Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys (8 page)

'What's he like, this Ramilles Diamenti?'

'He's about as big as God, too. A huge man, and he rules his kingdom with a rod of iron. You can get rowdy at the Voice in the Wilderness, but if you step over the line and cause real trouble, Ramilles Diamenti will break you in half.'

'You've been there.'

'Sure, I've been through there a dozen times.'

'You think it's the place for us?'

'If it's still the way it used to be, it'd be a good start. There is one small snag, though.'

'There is?'

'It works on a money system, and you don't have any.'

'Why should anybody bother with money when everything comes from Stuff Central?'

'Some places just like to do it that way. Nostalgia, maybe. It's also a matter of control. Diamenti's nothing if not a control freak.'

Renatta looked at the Minstrel Boy with calculating eyes. She clearly had her own sense of nostalgia where money was concerned. 'Do you have any money?'

'I've got some gold coins that I can use in an emergency. I was also planning on selling the submarine.'

Renatta treated him to a dazzling smile. 'Maybe you could help me get started. I mean, if you're selling the submarine, we did both come from the Caverns in it.'

The Minstrel Boy hesitated, then shrugged. 'Maybe.'

Renatta waved a hand, dismissing the subject. 'Money's no problem.'

The gold submarine surfaced in a small lagoon in the outer roots of the structure. It was almost like suddenly coming up into a large swimming pool, except that the quays enclosing it were constructed from huge blocks of rough-hewn stone. It was only up close that the newcomers were treated to the full impact of just how big the Voice in the Wilderness really was. From the bottom, it was more like a fortress than an inn. It had been constructed on a truly monumental scale. There was a mist on the water and a strange metallic smell in the air. Three other craft were tied up at the steel jetty that extended from the quay
almost to the center of the lagoon. Two were small submarines similar to the one from the Caverns. The third was a power bathyscaphe of a type the Minstrel Boy had never seen before.

As they walked down the jetty, Renatta hugged her arms around her breasts. 'It's cold here.'

'They don't dress as scanty at the Voice in the Wilderness as they do in the Caverns.'

'I have to get some clothes.'

The Minstrel Boy grinned and hitched the strap of his veetar case to a more comfortable position on his shoulder. 'That shouldn't be a problem.'

At the end of the jetty a flight of stone steps lit by green-yellow gas flames led up to a broad terrace that overlooked the lagoon. The Minstrel Boy pointed. 'If we go up there and along, we'll come to the entrance to the Great Hall. That's the first place to hit. It's where everything goes on.'

Renatta raised an eyebrow. 'Everything?'

'If it don't go on, it at least gets started there.'

There were a number of ground vehicles parked along one side of the terrace. It was an exotic and impressive selection. A Concorde-Napier six-wheeler with hand-assembled coachwork and polished brass trim stood beside a Fragg Crusher with multiple treads and animal pelts hanging from its mast and roll bars. A K7 Road Rocket with extended fins and a black kahee symbol painted on the side was parked by itself. A Zinn walker knelt on immobilized legs. The prize for sheer formidable size went to a fully armored Saab battlewagon with full gun ports and a heat ray. The Minstrel Boy stopped and stared at it.

'There's going to be some hard cases in the old saloon tonight.'

Beyond the ground cars the unmistakable warm, rank smell of marma lizards came from a wide, arched entrance that had to be the mouth of a tunnel to the underground stables.

Renatta glanced back toward the lagoon. 'I'm not sure I like this place.'

The Minstrel Boy put an arm around her shoulders. 'You'll get to like it fine. It could have been made for you.'

She brightened considerably as she got her first sight of the entrance to the Great Hall. They had passed from the terrace, through a short tunnel, and into a wide courtyard where a twice-life-size and extremely lewd hologram cooze dancer undulated on a pedestal.

'That's an actual print of the legendary Desdemona Princess,' the Minstrel Boy explained.

'No kidding.'

'Diamenti's a great collector.'

Music and noise, along with the smells of food, drink, and humanity, wafted from a wide doorway at the far end of the courtyard. There was a loud burst of the electric, nasal music of the ancients.

Memories that linger in my heart,

Memories that make my heart grow cold,

Until the day we love again, sweetheart,

And my blue moon again will turn to gold.

The Great Hall of the Voice in the Wilderness was part bazaar, part saloon, and part marketplace; it was a dance hall and a gambling joint and a public promenade. A dozen different entertainments were going on under its high, hammer-beam roof. The crowds swirled, the pitchmen hollered, and the musicians leaned into their instruments, trying to compete with the noise. Jugglers played with fire and knives, Indian clubs, and bowling balls; dancers twisted and sweated while myriad lights were reflected from oiled bodies. Dice rolled, slick hands dealt the cards, and the wheel of fortune spun. Hands, eyes, mouths, and gestures made offers and suggested exchanges that were as old as time. It all went on under the hard, watchful eyes of Diamenti's keepers, big men with guns on their hips and stun wands hanging from their wrists.

Renatta seemed to have completely reversed her opinion of the place. She looked around delightedly and, in her near nudity, was looked at plenty in return. 'It's like the whole world was here.'

'Maybe more than that.'

Renatta glanced curiously at the Minstrel Boy. 'What do you mean?'

'Aliens.'

'Aliens?'

'There are stories that on the upper floors and in the towers
there are aliens, trapped in this Damaged World by the unset of the nothings.'

Renatta grimaced. 'I find that kind of creepy.'

The Minstrel Boy sighed. 'I find that kind of sad, the idea of these strange beings stuck here, never able to go home. Of course, it's only a story and Diamenti always denies it, but it is a fact that nobody's ever allowed on the upper floors.'

