Last Stand of the DNA Cowboys

In addition to the ten epsilon rowers, there was also a helmsman, an overseer/drummer to set the stroke, a lookout on the bow, and an ensign who was in command of the vessel. Once Reave, the Minstrel Boy, Renatta, amd Blaisdell had settled themselves in its stern, the galley was quickly cast off and the epsilons hauled on their oars. The drummer set a steady pace, and the lights of the city slipped away behind them while the four lounged in the stern cushions in most unsoldierly comfort.

The ten rowers quickly developed a healthy rate of knots, particularly since the drummer regularly rose from his bench and, all the time shouting the cadence, encouraged them to greater efforts with a multithonged lash.

The first stage of the journey might have been pleasant, even leisurely, if it had not been for the thought of what they might find at their destination. The carved and painted prow sliced through the dark water, producing white curlicues of foam; the oars rose and fell to the accompaniment of the hypnotic drumbeat and the soft groans of the sweating epsilons. The sky was dark blue velvet and studded with thousands of twinkling pseudostars. A soft breeze blew along the length of the craft. For the first couple of hours the Minstrel Boy was almost able to turn off his apprehension and simply savor the experience. After two hours, though, as they neared the halfway point, a new anxiety set in. There was no sign of the runners from Company A. If they had been dispatched when the communicator transmission had failed, the boat should have already encountered them. It might have been possible to miss them in the darkness, but with the stem lit by blazing torches, the runners would have undoubtedly seen the boat and signaled.

Reave pushed himself up from the cushions and walked forward along the catwalk between the two lines of rowers to question the lookout. 'Are you absolutely sure that you've seen nothing?'

The lookout, a boy who could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen, vehemently shook his head. 'No, my lord. I've been watching all the time. The ensign would have the skin off my back if I missed anything.'

Reave returned to his companions. 'I don't like this at all. If these newcomers stopped the runners leaving, we can only assume that their intentions are hostile.' He turned to the ensign. 'Is it possible that they took another route?'

The ensign shook his head. 'There is no other route. They would have had to follow the river.'

The Minstrel Boy squinted into the dark. 'So what do we want to do now? It's too late to turn back.'

Reave was also peering into the night. 'All we can do is keep going, taking all possible care.' He called to the lookout. 'If you see anything, boy, anything at all, tell me immediately.'

'Aye, aye, my lord.'

The galley maintained a steady speed for the best part of an hour. Toward the end of that time Reave, the Minstrel Boy, and the ensign were all up in the prow watching for any sign of life. The river had become considerably narrower and ran between steep, rocky banks. The ensign looked warningly at Reave.

'We'll be coming to the rapids very soon.'

'What will we find when we get there?'

'There is a landing stage on the smooth water just below them. We should see the riverboat that brought Company A up here.'

It was only a matter of minutes before the lookout sang out. 'Something in the water up ahead.'

'Does it look like a boat?'

The lookout shook his head. 'No, my lord. If it is, it's burnt and sunk in the shallows.'

Reave scowled. 'I hope to hell you're wrong,' He signaled to the ensign. 'Let's take it slow and easy.'

The ensign motioned to the drummer. 'Stop that racket and reduce the stroke to dead slow.'

The drummer put down his mallets and maintained the slowest possible stroke with silent gestures.

'Douse the stern lights.'

There was a soft hiss as the torches were extinguished. The galley glided forward like a silent ghost. The lookout proved to be absolutely right. The remains of a charred hulk were half-submerged beside the pier, and bodies and debris were floating in the water. The Minstrel Boy felt a cold clutch at his guts. Their worst fears had been realized.

'It's a fucking massacre.'

A conference quickly convened on the quarterdeck.

'This has to be the work of raiders. They must be camped somewhere up by the lake, though why in hell they haven't made a move on the city yet is beyond me.'

'I should get on the communicator.'

The ensign seemed to be waiting for Reave's okay. Reave nodded. 'Yeah, go ahead. Give them the bad news.'

Everyone gathered around the large cumbersome communicator while the ensign coaxed it into life.

'Company B calling Palanaque Central.'

All that came from the small speaker was the familiar crackle of static.

'Company B calling Palanaque Central, acknowledge, please.'

The ensign looked worriedly at Reave. 'I don't seem to be raising them.'

'Keep trying. If you don't get them after five minutes, send out all the relevant information in the hope that they can hear us even if we can't hear them.' Reave glared at no one in particular. 'Why does nothing here work properly?'

The ensign stayed crouched over the set while the others gathered in a tense group.

'So what do we do if the communicator is out? Head down-river and warn them in person?'

Reave shook his head. 'I want to have a closer look at what's out there. I want to know exactly what we're dealing with. The Minstrel Boy and I will go ashore and try to infiltrate their camp.'

The Minstrel Boy started to protest. 'How did I get elected to walk into the jaws of death?'

'You and I can most likely mingle with these raiders in the dark.'

'So can Blaisdell.'

'I prefer to work with you.'

'Thanks a lot.'

'You're welcome.'

Renatta planted her hands on her nips. 'And what are we supposed to do while you two are out playing heroes? Sit here twiddling our thumbs and waiting?'

'Get the boat out into the middle of the river and be ready to go fast at the first sign of trouble. Give us two hours. If we 're not back by then, take off and warn the city.'

The galley moved up to the pier, and Reave and the Minstrel Boy jumped ashore. They watched as the galley backed up, positioned itself in the middle of the stream, and dropped a light anchor. The rowers skulled lightly to keep it from dragging with the current. Satisfied that everything had been done, Reave and the Minstrel Boy turned and walked purposefully away.

'You know something? I'm not going to forget how you volunteered me for this.'

Reave laughed grimly. 'Let's hope you have lots of time to remember it in.'

A well-trodden path ran away from the pier and then curvedand zigzagged up a steep hillside for over a mile. After a half hour of solid climbing, both men were close to winded.

'We've been living soft for too long.'

'Let's take a break.'

Reave got no argument from the Minstrel Boy, and both men flopped down on the soft turf.

'Goddamn.'

When the Minstrel Boy had caught his breath, he propped himself up on one elbow. 'How long do you figure we should go on following this trail? We've got to be nearing the lake by now.'

Reave looked up at the crest of the hill that still loomed over them. 'I'm assuming that when we get to the top of this hill, we're going to be able to see the lake and probably whatever kind of camp there is. If anyone's got half a brain, they'll have posted pickets out on the road at the hilltop.'

'So we go cross-country from here?'

'Have to. Though I wish I'd seen this country in daylight. We're working on too many blind guesses.'

They got to their feet and, leaving the road, started up the hillside, at times climbing on their hands and knees. After about five minutes, they hit a dry streambed and began using it as a guide. Then Reave slipped and almost stumbled.