The Quest of the DNA Cowboys

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The Quest of the DNA Cowboys Page 13

by Mick Farren


  A.A. Catto pouted.

  'They put it out in time.'

  The chairman banged his gavel.

  'You are out of order, Miss Catto. Pray continue, sir.'

  Nolan Catto glanced at his granddaughter.

  'While appreciating our young people's need for spectacle, I do feel that such a drastic display would, to say the least, be foolhardy.'

  The next to rise was Havard Glick. Heads turned to look at him. Havard Glick was notorious for his eccentric ideas.

  'It might have escaped Miss Catto's knowledge that there are some who hold the belief that even the L-4s are possessed of human sensibilities, and the morality of their wholesale slaughter would be somewhat questionable.'

  There was a ripple of laughter. The old man was obviously senile. Everyone knew that the L-4s were the descendants of rejects from Con-Lee DNA research and that Con-Lee could dispose of them in whatever way they pleased. Nobody else seemed eager to speak after Havard Glick, and the chairman returned to A.A. Catto.

  'Do you have anything else to say, Miss Catto?'

  A.A. Catto jumped to her feet.

  'Indeed I do, Mister Chairman. My grandfather's senti­ments are typical of the decay that will one day destroy this citadel. Don't firestorm the L-4s, he whimpers, it might en­danger us. Leave these insanitary organisms to scuttle round the outside of our beautiful towers. My grandfather would have our citadel overrun by vermin rather than risk the purg­ing flames.'

  Her voice rose in high patriotism.

  'It is the voices of cowards and traitors that plead for this rabble. The five families created the L-4s to serve, and when they no longer serve, it is the duty of the five families to destroy them. The fire cannot harm a citadel. It didn't at Akio-Tech and it won't here. I say to you one more time, we must firestorm the L-4s.'

  The chairman, who had appeared to doze off during A.A. Catto's speech, opened his eyes.

  'I thought you said earlier that you wanted to firestorm the L-4s for fun.'

  'Yes, Mister Chairman. And because it's my sacred duty.'

  The chairman nodded.

  'Yes, I see.'

  He looked round at the directorate.

  'Shall we vote?'

  Nolan Catto was on his feet.

  'May I propose a compromise? It might be a very good idea to instruct the entertainment Execs to prepare video simula­tion of a firestorm. It might do a little to satisfy these young people's need for spectacle.'

  A.A. Catto dug her nails into her palms.

  'You patronizing bastard.'

  The chairman glared at her.

  'Shall we vote? First for Miss Catto's motion, and secondly for Mister Catto's compromise. Vote on the first one, please.'

  A.A. Catto stabbed at her yes button.

  'And now the second.'

  She pressed the no button. The chairman consulted his results.

  'Miss Catto's motion is rejected. Mister Catto's compromise is carried.'

  'Damn you old fools.'

  A.A. Catto stood up and stalked out of the boardroom. Valdo followed a little way behind. Outside in the corridor, Valdo caught hold of her wrist as she was about to step on to the moving walkway.

  'Have you forgotten our bargain, sister dear?'

  'Bargain?'

  'You promised to let me take you home and ill-treat you if I found this meeting loathsome and boring.'

  'Did I agree to that?'

  'Indeed you did.'

  'But surely you didn't take me seriously?'

  'I must admit, sister, that I took it very seriously. So seri­ously that I filed a tape of our conversation with Audit-12, the steward of wagers. He found it perfectly acceptable.'

  'You little beast.'

  'I thought I should get some fun out of what promised to be a very boring morning.'

  A.A. Catto glared at her brother.

  'I positively forbid you to lay a hand on me.'

  'I was going to use a whip. I have one that would be emin­ently suitable.'

  'I won't let you.'

  Valdo smiled at her. He looked like a vulture.

  'You'll have to.'

  'Why?'

  'Because otherwise Audit will compel you to under the term of a family wager.'

  'Let them try.'

  'If they make you, it'll be in public.'

  'Public?'

  'Delinquent wagers are always collected in front of vid-cameras. It goes out like on channel 79. I'm sure all our friends will watch, and of course, the tape will be available in the library.'

