by Mick Farren
'Must be very exciting.'
Two of the other painted girls had moved nearer. The Minstrel Boy grinned. Renatta had only just arrived, and she was already fomenting revolution.
'Sometimes it's exciting, but there are other times when it can be hard and brutal.'
Renatta de Luxe had come a long way since she had begged the Minstrel Boy to take her away from the Caverns in the gold submarine.
Dass-el-Hame did not return until past noon on the following day. A glorious pseudosun had come up in a blaze of gold, and the singing and the peals of bells from beyond the walls of the residence indicated that the festival of Cha'a was still in full swing. When the Elevated Palarch returned, he seemed anything but festive. He glared acidly at the half-clad contract warriors who lounged by the pool eating his fruit, drinking his wine, and progressively going native.
'Your employers can be very persuasive.'
Reave hitched up his sari and got to his feet, 'So what's the story? Is the meeting over? Are we staying here?' He was determined not to treat the man as anything other than an equal despite the grandiose title.
Dass-el-Hame sighed. He looked as though only exhaustion was stopping him from being exceedingly angry. 'In his wisdom, my beloved Master has granted the metaphysicians of Krystaleit sanctuary in this settlement. They will be free to remain here for as long as they like, and they will be provided with the resources to continue their research.'
Reave raised an eyebrow. 'You don't seem too happy about this. Worried they might cause a few changes in your snug little social system?'
For a moment it looked as if Dass-el-Hame was going to tell Reave exactly how worried and unhappy he was, but then a lifetime as a courtier, with all its complex intrigue and guardeddiplomacy, asserted itself. He contented himself with pursing his lips. He looked as though he were sucking a lemon. 'I don't question the wisdom.'
'And what about us? Have we been granted sanctuary, too?'
'You are still under contract. Your employers require that you remain.' The Elevated Palareh eyed the weapons stacked in the comer of the courtyard. 'They seem to feel that you are the temporal end of their leverage, the hard fulcrum, so to speak.'
Reave half smiled. So Showcross Gee and his bunch were not so spiritual that they wouldn't stoop to at least a covert threat of violence to get what they wanted.
Dass-el-Hame caught the smile and went quickly on. 'You will remain here as my guests until more permanent quarters can be arranged.'
From his expression, it was clear that the extended hospitality was something else that gave him no pleasure at all.
The first few days were a novelty, but as that wore down, time started to blur into the languidly sensual rhythm of lotus life. For the Minstrel Boy, it was like nothing more than the routine gratification of the Caverns from which he had fled what seemed like a century before. The only real difference was that Palanaque had days and nights, whereas the Caverns had been shrouded in a continuous soft gloom. Palanaque even had a little mock weather system. One afternoon a soft novelty rain had fallen over the city. Aside from minor interruptions of that kind, there was nothing but the slow torpor of mindless hedonism.
Initially the Minstrel Boy was not too bothered by the enforced idleness. After the ducking and diving they had been forced to go through since their reunion at the Voice in the Wilderness, a period of doing absolutely nothing was far from unwelcome. But the Minstrel Boy could not keep himself from thinking ahead. A time would come when the seven of them would become bored with the luxury and lethargy and start hankering for some action. The inclination would be to cut loose from Palanaque and move on. He wondered how the metaphysicians would take that when the time came.
Jet Ace was the first to chafe at the relentless ease. He still had his dreams of becoming a legendary hero. He took to flying by himself at the far end of the valley, away from the city. The Minstrel Boy would not have been the least bit surprised if one day he simply failed to come back from one of his solitary excursions, simply deserted into the nothings. Yet each day he returned. Itseemed that Jet Ace's sense of duty was stronger than his ambition. The Minstrel Boy had no ambition at all. He simply played among the painted women and wondered what was going to happen next.
