by Mick Farren
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.
The seven halted at the bottom of the ramp. They had taken only one step out onto the stones of Palanaque when what wasclearly an authority figure pushed through the cordon of soldiers with the attitude of a man who liked to be obeyed. His costume was a more lavish version of that worn by the soldiers with the batons. His kilt reached to his ankles, and instead of the simple sleeveless tunic, he wore a long white surcoat with sun and moon symbols worked into the fabric in gold. It was unclear whether he was a priest or a military officer. For all Reave knew he was a combination of the two.
Billy leaned close to the Minstrel Boy. 'I think this is our local bigwig.'
The Minstrel Boy grunted. 'Probably the first of many.'
'Which one of you is Reave Mekonta?'
Reave took a step forward. 'I am.'
The local bigwig airily gestured toward the R1009. 'This thing has to be removed from here. You have not only landed here illegally, but you have placed your aircraft on one of the most sacred areas of the Holy Reality. This alone would be cause enough for me to have you arrested for Grand Sacrilege.'
As he uttered the word "arrest," Billy hefted the multiplex in silent indication that arresting them might not be as easy as it sounded. Reave folded his arms.
'The ship is a wreck. It can't be moved without extensive repairs.'
Renatta stepped up beside him. 'And who might you be, anyway? You seem to be giving out a lot of orders. Are you in charge here?'
The local bigwig drew himself up to his full height. 'I am Dass-el-Hame. I am the Elevated Palarch of the Holy Reality of Palanaque, and I'm telling you that that aircraft has to be removed. It is an affront to the sacred power of the Great Pyramid.'
'I fear we're running into a bureaucratic deadlock,' Blaisdell muttered to the Minstrel Boy.
'So what else is new?'
The Elevated Palarch was not finished. 'There is also the matter of your weapons. There can be no energy or projectile weapons in the Holy Reality. I must insist that you surrender them.'
It was Stent who answered. 'We are contract warriors, and you take our weapons at your peril.'
The Minstrel Boy wondered how exactly anyone could take either Stent's or Jet Ace's weapons, seeing as how they werebuilt directly into their bodies. For the metal men to lay down their arms would be a matter of major surgery.
The Elevated Palarch inflated his chest. 'I will give you exactly one minute to hand over your armaments.'
Reave looked around at the others. Billy shrugged. If it came to a firefight, they were ready. He could not quite believe that Dass-el-Hame was dumb enough to actually push his ultimatum, although Billy had spent a lifetime being regularly surprised by the stupidity of those in authority. Some of the local hoplites seemed to share his feelings. Although they still stood at rigid attention, many of those in the front line of the cordon looked decidedly unhappy at the direction events seemed to be taking
Fortunately, before the minute was up, a distraction put the inevitable violence on hold. The first sign was the glow of torches, which burned with strange aquamarine flames, coming up the steps that led to the plaza in front of the Great Pyramid. Renatta glanced at Reave.
'Now what?'
'Who the hell knows, in a place like this?'
Some kind of procession seemed to be coming toward the airship. A murmuring arose in the crowd beyond the line of soldiers and grew rapidly into a full-voiced chant.
'Laud and magnify!'
'Laud and magnify!'
'Laud and magnify the blessed Name!'
'Laud and magnify the blessed Name of Parshew-a-Thar, beloved Master of the Holy Reality!'
Clay Blaisdell grimaced. 'So the top dog is coming to take a look at us.'
The Minstrel Boy grinned. 'That's what I always say: If you want to get results, go to the top.'
The crowd was parting, and Dass-el-Hame ordered his men to step aside. The beloved Master of the Holy Reality came with considerable pomp and circumstance and a retinue suitable for one who had his followers believing that he was the next best thing to a god. First there was a quartet of cherubic small boys in white surplices, swinging brass censers and laying a pall of sickly-sweet perfumed smoke. The small boys were followed by eight young women in dresses of wispy, pale blue silk, playing barls and tambourines and strewing the path with fresh rose petals. Parshew-a-Thar himself was carried in a litter, borne on the broad bare shoulders of six identical, body-beautiful nefrites with blue skin and white-blond hair, who must have been specially tailored for their job. The litter was luxuriously carved and finished in gold leaf. The backrest and canopy were shaped in the form of a towering mythical beast, a winged thing whose pinions folded protectively around the occupant. The beloved Master of the Holy Reality reclined languidly on a pile of silk cushions. His left hand was buried in a bowl of sparkling gems that presumably were charging him up with cosmic crystal energy.
The Master came as something of a surprise. He was young and very small, hardly the godlike figure they had expected. He seemed slack-faced and epicene, not much more than a pouting, petulant child with staring eyes that were pale and dark-ringed from some precocious debauchery and a tiny rosebud mouth that seemed to be set in a pout of permanent discontent. A blue silk toga was wrapped around a chubby pink body that obviously took no exercise and had been formed by a life of absolute indulgence.
