Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys (24 page)

They started to cross the Laurel Bridge, which spanned the Elitespace and the Elgin hanging gardens. Hallway across, they
had to press back against the guardrails as a troop of lancers trotted across, driving a dozen frightened women and four young boys in front of them, goading them on with the sharp tips of their lances. Several levels below, a line of four vehicles with a large escort of lizard riders and horsemen was driving slowly up the broad expanse of Khedive Boulevard. Reave recognized the armored car that was second in line.

'That's Bapiste down there.'

'How do you know?'

'I know his car. I figure Protexus, Taraquin, and Zero are in the other vehicles.'

'So the warlords have entered the city.'

'The end can't be long now.'

Billy caressed the multiplex and looked down, judging the range. 'I've still got half a clip of smartbombs left. We could finish this right here and now.'

Reave also looked down. 'We'd never get out alive.'

'I could take them all out at once.'

Reave regretfully shook his head. 'The army would destroy the city anyway.'

Billy put away the smartbombs.

They were approaching the front lines, and there appeared to be no way to their destination without passing through the fighting. Then the Minstrel Boy had an idea.

'You figure the sewers and conduits are still open?'

Billy nodded. 'It's worth a shot. This fighting's been pretty simplistic up to now, all blood and dash. It's possible that they haven't considered the sewers.'

'So we go through the sewers like Harry Lime?' Renatta asked.

The three of them stared at her.

'Who's Harry Lime?'

She shrugged. 'It doesn't matter.'

As Billy had predicted, nobody had considered the sewers. The only things there were the rats and the marls. Almost bent double, they made their way through the semidarkness. The sewers in Krystaleit ran through the actual thickness of the various city levels, and they could tell when they were passing under the shifting combat zones by the impact vibrations that shuddered through the stone and concrete. At one point they
halted as a major explosion shook cascades of dirt and dust from the roof of the tunnel.

'I feel like a goddamn mole.'

'Better a goddamn mole than a dead hero.'

The impact vibrations began to decrease, and it seemed that they were actually behind the lines of the defenders.

'I think we should try the surface again.'

They crawled on until they reached a vertical shaft that ran up to a manhole. Reave took the point, climbing the iron rungs that were set in the wall of the shaft and hoping first that the cover would not be locked down and second that it would not open up on a new firefight.

He put his shoulder under the heavy cast-iron cover and pushed up. At first it stuck, but as he applied more pressure it slowly lifted. The first thing he saw was three pairs of solid military-style boots standing around the hole. As he pushed the cover back farther, he found that he was looking into the muzzles of three weapons. For a gut-wrenching moment he thought they had come up on the wrong side of the line. Then he saw the militia uniforms behind the guns.

'Don't shoot! Don't shoot! We're on your side.'

One by one they climbed out of the manhole under the watchful eye of three very nervous militiamen. They seemed to have emerged into a hastily established command area right in the shadow of the core. The sound of heavy fighting was very close, and the troops that were moving around had the grim if hopeless determination of men who were preparing for a last stand in which they had only the most remote chance of prevailing. There was no attempt to disguise the fact that the preparations being made were for selling their lives at the highest possible price. The last of the heavy ordnance was being ranged along a tight perimeter. A half dozen of the heavily armored troopers stood waiting to be deployed in the final last-ditch effort. Close by, a team of technicians were setting up a complicated communcations unit, while groups of officers clustered around looking worriedly at maps and three-dimensional biode displays. The overall atmosphere was one of single-minded concentration on the tasks at hand. Nobody wanted to think about the future when only a miracle would allow them to live to see it. The DNA Cowboys were left in no doubt that they had once again crawled into the frying pan.

Two of the militiamen kept them covered while the third hurried off to find an officer. As they waited, a familiar armored figure powered in on dorsal jets, touched down briefly, had a fast conversation with a group of officers, and then took off again. The DNA Cowboys looked at each other in blank disbelief.

'Jet Ace?'

'What the hell is he doing here?'

