The Minstrel Boy shrugged. 'I don't know, it was close. Playing music isn't exactly like being the fastest gun alive, you know.'
They had maneuvered their way through the crowd in front of the bar and were standing there, clutching beakers of therough local joona. The Minstrel Boy was looking at the ruby-jewel dispensers, wondering if a handful of beads might help the evening along. The piece that the trio was playing came to a ringing finish. The mob around the stage went crazy, stamping and hollering. Blaisdell took a bow and then raised his hands in smiling acknowledgment.
'Thank you. Thank you all. We love you, but me and the boys are going to take a little break right now. Don't go away now, though. We'll be back in a half hour.'
The Minstrel Boy took a long hit on his drink. 'He may be an angel on the chromacon, but he's got a lousy line in fake sincerity.'
There were shouts of protest from the crowd, but the band picked up their instruments and left the stage. Clay Blaisdell, with the Maxim under his arm, pushed his way determinedly toward the bar, surrounded by a knot of backslapping admirers. The bartender already had a drink set up for him. Just as he was reaching for it, he spotted the Minstrel Boy.
'Mother of God!'
The Minstrel Boy raised a hand. 'How are you doing, Clay?'
'What hole did you crawl out of?'
'I've been a lot of places since I saw you last.'
They were face to face. Clay Blaisdell drained his beaker and wiped his mouth.
'So what are you doing here?'
'Just passing through.'
There was a definite tension between the two men. It was hardly the reunion of old friends, much more a chance meeting between onetime rivals.
'These are strange times,' Blaisdell said.
'You're right about that.'
Blaisdell got himself a second drink. 'Is it true what I've been hearing?'
'It depends on what you've been hearing.'
'That the three of you are back together again.'
The Minstrel Boy made a deprecating gesture. 'A chance meeting. We decided to travel together. Old times and all.'
'So where's Billy?'
'Back at the Leader with a woman.'
Blaisdell looked surprised. 'The Leader? You're traveling in style.'
'We thought a little comfort might make a change.'
Blaisdell pushed his hair back out of his eyes. 'Got to be strange times if the DNA Cowboys are staying at the Leader Hotel.'
One of Blaisdell's admirers spit on the floor. 'DNA Cowboys? They're history. Fucking dinosaurs.'
Reave took one step forward. The admirer noticed him for the first time and choked on his drink.
Reave's smile hinted at murder. 'You want to watch who you're calling a dinosaur, laddybuck.'
Still coughing, the admirer backed away, and when Reave did not press the point, he melted into the crowd. Blaisdell, who had watched the exchange with amusement, turned back to the Minstrel Boy.
'So, are you going to get up and do a tune with us?'
The Minstrel Boy quickly shook his head. 'I don't think so.'
'Why in hell not? Think you're too good for this joint?'
Again the Minstrel Boy shook his head. 'You know it's not that.'
Blaisdell grinned. 'Maybe you think that we're too good for you?'
The Minstrel Boy sighed. 'I've been traveling a lot. I haven't been playing too much.'
'Then it's a great time to start up again.'
'No.'
Blaisdell looked at him in blank astonishment. 'Are you seriously telling me that you've hung it up?'
'I'm just not playing at the moment.'
There was an awkward pause that Blaisdell did his best to cover. 'Let me buy you a drink. You'll surely say yes to that?'
'I always say yes to a free drink.'
Blaisdell handed the Minstrel Boy a freshly filled beaker. 'You hear what happened to old Abu Christmas?'
The Minstrel Boy made an effort to look interested. 'No, I never did.'
While the Minstrel Boy and Clay Blaisdell were talking, Reave thought he saw someone he recognized — and preferred to avoid — on the other side of the room. He muttered an excuse to the Minstrel Boy and slid through the crowd to take a better look. Carefully, he eased closer to his quarry. It was no mistake. Although the man was not wearing the helmet with the blade weldedto the top, it was Menlo Welker beyond a doubt, the swordsman who had ridden beside him in Baptiste's army. What the hell was he doing there? He seemed to be in the company of two other individuals whom Reave did not know, but their hard eyes and visible scars marked them as warriors cut from the same cloth. Menlo started to turn, and Reave ducked back behind a pillar. As he watched, his ex-comrade pushed through the crowd, apparently headed for the bathrooms downstairs. Reave followed as closely as he could, hoping that his man would not look back. Menlo was rolling as if he had a load on. The stone stairwell was like a cave — the light was dim, the air was heavy with the stench of urine, and the walls were covered with boldly obscene graffiti.
Menlo went into a stall but did not bother to close the half door behind him. He seemed to be having trouble unfastening his pants. Reave pushed in behind him and pulled the door shut. Before his old companion could react, Reave had his left forearm across Menlo's throat. From his back pocket his right hand drew the lightslicer he had taken from the dead urthugee back at the Voice in the Wilderness. He pulled back Menlo's head, and the weapon flared into glowing green life.
'I'm going to give you exactly one minute to think up a good reason why I shouldn't carve your head off.'
Menlo stood very still, and when he spoke, his voice sounded suddenly sober. 'What is this? What do you want?'
'Don't you recognize me, Menlo?'
Reave allowed him to swivel his head around slightly. Menlo Welker let out a gasp,
'Reave? Reave Mekonta? Is that really you? What is this? We were buddies, goddamn it. I never did you any harm. Don't tell me you've sunk to robbing people while they piss.'
'I'm a deserter, Menlo. I deserted from Baptiste, and I want to know how you feel about that.'
'Hell, Reave, I don't care. It's no skin off my back. I've thought about it myself more than once. Things have changed some since you took off.'
'So you wouldn't think of turning me in to Baptiste for a reward or anything?'
The ribbon of light was so close to Menlo's throat that it cast strange green shadows across his face. He swallowed hard.
'You ought to know me better than that. Besides, I couldn't tell Baptiste about you if I wanted to.'
'Why not?'
'Because I'm not going to see him until he arrives here with the whole army.'
'He's headed this way?'
'Damn right he is. Now, are you going to take this thing away from my throat?'
Reave removed his arm from Menlo's neck. He lowered the lightslicer but let it go on burning. The two men faced each other. Menlo was breathing deeply.
'You're fucking crazy, Reave Mekonta. You know I wouldn't turn you in.'
'I'm sorry, but a man can't be too careful where Baptiste is concerned. I've seen the way he can get weird with recaptured deserters. For all I knew, he sent you after me. That may sound paranoid, but stranger things have been happening.'
Menlo nodded vigorously. 'You should have stuck with us. You'd believe anything by now. I got to tell you,
