The Master's head turned sharply. He looked directly at Reave for the first time. Again there was something birdlike about this movement. 'A disrupter? We want to hear about a disrupter. We are very interested in disrupters.'
Reave knew it was time to deal. 'What about our weapons?'
Before the Master could answer, the metaphysicians, led by Showcross Gee, emerged from the airship.
'Greetings, Parshew-a-Thar.'
Parshew-a-Thar looked around angrily, and his voice went up half an octave. 'We don't want these people in our domain! Have them removed!'
Showcross Gee raised a calming hand. He suddenly seemed a much more authoritative figure than the blessed Master.
'Parshew-a-Thar, we are the twenty-seven metaphysicians of Krystaleit, and under the Common Bonds laid down by Stafford Pardee, the First Master, we claim tolerance and the right and facilities to continue our work.'
The Master turned to Dass-el-Hame. 'Can they do this to us? '
'I believe that they are within their rights, blessed Name.'
It was clearly an impasse. The seven and their weapons were suddenly forgotten. Parshew-a-Thar seemed to feel exceedingly threatened by the metaphysicians. While he played at being God, the metaphysicians explored the deep and dangerous wild places on the other side of the mind.
'I will say it once again, Parshew-a-Thar. We claim our rights under the Common Bonds.'
The blessed Name squirmed on his cushions. 'You come here and land your ugly flying machine right in front of our beautiful pyramid and — '
'We claim our rights, Parshew-a-Thai.'
Dass-el-Hame leaned close to the Mjister. 'It might be as well to discuss this in private, Holy One.'
The Master saw the merit in the suggestion and quickly gestured to the nefrites. The litter poles were lifted to their broad blue shoulders.
'Follow us,' Parshew-a-Thar snapped at Showcross Gee.
The small boys swung their censers, the girls banged their tambourines and strewed their petals, and the procession, with the metaphysicians bringing up the rear, proceeded up the Great Pyramid, finally disappearing into a dark rectangular entrance on something like the twentieth floor.
Reave faced Dass-el-Hame. 'So what happens to us in the meantime? I don't want to break up the party, but we've been through a lot, and we're tired and hungry.'
Beside him, the Minstrel Boy muttered something under his breath about needing a drink.
Dass-el-Hame's relief at finding a way out was like the sun coming up. 'I will escort you to my residence, where your needs will be taken care of.'
'What about the ship?'
Dass-el-Hame looked nervously apologetic, as though he expected another confrontation. 'The epsilons will have to move it. It has been ordered. There is no way that it can remain here during Cha'a.'
Reave shrugged. 'What the hell, move it if you want. I think the point's been made. Just try not to damage it too much.'
The Elevated Palarch was a very big man around Palanaque, or else a large section of the population lived like kings. His residence was a spacious single-story villa in the Egyptian style, built around a central courtyard and a pool. The walls, faced with ice-blue and magenta marble, were half-obscured by a jungle of lush tropical vegetation. Foxfire and moonglo drifted among the heavy green leaves, undulating like sensual, glowing ghosts. Flame insects flared briefly around fleshy, luxurious orchids. More lights shone up through the tinted waters of the pool and played over the dancing cascade of the central fountain. Crystal wind chimes tinkled softly, long silk prayer banners stirred softly in a lazy breeze, and there was a hint of perfume in the air.
As they walked through the entryway and out into the courtyard, Dass-el-Hame spread his hands in a gesture of mock deprecation. 'Welcome to my humble home.'
Reave let out a low whistle. 'Some spread.'
Renatta stooped down beside the pool and scooped up a little water. 'I think maybe I could live here.'
Dass-el-Hame maintained an extended household. It seemed that the religious beliefs of Palanaque did not exclude the existence of a large servant/slave class. The Elevated Palarch had a particular taste for petite, dark- haired house girls with blank almond eyes who seemed to have no other motivation in their lives except to cater fawningly to his every whim. He indicated them as though they were simply an extension of his property.
'If there's anything that you want, you only have to ask. Anything at all.'
The Minstrel Boy suspected that the house girls were stepfords Stepfords were socially unacceptable, if not illegal, in most ra tional settlements because their creation involved irreversible brain surgery and a considerably shortened life span. There was also a clutch of exotics being languidly decorative over on the other side of the pool. The majority were heavily painted young women, but there was also a scattering of pretty teenage boys. It was unclear if they were family, invited guests, or just a concubine collection. They looked up at the new arrivals with the nervously watchful eyes of those who assume that the intrusion of strangers will be a prelude to trouble, an assumption that was perfectly understandable in the case of the seven armed mercenaries.
Food and wine were brought, along with a fuel charger for the metal men. Those of the seven who could were given a chance to bathe and to exchange their stained and dirty travel clothes for clean saris in various shades of watered silk. Their treatment left them in no doubt that the Elevated Palarch lived right on the top of the hog. The hot baths alone were a revelation. There were five of them, pale pink marble, each large enough for six people. They came with gold accoutrements anda full complement of wet, naked, and exceedingly attentive house girls who frisked in the bubbling water like sleek brown seals. The house girls proved to be so attentive that Renatta started to complain about the fact that in Palamaque servitude appeared to be exclusive to the female gender.
'Seems like these bastards have built themselves a playboy paradise under the cover of their stupid religion.'
Clay Blaisdell's face broke into a smug and lazy grin. 'It don't seem too bad to me. Besides, there were plenty of men among the epsilons who were hauling away the airship. They didn't look half as cheerful as these water babes.'
When the DNA Cowboys, Renatta, and Blaisdell changed their clothes they also had to face the question of what they were going to do with their weapons. Although they were still adamant about not giving them up, it was plainly ridiculous for them to sit around hugging their guns to their chests. Accordingly, the weapons were stacked discreetly in a secluded corner of the courtyard where they were still in sight but hardly obtrusive.
Once his guests had been comfortably settled in, Dass-el-Hame again reminded them that for the moment his home was totally at their disposal, then made his excuses and left to return to the Great Pyramid. With the master gone, the atmosphere of the residence lightened considerably. The house girls splashed in the pool, and even the exotics seemed to take their poses less seriously. One of the painted women, whose body was an arrangement of tangerine and magenta swirls, came over and sat down next to Renatta.
'Perhaps you would like me to color you? I could get my paints. It must be strange to be so plain, so unadorned.'
Renatta raised an eyebrow. 'Honey, I've done some of my best work unadorned.'
'I didn't mean to give offense.'
'Don't worry about it; you didn't.'
'Should I fetch my paints?'
Renatta shook her head. 'Not right now. Maybe later. I just want to relax here and drink some more of this wine.'
'Do you mind if I talk to you?'
'Not in the least.'
'Do you really come from outside the Holy Reality?'
'You better believe it.'
'And you are concubine to all six of those men?'
Renatta laughed out loud. 'Concubine? I ain't no concubine, cutie. I'm a contract warrior just like the rest of them.'
The tangerine and magenta woman's mouth was a small O of surprise. 'A woman can be a warrior in other