  'You're an unpleasant little weasel,'

  Valdo beamed.

  'It runs in the family. Are you ready to come?'

  A.A. Catto pursed her lips.

  'Yes, I suppose so.'

  Valdo helped her on to the walkway.

  'I think the hour will be sufficient.'

  Chapter 21

  Like Burt the Medicine predicted, it took less than two days to cross the desert. It gave way to rolling grasslands, and the track that Billy and Reave had been following became a sur­faced highway. Then other roads connected with it, and soon Billy and Reave were driving through tidy, cultivated farms. They passed other traffic on the road, square, upright, boxlike vehicles painted black or brown and driven by noisy impulse motors. The people inside looked sombre, dour folk. They dressed in black or grey and stared in amazement at Billy's and Reave's flamboyant buggy.

  They passed more and more of the sedate, austere cars. The farms became increasingly built on, and then they passed a sign that read:

  Port Judas Welcomes the Clean Living.

  Reave grinned at Billy.

  'Think we qualify?'

  Billy grinned back.

  'I don't know about you, man.'

  They drove into the town, past rows and rows of small stone houses with white picket fences and neat little gardens. Billy grimaced.

  'It doesn't look too much like fun city.'

  Reave shrugged.

  'Maybe this is just the suburbs.'

  'Maybe.'

  The gardens disappeared and they found themselves in an area of high walls and grey stone factories. Then the road swung round a corner, and out into a square. The square was surrounded by all kinds of imposing municipal buildings. They were built from the same grey stone, but had been dig­nified by the addition of pillars and broad steps. On the pave­ments, serious people in black and grey went soberly about their business. In the centre of the square was a bronze statue of a sour, elderly gentleman in the same long scholastic robe worn by most of the male inhabitants. He clutched a book under one arm, and held the other poised as though about to shake an admonishing finger. The whole place had an air of unshakable piety.

  Reave swung the buggy into the kerb and looked around.

  'Don't say this is downtown Port Judas.'

  The albino had included a box of cigars in the hamper of goodies. Billy lit one and inhaled.

  'It looks like a good place to catch a boat away from.'

  A man in a blue coat with brass buttons and a peaked cap was staring intently at Billy and Reave from the other side of the square. Billy glanced at Reave.

  'He's got to be the law around here. He's a cop if ever I saw one.'

  'Don't look now but he's coming over.'

  The figure was sauntering across the square, fingering the stick that hung from his belt. He had the unmistakable uncon­cerned walk of cops in every place, every age.

  'We can't have broken a law already.'

  'You never can tell.'

  'Shall we do a runner?'

  'No. Hang on and see what he wants.'

  As the figure came closer Billy and Reave could see that his cap bore the legend 'Port Judas Bureau of Correction'. He halted beside the buggy and jerked the finger of his white gloved hand at Billy.

  'Thou!'

  'Me?'

  'Yea, thou. What thinkest thou, parking in the main square?'

  Billy smiled politely.

  'Sor
ry officer. We just drove in from the desert.'

  'Thou makest for the harbour?'

  'That's right.'

  'Then make. Outlanders have their own quarter by the waterfront. Thinkest thou the good people of Port Judas suffer them to run all over the whole city?'

  'Well, no. We just didn't know.'

  'Ignorance is no excuse.'

  'We're really sorry.'

  'I think maybe I should book thee for vagrant wandering.'

  'We won't do it again.'

  'Thirty days in the workhouse would ensure thou didst not do it again.'

  'Listen officer. We're new in town. Give us a break.'

  Billy gestured pleadingly with his cigar. The officer looked at it in disgust.

  'Put out that vile weed. Thou transgressed City Ordinance 417.'

  'Huh?'

  'Thou shall not partake of the weed tobacco in a public place. Penalty sixty days in the city workhouse. That's ninety days thou couldst pull already.'

  Billy ground out the cigar with his boot.

  'Listen . . .'

  'I think I shall overlook thy offences this one time. Hurry thyself to the outlanders' quarter and we'll say no more. I promise thee, though, if I see thy face . . .'

