The Quest of the DNA Cowboys

by Mick Farren

  The achievement of the triple form had been followed by centuries of contemplation while She/They had ordered and stabilized the space that She/They occupied. It was a long period of calm that had been savagely brought to an end by the arrival of the first disruptors.

  The arrival of the disruptors had started the long battle that She/They had waged against the encroaching mists of the twisting chaos.

  It was the start of a hateful, searching period in which She/They had moved across the fabric, attempting to stabilize the sectors She/They covered.

  She/They had become the continual prey of the disruptors, and, for a very long time, She/They had directed Her/Their intelligence at the problem of what they were, and where they originated. It had never been possible to come in close prox­imity of the thing without Her/Their objectivity being dam­aged by the disruption process. All Her/Their observations led towards the assumption that the disruptors were some strange halfway point between animal and machine.

  She/They had never solved the problem of their coming. Before the disruptors Her/Their triple form had not existed. There had been form and there had been consciousness, but beyond that, all memory was hazy and tattered. Her/Their creation was inexorably linked with their arrival. It was almost as though they had given Her/Them birth as they first tore into the fabric of reality.

  She/They was produced out of the disruption. The logical opposite to disrupters and the wake of chaos. By the same logic it should follow that She/They was their equal. That would only be disproved either when they shattered Her/Them and diffused Her/Their form into the clouds of unstable fabric, or when She/They extended a state of un­changing order throughout Her/Their entire area of experi­ence.

  She/They, over the millennia of Her/Their struggle, had watched the behaviour of the disrupters, and the pattern that seemed to lie behind their attacks. She/They had, at times, entertained the proposition that an intelligence was directing the disruptors. For a few long periods, the movements of the disruptors had seemed regular as though they moved according to a directing logic. During other periods, their actions had become completely random, and the idea of an overall intel­ligence had been rejected by Her/Them as a product of chaos-induced paranoia.

  She/They returned Her/Their mind to the present. The mist had taken on a more even quality, and was starting to glow a deep electric blue. Her/Their upward motion ceased. Her/Their two heads turned slowly. Deep in the blue mist something solid seemed to be moving.

  Chapter 15

  'Dur Shanzag is the city of the Presence. Nobody seems to know any more exactly where the Presence came from. Seems as though he or it has been around for thousands of years.'

  'He or it?'

  Billy walked along with the Minstrel Boy, a confused look on his face.

  'They say he was a man once, but, by all accounts, he's not any more. He's . . . well, he's the Presence. They say he's burned up with the idea of being the master. The lord of everything. They say he's had four or five empires, way back over hundreds of thousands of years.'

  Billy shook his head.

  'How does one man get to live a hundred thousand years? It just isn't possible.'

  The Minstrel Boy shrugged.

  'I'm just telling the story. I don't have to account for incon­sistencies. The story goes that he ain't a man any more. It could be that he ain't the original one who built those empires, maybe he's just another crazy living out some fantasy that he got from some old book. I don't know, there's a whole lot of things that it doesn't pay to look too closely at. When it comes down to it, all I know is that there's a thing called the Presence, and this is his city.'

  'What about those things that threw us in jail? This Pres­ence was like one of those once?'

  The Minstrel Boy shook his head.

  'The Presence wasn't ever an apeman. Those things are his slaves. He created them. He bred them down through the centuries to serve him. The Shirik, they're the workers, sold­iers and watchdogs of his citadel. The smarter ones are Uruks. They boss the Shirik, and pass on his orders.'

  'What about the Ghâshnákh? What are they?'

  'The Ghâshnákh? They're the next level of power after the Uruks. They're men, but slaves just the same. They're his officers, civil servants and secret police. They hate and fear him but are all loyal to him. I suppose each, in his own way, shares the same desire for power and conquest. His whole massive bureaucracy runs on a balance of greed and fear. It's not efficient, but I don't think he cares. It seems like he gets a kind of twisted pleasure out of watching it fuck up.'