'Laud and magnify the blessed Name of Parshew-a-Thar, beloved Master of the Holy Reality.'
Renatta looked at Reave in amazement. 'That spoiled-looking brat is the holy of holies?'
'So it would seem.'
'Damn.'
The nefrites lowered the litter to the flagstones. Parshew-a-Thar regarded the airship as though he had only just noticed it and it had come as an unpleasant surpr
ise.
'What is that thing doing in front of our pyramid?'
The Master had a high-pitched, querulous voice that was perfectly suited to the willful baby face. It was accompanied by strange birdlike gestures of his hands, which added a measure of inhuman weirdness to the pampered petulance. Since he was addressing no one in particular none of the seven felt the need to answer him. It was left to a nervous Dass-el-Hame to explain the presence of the airship.
'They crash-landed here. They claim it's the last ship out of Krystaleit before it was destroyed.'
'We want it moved. We can't have that thing in front of our pyramid.'
The Minstrel Boy wondered how it must feel to be able to talk about a pyramid as one's own personal property.
Dass-el-Hame bowed low. Billy could imagine that he was probably sweating.
'They claim it can't be moved.'
'Of course it can be moved. Bring epsilons and ropes. They can haul it away. If we can build a pyramid, we can certainly remove an unsightly airship.'
Dass-el-Hame bowed low. 'Of course, blessed Master. It will be done at once.'
'There is also the matter of their weapons.'
'It has been explained to them that such weapons are forbidden in the Holy Reality. They have been ordered to surrender them, but they seem unwilling to comply.'
Parshew-a-Thar dismissed the problem with one of his quick birdlike gestures. As far as he was concerned, the answer was patently obvious. 'Punish them.'
Dass-el-Hame bowed again. He had the weighed-down stoop of a man who was faced with the prospect of punishing seven heavily armed combat veterans when backed up only by a bunch of guys with oversized pool cues. Reave could feel for him, but it really was not Reave's problem. Under no circumstances wan he going to give up his pistols.
Parshew-a-Thar was once again staring resentfully at the R1009. 'How did this thing become damaged?'
Reave decided that it was time to step into the conversation. 'We had a close encounter with a disrupter.'
The Master's head turned sharply. He looked directly at Reave for the first time. Again there was something birdlike about this movement. 'A disrupter? We want to hear about a disrupter. We are very interested in disrupters.'
Reave knew it was time to deal. 'What about our weapons?'
Before the Master could answer, the metaphysicians, led by Showcross Gee, emerged from the airship.
'Greetings, Parshew-a-Thar.'
Parshew-a-Thar looked around angrily, and his voice went up half an octave. 'We don't want these people in our domain! Have them removed!'
Showcross Gee raised a calming hand. He suddenly seemed a much more authoritative figure than the blessed Master.
'Parshew-a-Thar, we are the twenty-seven metaphysicians of Krystaleit, and under the Common Bonds laid down by Stafford Pardee, the First Master, we claim tolerance and the right and facilities to continue our work.'
The Master turned to Dass-el-Hame. 'Can they do this to us? '
'I believe that they are within their rights, blessed Name.'
It was clearly an impasse. The seven and their weapons were suddenly forgotten. Parshew-a-Thar seemed to feel exceedingly threatened by the metaphysicians. While he played at being God, the metaphysicians explored the deep and dangerous wild places on the other side of the mind.
'I will say it once again, Parshew-a-Thar. We claim our rights under the Common Bonds.'
The blessed Name squirmed on his cushions. 'You come here and land your ugly flying machine right in front of our beautiful pyramid and — '
'We claim our rights, Parshew-a-Thai.'
Dass-el-Hame leaned close to the Mjister. 'It might be as well to discuss this in private, Holy One.'
The Master saw the merit in the suggestion and quickly gestured to the nefrites. The litter poles were lifted to their broad blue shoulders.
'Follow us,' Parshew-a-Thar snapped at Showcross Gee.
The small boys swung their censers, the girls banged their tambourines and strewed their petals, and the procession, with the metaphysicians bringing up the rear, proceeded up the Great Pyramid, finally disappearing into a dark rectangular entrance on something like the twentieth floor.
Reave faced Dass-el-Hame. 'So what happens to us in the meantime? I don't want to break up the party, but we've been through a lot, and we're tired and hungry.'
Beside him, the Minstrel Boy muttered something under his breath about needing a drink.
Dass-el-Hame's relief at finding a way out was like the sun coming up. 'I will escort you to my residence, where your needs will be taken care of.'
'What about the ship?'
