Rio's eyes wavered and dropped. She was breathing shallowly and she bit at her lip. She started to say something, then stopped as Doreen and Granville came forward with small trays of emergency rations. Doreen handed two up .to Voss and Vogel, then went back for her own.
Blake nodded a thanks at Granville and took two trays, passing one to Rio. They ate without further talk, and Blake found it difficult to swallow.
They went down the state along the Snake, skirted Boise, and were just starting out over the Snake River plain, when a single military jet streaked by. There was a white cross on the side, with thin red rays radiating from it. The plane came so close that the turbulence almost upset the helicopter, and Vogel fought the controls, cursing fluently.
Voss picked up the radio mike and said sharply, "Overflight, overflight, this is Brother Jean-Michel Smith of the CDY. We are on a Code Ten intelligence flight with a top-security clearance. You are endangering our cargo of Almanite Nine. Unless you want the Snake River contaminated with radioactivity for the next three hundred years I suggest you stand clear. Over."
Blake raised his eyebrows at Voss, who gave a twitch of his lips.
"LDS flight, this is White Force One-Sixteen," came the reply. "You are unauthorized to cruise at this altitude in improperly marked aircraft. You will turn one-eighty and set down at Brotherhood Field."
"One-Sixteen, this is CDY, repeat, CDY, on a Code Ten, repeat, Code Ten. Our cargo is Almanite Nine, repeat Almanite Nine. We are under security. Our authorization is..." Voss hesitated a moment, then continued, ". ... from the Brotherhood Central itself."
"LDS, this is White Force One-Sixteen. You mean Brotherhood Temple One?"
"Affirmative, One-Sixteen. From the Central Control of Brotherhood Temple One. Over."
"Continue on your course, LDS- flight, while I confirm on Seven-Niner Alpha. White Force One-Sixteen on standby."
"CDY copies. Out."
Voss turned to the others with a thin grin, and Rio gasped. "How did you know what to say?"
"I made it up. Throw in lots of letters and numbers and some kind of priority status and make it their responsibility if things go wrong. Some of Hannibal's elephant handlers probably did the same thing."
"What is he doing?" Granville asked.
"Circling," said Vogel. "But falling behind."
"In that jet he could catch up quickly," Granville grumbled.
"We'll be into northeastern Nevada by the time they get the red tape worked out," Voss said. "We'll still be in their territory, but...," He shrugged.
"The night won't help us," Vogel said, gesturing at the control panel. "If they're like this one, they have radar, sonar, infrared – and something called 'spot-all.' "
"Whatever that is," Doreen commented.
"Fascinating," Granville said.
"What was the outfit that controlled lower Nevada?" Blake asked Granville.
"Urn ... the Eye of the Mystery of Eternal Life."
"Sounds ominous," said Doreen. "The Eye sees all, knows all."
"We've got to think up some sort of pitch for them, too" Blake said.
"Could we be defectors?" Rio suggested.
"I don't know," Voss said. "That could get us into more trouble. I knew we'd be out of place, of course, today, and would need to feel our way. But this is troublesome.”
Blake had to smile. Pursued as outlaws, we are temporal castaways whose only assets seem to be our wits.
The warplane dropped further and further behind and they eventually lost sight of it. The situation kept them on edge, but no pursuit was detected.
"We may have crossed some kind of border," Granville suggested. "I only hope no one has called ahead."
"Turn the plane southwest – gently does it – Vogel. I've changed my mind about going back to Utah. But our escape has been a little too easy," Voss said thoughtfully.
Blake wondered how many dead soldiers there would have to be for Voss to consider their position "difficult."
"But maybe there isn't much cooperation between states..." Voss added.
No one had anything to say.
They crossed northwestern Nevada without incident, keeping so low they sometimes frightened animals. They were heading into the eastern flanks of the Sierra Nevadas when Granville Franklin spoke up.
"The defector idea isn't bad. Depends on whether or not whatever cult controls the area we find ourselves in is friendly toward the Mormons. At least they would listen to us."