  'But surely that's not going to help him conquer the world?'

  'I don't think he cares. The rumours say that all his con­centration is fixed on the disrupters, He thinks that the way to power lies in the control of the disrupters. That was why I had so much trouble getting you out. You told the Uruk that you'd been hit by a disrupter, and disrupter cases are always inter­rogated by the Ghâshnákh. That's why I had to sign you into the Free Corps, in order to get your release papers. You'll still get questioned by the Ghâshnákh, but it'll only be a stage three. The Uruk would have handed you over for a stage one. There ain't too many who live through a stage one.'

  'What's the Free Corps, then? What have you gotten us into?'

  'Don't be like that about it. I did the best I could.'

  Billy nodded.

  'Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm sorry. Tell me about this Free Corps.'

  'The Presence is at war. He's always at war. This time it's with the Regency of Harod. It's been going on for years. The Harodin will lose in the end, the neighbouring cities have all lost in the end.'

  'I thought the Shirik did all the Presence's fighting. I don't see what he needs us for.'

  'The Shirik make killer infantry, but they're too dumb to operate anything complicated. He needs mercenaries to man his fighting machines, and operate the big guns. That's the Free Corps. They're the crew of mercenaries who do the Presence's dirty work for him.'

  'How does he treat them?'

  'It ain't too bad. The Ghâshnákh make sure they have enough women and enough booze. They're the elite troops and they get treated that way. They're a rough mean bunch, though.'

  'How long have you signed us on for?'

  'Two years.'

  'Jesus.'

  'That's the minimum period, nothing else I could do.'

  'What happens then?'

  'You get paid off, and a free passage to the limits of the zone. Of course, they put the arm on you to re-enlist, but in the end, they let you go.'

  'What about escaping?'

  'Should be quite easy once you get to the front. It's up to you. I've done all I can.'

  The Minstrel Boy halted, and pointed at a huge granite block, larger, but otherwise identical to the Shirik House.

  'That's the barracks. Go in and tell the guard that you're the new recruits. I'll see you later, okay?'

  The Minstrel Boy started to walk away, but Billy called him back.

  'Just one question, Minstrel Boy. How did you get here? And the way you're dressed up?'

  The Minstrel Boy shook his head sadly.

  'Don't ask, Billy. Just don't ask.'

  'But . . .'

  'We all got to survive, Billy. Remember that.'

  The Minstrel Boy turned on his heel and walked away. His boots echoed hollowly on the paving stones of the deserted street. Billy watched him go, and then followed the others inside the cold, forbidding building.

  A huge man with a full black curly beard lounged behind a desk similar to the Uruk's. He wore an olive green combat suit and a peaked fatigue cap. A cigar was clenched between his teeth, and a huge pair of combat boots were propped on the desk. The peak of his cap hung down over his eyes, and when Billy, Reave and the Rainman walked in, he raised it lazily with his forefinger. He stared at them for a while, and then lazily shifted the cigar to the side of his mouth.

  'Whatcha want?'

  'Recruits.'

  'Recruits? Wh
ere the hell did you come from?'

  'Our friend got us out of jail on the promise that we'd enlist.'

  Billy thought it was best to keep quiet about the disrupter.

  'Get lost in the nothings and wind up here?'

  'Yeah, that's right.'

  'That's how most of them get here. No one comes here from choice.'

  'It's bad?'

  'You'll see.'

  He swung his legs off the desk, and his boots hit the floor with a crash. He stood up, and yelled towards a door behind him.

  'Hey Skipper, there's three recruits out here. Wanna take a look at them?'

  A man emerged from the doorway. He was a little wiry man with a clipped moustache. He wore a sheepskin jacket and dark blue trousers tucked into scuffed riding boots. On his head, he had a light blue cap with the same eye and flames badge that the Shirik wore. He looked the three of them up and down.

  'Recruits?'

  'That's right.'

  'Just got out of jail?'

  'That's right.'

  'You better get signed in.'

  He walked over to the desk and picked up a clipboard.

