Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys

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 gangwayin 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 Cafe 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.

'My name is Mannassas Showcross Gee, and during thisvoyage I will act as spokesperson for our group. I will also be available at all times to answer your questions and receive your input and suggestions.'

He paused as though giving them time to absorb the information. There was a tinge of condescension in his tone that the Minstrel Boy found mildly annoying. What was wrong with the other twenty-six of them? Were they too holy to speak to their bodyguards?

Showcross Gee went on. 'We are the twenty-seven metaphysicians of Krystaleit, and we have acquired your seven warrior contracts. We require you as personal protection on this journey and then to aid in the organization of a defense against a repeat of the rape of Krystaleit, should such a thing occur when we reach our destination. Does that, in principle, meet with your approval?'

Nobody seemed ready to answer, so Reave took it upon himself. 'Anything that got us out of Krystaleit sounds okay right now.'

Renatta raised a hand. 'Can you tell us about our destination? What is this place Palanaque?'

'The settlement of Palanaque is the creation of the Masters of Palanaque, and although it is not a metaphysical community and some broad philosophical differences do exist between our order and Parshew-a-Thar, the current Master, we will receive toleration, and the facilities there will enable us to continue with our research.'

Neither Billy nor the Minstrel Boy liked the sound of that. In the Minstrel Boy's experience, religious settlements were long on bullshit and short on fun. Billy's feelings were along the same lines but were many times compounded by his bad memories of the Sanctuary.

Billy gave Showcross Gee a long, hard look. 'How much tolerance can we expect in this place?'

'You will be welcome there. As to creature comforts, there is much concentration on the tantric, so you should find many diverse ways to pass your leisure time.'

The Minstrel Boy scowled. He was not sure he was ready for a return to hours of blank-eyed sex, and he resented the fact that the metaphysicians' mouthpiece was holding it out as bait. He was seriously wondering what Showcross Gee took them for.

'It is also a very beautiful place. I think that you'll be happy there.'

The Minstrel Boy was halfway resolved to dislike the place on sight. Reave, on the other hand, was quite attracted to the idea of a little peace and quiet. Renatta reserved judgment. The metaphysicians were all men, and as far as she was concerned, that did not bode well.

Mannassas Showcross Gee had little more to say, and after he had departed, the seven were free to explore the public rooms of the R1009. Jet Ace and Stent immediately excused themselves and went off to find private cabins. Watching them go, Reave realized that he knew absolutely nothing about the personal and social lives of the men who were part machine. Clay Blaisdell was still out, and the four of them, the DNA Cowboys and Renatta, were thrown together yet again. A whisper sign on the observation deck suggested that they should visit the Silver Ballroom on the upper deck. Lacking a better idea, the four of them started for the escalators.

There was something quite eerie about moving through an empty luxury dirigible that should have been crowded with people. Where there should have been music, conversation, laughter, and the clink of glass, there was nothing but their footfalls echoing hollowly on the silver deck plates while the vast expanses of wall mirrors reflected the emptiness to infinity. The effect became even more bizarre when they caught sight of themselves in those mirrors — dirty, battle-blackened figures against the spotlessly lavish decor.

The Silver Ballroom was an indulgent expanse of highly polished Art Deco stainless steel. The dance floor, of translucent crystal lit from below, made all who walked on it look as though they were floating. It was obviously supposed to give the finishing touch to the overall ambience of haute aviation. Although there was no serving staff, the bar was fully stocked, which came as a considerable relief and did a lot to counteract the seeming absurdity that the four of them, so filthy and funky, should be the only ones in such a palace of opulence. Billy, who had been looking increasingly introspective, brightened noticeably and took on the role of bartender. Turning their backs on the echoing splendor, they set to drinking their way through the rest of the voyage.

After the first three rounds, Clay Blaisdell stumbled in looking like the living dead. 'Dear God, do I feel bad.'

Billy took pity on him and started mixing him a bull's breath, the great traditional hangover cure. 'So what happened to you?'

