To THE LAND OF THE ELECTRIC ANGEL: Hugo and Nebula Award Finalist Author (The Frontiers Saga)

by William Rotsler

  Blake could see Rio struggling to get free, but so far she was unsuccessful. He continued his verbal attack without stopping.

  "Or maybe they will just dump your program into some box somewhere and let it set. Awareness of nothingness, Attila, my beauty! No input, no exterior senses, nothing but your own dull thought, reliving old fights just to have something to do."

  The robot stayed motionless, except for the tracking lenses, with a stillness a human being was unable to match.

  "You're going to lose today, Attila. Everyone loses someday, even you! You've seen others lose, haven't you? A nice shiny Genghis Khan comes tumbling down. A good-old experienced Black Prince gets his. A Kublai Khan mysteriously fails. A Saladin One Hundred blows up; an Eisenhower stops for no reason. You've seen it happen, Attila, my pigeon, you've seen it happen."

  Then its right foot moved, and Blake threw himself down and forward as the big robot attacked. The lower set of arms both swung at him, but Blake was on the sand, rolling, and getting to the safe area just around the robot's feet. The huge feet kicked at him awkwardly, but Blake was already climbing the robot's back.

  The sea of faces in the stands screamed approval as Blake gained the head of the metal giant. The upper set of arms clawed back at him, but Blake struck at them with his sword, bending several claws with hard-flung blows.

  Blake climbed higher and reached around to jab at the lenses of the face with the butt of his sword. He smashed one lens; then a claw ripped at his left arm, gashing him deeply in the back of the bicep. Blake cried out and grabbed the waldo and bent it in a surge of strength. The bent arm lashed at him but only managed to get in the way of the lower waldoes, which were trying to get at him. The other upper arm clawed at him, but Blake sent a savage blow into one of the elbows, partially severing the limb and cutting the connections. The lower part of the arm went dead and hung loosely while the upper part still tried to reach him.

  He now smashed the other lens and took a cut on the shoulder, then the loose waldo became entangled in the claws of the lower arms. Thinking it had found Blake, the lower limb savaged the arm, pulling it out and throwing it away. But by then Blake had driven his swordpoint into the joining of the upper-right back plate. The swordpoint broke, but Blake savagely forced in the rest of the blade, using it as a pry bar to break the connections. The rear quadrant plate fell away, and Blake plunged his ruined sword into the complex interior mechanisms.

  The robot jerked, went rigid, then began a spastic dance that flung Blake off. He fell heavily to the sand and almost blacked out.

  In a moment, Blake looked up to see smoke coming from around the sword still buried in the spasming robot. The four clawed waldoes fought at each other and the robot lurched toward the Arena wall. It hit with a crash and stood there, its feet still trying to force it on, sparks and smoke pouring from its back. Then it stopped moving and the sparks ceased, and slowly ... very slowly ... it began to fall over. The waldoes made a series of scratches on the wall as the robot fell. The metal monster finally toppled sideways to crash with the sound of dropped trash.

  The shouting of the multitude deafened Blake as he rose wearily from the sand. Some of the people were screaming in rage, but most were shouting in praise. It was seldom that a human defeated a robot, and the novelty was exciting. The robot had stopped moving completely, and only a thin line of smoke came from it. Limping, and with blood running down his left arm and right shoulder, Blake went over to Rio. He saw that her bindings had magnetic clips and freed her easily.

  Rio flung her arms around him, kissing him all over his face, laughing and crying at the same time. He saw blood on her hands and body when she pulled back, but she was smiling She repeated his name over and over as if she couldn't believe it.

  "Those goddam sneaking bastards!" he cried. "They planned this whole thing!"

  Angrily, he tore away from Rio and started toward the bishop's box. He knew he could not get up the wall, or over the electric fence, but he was mad enough to try.

  Rio ran after him, grabbed his arm, and pleaded, "Don't, Blake! Not now!" She pressed her mouth to his ear and tried to keep up with his angry stride. "They are going to get us out! They told me today! The New Day people! They are going to do it today!"

