you should simply observe how Baptiste is treating his newly found city and be thankful that you are not still out there.'
A pseudosurface on one of the triangular walls of the chamber showed multiple images from the snoopers that continued to move around the city.
The Minstrel Boy eyed Showcross Gee coldly. 'Some of our number are still out there.'
'That was unfortunate but unavoidable.'
'You could have let us into the pyramid a whole lot sooner.'
Showcross Gee was equally cold. 'I can't discuss this right now.'
The Minstrel Boy's lip curled. 'Yeah, right.'
Baptiste was treating Palanaque little better than any other settlement he had conquered. The bodies of the beloved Master, Zeum, and most of the court, including Dass-el-Hame, were already dangling, faces blue and tongues protruding, from ropes beneath the archway of the main gate. Their frantic last-ditch bargaining had not saved their lives, after all. The DNA Cowboys observed them with the grimly sick satisfaction of men whose worst fears had been confirmed. Zeum had gone to his death calmly, keeping his military bearing to the very end. Parshew-a-Thar, on the other hand, had kicked and screamed until the very moment he was dropped into empty air.
As it turned out, Baptiste was not actually razing the city. His men were going from block to block looting and raping, killing any citizens who got in their way or protested. There were also many citizens put to the sword simply on a whim or for the amusement of individual raiders. The Old Metal Monster was leading his usual band of torturers. There was, however, a certain restraint in the destruction and slaughter. The buildings were not being torched, and the slave class — the stepfords and the epsilons — were being noticeably preserved. Also, no one as yet was being eaten.
'It really does look as though Baptiste's getting himself a city.'
'He's welcome to it.'
'Can you imagine what it's going to be like after he's been running the place for a couple of weeks?'
By some unpleasant synchronicity, the moment Billy spoke Baptiste's name, his image appeared on the pseudosurface. A snooper seemed to be homing in on him. He was standing on the roof of one of the taller buildings in a characteristic pose, legs spread, shoulders hunched, and hands clasped behind his back, watching his men going about their business. Every now and then he would stare thoughtfully at the pyramid. The snooper was getting closer and closer, until it had the warlord in a tight profile close-up so that every dirt-encrusted line in his face was shown in detailed relief.
'If that thing doesn't back off, he's going to see it.'
And see it he did. He moved like a striking snake, trapping the small cylindrical snooper in one glovd hand. His eyes were hidden behind the black goggles, but he was clearly looking into the sensor jewel.
'I suppose this is one of your toys, Showcross Gee. How long do you think you're going to be able to remain shut up in that pile of stones?'
Reave turned. Showcross Gee had left the circle of metaphysicians and was staring at the image of Vlad Baptiste.
'He knows your name?'
Showcross Gee nodded. 'Of course he knows my name. He knows the names of everyone here.'
Baptiste had raised the snooper close to his face. His huge image filled the wall. There was something both bizarre and unnerving about the way that, while the silent circle of metaphysicians focused their most intense concentration, the hugely magnified features of their greatest enemy loomed over them.
'Unless you choose to remain in there until you starve to death, you will eventually have to come out. I will be waiting, Showcross Gee. You can count on that. You will have to face me.'
Reave felt a chill. The only consolation was that Baptiste had no idea what was really going on inside the pyramid. If he had, he would probably have set the unfortunate Palanaquii to tearing it down stone by stone. Not that Reave could take much comfort from that thought. He had no guarantee that the weird device was going to really get them out of there. They were still taking the metaphysicians absolutely on trust simply because there was no alternative.
The image of Baptiste abruptly vanished. He must have crushed the snooper in his fist. Showcross Gee turned away from the pseudosurface and addressed the DNA Cowboys.
'Observe the disk.'
The disk had started to revolve slowly. It also appeared to be sinking into the floor of the chamber, except that 'sinking' was not the right word. It was certainly moving downward, but the floor of the chamber was curving to accommodate it. The previously solid stone was forming a shallow but rapidly deepening conical bowl. Matter was actually being bent.
'When your name is called, you will step out onto the disk.'
Reave stepped in front of Showcross Gee. 'I think it's time you told us where we re going.'
Showcross Gee's expression was transcendentally smooth. 'It's a little hard to define our destination in words.'
The DNA Cowboys looked at each other. Even the Minstrel Boy was raised from his mortal apathy. Finely honed instincts told them that they were about to hear some very bad news.
'What do you mean by 'hard to define'?'
'As yet we have no geography, but you can rest assured that it is a step beyond.'
'A step beyond what?'
Reave was looking decidedly unhappy. 'What exactly are we talking about here?'
'Nonreversible discorporation to a malleable afterlife.'
Billy's eyes narrowed. 'Isn't nonreversible discorporation just a fancy name for death?'
'Technically it is akin to death, but the availability of a controllable afterlife makes it a completely different change of state. You will be stepping into a completely new dimension.'
'Do we know what might be waiting for us in this new dimension?'
'No.'
The Minstrel Boy was feeling sick. 'You're telling us that we're all boldly going to a brand-new heaven.'
'Please. Don't insult me.'
Billy was not buying it; he had had plenty of experience with discorporation. 'How can we know that there's any afterlife at all?'
'Our earliest researches demonstrated its existence.'
The Minstrel Boy had a dangerous look in his eye. 'We're going to heaven on your say-so?'
Billy still wanted to know more. 'Do we retain our memories and personalities?'
'It's unlikely. We will emerge considerably advanced. There may be some vestigial impulses, but they will most probably fade very quickly.'
The Minstrel Boy slowly and finally shook his head. 'Forget it. I'm not setting foot on that thing.'
Showcross Gee looked at him in amazement. 'Are you insane? You'll be a god.'
The Minstrel Boy's eyes were bleak. 'I'm a man, damn it. I'm the Minstrel Boy. It's as simple as that. I was always what I am, and I intend to die that way. I don't want to be a god. Gods are dangerous.' He was aware that he sounded like a petulant child, wrapping himself in the last tatters of his dignity, but he did not care. He had meant what he had said. The last tatters of his dignity were all that he had left.
At that moment, a disembodied voice started calling of names. 'Marhess Gan. . Tyler Gee. . Nalson Treece. . Lustor Mahi. .'
In turn, each of the metaphysicians stepped down onto the disk. In fact, their feet did not touch the disk itself. Some invisible horizontal field held them in midair, on the level where the original floor had been. Each one immediately began to change. Their flesh turned transparent, and it was possible to see their bones and circulatory systems. Then flesh became crystalline and, finally, two-dimensional. After that point, each metaphysician simply vanished.
'Persode. . Matmash Ri. . Aphentaup. .P. Vishnaria. .Renk Do. .'
When they were gone, their clothes drifted down through the field as though subject to the normal rules of gravity. When the white suits touched the disk itself, they vaporized. No trace remained.
'Bein ut Loew. . Mathmashamu. . Rehgath Gee. . Aba Melmoth. .