Billy was also showing signs of the strain of having nothing to do. The Minstrel Boy had noticed that Billy's mental condition seemed to worsen when he had too much time on his hands. In Palanaque there was one refinement that he had never seen in the Caverns, and Billy seemed increasingly to be turning to it as a cure for boredom. It was a kind of short-term discorporation, lasting from a few minutes to almost an hour, from which the subject emerged confused but euphoric. It was referred to as a spiritual outreach, but Billy Oblivion scoffed at that description.
'Hell, it ain't nothing but turning an inversion trick. Back in Utgard they called it doing the Valhalla, and out in the Dumps, it's known as reality jagging. You do whatever your particular thing is, you know? Lobe pressure, tantric exercise, drugs, mantra, whatever. Your body goes limp, and then you wake up sometime later, feeling great, with this stupid grin on your face. The damnedest part is that you can't remember why you feel so good, but you want to do it again real soon.'
Scoff as he might, Billy spent a lot of hours spiritually out-reaching. With a kind of inept junkie cunning, he tried to keep it from the others, but there was not one of the other six who had not come across him sprawled on a bench or propped up against a wall, out there, dead to the world, with his eyes rolled back into his skull. Nobody had said anything, but each hoped that something would turn up to occupy Billy's mind and slow the downward drift.
It was only after five full weeks that something happened to break the perfumed monotony. It was late afternoon, and Dass-el-Hame was not expected to return to the residence until well after dark. While the seven remained his guests, he spent as little time there as possible. So it caused a good deal of consternation among the house girls when he suddenly, without warning, hurried in, flanked by two of his aides. He quickly rounded up the seven contract warriors.
'You will all come with me. Our detectors have picked up an object in the nothings that seems to be coming this way.'
As the legend is told, the metaphysicians of Krystaleit made their ultimate breakthrough in the short space of time between the destruction of their city and the overthrow of their refuge at Palanaque. This is yet another point where the oral tradition takes its leave of what is plausible. Metaphysicians all over the Damaged World had worked for nine centuries on the problem of nonreversible discorporation and a malleable afterlife. It scarcely seems possible that after such lengthy and concerted effort, the goal should be achieved by a handful of individuals under the most stressful and makeshift conditions in just a matter of weeks. A much more likely explanation is that the ultimate breakthrough was made much earlier but its mechanics were not widely employed until the days immediately before the Final Cataclysm. If this is indeed true, it says a lot about the metaphysicians' faith in their discovery.
— Pressdia Vishnaria
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
'So what do you make of it?'
'I'm damned if I know. These lizardbrain detectors are notoriously deceptive. On face value, it looks like either a very big vessel or a mass of people with synced SGs.'
'It's moving very slowly.'
'That's what's making me lean toward the mass of people.'
'Like an army?'
'I didn't say that.'
Reave and the Minstrel Boy stood in front of the hemispheric 3D screen, staring intently at a small trailing blip of green light at the bottom left of the transparent bowl. Behind them, Parshew-a-Thar and a good part of his holy court looked on anxiously. The Minstrel Boy glanced back. That bunch became incredibly anxious when confronted by anything from the outside world. He could only assume that they were terrified that something would come along to rupture their elaborate fantasy. There was no missing just how elaborate their fantasy had become over
the centuries. There were at least two dozen of the religious hierarchy crowded behind their beloved Master. Their costumes were little short of outrageous. Dass-el-Hame was among the most conservative in his white and gold. There were two who looked like ancient Aztecs in brilliantly multicolored robes made from hundreds of tiny iridescent bird feathers and plumed headdresses so tall that the wearers had to lower thdr heads to clear the ceiling of the communications center.
The communications center was another part of the fantasy. It was a cool, austere underground bunker that looked more liice a burial chamber than a vital link with the outside world. Its equipment was faced in ivory Bakelite with very few visible controls. It relied almost totally on prox panels that were activated by passes of the hands, which gave the normal working of the place a quasi-magical air. Even the screen in front of them was an oversized approximation of the traditional crystal ball. The Minstrel Boy hated the whole setup. He felt that only those who were spiritually insecure in the extreme needed to cloak honest hardware with mysticism.