  'Okay.'

  He pointed at Reave.

  'You, come over here.'

  Reave sauntered over to him and stood in front of him with his hands in his pockets.

  'I'm Sperry, kid. Master of Warriors. You train with me and I get to choose whether you train easy, or you train hard. You got that?'

  Reave straightened his back and took his hands out of his pockets.

  'I got it.'

  'I got it, sir.'

  'I got it, sir.'

  'Okay, name?'

  'Reave.'

  'Place of origin?'

  'Pleasant Gap.'

  'Do-you-solemnly-swear-to-serve-in-the-Army-of-the-Sovereign-State-of-Dur-Shanzag-for-a-period-of-not-less-than-seven-hundred-days-in-accordance-with-the-Code-and-military-regulations-of-that-said-state? Say "I do".'

  'I do.'

  Sperry handed Reave the clipboard and pen.

  'Make your mark here.'

  Reave scrawled his name and handed them back. Sperry looked towards Billy.

  'Next.'

  Billy stepped up.

  'Name?'

  'Billy Oblivion.'

  'Place of origin?'

  'Pleasant Gap.'

  'Do you solemnly swear what he just did?'

  'I do.'

  'Okay, make your mark and stand over there with him..'

  Billy made his mark and stood by Reave.

  'Next.'

  The Rainman stood in front of Sperry.

  'Name?'

  'People call me the Rainman.'

  'Ain't you got a proper name?'

  'It's the only one people use.'

  'Okay, Rainman. Place of origin?'

  'Hell, how should I know? That's a helluva question to ask a travelling man.'

  'Where was the last place you stopped? You remember that?'

  'Why, sure I do, it was Dogbreath.'

  'Okay, Dogbreath. I gotta put something. Do you swear too?'

  'Sure, I ain't got no choice.'

  'You should remember that. Make your mark and get over with the others.'

  Once the Rainman was in line with Billy and Reave, Sperry came over and inspected them.

  'You got any weapons?'

  Billy nodded.

  'We all got handguns.'

  'Okay, fetch 'em out.'

  He looked at Billy's and Reave's reproduction Colts and sniffed.

  'They'll have to do.'

  He seemed more impressed with the Rainman's spiral need­ler on .75 frame.

  'Yeah, okay, put them away again. Your clothes are all right too.'

  Reave looked surprised.

  'You mean we don't get uniforms?'

  'Only when the things that you got wear out.'

  He jerked his thumb towards the door he'd come out from.

  'Go through there, and tell the guy inside that you're report­ing for training.'

  Training consisted of an intense ten days of being run around and shouted at by veterans who had been wounded at the front. Billy and Reave flopped into their bunks exhausted each night, and, all too soon, were roused out by Simp the one-eyed trooper, who seemed to be primarily in charge of them.

  The command structure of the Free Corps was loose and haphazard. The only thing that Billy and Reave knew for sure was that they were very definitely the lowest of the low. The only group beneath them in the pecking order were the Shirik, who seemed universally loathed by the Free Corps mercen­aries.

  Surprisingly, the Rainman appeared very little worried by the hard training regime. He went through everything at the same leisurely pace, and treated the yelling officers with smiling contempt.

  The final night, after they had completed the course, the three of them were given a recreation pass. This entitled them to spend an evening in yet another granite building, drinking flat beer and raw spirits in the company of a small group of depressed whores.

  The next day they were due to leave for the front. Billy was rudely awakened by Simp shaking him.

  'Come on out of it.'

  'It ain't time yet.'

  'Sure it is. You want to die in bed?'

  'Would suit me fine.'

  Simp tugged at the blankets.

  'Come on, start moving. Inspection in half an hour. Got it?'

  Billy dragged himself out of his bunk and staggered across to the stone wash-trough. His head was splitting from the bad booze that he'd poured down himself the night before. He splashed cold water on his face and neck, and struggled into his shirt. He was pleased that the Free Corps barracks didn't run to mirrors. He felt that that particular morning he really couldn't face the sight of himself.