'I got to tell you, I thought that it was all over. I was trapped in this half-collapsed building, the rest of the squad had all been killed, and I was resigning myself to facing the great unknown.'

'So how did you manage to get so drunk?'

Blaisdell gratefully accepted the yellowish-green bull's breath. 'I had a couple of bottles of scotch in my pack, and I decided that there was no percentage in facing the end sober.'

The Minstrel Boy laughed. 'I can empathize with that.'

Renatta sipped her martini. 'So how did you get out?'

Clay Blaisdell drained half the cocktail and winced as it started to take effect. 'It was weird. I was about a bottle and a half into not going gently into that dark night when I heard this terrible crashing, like Godzilla was trying to rip his way into the building. I figured it had to be some of Baptiste's or Taraquin's men coming in to get me, but by then I was too drunk to care and didn't have any ammunition left to do anything about it, anyway.'

He drained the second half of the bull's breath and pushed the empty glass back to Billy for a refill.

'Instead of the enemy, though, Jet Ace comes smashing through a wall and announces that he's come to rescue me because my contract's been transferred. I didn't know what he was talking about, but I wasn't in a position to argue. Next thing I know I'm standing around with you guys waiting to get on a blimp. Somewhere around about then, I decided the best thing would be to pass out cold and let destiny take its course. I take it we got away from Krystaleit.'

Billy passed him another bull's breath. 'That's right. We live to fight another day.'

'Has anybody told us where we're headed?'

Billy nodded. 'Yeah, we had us a little orientation lecture while you were sleeping it off.'

'And?'

'And we're on our way to Palanaque to be bodyguards to a bunch of metaphysicians.'

'I never really cottoned to metaphysicians. Always talking down to you.'

The Minstrel Boy nodded. 'Ain't that the truth.'

Blaisdell looked around at each of them. 'Anyone ever been to Palanaque?'

Renatta and the DNA Cowboys all shook their heads. Blaisdell sipped his drink. He was slowing down a little on the second one.

'It's real beautiful to look at, but it's land of weird. The first Master, Stafford Pardee, was an air pirate who suddenly wanted to get religion. He couldn't find one that suited him, so he invented one for himself. He built the settlement according to his pirate's idea of a holy city. It's part Egyptian, part Aztec, an awful lot of Martianois, and a dash of Thanos. After twelve generations it's still all there.' He suddenly grinned. 'Of course, I couldn't say the same about some of the inhabitants. There's quite a few that are a long way out there.'

Renatta poured herself another martini. 'But what's it like to actually live there?'

Blaisdell pulled a wry face. 'It's okay at first. Kind of relaxing. It gets tired pretty fast, though. You spend a hell of a lot of time watching the palms wave. There's one thing in its favor that you can always count on: By the time you get sick of them, you can be sure that they've gotten sick of you. In that respect, Palanaque's quite self-regulating.' He took another sip of bull's breath. 'So what happened to the metal men? How come they aren't carousing with us regular folk?'

'They took themselves off on their own as soon as we got aboard.'

Blaisdell seemed to be on his best behavior and even willing to mend a few fences. The Minstrel Boy wondered if he was genuinely trying to make the best of the situation or if it was just a display for Renatta. The Minstrel Boy had to hand it to Renatta. She sure as hell got around even in the most limited area of opportunity. The metal men were the only ones she had not bedded out of their less than magnificent seven.

Blaisdell was still thinking about Stent and Jet Ace. 'Did you ever wonder what those guys do when they're off on their own? What they do for fun?'

As he spoke, his eyes flickered to Renatta for an instant. The Minstrel Boy caught the look. He had had the same thought at exactly the same time. Just before the attack, things had not seemed to be going too well between Renatta and Blaisdell. Did that mean that her next move would be to Jet Ace or Lister Stent?

'I even wonder how much of that stuff they take off before they bed down for the night.'

