Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys dc-4

by Mick Farren

  Reave scowled. 'They're probably still looking for Billy.'

  'I swear the bastard's capacity for fucking up increases in direct proportion to the system breaking down. It gets worse, he gets worse.'

  'Maybe he's the one who's responsible for it all.'

  The Minstrel Boy laughed despite the tension. 'The whole world's an analogue of Billy's rotting psyche?'

  'Got to blame someone.'

  A further ten minutes brought an end to the waiting but a hardly satisfactory answer. There were just two figures coming down the dock toward them, Renatta and Blaisdell — but no Billy.

  'We looked in all the usual places, but there's no sign of him. He could be racked out in any one of a dozen discorp dens.'

  Reave glanced at the Minstrel Boy. 'We can't leave Billy behind.'

  The Minstrel Boy shrugged. 'We've left him behind before. '

  Reave looked unhappy. 'Yeah, but this time's different.'

  'A bit more terminal?'

  'You know what I mean.'

  'What do you want to do about it?'

  Reave was spared having to come up with an answer, General Zeurn and a squad of his hoplites chose that moment to come marching down the pier. Showcross Gee and Stent were with them. Zeum was his normal unshakable self.

  'Are you sure that you wouldn't rather wait for the runners?'

  'We'll meet them if they're coming.'

  'There's a communications unit aboard.'

  'Let's hope we have better luck with this one.'

  Zeum ignored the crack. 'Do you want a squad of my men to accompany you?'

  Reave shook his head. 'We work better alone.'

  'As you will.'

  The Minstrel Boy was looking impatient. 'Is there anything else? Can we go aboard now?'

  General Zeum gestured toward the galley. 'The boat is at your disposal.'

  Showcross Gee took a step forward and spoke for the first time. 'There is one thing.'

  Reave's eyes narrowed. He did not like the metaphysician's tone. 'What's that?'

  'I'd prefer it if you left your SG portapacs here.'

  Reave glanced down at the unit on his belt. 'There's a chance we might need them.'

  'Indeed there is — a chance that you might need them to slip away into the nothings and desert. We can't afford to not have you here right now.'

  Reave started to bluster, but he could hardly deny that the thought had crossed his mind. 'This is ridiculous. The SGs are a part of our basic equipment.'

  'Just hand over the portapacs.'

  Reave looked at Stent. 'Are we to suppose that you're here to back him up?'

  Stent's expression was impossible to read behind his metal headpiece, but his voice sounded a note of regret. 'I explained how it is.'

  Reluctantly, Reave undipped the SG from his belt and handed it over. He indicated that the others should do the same. Stent watched impassively.

  'Can we go aboard now?'

  'Please, go right ahead.'

  As they mounted the gangplank, the Minstrel Boy leaned close to Reave. 'I guess we don't have to feel guilty about leaving Billy behind anymore.'

  In addition to the ten epsilon rowers, there was also a helmsman, an overseer/drummer to set the stroke, a lookout on the bow, and an ensign who was in command of the vessel. Once Reave, the Minstrel Boy, Renatta, amd Blaisdell had settled themselves in its stern, the galley was quickly cast off and the epsilons hauled on their oars. The drummer set a steady pace, and the lights of the city slipped away behind them while the four lounged in the stern cushions in most unsoldierly comfort.

  The ten rowers quickly developed a healthy rate of knots, particularly since the drummer regularly rose from his bench and, all the time shouting the cadence, encouraged them to greater efforts with a multithonged lash.

  The first stage of the journey might have been pleasant, even leisurely, if it had not been for the thought of what they might find at their destination. The carved and painted prow sliced through the dark water, producing white curlicues of foam; the oars rose and fell to the accompaniment of the hypnotic drumbeat and the soft groans of the sweating epsilons. The sky was dark blue velvet and studded with thousands of twinkling pseudostars. A soft breeze blew along the length of the craft. For the first couple of hours the Minstrel Boy was almost able to turn off his apprehension and simply savor the experience. After two hours, though, as they neared the halfway point, a new anxiety set in. There was no sign of the runners from Company A. If they had been dispatched when the communicator transmission had failed, the boat should have already encountered them. It might have been possible to miss them in the darkness, but with the stem lit by blazing torches, the runners would have undoubtedly seen the boat and signaled.

  Reave pushed himself up from the cushions and walked forward along the catwalk between the two lines of rowers to question the lookout. 'Are you absolutely sure that you've seen nothing?'