Dass-el-Hame looked nervously apologetic, as though he expected another confrontation. 'The epsilons will have to move it. It has been ordered. There is no way that it can remain here during Cha'a.'
Reave shrugged. 'What the hell, move it if you want. I think the point's been made. Just try not to damage it too much.'
The Elevated Palarch was a very big man around Palanaque, or else a large section of the population lived like kings. His residence was a spacious single-story villa in the Egyptian style, built around a central courtyard and a pool. The walls, faced with ice-blue and magenta marble, were half-obscured by a jungle of lush tropical vegetation. Foxfire and moonglo drifted among the heavy green leaves, undulating like sensual, glowing ghosts. Flame insects flared briefly around fleshy, luxurious orchids. More lights shone up through the tinted waters of the pool and played over the dancing cascade of the central fountain. Crystal wind chimes tinkled softly, long silk prayer banners stirred softly in a lazy breeze, and there was a hint of perfume in the air.
As they walked through the entryway and out into the courtyard, Dass-el-Hame spread his hands in a gesture of mock deprecation. 'Welcome to my humble home.'
Reave let out a low whistle. 'Some spread.'
Renatta stooped down beside the pool and scooped up a little water. 'I think maybe I could live here.'
Dass-el-Hame maintained an extended household. It seemed that the religious beliefs of Palanaque did not exclude the existence of a large servant/slave class. The Elevated Palarch had a particular taste for petite, dark-haired house girls with blank almond eyes who seemed to have no other motivation in their lives except to cater fawningly to his every whim. He indicated them as though they were simply an extension of his property.
'If there's anything that you want, you only have to ask. Anything at all.'
The Minstrel Boy suspected that the house girls were stepfords Stepfords were socially unacceptable, if not illegal, in most ra tional settlements because their creation involved irreversible brain surgery and a considerably shortened life span. There was also a clutch of exotics being languidly decorative over on the other side of the pool. The majority were heavily painted young women, but there was also a scattering of pretty teenage boys. It was unclear if they were family, invited guests, or just a concubine collection. They looked up at the new arrivals with the nervously watchful eyes of those who assume that the intrusion of strangers will be a prelude to trouble, an assumption that was perfectly understandable in the case of the seven armed mercenaries.
Food and wine were brought, along with a fuel charger for the metal men. Those of the seven who could were given a chance to bathe and to exchange their stained and dirty travel clothes for clean saris in various shades of watered silk. Their treatment left them in no doubt that the Elevated Palarch lived right on the top of the hog. The hot baths alone were a revelation. There were five of them, pale pink marble, each large enough for six people. They came with gold accoutrements anda full complement of wet, naked, and exceedingly attentive house girls who frisked in the bubbling water like sleek brown seals. The house girls proved to be so attentive that Renatta started to complain about the fact that in Palamaque servitude appeared to be exclusive to the female gender.
'Seems like these bastards have built themselves a playboy paradise under the cover of their stupid religion.'
Clay Blaisdell's face broke into a smug and lazy grin. 'It don't seem too bad to me. Besides, there were plenty of men among the epsilons who were hauling away the airship. They didn't look half as cheerful as these water babes.'
When the DNA Cowboys, Renatta, and Blaisdell changed their clothes they also had to face the question of what they were going to do with their weapons. Although they were still adamant about not giving them up, it was plainly ridiculous for them to sit around hugging their guns to their chests. Accordingly, the weapons were stacked discreetly in a secluded corner of the courtyard where they were still in sight but hardly obtrusive.
Once his guests had been comfortably settled in, Dass-el-Hame again reminded them that for the moment his home was totally at their disposal, then made his excuses and left to return to the Great Pyramid. With the master gone, the atmosphere of the residence lightened considerably. The house girls splashed in the pool, and even the exotics seemed to take their poses less seriously. One of the painted women, whose body was an arrangement of tangerine and magenta swirls, came over and sat down next to Renatta.
'Perhaps you would like me to color you? I could get my paints. It must be strange to be so plain, so unadorned.'
Renatta raised an eyebrow. 'Honey, I've done some of my best work unadorned.'
'I didn't mean to give offense.'
'Don't worry about it; you didn't.'
'Should I fetch my paints?'
Renatta shook her head. 'Not right now. Maybe later. I just want to relax here and drink some more of this wine.'
'Do you mind if I talk to you?'
'Not in the least.'
'Do you really come from outside the Holy Reality?'
'You better believe it.'
'And you are concubine to all six of those men?'
Renatta laughed out loud. 'Concubine? I ain't no concubine, cutie. I'm a contract warrior just like the rest of them.'
The tangerine and magenta woman's mouth was a small O of surprise. 'A woman can be a warrior in other realities?'
Renatta gave her a long, hard look. 'I don't know how they've got things set up around here, but where I come from, a woman can do any damn thing she wants.'