Although Reave laughed, his mind was still back with what they had been through in Krystaleit. 'It occurs to me that Palanaque won't be too relaxing if Baptiste and Taraquin and the rest follow us there.'

'Why should they follow us?'

'Baptiste, at least, is somewhat obsessed about metaphysicians. He's going to be fit to be tied when he finds out that Krystaleit's got away.'

Billy's face lost its smile. 'You might have a point there.' He looked at Blaisdell. 'Does Palanaque have anything approaching a military?'

'It's got an army, but you can forget about it. They drill on the river plain in front of the city. Classic Macedonian. Strictly spear squares and cavalry. There are no projectile or beam weapons allowed in the settlement. Not even bows and arrows.'

Reave looked very unhappy. 'What about our weapons?'

'We'll probably get a dispensation, but I don't doubt that we'll have to argue about it for a while.'

The talk and drinking went on and the old stories came out as the nothings shimmered outside the observation windows. The only one who did not contribute to the bragging and bullshit about the good old golden days was Renatta, who seemed unwilling to let slip the slightest detail about her past. The Minstrel Boy had wondered on a number of occasions what there was in her history that made her treat it like a closed and sealed book. It hardly seemed possible that she had done something so disgraceful that she should be ashamed to talk about it in this present scurvy company. Unless, of course, she had managed to invent a truly disgusting and original sin. The girl was certainly resourceful enough.

Even in a reality as large as the R1009 it became very difficult to calculate the passage of time as they passed through the nothings. For a while the Minstrel Boy had kept it semipegged by counting his drinks, but eventually even that became difficult. It was thus that he had no idea how long they had been in theship's Silver Ballroom when Showcross Gee came looking for them.

'Gentlemen, lady. I have a very important announcement.'

The five of them turned and looked at him.

'As far as our lizardbrain simulacrum can tell, the city of Krystaleit is no more.'

Reave stiffened. 'What do you mean, no more?'

'It no longer registers even on our most powerful detection equipment. A short while ago, it simply vanished.'

Blaisdell propped himself up on the bar. 'Did any smaller reality mass remain behind when it vanished?'

Showcross Gee shook his head. 'Nothing.'

Blaisdell looked at the others. 'You know what that means?'

Reave nodded. 'The warlords destroyed themselves right along with the city. I know I shouldn't be pleased about a whole city being taken out, but it does come as something of a relief. I'd hate to go through that whole fight all over again.'

Showcross Gee nodded. 'Those are our sentiments entirely.'

Showcross Gee left, and the timeless drinking resumed. It started to seem that it was not even possible to get satisfactorily drunk while passing through the nothings. The Minstrel Boy was only developing a headache. When the airship suddenly lurched and he had to grab hold of the bar he imagined that it was in his own head and that he was drunker than he had thought. Then the second shock hit the R1009, and everyone went staggering. Beyond the observation windows, the nothings were suffused with red.

'What the hell is going on?'

As they picked themselves up from the silver floor, a vibration ran through the ship like a shudder. The airship lurched again, and everyone was once again thrown down. Renatta had a small cut over her right eye. Billy wrapped his arms around a stanchion.

'Grab hold of something and hang on! I don't think we've seen the worst of this.'

The vibration became increasingly violent. Bottles fell from the bar and smashed on the floor. A mirror shattered in its frame. It started to feel as though the ship were trying to shake itself to pieces. Outside, the nothings were a dazzling, pulsingcrimson. As well as shaking, the R1009 seemed to be fishtailing out of control and rolling from side to side.

'You think this could have something to do with the destruction of Krystaleit, like a shockwave or something?'

'Who knows? Anything can happen in the nothings.'

The Minstrel Boy clung desperately to a bar support. 'I hate unexplained phenomena.'

There was a bright red flash, and then the nothings went back to what the Minstrel Boy thought of as normal. Normal, that is, except for the large and diffused red sphere that was rapidly floating away from them.

'What?'

'We must have been inside that thing.'

