in the herd.

The herd, or to be more precise, the leader of the herd, did not seem content to let death come in its own sweet time. General Zeum, followed by his aides and executive officers, clattered out of the gates below Reave and the Minstrel Boy on a huge black charger with a blond mane and tail. He cantered past the series of squares, doffing his plumed helmet and accepting the organized cheers of his legion. When he reached the last square, the one closest to the line of Baptiste's raiders, he reined in the charger. He was too far away for those on the gate tower to actually hear the order, but the intention was plain.

'I see it, but I don't believe it.'

Of all the stupidity Reave had witnessed since he had arrived in Palanaque, Zeum's act had to be the crowning folly. With a crash of drums, the square nearest the line of raiders advanced.

Close-ordered and in half-time lockstep, they moved on the enemy, spears advanced, banners spread, maintaining a perfect formation. It took just five raiders to cut them to pieces. They slipped from their saddles, took a couple of paces forward, and, without the slightest pretense of taking cover, raised their weapons just as though they were shooting at targets on a range. The casual way they opened fire was nothing short of insulting. Taking their time and picking their shots, they gunned down every one of the hundred men in the phalanx. The bloodily bizarre part was that the hoplites did not falter. They stepped over the fallen and just kept going. Even when there was only a handful of them left, the Palanaquii made no attempt to halt their advance, let alone run away or otherwise try to save themselves. At no time did the hoplites attempt to throw their spears: That would have been a breach of discipline. As the smoke drifted away from the litter of bodies, the raiders holstered their weapons and climbed back on their mounts. One at a time the Palanaquii squares moved up and changed position, filling the gap left by the massacred hundred.

The Minstrel Boy sighed and shook his head. 'I guess this is going to be repeated over and over until there are none left.'

Reave turned and leaned against the parapet. 'I won't be sticking around to watch it.'

The Minstrel Boy was looking toward the river. 'I think something else is about to happen.'

An armored car was racing along the riverbank, leaving a cloud of dust. Reave turned and looked. 'That's Baptiste himself.'

'And what's this?'

There were a pair of specks in the air above the horizon, leaving white contrails against the blue of the sky.

'Oh, shit, they do have aircraft.'

The specks were growing rapidly bigger and taking on recognizable shapes.

'A pair of box-wing deltas. I wonder where the hell Baprtiste recruited them from.'

The two identical dark blue needle-nosed aircraft with strange box-kite wing formations were coming in fast and low. They swept over the line of raiders in a roar of rocket motors. Their nose-mounted cannons began to flash and stammer. They roared over the Palanaquii squares little more than ten feet off the
ground, strafing as they went. While the dead fell and the dying kicked and screamed, the survivors rigidly held their position. Again there was no attempt to find cover, and no order was given to do so. As the leading plane approached the city wall, it lifted. The Minstrel Boy sprang at Reave and pushed him down into the shelter of the parapet. A line of small explosions stitched their way across the gatehouse roof. They lay huddled beneath the wall as the second plane followed the first. When it passed, the Minstrel Boy scrambled to his feet.

'WeVe got to get down from here before they come back.'

The two planes screamed on across the city, following the path of the main central boulevard. Halfway to the pyramid the first aircraft loosed the rocket that was slung beneath its fuselage. The rocket hit the pyramid about two-thirds of the way up in a burst of red fire and black smoke. The targeting of the Great Pyramid might have been a fine piece of symbolism, but for tactical effect it was a complete waste of ammunition. The marble surface was burned and shattered, but the underlying stone structure was virtually indestructible. Before the second delta could fire, there was the roar of a third motor.

'What the fuck does he think he's doing?'

Jet Ace was rising straight up into the air, his dorsal rocket firing at full power.

'Does he really believe he can take on both of them?'

'He's always wanted to be a hero.'

The deltas had spotted the flying man and were turning to meet him. The leader opened fire, but Jet Ace executed a quick forward loop. He extended his right arm and loosed a massive focused heat blast. It struck the first plane directly in front of the rocket housing, and the delta blew apart like a bomb going off. Debris spiraled down over the city. Watching the spectacle. Reave and the Minstrel Boy completely forgot about their own safety.

'He got one! He goddamn got one!'

'Watch out for the other one, Ace! He's above you!'