  The lookout, a boy who could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen, vehemently shook his head. 'No, my lord. I've been watching all the time. The ensign would have the skin off my back if I missed anything.'

  Reave returned to his companions. 'I don't like this at all. If these newcomers stopped the runners leaving, we can only assume that their intentions are hostile.' He turned to the ensign. 'Is it possible that they took another route?'

  The ensign shook his head. 'There is no other route. They would have had to follow the river.'

  The Minstrel Boy squinted into the dark. 'So what do we want to do now? It's too late to turn back.'

  Reave was also peering into the night. 'All we can do is keep going, taking all possible care.' He called to the lookout. 'If you see anything, boy, anything at all, tell me immediately.'

  'Aye, aye, my lord.'

  The galley maintained a steady speed for the best part of an hour. Toward the end of that time Reave, the Minstrel Boy, and the ensign were all up in the prow watching for any sign of life. The river had become considerably narrower and ran between steep, rocky banks. The ensign looked warningly at Reave.

  'We'll be coming to the rapids very soon.'

  'What will we find when we get there?'

  'There is a landing stage on the smooth water just below them. We should see the riverboat that brought Company A up here.'

  It was only a matter of minutes before the lookout sang out. 'Something in the water up ahead.'

  'Does it look like a boat?'

  The lookout shook his head. 'No, my lord. If it is, it's burnt and sunk in the shallows.'

  Reave scowled. 'I hope to hell you're wrong,' He signaled to the ensign. 'Let's take it slow and easy.'

  The ensign motioned to the drummer. 'Stop that racket and reduce the stroke to dead slow.'

  The drummer put down his mallets and maintained the slowest possible stroke with silent gestures.

  'Douse the stern lights.'

  There was a soft hiss as the torches were extinguished. The galley glided forward like a silent ghost. The lookout proved to be absolutely right. The remains of a charred hulk were half-submerged beside the pier, and bodies and debris were floating in the water. The Minstrel Boy felt a cold clutch at his guts. Their worst fears had been realized.

  'It's a fucking massacre.'

  A conference quickly convened on the quarterdeck.

  'This has to be the work of raiders. They must be camped somewhere up by the lake, though why in hell they haven't made a move on the city yet is beyond me.'

  'I should get on the communicator.'

  The ensign seemed to be waiting for Reave's okay. Reave nodded. 'Yeah, go ahead. Give them the bad news.'

  Everyone gathered around the large cumbersome communicator while the ensign coaxed it into life.

  'Company B calling Palanaque Central.'

  All that came from the small speaker was the familiar crackle of static.

  'Company B calling Palanaque Central, acknowledge, please.'

  The ensign looked worriedly at
Reave. 'I don't seem to be raising them.'

  'Keep trying. If you don't get them after five minutes, send out all the relevant information in the hope that they can hear us even if we can't hear them.' Reave glared at no one in particular. 'Why does nothing here work properly?'

  The ensign stayed crouched over the set while the others gathered in a tense group.

  'So what do we do if the communicator is out? Head down-river and warn them in person?'

  Reave shook his head. 'I want to have a closer look at what's out there. I want to know exactly what we're dealing with. The Minstrel Boy and I will go ashore and try to infiltrate their camp.'

  The Minstrel Boy started to protest. 'How did I get elected to walk into the jaws of death?'

  'You and I can most likely mingle with these raiders in the dark.'

  'So can Blaisdell.'

  'I prefer to work with you.'

  'Thanks a lot.'

  'You're welcome.'

  Renatta planted her hands on her nips. 'And what are we supposed to do while you two are out playing heroes? Sit here twiddling our thumbs and waiting?'

  'Get the boat out into the middle of the river and be ready to go fast at the first sign of trouble. Give us two hours. If we 're not back by then, take off and warn the city.'

  The galley moved up to the pier, and Reave and the Minstrel Boy jumped ashore. They watched as the galley backed up, positioned itself in the middle of the stream, and dropped a light anchor. The rowers skulled lightly to keep it from dragging with the current. Satisfied that everything had been done, Reave and the Minstrel Boy turned and walked purposefully away.

  'You know something? I'm not going to forget how you volunteered me for this.'

  Reave laughed grimly. 'Let's hope you have lots of time to remember it in.'

  A well-trodden path ran away from the pier and then curvedand 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

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was, beyond any doubt, a human arm. One of the fingers 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 atKrystaleit. 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.'

  'Afte
r 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. Theblade 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.