Renatta wiped blood from her eye. 'I didn't think anything could exist in the nothings.'

'All we know is that we can't exist in the nothings. There could be a whole other universe out there.'

Billy smiled grimly. 'And it's probably as screwed up as this one.'

Just as they thought they were through the turbulence, the vibration started again and rapidly worsened. Soon the whole fabric of the ship was loudly protesting at the treatment it was receiving. It was buffeted as though it were being hit repeatedly by a giant hammer. Billy lost his hold and went sliding across the ballroom floor as the ship rolled through forty-five degrees. It was lucky that the chairs and tables were bolted down or he would have been buried by furniture. As it was, a drift of bottles and broken glass slid along with him; his hands were cut, and his clothes were soaked with an impossibly exotic mixture of alcohol.

'Goddamn it to hell! I'm fucking sick of this!'

Then they were out of the nothings. Of all things, snow was blowing past the window. There was a banshee howling outside the ship that was deafening after the oppressive silence of the nonmatter.

'This is not right.' The Minstrel Boy crawled hand over hand until he reached a window. The R1009 was bucking and barreling though a mountain range of implausibly sharp rock spires with a blizzard shrieking through its steep passes and deep ravines. The ship all but grazed one of the spindly peaks,missing it by a fraction. 'I think we've run head-on into some random reality.'

'How does it look?'

'It doesn't look good.'

As abruptly as they had come, the mountains were gone again. The still shuddering airship banked drunkenly, and the Minstrel Boy found that he was looking out over a landscape that was as flat as a billiard table and was divided into huge, geometric black and white squares. Here and there sharp outcroppings of rock appeared to have pushed their way up through the level surface, forcing deep cracks in the monster mosaic.

The R1009 was sinking lower and lower over the scarcely credible plain. The vibration went on rattling their nerves. For a minute or more the ship stopped rolling and managed to hold a relatively steady course.

The Minstrel Boy took a few quick steps toward the ballroom's nearest exit. 'I'm going to get the portable SGs from our gear. I don't trust this ship not to start breaking up. There's something really wrong here.'

Reave worked his way toward him. 'We might as well all go. If something does come unglued, we'd do well to grab as much of our gear as we can.' He peered out of an observation window.

The Minstrel Boy joined him.

'It doesn't even look like an inhabitable reality,' the Minstrel Boy commented.

'What's that over there?'

Reave was pointing to something, little more than a smudge on the horizon but growing bigger as they watched it. The Minstrel Boy shaded his eyes. The sky was a bright white glare that was reflected back from the white geometric squares as the shadow of the airship raced over them.

'It looks like a dust cloud; could be being thrown up by some kind of vehicle.'

'Hell of a big vehicle. That cloud's a long way away.'

There was one problem. Although whatever was creating the dust cloud was traveling over the black and white squares, the dust being thrown up was gaudy and multicolored; it hung in the air, spiraling and twisting. The closer the thing came — and it seemed to be traveling at a speed well in excess of those normally achieved by land vehicles — the more the Minstrel Boy and Reave came to realize that it was very big indeed. It alsoseemed to be partially buried in the ground, plowing through the flat, smooth surface.

'What the hell is that thing?'

The Minstrel Boy shook his head. 'I don't know, but I don't like it.'

Billy had come up beside him. His eyes were wide with horror. 'I know what that is.'

Reave and the Minstrel Boy both looked at him. 'What is it?'

'It's a disrupter.'

The word rolled like a toll of doom. It was one of the most feared words in the whole Damaged World.

'Are you sure?'

'Did you ever see one?'

Billy took a deep breath. 'No, I never saw one, but there was this guy living at the Sanctuary who told me all about it in one of his lucid moments. This is exactly as he described. One tore into his settlement and just chewed up reality. If that wasn't bad enough, it left behind this wake like a walking nightmare. It drove the ones that were left quite mad. This guy was one of the few survivors.'

