were trying to see the music. The first experimental notes grew into an assured rhythmic cascade. The Minstrel Boy's eyes were closed, and his head was slightly inclined. A vein pulsed slightly in his forehead. He played experimentally, searchingly, for close to two minutes, as though feeling for a new power that he relished but distrusted. So far, so good. He started growing stronger each time he repeated the figure, and then his lips began to move. At first his voice was too soft to hear.
'The only thing to grasp for is my place in history.'
Again he looked into thin air as though wondering where the line had come from. He repeated it less tentatively.
The only thing to grasp for is my place in history
You hear me, sweet thing?
The boy is running thirsting
For that fatal dose
Rising from the vault of horror
Under the broken sky
Sea at his feet
And the fire of cities at his back
No time to sleep now
The only thing to ask for is my place in history
You hear me, sweet thing?
Clay Blaisdell undid the snaps on the case of his chromacon and then looked up at Reave. Reave looked uncertain and finally shrugged. What harm could it do? Blaisdell walked slowly toward the Minstrel Boy but received no acknowledgment. He squatted down on the floor, virtually at the Minstrel Boy's feet. His hands moved across the pressure angles, laying down a solid counterpoint to the Minstrel Boy's insistent drive. The Minstrel Boy briefly opened his eyes. He half smiled, then retired back into his own world.
The only thing to crave is immortality
And death is the last rube to cheat
You hear me, sweet thing?
Beyond the thunder
And behind the clouds
The rain is gentle as the massage of the lotus
But the damned can't linger
Hi ho silver lining
The only thing to trade is my place in history
You hear me, sweet thing?
The Minstrel Boy brought the poem to an abrupt halt. Blaisdell looked up in confusion, wondering what was going to happen next. The Minstrel Boy stared around at the others with a wolfish grin.
'You hear me, sweet thing?'
He laughed.
'You hear that? Fuck! I can do it again. I can actually do it!'
Billy, Reave, and Renatta broke out into spontaneous applause. There was no one in the Silver Ballroom of the R1009 who underestimated what the Minstrel Boy had been through. The only question was whether cyclatrol had freed a logjam in the Minstrel Boy's head or whether he had just been driven deeper into the swamp.
As the airship had approached the margin of the nothings, he had been strapped into a hastily rigged contour frame that looked ominously like an instrument of torture. The restraints on him were double-checked in order to minimize the chances of his hurting himself during the expected convulsions. The IV feed was inserted and taped down to his arm, intelligence cushion contacts were placed on the palms of his hands, and his hands were closed into fists and taped shut. With the preparations complete, the first drops of cyclatrol were introduced into his bloodstream.
The effect was instantaneous. His face distorted into what looked like a rictus. His mourn gaped wide in a silent scream, his eyes rolled back into his head, and his whole body twisted and strained against the straps. One of the crew maintained the flow of cyclatrol, and as the drug progressively flooded his system, the rest calmly studied the images that were beginning to appear on the display-sized pseudosurface that dominated the navigator's station.
Renatta put a hand to her mouth. 'I'm not sure that I can watch this.'
One of the crew members looked around. 'It would probably be less distressing if all of you left the control room. You have no function here.'
It was just ten minutes before the combination of the damaged biode and the Minstrel Boy's brain implant located the reality of Palanaque and locked on it. The drug flow was cut as the biode took over the lock, and the Minstrel Boy started screaming out loud. It was twenty minutes before he stopped. When they brought him back to the others, he was white as a sheet and beaded with oily sweat. Billy tried to force cognac between his teeth, but his jaw was locked.
Renatta looked alarmed. 'Is he dead?'
'No, but I think he's in major shock.'
'What can we do for him?'
Reave shook his head. 'There's nothing we can do except let him be.'
The Minstrel Boy confirmed the wisdom of Reave's words just five minutes later when he let out a long agonized sigh and sat bolt upright. 'Okay, so hit it. Don't keep me in suspense. Let's get it over with.'
'He's in a world of his own.'
The Minstrel Boy stood up. With the expression of a zombie, he slowly and mechanically walked away. Renatta started after him, but Reave stopped her.
'Let him be.'
'Shouldn't we go with him?'
'If he wants to be on his own, that's probably for the best.'
'Suppose he kills himself or something while he's like this?'
'I doubt he would, but if he did, it would be his prerogative. A man who's just been overdosed with cyclatrol might have his reasons for not wanting to live any longer.'
But when the Minstrel Boy had been gone for more than three hours, even Reave began to worry. Despite his outward what-ever-happens-happens brand of fatalism, he still did not want to see anything happen to the Minstrel Boy. Thus it was a considerable relief when the Minstrel Boy came walking into the Silver Ballroom carrying the veetar, even though it was clear that he was not fully recovered.
After the first strange musical outburst, the Minstrel Boy went on playing, but with less of that passionate fury. He cut Blaisdell increasing amounts of slack, and inside an hour he had regained some of his color and was happily dueling while Renatta sat close and watched him adoringly. Reave noted that the Minstrel Boy seemed to be the hero of the hour.
As the time-vague nothings streamed by, the journey took on a whole new feel, There was no more to worry about. The disrupter was gone. The warlords and their raiders had destroyed themselves, and although Palanaque might have its drawbacks, life there could hardly be described as ruggisd. Waiting turned into a party as they drank what booze had survived the crash and watched the two poets working out. Even Jet Ace and Stent came out and joined them, although they sheepishly remained in full armor.
The time went by so fast that it was something of a surprise when the PA announced that they were approaching stasisfall at Palanaque and that those who wanted to see the settlement as they came in over it should go to the; forward viewing gallery. There was considerable merriment as everyone, including the metal men, trooped forward to the gallery.
They were coming into Palanaque at night. Not until morning would they see the full formal grandeur of the city's architecture, but it was hard to miss the Great Pyramid. Floodlights played over the white polished marble of