"Before they shoot us, you mean?" Doreen said sarcastically.
"How do we explain the dead bodies and this LDS aircar?" Rio asked.
"They won't find the bodies right away," Voss said, "and I have a hunch that Calkins didn't exactly broadcast his destination or purpose. We may have more time than we think."
"Unless Sister Meaker expected to find us ready for her," Blake said.
"Just keep going," Rio said. "What other choice do we have?"
"Oh, we have lots of choices," Granville said with a wide grin. "It's just that most of them are unpleasant."
They crossed the Sierras, taking the Feather River route, flying low and between the cliffs. Blake wasn't too happy about leaving-his life in the hands of a man who hadn't flown this particular type aircraft before and whose flying license expired a hundred years before. And who hates me! he thought. But he had little choice.
They came out into the lush green of the Sacramento Valley and saw a dramatic increase in air traffic and signs of civilization. To appear less conspicuous they rose to the south-bound air-traffic lane, crossing high above Sacramento and curving toward San Francisco.
"So far so good," Granville said with a smile.
"You certainly are cheerful," Rio said to him.
"Why not? It's all so fascinating. It's a marvelous adventure."
Blake looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You've never done anything like this before, have you?"
"No," the older man grinned. "Have any of us?"
Blake looked at Rio and shrugged. "Watch him. I think he has delusions of heroism."
Granville grinned widely at them and returned to his avid perusal of the ground and sky.
Civilization began to thicken below, and less and less land was visible. Long before they reached the widening of the river that preceded the entrance to San Francisco Bay, the hills were covered with rows upon rows of multiple dwellings, then bigger and bigger structures, until San Francisco appeared ahead of them, across the bay. It seemed to be one large building, bisected by the Golden Gate, with the bay as a kind of glorified pool in the patio. The eastern edge of the bay, from Contra Costa County to Santa Clara, seemed one huge factory and storage area, broken only by the architectural complex of the University of California, thrusting up from the plain of steel and concrete with a series of imaginative towers, domes, and spires.
"Is that what I think it is?" Doreen said, pointing to a light in the sky over the city.
They all peered at the light and Voss snorted. "An electric angel."
It was a huge figure, perhaps a hundred meters in wingspread, that sailed and soared on the breezes. Even in the daylight it glowed and the golden trumpet in its hands glittered.
"Lightweight animatronic robot," Blake analyzed. "Maybe solar-powered, maybe some sort of lightweight fusion power plant."
"And one hell of a billboard," Rio said.
"Where do we set down, boss?" Vogel interrupted.
"Might as well head for the site of the old San Francisco Airport, but don't be surprised if it isn't there. Go into anything that looks good – and legal."
"I wonder why they haven't spotted us." Blake asked.
"Maybe they have," Rio suggested, "and are just waiting. Or we might have slipped in as part of the regular air traffic."
"Look!" Doreen cried. She pointed out the window at a black-and-white aircar with some kind of official-looking seal on the side.
Everyone tensed up, but the police aircar did not seem to notice them, contin
uing along in the same air-lane.
"How do I get down?" Vogel asked everyone at large. "I'm a little afraid to ask for instructions, and with this much traffic they must have some kind of automated control."
Voss searched the control panel and studied the map panel. He used two illuminated cross hairs to get a fix on the old location of the airport, where a winged symbol appeared. Then he punched the green button at the screen edge, and the aircar made a slight course correction.
"We're on automatic, I think," Jean-Michel said. To Vogel he added, "Just stay alert, and if it looks like we're coming to an airport, let it handle itself. Unless we start landing on a police car."
Vogel nodded and the others watched in fascination as they flew down the center of the bay. Both old bridges were gone and the buildings had encroached on the waters considerably. There were several ships in the bay, one a beautiful sailship whose tall metal vane sails were multicolored and graceful. Another was a low, wide plankton skimmer with a damaged bow, towed by two sturdy tugs. Two of the ships were surfaced submarines – one a fat car to sub and the other a gaily painted pleasure sub with dozens of observation blisters.
