them, it looked as though the local bandidos had made their stand there. Many were not just the victims of a firefight — they had been tortured and mutilated. The raiders seemed to have staged a vicious grand finale. Billy and the Minstrel Boy stiffened as someone groaned. It was hard to see after the brightness outside.
'Over there, by the bar.'
The man seemed to be actually hanging on the bar, head sagging, knees bent, and arms outstretched. 'Help. . me.'
They moved toward him. Broken glass crunched under their boots. It was only when they came close that they saw the black iron spikes driven through his forearms and into the dark polished wood of the bar top. He had literally been nailed to the bar.
'Water. .'
Billy ducked behind the bar and found an unbroken bottle of mineral water. He handed it to the Minstrel Boy, who was kneeling beside the crucified bandido. The Minstrel Boy held the bottle to the bandido's lips. 'Here, drink this.'
The bandido swallowed with difficulty. He had trouble keeping his head up. 'Thanks.'
Sunlight shafted into the cantina as Reave came through the door. 'All secure in here?'
'There's this one guy left alive.'
'God, this is a mess.'
The Minstrel Boy gave the bandido a second drink. 'Who did this?' he asked.
The bandido eased the weight oo his arms. 'You. . kill me, huh? I. . can't stand any more of this.'
'Just tell us who did this.'
'He. . called himself Ravaj Taraquin. . Taraquin's Irregulars. There were some. . thirty guns. . plus a. . tribe of neoprimitives. . maybe fifty or sixty more. . We didn't have a chance.'
'That's more men than Baptiste had,' Reave commented.
The bandido jerked his head. 'Baptiste. .'
'What about him?'
'They. . were meeting him. Taraquin's Irregulars were. . going to link up with Baptiste's army and storm Idleberg.'
Idleberg was a town of modest size.
'This is getting serious,' the Minstrel Boy said.
There was a rustling behind them — a vulture bat had waddled through the door Reave had left open. In pure reaction, Reave shot it dead. Within seconds more of the creatures were jostling through the door, drawn by the fresh kill. Reave cursed and rushed at them, lashing out with his boots. When he had finally driven them all out, he tossed the one he had shot after them. 'I'm going to kill every one of those goddamn things. I swear.'
The bandido let out a groan. 'He had them made.'
'Who did?'
'Taraquin. . He created those vulture things. . he had a template. He made them. . to leave behind. . like a calling card.'
'This Taraquin's a psychotic.'
'Kill. . me. The pain. .'
The Minstrel Boy stood up. 'Can't something be done for him?'
The bandido's voice was a sob. 'I've had it. . just stop the pain.'
Reave looked at the Minstrel Boy. 'You can only do him like he's asking.'
The Minstrel Boy drew his Colt and pointed it at the bandido's head but hesitated before he fired. 'I don't know about this.'
Reave didn't wait any longer. In one smooth, almost casual motion, he raised a pistol and shot the man squarely between the eyes. 'Now let's get the hell out of here.'
Back out in the sun, the Minstrel Boy shuddered. 'This shit is getting out of hand.'
Reave looked back once at the cantina and then walked purposefully toward the Saab. 'I'm going to turn the heat ray on that place.'
Billy, Renatta, and the Minstrel Boy watched the cantina burn as Reave proved as good as his word. Using both pistols, he systematically slaughtered the vulture bats. The four of them were taking a last depressed look around before leaving the ruins of Santa Freska when they heard the whine of the rocket motor. Reave immediately went into action.
'Incoming aircraft! Spread out, under cover! Billy, get back in the tank, on-line the ground-to-air.'
'You got it.'
At first it was just a dot on the horizon, flying low and following the path of the road. Even when it came closer, it was still hard to make out any details. Only when it made a slow circle of the oasis was the reason for their confusion clear. It was a flying man, or at least a humanoid shape, riding the air with a dorsal jetpack strapped across his shoulders. After a second circuit the flier altered the attitude of his body, hovered, and slowly dropped, boots first, for a soft landing beside the tank.
'I'm looking for Rajav Taraquin.'
The Minstrel Boy muttered under his breath. 'Doctor Livingstone, I presume.'
Renatta looked at him as though he had gone mad. 'What?'
'Arcane cultural reference.'
'You're nuts.'
If the newcomer had had any more steel or ceramic grafted to his body, he would have ceased to qualify as human. Even as he was, he was still very close to the verge of robothood. His head was totally enclosed in a massive, featureless bullet helmet. A huge yoke collar and chest plate, which must have housed his control systems and biode, extended over his back to where the weightless dorsal mounting held the rocket motor in position. Motion servos had been built into his biceps, and his hands ended in the blunt steel fists of his multiple-function assault gloves. More ropes of servos ran down his thighs to a pair of boots that could have held up a mobile crane. Power calipers helped support his overall weight. Even his voice was amplified and electronically enhanced.
Reave stepped out of cover and faced the flying man. 'Taraquin's been through here, but he's gone already.'
'That's too bad. Are you some of his men?'
'Just a party of honest travelers.'
Renatta and the Minstrel Boy stepped out into the open. They held their weapons down at their sides but were braced for action.
The flying man spread his huge metal hands. 'I really mean you no harm.'
As if to prove his point, he began to unscrew the bullet helmet, then lifted it over his head. The uncovered face was a complete contrast to the rest of him. It was soft and feminine. Large brown eyes were framed by long lashes, and soft, damp curls fell over his forehead. Stripped of the electronics, his voice was high and girlish. 'That's better; it gets hot in there.'
Reave nodded. 'I'm sure it does.'
'The name is Jet Ace.'
Reave nodded again. 'Reave Mekonta.'
Jet Ace held out one of his gloves in greeting. Reave touched it briefly.
'I'm pleased to meet you, Jet Ace. This here's the Minstrel Boy, and the lady's Renatta de Luxe.'
He omitted to mention Billy, who was still sitting in the tank. Jet Ace smiled. His soft, almost shy smile was wholly at odds with the ponderous metalbound way in which the rest of him moved.
'Haven't I maybe heard of you guys?' he asked.
'It's possible.'
'You're heroes, right?'
Reave firmly shook his head. 'No, not us. We're just travelers.'
'I'm a hero.'
'No kidding?'
'At least I will be, when I've made a name for myself.'
'Jet Ace is a good name for a hero.'
The Minstrel Boy asked the obvious question. 'Why were you looking for Taraquin?'
