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
