Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys (25 page)

'My name is Mannassas Showcross Gee, and during this
voyage I will act as spokesperson for our group. I will also be available at all times to answer your questions and receive your input and suggestions.'

He paused as though giving them time to absorb the information. There was a tinge of condescension in his tone that the Minstrel Boy found mildly annoying. What was wrong with the other twenty-six of them? Were they too holy to speak to their bodyguards?

Showcross Gee went on. 'We are the twenty-seven metaphysicians of Krystaleit, and we have acquired your seven warrior contracts. We require you as personal protection on this journey and then to aid in the organization of a defense against a repeat of the rape of Krystaleit, should such a thing occur when we reach our destination. Does that, in principle, meet with your approval?'

Nobody seemed ready to answer, so Reave took it upon himself. 'Anything that got us out of Krystaleit sounds okay right now.'

Renatta raised a hand. 'Can you tell us about our destination? What is this place Palanaque?'

'The settlement of Palanaque is the creation of the Masters of Palanaque, and although it is not a metaphysical community and some broad philosophical differences do exist between our order and Parshew-a-Thar, the current Master, we will receive toleration, and the facilities there will enable us to continue with our research.'

Neither Billy nor the Minstrel Boy liked the sound of that. In the Minstrel Boy's experience, religious settlements were long on bullshit and short on fun. Billy's feelings were along the same lines but were many times compounded by his bad memories of the Sanctuary.

Billy gave Showcross Gee a long, hard look. 'How much tolerance can we expect in this place?'

'You will be welcome there. As to creature comforts, there is much concentration on the tantric, so you should find many diverse ways to pass your leisure time.'

The Minstrel Boy scowled. He was not sure he was ready for a return to hours of blank-eyed sex, and he resented the fact that the metaphysicians' mouthpiece was holding it out as bait. He was seriously wondering what Showcross Gee took them for.

'It is also a very beautiful place. I think that you'll be happy there.'

The Minstrel Boy was halfway resolved to dislike the place on sight. Reave, on the other hand, was quite attracted to the idea of a little peace and quiet. Renatta reserved judgment. The metaphysicians were all men, and as far as she was concerned, that did not bode well.

Mannassas Showcross Gee had little more to say, and after he had departed, the seven were free to explore the public rooms of the R1009. Jet Ace and Stent immediately excused themselves and went off to find private cabins. Watching them go, Reave realized that he knew absolutely nothing about the personal and social lives of the men who were part machine. Clay Blaisdell was still out, and the four of them, the DNA Cowboys and Renatta, were thrown together yet again. A whisper sign on the observation deck suggested that they should visit the Silver Ballroom on the upper deck. Lacking a better idea, the four of them started for the escalators.

There was something quite eerie about moving through an empty luxury dirigible that should have been crowded with people. Where there should have been music, conversation, laughter, and the clink of glass, there was nothing but their footfalls echoing hollowly on the silver deck plates while the vast expanses of wall mirrors reflected the emptiness to infinity. The effect became even more bizarre when they caught sight of themselves in those mirrors — dirty, battle-blackened figures against the spotlessly lavish decor.

The Silver Ballroom was an indulgent expanse of highly polished Art Deco stainless steel. The dance floor, of translucent crystal lit from below, made all who walked on it look as though they were floating. It was obviously supposed to give the finishing touch to the overall ambience of haute aviation. Although there was no serving staff, the bar was fully stocked, which came as a considerable relief and did a lot to counteract the seeming absurdity that the four of them, so filthy and funky, should be the only ones in such a palace of opulence. Billy, who had been looking increasingly introspective, brightened noticeably and took on the role of bartender. Turning their backs on the echoing splendor, they set to drinking their way through the rest of the voyage.

After the first three rounds, Clay Blaisdell stumbled in looking like the living dead. 'Dear God, do I feel bad.'

Billy took pity on him and started mixing him a bull's breath, the great traditional hangover cure. 'So what happened to you?'

'I got to tell you, I thought that it was all over. I was trapped in this half-collapsed building, the rest of the squad had all been killed, and I was resigning myself to facing the great unknown.'

'So how did you manage to get so drunk?'

Blaisdell gratefully accepted the yellowish-green bull's breath. 'I had a couple of bottles of scotch in my pack, and I decided that there was no percentage in facing the end sober.'