'Seems to be on our side.'

'Hurray for us.'

'I think it's confirmation that the world's gone crazy.'

Their exchange made the militia guards even more nervous. The one with a noncom badge snapped at them. 'No talking.'

Renatta tried to reassure them. 'Just take it easy. We're the good guys.'

A short, harried-looking junior officer hurried up. His expression made clear that the last thing he needed was the arrival of the DNA Cowboys.

'Who are you people?'

Reave did the talking. 'Free-lancers. We were separated from our unit, and we've been making our way back through the sewers and conduits.'

'How do I know that you're not enemy infiltrators?'

'You don't, but I doubt that the enemy needs to do any more infiltrating.'

'What's the name of your commanding officer?'

'Reft Zill.'

The officer looked around. 'At least that is easily settled.' He called across the area. 'Master Zill, could you come over here?'

Reave sighed as Zill came waddling up. He could not think of any situation that could be improved by the presence of Reft Zill. 'Hi, Reft. Still alive, I see.'

'I could say the same for you.'

'Do you know these men?' the officer asked shortly.

Zill nodded. 'Sure. They're mine. In fact, I've been trying to locate them.'

'Can I leave them with you?'

'By all means.'

The officer and the three militiamen hurried away. Zill looked the DNA Cowboys up and down.

'So where have you been skulking?'

'Skulking? I'd lay bets that we've been closer to the fighting than you have.'

Zill made a dismissive gesture. 'This is all beside the point. I have a new assignment for you.'

Reave raised a suspicious eyebrow. 'An assignment? Now? What are we supposed to do? Form a suicide squad?'

'Our contracts have been transferred.'

'What are you talking about?'

'You get yourselves to the quadrant J platform. The last we heard, it hadn't fallen to the enemy. If that's the case, transportation will be waiting.'

'Transportation?'

'I thought that would get your attention. If you can make it there alive, you'll be getting out of the city.'

'Why us?'

Zill shook his head. 'Don't ask me. The biode came up with your names. You'd have been the last ones I would have chosen.'

Reave still could not believe what he was hearing. 'We can get out of here?'

'You've been selected to escort a party of the city's metaphysicians out to Palanaque.'

'Palanaque?'

Zill nodded. 'Anywhere's got to be better than here.'

Reave grunted. 'So the rats are leaving?'

'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.'

Reave half smiled. 'Have you found a way out, too?'

Zill's eyes hardened. 'That's none of your fucking business, Reave Mekonta. Just get your ass to J platform and thank whatever miserable gods you may believe in that you've been given a second chance.'

— Pressdra Vishnaria

The Human Comedy, Volume 14:

The Damaged Perception

CHAPTER TWELVE

'THERE'S SEVEN OF US.'

'Another fucking mystic number.'

The biode had picked an escort for the metaphysicians of Krystaleit that impressed even Billy with its radical weirdness. Waiting on the airship dock for their arrival were the DNA Cowboys and Renatta de Luxe; an armored trooper who had introduced himself as Lister Stent; Jet Ace, who was convinced that as a team they were destined for epic deeds; and Clay Blaisdell, who was drunk. There was also a hexaclone air crew of six, wearing trim, identical leather jodhpur suits, helmets like skullcaps with flaps, and raised propeller insignia. Behind them, the silver expanse of the dirigible R1009 rode gently on its mooring beams against a background of nothings that had become a deep purple. Inside the city all hell was breaking loose. It sounded as if the last organized stand had started.

The metaphysicians came out of the tunnel mouth. As always seemed to be the way with metaphysicians, their white bodysuits were spotless, and they seemed totally unconcerned about what was going on around them, except for maybe a bare acknowledgment of the need to hurry. There were twenty-seven of them, and they walked in a tight, informal procession, guarded by a squad of militiamen who formed a tense half circle behind them with their weapons leveled back down the tunnel. They seemed to expect that pursuit might catch up with them at any minute.