'What do you mean, one of his lucid moments?'

'He giggled uncontrollably most of the time.'

The fear of the disrupter was partially the fear of the unknown. They were rarely seen; most people had only heard the lurid tales of their capacity for destruction. So little was known about them that there was no way to predict where and when they might burst through from whatever dimension or nether-place they normally occupied and tear into the world of mortals to create chaos and damage beyond belief. More than one culture had a nighttime prayer that started 'Deliver us from the fury of the disrupter.'

The airship was still descending, although the vibration had greatly subsided. It actually seemed to be slowing to a stop right in the path of the oncoming disrupter. The Minstrel Boy stared at the thing as though he were mesmerized. The shock seemed to have robbed him of the will to do anything to save himself. It was not that he had led what could remotely be described as a sheltered life. He had seen more than most men, but the monster in front of him was something out of legend. There was no certainty that the death that it was undoubtedly bringing was anatural one rather than some hideous transfer to an unknowable discorporation beyond the nothings. For the first time in his life he felt totally helpless. He suddenly became aware that Reave was tugging at his arm.

'Come on, let's get going.'

'What's the point? You can't run away from a disrupter.'

'We can get the SGs. We'll need them if we get through this.'

The Minstrel Boy tore his eyes away from the disrupter and followed Reave, even though he truly believed that it was a futile exercise. If a disrupter came after a person, there was nothing he could do except kiss his ass good-bye.

It was now possible to see something of the disrupter itself. It was a dark shape in the center of the garish residue that was fountaining up on either side of it as it sliced through the surface of reality. It appeared to be roughly cylindrical with an open, gaping maw that seemed to be sucking in the living rock. There was what looked like a line of jutting extensions along the top side of the thing, like spines or a kind of composite dorsal fin, but it was hard to make out any real physical details because the disrupter apparently had the capacity actually to absorb light. At the same time, however, it glittered from within, as though tiny stars were trapped inside its dark bulk.

The airship had come to a full stop, hanging in the air a mere thirty feet above the ground. The disrupter was coming straight at it. The DNA Cowboys, Clay Blaisdell, and Renatta stood in the observation gallery. Billy checked his SG; Reave had put a protective arm around Renatta. Blaisdell gripped the guardrail in front of the window with white-knuckled hands. The Minstrel Boy just stared. There was no sign of the crew, the metaphysicians, or the two metal men. The disrupter had come close enough for the five of them to see deep into the thing's open maw. In front of it, solid matter seemed to flare and become unstable, and then, with the consistency of liquid, it was effortlessly swallowed. There seemed to be some dark energy inside that glittered in a way that no darkness ever glittered in the real world. The Minstrel Boy could almost feel it calling to him, beckoning him to be part of it.

The disrupter was only a matter of a couple of hundred yards away. To everyone's complete surprise, the airship began to lift, as if it were being pushed upward and out of the way by some invisible bow wave that preceded the disrupter.

'We're going up. I thought for sure that we were going to be sucked into it.'

The disrupter was directly underneath them. The R1009 suddenly rolled and staggered. The last thing the Minstrel Boy remembered was Reave bellowing.

'Hang on! Here we go!'

They were inside something else. What a second before had been normality was now so totally twisted out of shape that the Minstrel Boy had difficulty believing that he was still alive or even that he was the same being he had been before. Sound, vision, touch, and temperature, even the familiar comfort of up and down — none of it was remotely like anything he had previously experienced. Perspective twisted, coiled, and undulated. Shards of color with razor-sharp edges rushed at him and threatened to slice his flesh to ribbons, except that he no longer had flesh. His body was being stretched and distorted all the way to infinity. His whole environment had become an alien place where only fragments of his personality crawled and cowered. It was as if there were other entities all around him, but isolated, separated, unable to communicate anything but a common pain and a common loss. Were they other victims of the disrupter? At the heart of it all there was a being that was beyond alien. Even the word "alien" had a form and a recognizable perimeter. This thing had nothing except the unmistakable will to consume. All that translated was its hunger, a cosmic hunger from a cosmos that was so far removed that the Minstrel Boy was unable to conceive of it even though he could feel the pain of that relentless now-and-forever need. The other entities — and he had no reason to believe that he was not one of them — swirled around it in unhappy orbit, reflecting the need. Strange voices that spoke in tongues that he could not even begin to understand forced their way into his head. He was falling and flying and floating; he was drowning in a molasses-thick sea of vibrating noncolor. He was being scorched and frozen in a dark place that was on the other side of blinding white light. He was disintegrating, and it would go on until eternity. He heard a voice screaming, and it sounded like his own.