  He stopped. He looked at Rio, and for the first time felt the pain in his arm. At that moment the medic team arrived on the scene, and the lead doctor hit him with a hypospray. As Blake fell back into the arms of the stretcher bearers, he said, "Today..."

  The hypospray reduced his pains to distant hurts, and Rio walked beside him as they bore him out of the arena. Blake saw the secutor and the retiarius pass him and heard the thunder of the crashcars as they moved up, revving their engines noisily. Blake, Rio, and the medics went past the long line of cars, past the patient cleanup robots, and down the corridor to the medical station.

  Rio stood by Blake as the human and robotic attendants cleansed his wounds, sealed his cuts together with a sonic needle, and sprayed on bandages.

  The ringmaster entered and congratulated Blake. "You'll be a big draw here, Seventeen, er, Mason. They are already editing the tape for national distribution tonight. By tomorrow, you'll be the celebrity of the week.” The ringmaster looked pleased. He beamed at Rio, saying, "You were perfect, perfect! They'll probably want to use you again. I've already spoken to the circusmaster and we'll get an island for you – water all around, some electrosnakes and animatronic alligators in the water – and Blake–" He stopped and laughed. "We'll work it out. Don't want to give it away, huh?" He slapped Rio on the shoulder, then said, "Take care of yourself, Mason. You're going to raise the San Francisco rating at least three points!"

  Blake stared at the departing man blankly. "He sent us out there to be killed and now he thanks us for raising the ratings!"

  Rio looked around, and helped Blake off the medical-examination table. "Come on."

  At that moment, a group of television newsmen came bursting into the room. Their lights went on and in a few seconds Blake was surrounded by inquiries.

  "How does it feel to be the first man to kill an Attila in three years?"

  "Are you going to protest the decisions of the Ecclesiastical court?"

  "Do you employ any particular spells in your defense?"

  Blake looked blankly at the last questioner. "Spells?" he asked.

  "Yes, are you a member of any of the outlawed covens?"

  "You can speak freely, you are already condemned."

  "No, I–"

  "Is there any truth to the rumor that you are a Catholic and that the pope aided you with special outlawed prayers?"

  "No, no, nothing like that," Blake said. Covens? The pope?

  "All right, that's enough!" Sergeant White's voice cut through the babble. "Leave him alone, he's mine. Let me through, let me through." The sergeant grinned broadly at Blake. "Bless your bones," he said, smiling. He turned toward the news reporters. "One of my best gladiators. Reminds me of myself when I was younger. I fought a pair of Nebuchadnezzars in the Romulus Arena in '42 – me and my mate – and we knocked them both out!" Behind his back, White was gesturing to Blake to get away.

  White jumped up on a chair. "You'll want to know how I train my people for the ring. Well, I use pyschology and..."

  Blake and Rio slipped out of the door quietly. Only one reporter saw them, and followed.

  "An exclusive, gladiator? I can get you some special food down here, I promise you that. Maybe even a chunk of real meat, how about that?"

  The reporter followed them down the corridor to the elevator. "Mingus Arcoman, Peninsula Seven. Come on, we'll just go down here away from the others, and you can tell me all about it."

  Blake looked past the newsman and saw the short, dark accountant again, the one who had mysteriously nodded to him earlier. The accountant was looking at him, but so were several passing gladiators and others.

  Blake steered the newsman further along the passageway. "Yes, yes, you are probably wondering about
how I, a mere novice, and a stranger to your time, could conquer a mighty fighting machine like the dread Atilla. Well, it was this way ...”

  Blake moved Rio in close to the accountant and kept up his stream of words to the newsman. He saw Rio and the other man exchange a few words, but his attention was on the story he was giving the reporter. "...You see, the men of my time have it all over your people here. We lived close to the soil then, and draw our strength from it. And I was but the lowest of warriors fighting for his faith, a mere beginner in the art of robot slaying..."

  Rio looked at Blake and gestured with her head.

  "So you see, Mr. Arcoman, that I will make a very good drawing card for whatever Circus holds my contract."