  After a breakfast of grey porridge, Simp assembled the next recruits on the windswept expanse of stone that served as a parade, ground. Sperry made a short preliminary speech, and then moved down the line giving the recruits their assignments to the front. He stopped in front of Billy, Reave and the Rainman. He stared at them for a moment with one eyebrow raised.

  'For reasons unknown, the powers have decided to keep you sorry trio intact. As of now you're a machine crew. You'll pick one up from motorpool and join the Seventeenth Gorbûkh at Hill 471.'

  He handed Billy an envelope.

  'Here's your written orders, you're off my hands now.'

  The Rainman grinned.

  'Ain't you gonna wish us luck . . . sir?'

  Sperry sneered.

  'Why bother. You're past help.'

  The three of them were dismissed, and they walked to pick up the fighting machine.

  The Dur Shanzag fighting machine was a squat iron con­struction. Its square box-shaped body, with riveted plates and tiny slit windows, housed the crew of three. Mounted on top was a small circular turret from which the gunner could direct fire from either the flamer or the repeating bolt gun. At each end were the huge spiked rollers which, driven by a low gear flutter engine, carried the dull grey monster along the ground at something like the speed of a man running.

  The Rainman signed out the machine from a motorpool orderly with a bald head and thick, horn-rimmed glasses. As they climbed inside it, the orderly waved.

  'Don't scratch the paint now.'

  Reave gave him the finger, and slammed the iron door. Crouched inside, the Rainman grinned round at the others.

  'Either of you mind if I drive this here rig for a while?'

  Billy and Reave shook their heads.

  'Go right ahead. It's okay by us, we'll just take it easy.'

  The Rainman brought the motor to life, and the cabin reverberated with a teeth-jarring hum. The fighting machine wasn't built for comfort. He guided it through the empty streets of Dur Shanzag to the Black Gate, and then they were out of the city and running along a road that stretched out into the bleak desert. The Rainman gave the machine full power, but it was incapable of going any faster than the stage that ha
d carried them out of Dogbreath. It seemed that the fighting machines weren't built for speed either.

  The journey across the desert very soon became monotonous as they clanked and rattled along the desert road. Occasionally they would pass columns of Shirik heading for the front at a last, loping trot, and once they passed a train of wagons pulled by scrawny mules, returning to Dur Shanzag loaded with Shirik wounded.

  Reave pointed out of the narrow slit window.

  'They must lose millions of those dumb brutes, the rate they seem to be sending them out to the front.'

  The Rainman grimaced.

  'I hope they don't lose millions of us dumb brutes as well.'

  The three of them fell silent, and Billy stared cut at the endless dull brown dust. The only break in the desert was the odd clump of thorn trees. Apart from that, it was completely barren. Only the continuous jolting of the machine stopped Billy from falling asleep.

  After riding for hours they began to hear the rumble of distant gunfire above the noise of the engine. Very soon, they could see a pall of smoke along the horizon and they knew that they were entering the battle zone.

  At a fork in the road an Uruk appeared to be directing traffic. Billy pressed his face to the window and shouted.

  'Hill 471?'

  'Hill what? Hill what?'

  '4-7-1'

  The Uruk stared at the ground frowning, and then jerked an arm towards the right.

  'Straight down. Can't miss it.'

  The Rainman swung the fighting machine down the right-hand fork.

  After a series of false trails and a dozen wrong turnings, they finally pulled up at a low hill that was crisscrossed with trenches and coils of barbed wire. One side of the hill was honeycombed with foxholes and bunkers. The Shirik were swarming over it like a colony of burrowing ants. Billy spotted an Uruk who was standing over a squad of Shirik labouring on a trench. Every so often he encouraged them with a knotted rope.

  'Hey! Hey you! Uruk. This Hill 471?'

  'Who wants to know?'

  Billy pushed his pistol through the slit.

  'We want to know, shiteater.'

  The Uruk responded happily to threat and abuse.