"Isn't that where Alcatraz used to be?" Blake asked, pointing at a small but highly fanciful arcolog.
Granville nodded agreement. "No bridge, no boats. They must get there by aircar or tunnel."
"Looks like a pleasure ark," Doreen said. "I bet it lights up like a lighthouse in the fog."
"We're coming down," Vogel announced, and everyone moved to his seat.
Looking ahead, Blake saw the airport. Three long runways crossed at angles, but between them and in a massive bank to the western edge were hundreds of circular landing pads. Each was numbered and had various symbols painted boldly upon it.
Blake gave one last look at San Francisco's massive skyline and wondered briefly how they had handled the earthquake problem. Then the ship was settling down onto pad number 625. Two pads over – on 623 – there was a landing decorated with a broad red line bisecting a six-pointed star. In the middle of the star sat a large black-and-white aircar that had several gun turrets.
Vogel killed the rotors and Voss said quickly, "Let's get the hell out of here!"
"Just don't look too scared or run too fast!" Granville cautioned. "Let's act like a group late for an appointment."
The air was fresh and brisk and smelled of salt.
Blake helped Rio down and they followed the others across the pad and down the stairs at its perimeter. Under the pads was a large area of steel posts, repair shops, service bays, junk-food dispensers, telebooths, and entrances to a lower level of slidewalks.
"We've got to get out of these uniforms," Voss said, eyeing a pasting group of monks in amber robes accompanied by a stately priest in white.
A little further on they saw a large group of uniformed men and women, garbed in pale blue with black belts and berets. Several of them nodded politely to Voss and his crew as they passed. Voss pulled them to a stop by a drink dispenser, and they crowded close for a conference.
"Did you see the symbols on their caps?" Rio asked. "An angel over a book, and she's holding up a fistful of lightning."
"'It,' not 'she,' " Granville corrected. "Despite their male names, angels were neuter."
"Never mind that," Voss cut in. "The point is, we've seen perhaps three different sects, and unless they are different orders of the same church, something is very odd."
"I could go ask one," Doreen said. "I'll just play dumb and–"
"And you could be asking a deadly enemy of the LDS who he represented," Voss warned. "No, ask a civilian." He inclined his head toward a plump man standing by a dispenser, looking nearsightedly over the offerings.
Doreen nodded and casually wandered over to him.
They spoke for a minute, and the man looked very nervous throughout.
Then Doreen returned and said, "He was sure funny. I did the usual, you know, and it made him very edgy. She looked back at the man, who had hurried off without a drink. "I hope I didn't do anything wrong," she said.
"Tell us what he said!" Voss snapped.
"TJh . Oh, he said the ones in blue were members of the Congregation of the Most Faithful Minions of the Lord. Those monks we saw were Brothers of the Wardens of Life Eternal. He said he was a faithful member of the Church of the Seventh Heaven." Doreen looked puzzled. "I don't understand him. He took one look at my chest and just never looked again. That just isn't like a man. I mean, a normal man."
"Lots of different faiths here," Granville said. "Living together without trouble. I wonder if they are allies, or what. No one seems troubled by our uniforms."
"I have an idea," Rio said. "Anyone have any change?"
"They felt through their pockets, but only Blake came up with anything from his officer's uniform pockets. "Will a change-card do? It's for Salt Lake City, though."
Rio examined the card closely. "It says 'Valid in all sovereign states of the republic.' " She shrugged. "Well, let's see." With Blake, she walked briskly to a visionphone booth and put the card in the slot. She looked over the small instruction panel, then punched for Information. A face appeared on the screen that was so neuter in appearance that Blake couldn't decide if it was an animatronic robot or not.
"Computer simulation, I'll bet," Granville said, walking over and peering at the screen. "Unisex designation."
"A listing, please, for every major religious center in San Francisco." Rio was saying.