  "Contract? I thought you were a condemned criminal? What's a 'drawing card'? You use such ancient terms that I–"

  "Later, Mr. Arcoman, later. I must go. Orders, you know. I don't want to be late for my meditations." Rio drew him toward the elevator, and Blake smiled back at the reporter. "Mason, Blake Mason. M-a-s-o-n. Thank you, thank you."

  The door closed and Blake fell silent. He put a hand to his arm, which throbbed alarmingly, but the nu-skin was smooth. He looked at Rio, then at the others – a dull-looking minister bearing an autographed greave and a janitor with a can of something. Rio shook her head slightly and Blake kept his mouth shut.

  They got out at Blake's cell-complex level and he pulled Rio aside. "Well? Was he the contact?"

  She nodded. "He said to go to your cell and wait."

  "What about you? Are they going to miss you?"

  Rio smiled wanly. "They didn't really expect me back, anyway, but I guess they'll start looking soon." She pressed herself against Blake's arm. "But by then it will be too late – you'll be out!"

  "Me? What about you?"

  "They're just taking you."

  "Oh, no! Either we both go, or no deal!"

  "But–"

  Blake grabbed her arm and pulled her along toward his cell section. "That's the way it is," he said firmly.

  Bennett, Neva, Rob, Narmada, Kapuki, and several others greeted Blake noisily.

  "We saw it on the screen!" Bennett shouted. "You were fantastic!"

  "A tiger!" Kapuki said.

  "And this is the girl..." Neva said, looking Rio over in one sweeping glance.

  "This is Rio," Blake said.

  As the others continued to congratulate him, he pulled Bennett aside. "They want to take me out today – but only me. I'm taking Rio, or I don't go. You tell that to ... to whoever. Both of us, understand."

  Bennett nodded, his eyes on Rio. "Not bad," he said, "if you like the type."

  "Mason, Blake!" came the sharp words from the entrance.

  Mason looked over to see four black-clad Swords of St. Michael standing arrogantly in the doorway. Are these the ones?

  "Mason, Blake!" one of them said sharply.

  "I'm Mason. What do you want ... sir?"

  "You. Come with us. The Bishop of San Francisco wants to see you."

  "All right. Rio." He reached out for her, but the Sword put up a hand.

  "Just you, Mason. We don't need any fallen women." He studiously avoided looking at Rio's ripped dress.

  "I think the Bishop would like to see both of us, sir." He tugged at Rio's hand and forced her to his side.

  The Sword looked around, and Blake thought his eyes stopped on Bennett's face. But he could not be certain. The black-clad man shrugged and gestured them on.

  The soldiers formed a box around the two of them and walked briskly to the intersection.

  This was the moment of truth. If they turned left, they would be going toward the bank of elevators reserved for high officers and the higher echelons of the clergy. If they turned right, they would be heading toward the service elevators and cargo lifts. They turned right.

  Blake squeezed Rio's hand. He thought about Neva and Kapuki, Bennett and the rest, but his elation did not make him feel guilty. I'll come back for you! he vowed.

  They took one elevator down several levels, crossed through an animal-containment area, then up to a robot-repair shop, walked up a flight, stepped out into an accounting sector, and went down a hall. It was quiet here, with only a little choral music from the wall speakers. The hall might have been in any office building anywhere, and not the business offices for a Roman-style arena.

  They stopped before a door marked DEACON J. JACKS, PROVISIONAL ACCOUNTING, and a Sword gestured them through. Before the door was closed, the four men were walking briskly away.

  There was an outer office and a smiling, dark-haired woman behind a desk. She stood up, opened an inner door, and said, "Please. And hurry!"

  Inside, the short, dark man was getting up from his desk; and he was also smiling. "Congratulations, Mason. I see you insisted upon bringing your rescued damsel. Very romantic. We can use that, I think." He looked her over with a certain lust in his eyes. "Very nice. Why they would want to destroy such a lovely object, I'll never know." He turned toward his desk, saying, "Christians! I'll never understand them. Never!"

  Jacks reached into a drawer and took out a small device that Blake recognized as the kind of magnetic key to the explosive neckband they both wore. Blake's unspoken fear had been that the Arena police would trigger the neckpieces and kill them both.