'For God's sake, stop!'

And, miraculously, it did. He was back in the airship hangingon to a guardrail for dear life. The R1009 was in a great deal of trouble. As far as he could tell, it was standing on its nose while dark madness roiled past the windows. There was an explosion somewhere in the bow, and then a second one above them. They were falling, spinning. His arms felt as if they were being wrenched out of their sockets as he clung on.

'We're going down!'

The airship was wallowing, a sign that someone was trying to regain control. It yawed sideways, and although it was still dropping, it no longer fell like a stone.

'Ground's coming up!'

'Where's the disrupter?'

'It's passed. We're going through its wake.'

'Hang on!'

The R1009 impacted, bounced, and hit again. It slid for about fifty yards in a single shriek of protesting metal and finally slewed to a stop. Reave was the first one to get to his feet. Smoke drifted through the seriously canting observation deck, but there was no fire.

'Is everyone okay?'

There were groans of acknowledgment. No one had suffered more than cuts and bruises.

Billy was nursing a sprained wrist. 'An old-fashioned Flash Gordon airship crash where everyone dusts themselves off and walks away.'

'An old-fashioned what?'

Billy shook his head and helped Blaisdell to his feet. 'Nothing.'

Reave cut through the cross talk. Billy could go on all night dragging weird stuff out of his memory. It was something he did in the aftermath of stress. 'Let's get out of here. The damn thing could still blow up.'

Power was out, so the Minstrel Boy threw the lock onto manual mode and wrestled with the wheel that swung the door open. The five of them hurried through it and then kept up a fast walk until they were some fifty yards from the grounded ship. It was only when they were what Reave considered to be a safe distance away that they turned to look back at it. Considering what the R1009 had been through, it was in comparatively good shape. The framework was twisted in a couple of places, and parts of the outer skin had been blown away, but it had not broken up.

The worst damage was up by the nose, where a blackened hole had been blown in the fuselage.

Renatta sighed. 'I guess it lost its luxury status.'

Billy glanced at Reave. 'You think there's any chance of it flying again?'

Reave scratched his head. 'I'm damned if I know. These things are supposed to be able to fly when they're half falling apart, but this baby's taken a lot of punishment'

At that moment a smaller lock nearer the nose popped open. The metaphysicians began carefully climbing out. They seemed hardly touched by the crash. Not even their bodysuits were dirty. Reave went back to meet them, but before he could reach the main group, Showcross Gee detached himself from the other twenty-six and headed him off.

'This is a bad business,' the metaphysician said.

Reave nodded. 'Have you seen anything of the crew? Did they survive?'

Showcross Gee shook his head. 'We simply got ourselves; out of the aircraft, just as you did.' Showcross Gee was nor going to brook any reproach from the help.

Reave looked back at the ship. 'I guess we ought to go back inside and see if there's anyone left alive in there. It doesn't look as though the ship's going to blow.'

He started to round up the others, but Showcross Gee called him back. 'Do you have any idea what this place might be?'

Reave looked across the strange checkerboard plain. 'I don't have a clue, except that it doesn't look like an area of generated stasis. I think this is something random, and I'd like to get out of here as soon as we possibly can.'

Showcross Gee was thoughtful. 'That's interesting. I think I tend to agree with you.'