They had been in the Great Hall only a matter of minutes when the Minstrel Boy was asked if he would sell his veetar. The offer came from a small balding man in a silk suit. He had the smooth assurance of someone who thought he knew the price of everything.

The Minstrel Boy looked at him in complete disbelief. 'I'd rather sell my mother.'

After the man in the silk suit moved on, Renatta grinned at the Minstrel Boy.' Somehow I can't picture you with a mother.'

'Everyone has a mother.'

'Why didn't you sell the thing? You never play it.'

'Things change.'

'Does that mean that you're going to start playing again?'

'It means that things change.'

A swarthy individual in a black toga trimmed with gold, who looked like a slaver from the Margins, buttonholed the Minstrel Boy and wanted to know if he would sell him Renatta.

The Minstrel Boy smiled. 'She isn't mine to sell. She's not my property.'

'Damn right I'm not his property.'

The slaver spread his hands. 'A thousand pardons, beautiful lady, but you looked so . . .' His eyes ran up and down her body, and he licked his lips.

Renatta regarded him with amusement. 'I looked so what? Available? Good enough to eat?'

The slaver bowed low. 'I meant no offense. Indeed, if you would consider allowing me to have a template made of you so I could create a replica, I would pay very well.'

Renatta de Luxe put her hand on a tilted hip, flaunting herself at the slaver. 'I don't see how that could do any harm. How much would you give me?'

The Minstrel Boy scowled and quickly shook his head. 'No. Don't do it.' His voice was hard, almost angry.

Renatta looked at him in surprise. 'Why the hell not?'

'Think about it. Once he's got your template, he can make as many copies of you as he likes. They'd be just like you, with your memories and your feelings. They'd know what you know and think like you think. He could sell them; he could do anything he liked with them. You want that to happen to people just like you?'

Renatta slowly shook her head. 'No, I guess not.'

The slaver scowled and moved off.

Renatta looked sourly at the Minstrel Boy. 'You're getting real ethical about how I establish my financial base.'

'I just believe that you should never let yourself be templated. Once a template exists, anything can happen to it. It can go anywhere. I hate the whole idea.'

He looked around before moving on.

'I guess we ought to try and get ourselves organized.'

He said it as much for his own benefit as for Renatta's. He was a little overwhelmed by the constant bustle of the Great Hall. After spending so long soul-dreaming in the Caverns, it took a little effort to adjust to a place that was so full of energy and transactional action. The babble was all around him, and he had to relearn quickly the trick of putting a certain distance between himself and the noise. Concentrating on the task at hand helped.

'We need a room before we do anything else. I think I'll change one of my coins into the local scrip so we have a bit of money to play with.'

He stopped at a change booth, secretively slid one of the antique coins from the concealed pocket on his belt, and exchanged it for a stack of duty paper bills. Diamenti was ultratraditionalist regarding his monetary system. After that the Minstrel Boy filed a deal option on the submarine with one of Diamenti's buying agents and picked up a larger stack of currency that represented a twenty percent deposit. The deal would be finalized and the Minstrel Boy would be able to collect the balance of his cash after the report from the official valuer, an independent functionary whose word was absolute in all major sales to the house.

Renatta watched with interest as the Minstrel Boy stuffed the bills into one of his pockets. 'So do we get a room now?'

The Minstrel Boy looked around. 'I think I could use a drink before we go any farther.'

'Suits me.'

They started toward the nearest bar. Before they reached it, however, the Minstrel Boy suddenly stopped in his tracks. 'Uh oh.'

'What?'

'I think I just saw a guy I know.'

'Which one?'

'He's by the bar, and he's got his back to us. He's the tall guy, the one in the short gray hussar's jacket and the plumed hat.'

'I see him. is this going to be a problem?'

The Minstrel Boy pushed his hands through his hair. 'I really don't know. The last time I ran into him, it turned into a seven-day drunk, and I can't exactly remember the terms on which we parted company.'

'So what do you want to do?'

'I'm not too sure.'

At that moment it ceased to matter what the Minstrel Boy wanted to do. The man in the plumed hat turned, spotted him — and glared. For the first time Renatta saw the exotic matching pistols that were stuck through his belt. An old scar ran down the left side of his hard tanned face. It was not a face too strong on either patience or tolerance.

'I see you, Minstrel Boy,' the man said.

'I see you too, Reave Mekonta.'

Renatta took a step back. The two men stood staring at each other, faces impassive. The Minstrel Boy's right hand was hanging loosely at his side. Renatta knew that he had his big silver pistol, which he had gone to much trouble to conceal, stuck down the back of his leather pants. Others were also moving out of the path between the two men. She did not want to think about what was going to happen next.

The Minstrel Boy also did not want to think about what was going to happen next. Ramilles Diamenti, as an unswerving market libertarian, did not think it was any of the management's business to relieve patrons of their weapons. He did, however, reserve the right to maintain certain standards of order. Accordingly, in addition to the armed keepers on the floor, there were sharpshooters positioned up in the rafters, ready to drop anyone who pulled a piece. The Minstrel Boy was aware that the shooter's eyes, if not their gun sights, were certainly riveted on his back by now.

Reave took a step forward. His face was impossible to read. The Minstrel Boy did the same. Sweat was running from his armpits. A crowd of spectators were watching them from a safe distance. The keepers were starting to close in, Reave took another step. The Minstrel Boy knew that he could not stand toe to toe with a man of Reave's height and weight and slug it out. He wished he still had his knives — he did not want to have to use the gun. He decided that the best thing to do was to let Reave make the first move. Then he would dive for the floor and try to come up shooting.