  Jacks pressed the end of the mag key to the side of Rio's neck and then to Blake's. The explosive bands fell off.

  Blake threw his in the wastebasket, but Jacks retrieved it and took both of the prison devices out the door. In a few moments he returned. "If they set it off now, they will be quite surprised where it goes bang. Now, for clothing."

  He took a key from his pocket and opened a side door. Inside was some clothing. In a few moments Blake was dressed as a robot technician and Rio was wearing the tunic and brassard of a novice medic. They returned to the hall, where Jacks was waiting.

  They followed him at a distance. He went into one elevator, holding three fingers pointed down. Rio and Blake waited for another cage, then dropped three floors. They picked him up again and followed him several hundred meters around the curve of the Arena, through several training sections, and into another elevator. Up five levels, they followed him through an unmarked door. A gaunt, harassed woman inside gave them new identification papers after she had taken their photographs. Blake and Rio then followed Jacks for several more level changes.

  They finally stopped in a secluded niche, and Jacks said, "They should be catching on by now."

  "What do we do?" Blake asked.

  "Go to that elevator there. It will lead you to the service exit. Just walk out as if nothing were wrong – but not together. Oh, here!" Jacks dug into his pocket and handed them each a Unicard. "Use these. They're stolen, but I don't expect the alarm for several hours yet, so the alarms won't go off. Take the Two-Fifteen to downtown and get off at Sutter Towers. Don't go in the front; use the service entrance. Go to condo Six-Oh-One. That's on the Gold Dust level. Don't be frightened by the way it looks. Just act like you are on call."

  "What then?" Blake queried nervously.

  "You'll be met. You'll be asked about something in your past, Mr. Mason. Don't worry, you'll be among friends."

  Blake nodded. He knew that this group, whatever it was and whatever it stood for, planned to use him in some way; but he didn't mind, not as long as they got him and Rio out.

  "Come on," he said to Rio, and they walked quickly toward the elevator bank.

  Chapter 24

  Blake took the service elevator to the Gold Dust level. The escape from the Circus had been easier than he'd expected, although they were standing on the monorail platform when they heard an alarm go off. But now, buried safely in the giant arcological complex that was San Francisco, he began to relax. Rio was a few minutes behind him, coming up another elevator.

  Blake's elevator door opened and he found himself in the rear service passage. The walls were studded with readout dials, bolted access panels, barred rear exits from
the condos, tube terminals, and an occasional television monitor. As Blake walked towards the 600 series, he passed an occasional repairman whose head was buried in a panel or who worried over a plug-in unit with intermittent cutout. They ignored him or nodded casually.

  He found the 600 series and stopped at the rear door of number 601. Trying not to look around to see if anyone was watching, he knocked sharply on the door. In a few moments he sensed a darkening of the peep-eye and then heard a voice coming through a cheap speaker.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm here to repair your robbie."

  "Where did you say you were from?"

  "Uh..." Blake glanced down at the small toolkit

  Jacks had given him. "Uh, General Robotics..."

  There was a pause, and Blake could not resist looking up and down the Service corridor. Then the speaker squawked again.

  "When were you born?"

  "What does that...? Uh ... October 24th ... uh." He had started to give the year, and his near-slip disturbed him. I'll have to be more careful!

  No answer came, but in a few seconds he heard the mag locks snap open; then the door slid back. A small brown man stood inside; he was dressed in a plain tunic. He was balding and appeared very clean, as old men often did.

  He smiled and gestured Blake in, and closed the door behind him. "This way," he said.

  Blake hefted his tool kit and followed. What if I have to really repair some robot? I'll fake it and get out as fast as possible.

  Blake knew he would have to work quickly and find out what was going on, because Rio was due in less than five minutes. He had not wanted her to come with him, in case there was danger. Unless a code word was given, she was to pretend she had the wrong condo and leave.

  The condo was plain, and hardly looked lived in. It had standard furniture, the usual GE wallscreen, and a few copies of newsfax. Blake swept the room in one quick scan and watched the other doors alertly.

  The old man stopped, and said, "Let me introduce myself. I am Emelio Radiodifundir. Would you like a drink, Senor?"