Jet Ace had his back to the missile. His arms were spread, and he was stationary in midair, riding on his powered-down dorsal rocket.
'He's taking a fucking bow.'
Almost like a swimmer, Jet Ace pushed forward and executed a slow victory roll. The missile was almost on him. It was likely that he never knew what hit him. There was little of Jet Ace left after the explosion, except for the shrapnel that rattled down on the streets and roofs of the city. The Minstrel Boy turned away.
'Now we're six.'
Although the behavior of the defenders during the fall of Palanaque seems scarcely plausible, the diaries of General Zeum that so miraculously survived the destruction tend to confirm, albeit from the general's uniquely psychotic perspective, the major details that are recounted in the legend. Although their seemingly mindless suicide may appear aberrant in the extreme, it was far from unique in human history. Frederick Barbarossa marched his crack troops over cliffs to their deaths to demonstrate their blind obedience to visiting dignitaries. Both the Poles and the Finns sent cavalry into battle against German tanks in the war against the Nazis. The Zulu nation engaged the British at the first Battle of Rourke's Drift. They had spears, while the British were armed with breech-loading Martini rifles. There was, however, one difference in this instance. The Zulus won.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
'Hear this, people of Palanaque. The options in frontof you are painfully simple. Your army is gone, and your city will be mine in the time it takes to burn through this gate. If you force me to do that, I shall go on burning until there is nothing left of your city except its ashes. People of Palanaque, I am Vlad Baptiste, and it is not for nothing that men call me the Torch.'
Baptiste stepped back from the microphone and paused to let the threat sink in. He was a square, Napoleonic figure in a stained leather coat, flowing scarf, and black goggles. His feet were planted firmly on the roof of the armored car, and his hands were clasped behind his back. The car was drawn up in front of the gates of Palanaque, but his amplified voice could be heard all through the city.
'There is one way that your city can be saved from destruction. I want the metaphysicians from Krystaleit. Deliver them to me, and I will spare the city and place it under my protection.'
After the destruction of the two aircraft and the death of Jet Ace, Baptiste had stopped playing with the Grand Army of Palanaque, and the raiders had gone about their fast and systematic extermination with bloody efficiency. A tearful Parshew-a-Thar had watched the slaughter, all the time demanding that his men be given real weapons. Unfortunately, that religious reform had come too late to do them any good, and they died to the last man. With only the gates of the city separating them from Baptiste, Reave and the Minstrel Boy decided it was high time they withdrew to the pyramid. When they arrived there, they found the entrance sealed.
'You think Showcross Gee's double-crossed us?'
The Minstrel Boy looked around tensely. 'I kind of figured that he'd keep his word.'
Baptiste's voice boomed on. 'I, Vlad Baptiste, will personally guarantee that any group of individuals who delivers the metaphysicians to me will be given control of the city under my own ultimate jurisdiction.'
It occurred to the Minstrel Boy that maybe Baptiste did not in fact want to raze the city. Maybe he actually needed a base in which to rest up and regain his strength. The Minstrel Boy could imagine just how unbearably wretched life would be in any city that had the Torch as its ruler. He had more important things to worry about, however. There was still no suggestion that the entrance to the pyramid was about to come open for them. On top of that, Baptiste was setting a deadline.
'You have one hour. If the metaphysicians are not delivered to me in that time, I will commence to destroy the city and its population.'
The Minstrel Boy looked around anxiously. 'Where the hell are the others? You think they're inside already?'
Reave did not answer. He was scanning the boulevard for any sign of Billy, Renatta, or Blaisdell. 'This is one sorry time for them to go missing.'
Gord the driver helped Baptiste down from the roof of the armored car and folded away the microphone. The raiders were drawn up in front of the city walls in four ranks. The only casualties they had suffered so far were the two delta pilots who had been lost to Jet Ace. The warriors sat hunched in their saddles as though they were quite ready to wait forever.
Inside the city, on the other hand, there was a considerable sense of urgency. The beloved Master had not missed Baptiste's implication that if he did not hand over the metaphysicians, there were plenty in the city who would, and that it was unlikely that he would survive such a transaction. It was not that Parshew-a-Thar had any objection to turning the metaphysicians over to Baptiste and what was undoubtedly their certain death. The problem that had him screaming hysterically at his retinue was that he was not sure if he was going to be able to deliver them.
'What about those brutes that they have protecting them, those bodyguards with the weapons? They're almost as bad as Baptiste's men. Am I supposed to face those animals myself?'
The first that Reave and the Minstrel Boy knew of all this was when General Zeum, followed by all that was left of his army, came striding down the boulevard toward them. The general had decided not to perish with the Grand Army. When he had finally realized that the situation was hopeless, he had hastily withdrawn inside the walls with his aides and a small personal guard.
'I think he's on his way to ask us for Showcross Gee and his gang.'
'Are you going to give them to him?'
Reave glanced back at the pyramid. 'Not unless they open up the door.'
The Minstrel Boy swatted at something with the flat of his hand. It was a thin silver cylinder about the size of a cigarette. 'Goddamn snooper.'
The snooper skittered away, easily avoiding the blow, flew off to a safe distance, and hung in the air, apparently watching the two of them.
'I figure that little sucker belongs to Showcross Gee.'
'At least he's still taking an interest in the outside world.'
'The outside world is getting a little radical for me. I wish he'd open that door.'
General Zeum and his band of men were two-thirds of the way along the boulevard. Reave and the Minstrel Boy were momentarily distracted as Billy Oblivion came around the corner of the pyramid. He looked out on his feet, but he did have the multiplex slung over his shoulder.
'Did the world end yet?'
'You vanished again.'
'I decided that I'd jag out during the slaughter.'
'You're fucked up, Billy.'
Billy glared at the two of them with hung-over belligerence. 'Oh, yeah? I suppose you two feel a whole lot better for watching it all happen?'
'Do you have any idea what's happened to Renatta or Blaisdell?'
Billy shook his head. 'I've been out for the last hour.'
'But you heard Baptiste?'
'Couldn't miss him.'
Reave pointed to Zeum. 'We think the generalissimo is coming for the metaphysicians.'
'Is he getting them'.'
'I don't think so. Not yet, at least.'