In addition to Palanaque's religious hierarchy, Showcross Gee and three other metaphysicians also waited and watched. They looked almost as concerned as the Palanaquii, and their anxiety was a little more understandable. Having had one city shot out from underneath them already, it was hard for them to maintain the face of tranquillity when an unidentified something appeared in the nothings.
'So what is your considered opinion?'
Reave and the Minstrel Boy turned and faced Showcross Gee. 'It's not much to go on.'
'But you must have some ideas as to the nature of this object.'
'We have a couple of guesses, nothing more.'
'So tell us your guesses.'
The Minstrel Boy looked to Reave to do the talking, but Reave deferred to him. 'You're the one who knows all about this shit.'
The Minstrel Boy took a deep breath and faced the preposterous gathering. 'The way that we see it, it's most likely a mass of people, all with synced individual stasis generators, either moving on foot or riding lizards.'
Parshew-a-Thar's voice practically squeaked with anxiety. 'Isn't that the way the raiders travel?'
The Minstrel boy nodded. 'It is.'
'You think these are raiders?'
The Minstrel Boy shrugged. 'There's no way of telling. I tend to doubt it. We have to assume that the large force was destroyed when they blew up Krystaleit. It seems unlikely that another force could assemble so quickly.'
That did not do much to allay their fears.
'But it could be a raiding force?'
'Anything's possible.'
'What can we do if it is a raiding force?'
'Off the cuff, I'd say that we were screwed.'
The beloved Master looked as though he were going to explode. As a demigod, he was not accustomed to the MinstrelBoy's direct approach. He was aflutter with bird gesture; 'What did you say?'
There were angry murmurings among the courtiers.
The Minstrel Boy raised his hands. 'Let's all calm down a minute. All that's happened so far is that we've spotted an object in the nothings. For all we know it's a party of harmless refugees.'
Parshew-a-Thar was petulant. 'There is no room here for refugees.'
'That's hardly the point.'
'What is the point?'
The Minstrel Boy was becoming a little impatient with the beloved Master's falsetto voice and patent stupidity. 'I think that the point is that you need to stop panicking and make some preparations to deal with the arrival of this object, whatever it might be.'
Showcross Gee attempted to restore some measure of reason into the meeting. 'Do you have any specific suggestions?'
The Minstrel Boy glanced at Reave, who took over.
'The obvious first move is to put your military on some sort of limited alert. I assume that you have a functioning militaiy over and above the ceremonial guard.'
Parshew-a-Thar was taking serious exception to the manners of the outsiders. His baby face was a mottled purple, and he seemed to be having difficulty restraining a temper tantrum. 'Of course we have a military. I will relay your suggestion to General Zeum.'
'They'll have to be armed with something a bit more substantial than oversized pool cues.'
Parshew-a-Thar glared venomously at Reave and the Minstrel Boy. 'Since you seem to have such little confidence in our capability to defend ourselves, I see that I will have to arrange a demonstration for you and your companions. I will order General Zeum to parade the entire Grand Army at high noon tomorrow in full battle array.' He turned to a nearby courtier. 'You will implement that immediately.' The courtier produced a scriber and tablet. He made a quick note and then hurried from the communications center. Parshew-a-Thar glanced back to Reave. 'Is there anything else?'
'Nothing else we can do except keep monitoring the progress of whatever this thing is.'
The beloved Master made a dismissive gesture. 'In that case, this audience is at an end.'
He waved for his nefrites. As he was borne away in his litter, Reave muttered under his breath, 'Yeah, it's been real.'