  He glanced at Reave.

  '. . . or thy face either, around here again, I'll book thee for sure. Understandeth?'

  Billy nodded.

  'We understand. Thanks for letting us go, officer.'

  Reave flicked the buggy into drive, and they moved off. The cop watched them until they'd left the square. Once out of sight of him, Reave glanced at Billy.

  'I think you were right about this town.'

  'I'll say one thing for it, it's better than Dur Shanzag. Let's make it down to the outlanders' quarter. The good people of Port Judas give me the creeps. I think we'd be better off with the bad people.'

  The outlanders' quarter was surrounded with a high stone wall made from the same grey stone as the rest of the city. Billy and Reave drove along the wall until they came to an entrance. Over it was a sign that read 'Outlanders' Reserved Area. Gates Closed Dusk to Dawn.' Two more Bureau of Cor­rection officers were on duty at the gate. They waved Billy and Reave down.

  'Are ye entering for the first time?'

  Billy and Reave both nodded.

  'That's right.'

  One of the officers produced a bundle of yellow cards, and handed them one each.

  'Heed the warnings contained therein.'

  They both promised they would, and the officer waved them on. As they drove into the outlanders' quarter, Billy scanned the card. It was closely printed on both sides with stern warnings to outlanders as to what the good citizens of Port Judas considered to be unseemly behaviour. The gist of it was that any foreigner showing his face in the main part of the city had better have a pass, a good reason for being there, and get himself back behind the walls before sunset.

  'This is some friendly town.'

  Reave glanced round.

  'It don't seem too bad in here.'

  The outlanders' quarter seemed a good deal more human. Its streets bustled rather than proceeded with stern piety like they did outside. Sailors in striped shirts and rough cotton trousers rubbed shoulders with merchants in black robes. Street vendors cried their wares and hard-eyed men in frock coats, fancy waistcoats and wide-brimmed hats moved deter­minedly through the crowds. There was even a subtle differ­ence in the women. They still wore the same grey dresses and white aprons as the strait-laced ladies on the outside, but many had discarded the starched white caps, and they con­trived to show more cleavage and the occasional flash of leg. Reave grinned at Billy.

  'This looks more like it.'

  Billy laughed.

  'I could feel more at home here. What we need is food, drink, a bed and some female company. Right?'

  'Too right.'

  Billy pointed to a place ahead on the left.

  'How about that?'

  It was a two-storey building. Grey stone again, but its woodwork was painted a cheerful yellow. Over the door hung a sign — The Hot Puddings. They pulled up in front of it.

  'Is that an inn, or is that an inn?'

  They parked the buggy and walked inside. The front par­lour smelled of ale and tobacco. The timbers of the ceiling were mellowed and darkened by generations of smoke. The place was lit by an iron fixture in the ceiling that held dozens of flickering candles. Their light reflected on the different coloured bottles behind the bar.

  Billy and Reave stood in the middle of the parlour and looked around. There were maybe a dozen men in the place. Most were sailors, except one group of three who looked dis­turbingly like mercenaries either coming to or from Dur Shanzag. A small man in a white shirt, black trousers and a leather apron came out from behind the bar. He had a round moonface and slanted oriental eyes.

  'I help you gentlemen?'

  'We're looking for a place to stay.'

  'You gentlemen find no finer rooms than here at the sign of The Hot Puddings.'

  Reave looked sideways at the little man.

  'You the landlord?'

  The little man nodded.

  'Sure. Me Lo Yuen. I run this place.'

  'Well tell me, Lo Yuen. What passes for money in this town?'

  Lo Yuen looked suspiciously at Reave.

  'Port Judas crowns, of course. You got some?'

  'No stuff beam?'

  'Port Judas don't allow. You got to have money. You got money?'

  Lo Yuen was looking less and less friendly. Billy inter­vened.

  'We don't actually have any money . . .'

  Lo Yuen looked decidedly hostile.

  '. . . However, we do have this very fine desert buggy outside which we would very much like to find a buyer for.'

  He leaned close to Lo Yuen and dropped his voice.