The Minstrel Boy laughed. 'I can empathize with that.'

Renatta sipped her martini. 'So how did you get out?'

Clay Blaisdell drained half the cocktail and winced as it started to take effect. 'It was weird. I was about a bottle and a half into not going gently into that dark night when I heard this terrible crashing, like Godzilla was trying to rip his way into the building. I figured it had to be some of Baptiste's or Taraquin's men coming in to get me, but by then I was
too drunk to care and didn't have any ammunition left to do anything about it, anyway.'

He drained the second half of the bull's breath and pushed the empty glass back to Billy for a refill.

'Instead of the enemy, though, Jet Ace comes smashing through a wall and announces that he's come to rescue me because my contract's been transferred. I didn't know what he was talking about, but I wasn't in a position to argue. Next thing I know I'm standing around with you guys waiting to get on a blimp. Somewhere around about then, I decided the best thing would be to pass out cold and let destiny take its course. I take it we got away from Krystaleit.'

Billy passed him another bull's breath. 'That's right. We live to fight another day.'

'Has anybody told us where we're headed?'

Billy nodded. 'Yeah, we had us a little orientation lecture while you were sleeping it off.'

'And?'

'And we're on our way to Palanaque to be bodyguards to a bunch of metaphysicians.'

'I never really cottoned to metaphysicians. Always talking down to you.'

The Minstrel Boy nodded. 'Ain't that the truth.'

Blaisdell looked around at each of them. 'Anyone ever been to Palanaque?'

Renatta and the DNA Cowboys all shook their heads. Blaisdell sipped his drink. He was slowing down a little on the second one.

'It's real beautiful to look at, but it's land of weird. The first Master, Stafford Pardee, was an air pirate who suddenly wanted to get religion. He couldn't find one that suited him, so he invented one for himself. He built the settlement according to his pirate's idea of a holy city. It's part Egyptian, part Aztec, an awful lot of Martianois, and a dash of Thanos. After twelve generations it's still all there.' He suddenly grinned. 'Of course, I couldn't say the same about some of the inhabitants. There's quite a few that are a long way out there.'

Renatta poured herself another martini. 'But what's it like to actually live there?'

Blaisdell pulled a wry face. 'It's okay at first. Kind of relaxing. It gets tired pretty fast, though. You spend a hell of a lot of time watching the palms wave. There's one thing in its favor that you can always count on: By the time you get sick of them, you can be sure that they've gotten sick of you. In that respect, Palanaque's quite self-regulating.' He took another sip of bull's breath. 'So what happened to the metal men? How come they aren't carousing with us regular folk?'

'They took themselves off on their own as soon as we got aboard.'

Blaisdell seemed to be on his best behavior and even willing to mend a few fences. The Minstrel Boy wondered if he was genuinely trying to make the best of the situation or if it was just a display for Renatta. The Minstrel Boy had to hand it to Renatta. She sure as hell got around even in the most limited area of opportunity. The metal men were the only ones she had not bedded out of their less than magnificent seven.

Blaisdell was still thinking about Stent and Jet Ace. 'Did you ever wonder what those guys do when they're off on their own? What they do for fun?'

As he spoke, his eyes flickered to Renatta for an instant. The Minstrel Boy caught the look. He had had the same thought at exactly the same time. Just before the attack, things had not seemed to be going too well between Renatta and Blaisdell. Did that mean that her next move would be to Jet Ace or Lister Stent?

'I even wonder how much of that stuff they take off before they bed down for the night.'

Although Reave laughed, his mind was still back with what they had been through in Krystaleit. 'It occurs to me that Palanaque won't be too relaxing if Baptiste and Taraquin and the rest follow us there.'

'Why should they follow us?'

'Baptiste, at least, is somewhat obsessed about metaphysicians. He's going to be fit to be tied when he finds out that Krystaleit's got away.'

Billy's face lost its smile. 'You might have a point there.' He looked at Blaisdell. 'Does Palanaque have anything approaching a military?'

'It's got an army, but you can forget about it. They drill on the river plain in front of the city. Classic Macedonian. Strictly spear squares and cavalry. There are no projectile or beam weapons allowed in the settlement. Not even bows and arrows.'