The following high noon found the seven out in the bright sun, on the flat, glaring white roof of one of the twin gate towers. They were dressed in their freshly cleaned travel clothes, and their weapons were held in plain sight. Even Lister Stent had made some effort for the martial occasion: All through the night a half dozen house girls had climbed all over him, sanding and polishing his ancient armor to the point where he gleamed in the sun. The seven were accompanied by Dass-el-Hame and a number of his aides. Showcross Gee and the other three metaphysicians who had been present in the communications center were there, too. They seemed to constitute the committee that dealt with the outside world while the other twenty-three were holed up in the Great Pyramid doing their mysterious research work. General Zeum was also on the roof. It was hard to gauge the metal men's response, but the remainder of the seven took an instant and open dislike to the general. General Zeum was a tall, smugly good-looking man decked out in a white tunic and cloak and gold Romanesque body armor. He appeared to be so fundamentally pleased with himself that he was totally impervious to outside suggestion. His response to all comment was to flash his perfect teeth in a slightly patronizing smile and assure whoever had spoken that they had nothing to worry about.
A wide, straight palm-lined boulevard led from the city gates directly to the base of the Great Pyramid. The Grand Army had been assembled at the foot of the pyramid. From there, they would march in formations down the boulevard, out of the gates, and on to the flatlands beside the river, where they would perform simulated combat maneuvers. The term 'Grand Army' was an unashamed exaggeration, considering that the force was little more than a thousand strong, although it did seem perfectly in keeping with what the seven had observed of the characters of General Zeum and the beloved Master.
A braying fanfare of trumpets and a thunder of kettledrums announced the opening of the show. The Grand Army started down the boulevard in half-time lockstep. The crowds that thronged both sides of the route had brought flags, bells, and noisemakers, almost certainly left over from the Cha'a festivities, and they made an atonal counterpoint to the slow crash of drums. As the ranks of white tunics came closer to the gates, looks of complete disbelief came over the faces of the seven. Billy, Reave, and Renatta hurried to where Zeum was standing, looking proudly down at his men. Reave faced him angrily.
'What the hell is going on?'
Zeum regarded him calmly. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
Reave pointed down at the marching men. 'That's what I'm talking about. These men are supposed to be in combat trim.'
Zeum looked blank. 'They are.'
'You're crazy.'
'Please don't take that tone with me.'
Renatta was right behind Reave. 'These men aren't fitted out for combat.'
Zeum's impeccable manners were wilting a little. 'Indeed they are, young woman. They have been issued spear blades,
and they carry short swords and aluminum shields. They are more than ready for combat.'
Renatta was even more outraged than Reave. 'Have you ever seen combat?'
'Of course not. This is a peaceful settlement with deep roots in its religion.'
'Well, we've seen too damn much combat, and let me tell you that this so-called Grand Army won't stand a rat's chance if that blip turns out to be a party of raiders.'
At that moment Dass-el-Hame joined the arguing group. He was quickly followed by Showcross Gee.
'What seems to be the problem here?'
Again Reave pointed to the ranks of men who were marching out under the archway and through the open gates of the city.
'It's this army of yours that's the problem. They might be okay if you were having a war with the Trojans, but if raiders do come out of the nothings, they're going to be up against projectile guns and heat rays. They're going to be creamed in the first couple of minutes.'
'I believe it was the Minstrel Boy who said it was highly unlikely that there were raiders in the nothings.'
Reave scowled.'I hate to see a whole city pinning its survival on what the Minstrel Boy thinks is likely or unlikely. What harm would it do to forget all this ancient bullshit and go to Stuff Central for some real weapons? Then, if there is trouble, at least you'll stand a fighting chance,'
Dass-el-Hame stiffened and shook his head.'That's quite out of the question. It would go against our most deeply implanted principles.'
'Principles can get kind of irrelevant when the vultures are picking out your eyes.'
Dass-el-Hame paled a little. Even then, though, he was not about to give ground.
'In the unlikely event that we were willing to do such a thing and the beloved Master gave his consent, I seriously doubt that it would be possible. There have always been the most basic blocks built into our stuff receivers to prevent the creation of such material. I don't think that they'd even accommodate the templates for advanced weapons. The Founding Master was quite obsessive about these things, and the prohibition on weapons is built into the very fabric of the settlement. It might well take weeks to reprogram the stuff cages.'