  'Seeing how we don't know too much about the currency we were wondering if you might help us sell it. I mean, we'd be happy to give you a percentage on the sale.'

  The little man looked a good deal happier.

  'It sounds like very admirable proposition. Where is fine vehicle?'

  Billy gestured towards the door.

  'Right outside, honoured friend.'

  He led Lo Yuen out of the inn and into the street.

  'There it is. What do you think?'

  'It very . . . colourful.'

  'Yeah, well, apart from that.'

  'I think maybe some men in parlour might want. Hold on, I talk with them.'

  He went back inside the inn, and a few moments later he came back with one of the men in combat gear.

  'This Zorbo. He want to talk about buying vehicle.'

  'Yeah?'

  Billy faced the mercenary.

  'You headed for the war zone?'

  'That's right.'

  'Rather you than me, friend.'

  'You been there?'

  'Sure, we just got out of it.'

  'Bad, huh?'

  'Bad.'

  Zorbo shrugged.

  'We're fighting men. What else can we do?'

  'Don't ask me, friend. It took us all our time to get away from it. You want to buy this machine?'

  The mercenary stroked his chin.

  'Looks like the kind of thing that we need to get us across the desert. How much you want for it?'

  Billy glanced at Lo Yuen.

  'What would be a fair price, mister innkeeper?'

  Lo Yuen went through a pantomime of patting and in­specting the buggy.

  'Look like two thousand crowns' worth to me.'

  Zorbo poked the buggy with his finger.

  'I'll give you a thousand.'

  Billy looked down at his boots.

  'It ain't more than two days old. Eighteen hundred.'

  'I'll make it twelve and not a crown more.'

  'Sixteen?'

  'Fourteen.'

  'Fifteen hundred.'

  'Done.'

  The mercenary gave Billy a heavy canvas bag of coin
s, and went inside to fetch his friends to look at their purchase. Billy dipped in the bag, and gave Lo Yuen a hundred and fifty crowns. The little man smiled and ushered them back into the parlour of the inn.

  'We do good business, hey gentlemen?'

  Billy clapped the little man on the shoulder.

  'Good business, Lo Yuen.'

  The two of them ate, and then spent the rest of the after­noon lounging at a corner table working their way through a bottle of tequila. Sailors and drifters passed in and out of the place, and as the day wore on, Billy and Reave picked up various snippets of information. It appeared there was a river boat going down to Arthurburg in a couple of days, and also that Port Judas could be quite an easy place to live in if you stuck to the outlanders' quarter. They also discovered that the thirteen fifty they had from selling the buggy was more than enough for them to buy a passage all the way down the river. For the first time in a long time, life looked pretty good.

  The afternoon drew into evening, and the sky outside the inn parlour's narrow windows became dark. Lo Yuen built up the log fire in the huge stone fireplace, and the room became a cosy recess of warm light and deep shadows. Bright highlights glinted on the polished wood, the brasswork and the ranks of bottles.

  The parlour began to fill up and Lo Yuen put three wait­resses to work, who moved between the tables serving drinks, collecting glasses and bandying ribald chat with the customers. A fiddler and an accordion player struck up beside the fire­place, and the laid-back atmosphere of the afternoon dissolved into a jumping jollity. Reave, already half drunk from the afternoon's tequila, laughed and nudged Billy.

  'Only one thing we need now, old buddy.'

  'What's that, man?'

  'We need us some broads, old buddy. That's what we need.'

  'Amen to that, buddy.'

  Word began to spread round the parlour that Billy and Reave were big-spending travelling men. A couple of card hustlers cruised by to check them out, but they made it clear that they didn't want to know. Girls also began to hover round their table. Not only the waitresses, but two or three other girls who seemed to be employed by Lo Yuen to keep the customers happy and drinking.

  Reave stretched out his arm and grabbed one of the girls by the wrist. She was a pleasant plump brunette whose ample figure couldn't be disguised by the sober grey dress, par­ticularly as she wore it considerably less buttoned than the good women of Port Judas.

  'You want to dance, honey?'

  'I don't know about that, sir. Dancing ain't really allowed in public inns.'

 

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