Reave looked very unhappy. 'What about our weapons?'

'We'll probably get a dispensation, but I don't doubt that we'll have to argue about it for a while.'

The talk and drinking went on and the old stories came out as the nothings shimmered outside the observation windows. The only one who did not contribute to the bragging and bullshit about the good old golden days was Renatta, who seemed unwilling to let slip the slightest detail about her past. The Minstrel Boy had wondered on a number of occasions what there was in her history that made her treat it like a closed and sealed book. It hardly seemed possible that she had done something so disgraceful that she should be ashamed to talk about it in this present scurvy company. Unless, of course, she had managed to invent a truly disgusting and original sin. The girl was certainly resourceful enough.

Even in a reality as large as the R1009 it became very difficult to calculate the passage of time as they passed through the nothings. For a while the Minstrel Boy had kept it semipegged by counting his drinks, but eventually even that became difficult. It was thus that he had no idea how long they had been in the
ship's Silver Ballroom when Showcross Gee came looking for them.

'Gentlemen, lady. I have a very important announcement.'

The five of them turned and looked at him.

'As far as our lizardbrain simulacrum can tell, the city of Krystaleit is no more.'

Reave stiffened. 'What do you mean, no more?'

'It no longer registers even on our most powerful detection equipment. A short while ago, it simply vanished.'

Blaisdell propped himself up on the bar. 'Did any smaller reality mass remain behind when it vanished?'

Showcross Gee shook his head. 'Nothing.'

Blaisdell looked at the others. 'You know what that means?'

Reave nodded. 'The warlords destroyed themselves right along with the city. I know I shouldn't be pleased about a whole city being taken out, but it does come as
something of a relief. I'd hate to go through that whole fight all over again.'

Showcross Gee nodded. 'Those are our sentiments entirely.'

Showcross Gee left, and the timeless drinking resumed. It started to seem that it was not even possible to get satisfactorily drunk while passing through the nothings. The Minstrel Boy was only developing a headache. When the airship suddenly lurched and he had to grab hold of the bar he imagined that it was in his own head and that he was drunker than he had thought. Then the second shock hit the R1009, and everyone went staggering. Beyond the observation windows, the nothings were suffused with red.

'What the hell is going on?'

As they picked themselves up from the silver floor, a vibration ran through the ship like a shudder. The airship lurched again, and everyone was once again thrown down. Renatta had a small cut over her right eye. Billy wrapped his arms around a stanchion.

'Grab hold of something and hang on! I don't think we've seen the worst of this.'

The vibration became increasingly violent. Bottles fell from the bar and smashed on the floor. A mirror shattered in its frame. It started to feel as though the ship were trying to shake itself to pieces. Outside, the nothings were a dazzling, pulsing
crimson. As well as shaking, the R1009 seemed to be fishtailing out of control and rolling from side to side.

'You think this could have something to do with the destruction of Krystaleit, like a shockwave or something?'

'Who knows? Anything can happen in the nothings.'

The Minstrel Boy clung desperately to a bar support. 'I hate unexplained phenomena.'

There was a bright red flash, and then the nothings went back to what the Minstrel Boy thought of as normal. Normal, that is, except for the large and diffused red sphere that was rapidly floating away from them.

'What?'

'We must have been inside that thing.'

Renatta wiped blood from her eye. 'I didn't think anything could exist in the nothings.'

'All we know is that
we
can't exist in the nothings. There could be a whole other universe out there.'

Billy smiled grimly. 'And it's probably as screwed up as this one.'

Just as they thought they were through the turbulence, the vibration started again and rapidly worsened. Soon the whole fabric of the ship was loudly protesting at the treatment it was receiving. It was buffeted as though it were being hit repeatedly by a giant hammer. Billy lost his hold and went sliding across the ballroom floor as the ship rolled through forty-five degrees. It was lucky that the chairs and tables were bolted down or he would have been buried by furniture. As it was, a drift of bottles and broken glass slid along with him; his hands were cut, and his clothes were soaked with an impossibly exotic mixture of alcohol.

'Goddamn it to hell! I'm fucking sick of this!'

Then they were out of the nothings. Of all things, snow was blowing past the window. There was a banshee howling outside the ship that was deafening after the oppressive silence of the nonmatter.