"Clarification, please. San Francisco City or County or both?"
"County."
"Clarification, please. Religious embassies, consulates, corporate offices, meditation centers, or trade missions?"
Rio looked at Voss, then back at Blake. He shrugged. "Corporate offices."
"Corporate offices," Rio said.
"Verbal or hardcopy? There are one hundred and sixteen listed."
"Uh ... Never mind. Cancel."
The screen went blank and the time travelers looked at each other.
"Maybe San Francisco is some kind of neutral zone, like Switzerland," Granville suggested. "Try for, um, a definition of the neutral zone, Rio."
Rio punched again for Information, and the same unisex figure appeared.
"Visually define the San Francisco neutral zone, please."
"Clarification, please. Do you desire the physical limits of the neutral zone of the Treaty of Jerusalem or the physical limits of the Western Republics Neutral Trading Port Treaty as regards the City and County of San Francisco?"
"Uh, whichever is the most recent," Rio said.
"Thank you. That would be the Treaty of Jerusalem."
A map of the peninsula appeared on the screen. It seemed to cover a hundred-kilometer circle with the center at the Golden Gate.
"Information?" Rio said.
"May I help you?"
"Yes. Can you define the terms of the Treaty of Jerusalem? In brief, that is."
"The Treaty of Jerusalem defines the physical limits and laws governing the establishment of neutral trading zones throughout the world. This includes seaports, airports, ground terminals, sea vessels, non-attached arcological structures, and other such areas as are designated by the Celestial Council of United Faiths. Commonly referred to as Free Ports, no such established neutral zone shall inhibit the passage of any citizen of any republic, save those engaged in criminal or other proscribed procedures as designated by International Law. The treaty was subscribed to by the Republics of–"
"Never mind," Rio said.
The face on the screen stopped talking, and waited, patiently.
"Now what?" she asked the others.
"Free ports! That explains it," Granville said.
"Ask him – uh, it – to recommend a good hotel," Doreen said.
"No, ask for the address of the Voss Investment Corporation," Jean-Michel said.
Rio asked the question, and the information face said promptly, "No such listing is recorded. Could it be listed under any ot
her name?"
Rio looked at Voss, shrugged, and pulled out the change-card. The screen blanked and they all looked at each other.
"We could try calling New York or Switzerland," Rio said.
Voss shook his head. "I'm not certain how much that card can be stretched. Let's think." To Granville he said, "Do you think the card could cover hotel rooms for us? And new clothes?"
The generalist shrugged with his eyebrows. "I don't know. We ought to get out of sight and think our plans all through."
"Come on," Voss said, starting down a corridor.
"Wait, boss," Vogel said. "What about the aircar?" He gestured with his thumb back toward the pad where they had landed. "Won't they get suspicious if we just leave it there?"
"You're right." Voss thought a moment, then spoke decisively. "Rio, get the number of this booth and give a copy to Mason." He looked at Blake with a wicked grin. "Now, Colonel Mason, you go back, put that thing in a repair shop. Break something on it first. Tell them you are in no hurry for it, that you'll phone in with your hotel number as soon as you are settled. Have them bill you, not the LDSAF. Tell them it was your fault and that you want to keep it quiet. Let them overcharge you, which they will if they think you are in a spot."
Voss gave him a triumphant look. "Rank hath privileges, Colonel. They'll take it from a colonel, so throw that rank around. Give him the number, Rio. Wait here for our call, then meet us at the hotel."
Blake gave Rio a look, and she smiled at him and touched his arm. "Don't worry," she said, then hurried off after the others.
Blake went back, opened the cowling of the aircar and did damage to the fusion generator. Then he walked to the below-pad area and found a mechanic with a shop name on his jumper. The mechanic called his boss, who came with a tow truck; then they brought down the pad and towed away the aircar.
As Blake watched the vehicle being hauled off through the forest of pad supports, he suddenly realized he had no money or even a change-card to get him to whatever hotel they picked.
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