He knelt down and placed a hand flat on the ground. 'Strange.'

'I think I ought to go and look for survivors.'

Showcross Gee ignored Reave. 'It hardly feels like any normal mineral at all.'

Reave was getting a little tired of Showcross Gee's detached indifference. 'What does it feel like?'

'I hesitate to guess.'

'I'm going to look for survivors.'

Showcross Gee straightened up, dusting off his hands. 'At least we saw a disrupter close up.'

Reave scowled. 'That's a treat I could have missed.'

He walked over to where the others were waiting and beckoned to the Minstrel Boy. 'You come with me. We're going to the control room to see if any of the crew made it through the crash. Billy and Renatta, you two go aft and check the cabins. See what happened to Jet Ace and Stent.'

Clay Blaisdell glanced around. 'What do I do?'

Reave nodded toward the metaphysicians. 'Keep an eye on them. See that they don't pull anything.'

'What could they pull?'

'I don't know, but I don't trust them.'

Showcross Gee had rejoined the other twenty-six. They had walked over to the deep trench left by the disrupter that ran like a long straight scar in the geometric landscape, clear to the horizon. They were peering into it. Strange shards of color still lingered in the trench, gradually fading.

Reave and the Minstrel Boy made their way through the ship, walking with great care on the tilted deck. The door to the control room was jammed, and they had to force it. Inside they found that a bulkhead had been blown out, and although one control console remained just about intact, the rest of the control surfaces were a spaghetti of tangled metal, shattered tubes, and slimy ropes of leaking biogel. Two from the crew of six were bending over a third who had a bad head wound. A fourth was sprawled on a contour chair with her head at an angle that left no doubt that she was dead. The remaining two were rigging bridging lines to the control console that was still intact. They all turned in alarm as Reave came through the door, shoulder first.

'I'm sorry to burst in like this; it was jammed.'

'Don't worry about it. We couldn't get it open from the inside. We feared we were trapped in here.'

Reave noted that no matter what their fears, the crew members were still calmly going about their business. There was something robotlike about the hexads that ran airships.

'Do you need any help?' he asked.

'I think we can manage now that the door's open.'

'How bad is the damage?'

'We should be able to lift the ship in a couple of hours. Control will have to be largely manual, but we will be able to fly.'

'What about the stasis field?'

'We'll be ready to test that in a few minutes.'

'So we have no insurmountable problems?'

'There is one.'

'What's that?'

The crewman indicated a section of tangled wreckage that Reave had been trying not to look at. Something pale and bloody was crushed in the middle of it.

'The brain host is dead.'

That was something that turned even Reave's stomach. The lizardbrain core of the guidance system had been grafted onto a tailored human host — if, indeed, something could be called human that had no arms, legs, nose, or mouth, that breathed through a vent in its chest like a gill and stared unblinkingly out of huge, mad saucer eyes.

'So we have no guidance?'

'None.'

'What would be our chances of finding a settlement if we just went in blind?'

'In a reality this size, it could be years before a chance stasisfall. Maybe hundreds of years.'

'Suppose we stay here and wait for help?'

'It's our estimation that here may not be here for very much longer. It has the feel of something random and very unstable. It may have only developed at the coming of the disrupter, and, now that it's gone, all this could simply vanish.'

Reave slowly turned and faced the Minstrel Boy. He did not have to voice what he was thinking.

The Minstrel Boy sagged. 'I really don't want to do this.'

The crewman looked at the two of them inquiringly. 'Is there something I should know?'

'The Minstrel Boy has a lizardbrain implant.'

The crewman beamed. 'Then we have no insurmountable problems.'

'He has to use cyclatrol to achieve cognizance.'

The crewman's face fell. 'Oh.'

The Minstrel Boy regarded him with an expression that was almost sad. 'You know what that means?'

'I understand it involves extreme stress.'

'You can say that again, Jack.'