The metaphysicians did not hesitate. They walked straight up the lowered gangway and through the main lock of the dirigible. The air crew turned smartly and followed. Nobody had told the escort of seven what exactly they were expected to do, but they did not wait for an order to board. They hurried up the gangway
in the wake of the air crew. Renatta went first, and the DNA Cowboys followed. Blaisdell stumbled after them, and Stent and Jet Ace lumberingly brought up the rear. Reave had expected the militia to follow them — there was certainly enough room aboard the very large airship. Instead, they remained standing on the dock, looking nervously at the access tunnel. As the gangway rolled back and the port sighed shut, he noticed dial they did not even have stasis generators. There was no way out for them.

The main lock led to a long viewing gallery dial ran all the way around the outside of the lower gondola. Once inside the airship, the metaphysicians gathered in an exclusive group, holding an urgent whispered conversation. Renatta and the other three put down what gear they had managed to rescue from the Victory Café and went to the viewing windows to take a last look at Krystaleit. The Minstrel Boy had insisted that they go back and retrieve his veetar, even threatening to go on his own when the others showed an understandable reluctance to risk their lives for a musical instrument, no matter how exotic, particularly as the Minstrel Boy appeared not to play it any longer. Surprisingly, it was Reave who had decided that it was only fitting that they rescue the Minstrel Boy's legendary instrument. When Billy had still seemed disinclined, Reave had pointed out that they had done as much for him when they had rescued Renatta. Renatta had immediately protested being equated with a veetar, but Reave had dismissed her complaint with a casual wave. It was not the nature of the rescuee that mattered. The common point was that both had been gratuitous, even selfless, operations that were carried out at the request of a comrade. His explanation in no way satisfied Renatta, but further argument was short-circuited by the spectacle of Stent lumbering across the deck with the unconscious Blaisdell draped across his outstretched metal arms.

A chime sounded, and the pleasant, melodic voice of the airship's passenger-aid intelligence came over a concealed PA.

'Please stand by. The R1009 is about to disengage its mooring beams and pull away from the docking platform. Turbulence may be experienced during the initial move under power, and major disturbance will occur during entry to the nothings. There will be a further warning before entering the nothings.'

There was something a little disturbing about the soothing tone of the artificial voice announcing their departure from a city that was being torn apart and butchered. Even more disturbing was the fact that the airship was almost empty. The R1009 was quite capable of lifting with a couple of hundred refugees, and it seemed almost criminal to Reave that it was leaving the city with just thirty-four passengers on board. The study of metaphysics appeared to do nothing to foster the growth of a humanitarian conscience.

The mooring beams snapped off, and the R1009 rose gently away from the platform. It was unbelievable that anything so large could move with such precision and delicacy. The vast, extended silver cigar was built externally on the ancient zeppelin pattern but with an industrial stasis generator and a pair of big mass repulsers where the gasbags had been back in the olden days. Its nose slowly turned, and once clear of the platforms, it pushed out to where the nothings waited. It sailed majestically toward emptiness, quite possibly the last ship to leave the city of Krystaleit as the world had known it, and there were only a handful of probably doomed soldiers to see it go.

The city's stasis field seemed to have extended since it had merged with that of the invaders. There was a considerable distance of open air between the exterior of the structure and the start of the nothings. As the docking platform started to dwindle and merge with the other surface features and
it was possible for the first time to see the curve of Krystaleit's miniature horizon, a giant gout of red flame spewed across all the platforms of an entire quadrant. There had obviously been a monstrous explosion somewhere inside. If the warlords let their orgy of violence run unchecked to its logical conclusion, they would finish by destroying themselves along with the city. Maybe that would be the only consolation in the whole sorry episode. The airship rolled with the shock wave and then slipped into the nothings with a minimum of vibration.

As soon as the R1009 had settled down to the monotonous process of traversing the nonmatter, one of the metaphysicians called for the attention of the seven chosen escorts. Six turned, ready to listen to what he had to say. Blaisdell was still sprawled in the lounge chair where Stent had dropped him, dead to the world.