Mick Farren - Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys

The Minstrel Boy felt strange walking down the staircases of the Caverns in full outside dress, veetar case over his back and the foldaway floating at his heel. Stares followed him as he descended into the depths of the volcano, but no one spoke to him or tried to stop him. The others seemed to accept his leaving as his own business, act of a lunatic though it may have been. At least, that was how it seemed until he was walking past the Starfex Fountain and was almost to the head of the shaft that led down to the sea tunnels.

'You, Minstrel Boy!'

The authoritative female voice rang around the vaulted, marble-faced dome that housed the fountain. The Minstrel Boy stopped in his tracks. One rarely heard voices like that in the Caverns. The foldaway obediently halted beside him. He slowly turned. There were three of them, all in the black cloaks with the golden sword emblem over the heart. In the center was the woman who had spoken. She was tall and handsome, with slightly grayed hair. He had seen her quite recently, holding her own at orgies. Now she looked like the fanatic agent of some dark, fierce god. The hood of her cloak was thrown back, and her eyes flashed with a dangerous madness. Her companions were both male. Their faces were covered by their cowls, and the one to her left had a small opalsnake coiled around his wrist. The Minstrel Boy did not like it at all.

'You're talking to me?'

Her voice was formal. 'You have been chosen by the Society of Hunters. You have been designated a Victim in the Games.'

So the discontent had started. The black-cloaked Hunters advanced on him. The woman was holding out a wafer of transparent crystal. The Minstrel Boy stood his ground.

'You're wasting your time. I'm history. I'm long gone. I'm no longer part of your Games or anything else.'

'Accept your plaque.'

'I've already told you, I'm out of here.'

'Accept your plaque.'

'Goddamn it!' In a flash of anger he snatched the thing and hurled it to the ground, where it shattered into tiny jagged shards. For an instant he thought about pulling out the Colt and blasting all three of them. It would probably make the Caverns a better place. His anger was rusty, however, and swiftly cooled. 'I'm leaving, you understand?'

'We cannot stop you leaving — that would infringe the Articles. But you have accepted the plaque, and you will eventually be found.'

The Minstrel Boy pointed to the shards on the ground. 'I've smashed your damned plaque.'

'That makes no difference. You will eventually be found.'

'Eventually can be a long time.'

He turned on his heel and marched to the head of the shaft. Yeah, sure. A bunch of crazies in cloaks were going to reach out across the nothings and get him. He would not hold his breath. Behind him, the foldaway accelerated to catch up. Very much later he would bitterly regret that he had not killed those three when he had first thought of it. It would have saved a great deal of trouble.

The shaft opened on the smell of salt air and ozone. In a cathedral of a rough-hewn cavern, granite quays jutted into a dark tossing swell that lapped over their worn sides. Saint Elmo's fire glowed on the walls as if to suggest that somewhere deep in the bowels of the volcano there was a major interface of opposing forces. Six submarines rode at their mooring lines. There was one large, sleek passenger shuttle and five much smaller five-seaters with their much more ornate custom designs. There were no people in evidence. There was little traffic to and from the domain of the Presence, and the docks of the sea tunnels were not a place where lovers cared to linger. Technically, he was about to steal a submarine, but theft had little meaning in a culture where people were so apathetic about property concepts.

Thus it came as something of a surprise when, while he was standing on the dock inspecting a gold five-seater with a satyr figurehead and a fish-scale design on its ceramic hull, he heard a voice calling out to him.

'Hey, you!'

After his brush with the Society of Hunters, he was wary of people yelling after him. He swung around to see a woman running toward him, moving awkwardly on high-heeled sandals. Her skin was very white, and her hair was a very black and tangled mane. The black lace shift that was her only garment scarcely qualified her as dressed.

'Will you take me with you?'

'I'm not going on any joyride.'

Up close, he could see that she had a narrow, pretty face with very large, bright green eyes and otherwise small even features. Her expression was determined.

She gave him an impatient look. 'I can see that. You're getting out of here, right?'

The Minstrel Boy was cautious. His old instinct of self-preservation, which had slept all through the wine and roses, was coming awake again. 'I'm leaving, yes.'

'I want to leave, too. I'd take a sub myself, but I don't know how to navigate to somewhere else. You know how to navigate?'

The Minstrel Boy nodded. 'Yeah, I can navigate.'

'So let me come along for the ride.'

The Minstrel Boy looked her up and down. 'You're hardly dressed for traveling.'

She planted her hands on her hips. Her body was full and magnificent. 'Hey, boy, as you well know, the Hunters are running around up above designating Victims for the upcomingfestivities and handing out the crystal tickets. I didn't bother to pack. I figure that I can take care of a wardrobe when we get wherever you're going.'

'There's no way of knowing what we might run into out there. The shit changes all the time.'

The woman sniffed. 'I know my way around.'

The Minstrel Boy looked a little sad at her display of machismo. 'Lady, nobody knows their way around these days.'

She faced him with the defiance of one who was truly desperate. 'So I'll fake it and be just like everybody else.'

The Minstrel Boy grinned. She sure as hell had the glands. He could not see any valid reason why he should not have a traveling companion. She was certainly very attractive, and she might even develop a sense of gratitude along the way. He made a mock-defeated gesture. 'It'd be a pleasure to ride with you. Which boat do you fancy? I was thinking about taking this gold one.'

The woman shrugged. 'It doesn't make any difference to me.'

He hand-cranked the hatch and climbed into the well of the submarine. He offered his hand to the woman. 'Welcome aboard, milady. Do you have a name?'

'Renatta de Luxe.'

He winced. 'Really?'

'Of course not, but it'll do for the duration. I mean, what kind of name is the Minstrel Boy?'

'You know me?'

'I've seen you around. I even saw you play once, back when you still bothered to play.'

The vessel rolled with the swell, and for a moment they were thrown against each other. Then it rolled the other way, and they were apart again. The Minstrel Boy smiled and indicated that she should precede him into the cabin. The interior of the craft was cramped but comfortable. It was finished in walnut paneling, and the passenger seats were swivel armchairs covered in deep plush. On one wall there was a small compact bar and supply locker that he intended to investigate once the vessel was on autopilot. He eased into the transparent bow blister and settled into the pilot chair. The submarine was powered down, and he started the preembarkation by stroking his hand over the plasma control sphere to bring the ship to life. Lights softlyglowed, and there was a comforting hum from the engine compartment in the stern. A ready image from the boatmind rose to his eye level. He ran a fast cockpit check. The five-seat submarine was not a particularly complicated piece of machinery. The most important thing was to locate the lizardbrain navigator. To his relief, he spotted the silicate cube that contained the microscopic sliver of tissue from the primary brain of the female marma lizard.