Reave put a hand on the Minstrel Boy's shoulder. They both knew that in the end he was going to do it. They also knew that by doing it he was putting his sanity at considerable risk.

Reave faced the crewman. 'You have cyclatrol?'

'Plenty. It was fed constantly to the brain host.'

The Minstrel Boy sighed. 'Poor bastard.'

While Reave and the Minstrel Boy were engaged with the crew and the problem of navigation, Billy and Renatta moved from cabin to cabin in search of Stent and Jet Ace. They were almost to the stern when Renatta pushed open a door, let out a startled gasp, then quickly beckoned to Billy.

'This you gotta see.'

It was one of the smallest caibins. Stent and Jet Ace were both on the floor, pressed together in the narrow space between the bunk and the floor, where they must have been thrown by the first violent bucking of the ship. Each man had removed about half his metal exterior. What was revealed was not a pretty sight. Jet Ace was normal from the neck up but Stent had doughy, lopsided features, as though being encased in armor all his life had never allowed real features to develop. Clumps of sparse white hair that appeared never to have seen the sun stuck out on patches from his otherwise bald skull. Ugly polyp growth patched discolored skin. One of the creepiest parts was the way the hard polished metal of their prosthetics buried itself in their living bodies. The flesh around those points was red and raw, as though it still rebelled against foreign incursions. Stranger still, though, was the way the two of them were joined together by an elaborate network of jumper cables.

'So this is what they do when they're alone,' Billy said.

'And that's what they look like with their clothes off.'

'They must have been so busy fucking that the first time the ship bounced, they were thrown off the bed.'

'You think fucking is the right word?'

Renatta started to giggle uncontrollably. She was still giggling when Jet Ace opened his eyes.

'You've seen us.'

Billy was having trouble stopping himself from laughing. 'Most people start off with 'Where am I?'

'What happened?'

'We crashed. We were almost eaten by a disrupter.'

'A disrupter? Is it still around?'

Billy shook his head. 'No, it's gone.'

Jet Ace was struggling to sit up. He was hampered by Stent, who was also coming around, thrashing about and entangling himself in the jumper cables. Renatta had another attack of giggles. Jet Ace looked at her resentfully.

'You shouldn't judge, you know.'

Renatta had trouble talking through her fresh fit of giggling. 'I'm sorry. . I'm not. . it's just. .'

Jet Ace became very stiff. 'Would you mind leaving while we dress?'

There was no more laughter when they all gathered in the control room. It was time to be deadly serious. Jet Ace and Stent were back in their armor, inscrutable again. Billy and Reave looked worried, and the Minstrel Boy had the face of a man going to his execution.

'Is it really going to hurt him that much?' Renatta whispered to Blaisdell.

'Could kill him.'

'God.'

Showcross Gee was the only metaphysician present. The others had taken themselves off to their staterooms. He watched the Minstrel Boy impassively. 'There are certain metaphysical techniques — '

The Minstrel Boy turned and snarled at him. 'And you're going to teach them to me in the time we have left?'

Showcross Gee made a slight bow of submission. 'You're right. There wouldn't be time.'

'So don't even talk about it, all right? Let's just get on with this.' He faced the crewman who did all the talking. 'Are you ready?'

The crewman nodded. 'We are ready to raise the airship. If you would all find handholds. There may be a certain amount of vibration.'

Another of the crew, one of the two remaining women, grasped the primary control levers and eased back on them. The R1009 shuddered. She eased back farther. The shuddering increased, then, suddenly, the ship rolled, and the deck righteditself. There was pressure under their feet, and then, with the twisted frame groaning loudly, the airship slowly rose from the ground.

'We have lift-off.'

The crew spokesman looked inquiringly at the Minstrel Boy. 'Are you ready to take the drug and merge with the remains of the biode?'

'How long will I have to be under?'

'As soon as we have a lock on Palanaque, we'll bring you out.'

'Make sure you do.'

'How shall we administer the cyclatrol?'

'An old-fashioned IV will do.'