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

by William Rotsler

  Maya now escorted them into a beautifully decorated apartment. Rio and Blake turned to her. "New clothes, new ident, a new life," the short, voluptuous woman said. She gestured at the clothes she had put on a wide bed-lounge. "Your new wardrobe."

  Blake started unzipping his tunic. Maya got an odd, uncomfortable look on her face and turned her back to him. Blake ignored her.

  "We're being handed from one secret hideout to another," he said to her, "but where are we going? The New Day people? Venus?"

  "Oh, we're Venus. Didn't they tell you? Everyone wants you, you know. Just everyone! You are real prizes, people we can all identify with. A genuine pair of time travelers from the era of true freedom – and famous in the Arena. You might be the catalysts that bring all the different groups together at last."

  "How many are there?" Rio asked as she, too, changed clothes. "Besides Venus and New Day?"

  "Oh, let's see. There are the Angels of Liberation, the American Patriots, the Iconoclasts, a few really odd religious groups that don't mesh with the Christians. The anarchists, naturally, but they are quite spread out and disorganized. The Thomas Paine Society, the Termites, and what's left of the Congress, the Catholics, and the Orthodox Jews."

  "The Congress? Of the United States? That's an underground group?" Blake stared blankly at Maya. The status of the pope had surprised him, but an outlaw congress seemed truly fantastic.

  "Oh, didn't you know? No, I guess you couldn't have. Once the different churches became powerful they started lobbying, of course, and electing their own men and women. Eventually, it caused quite a few fights, and it came to a head with the election of Joan Hillary to the House. They refused to seat her, then others who they said were 'unfit.' By that they meant un-Christian. The whole episode grew into quite a fight. Just paralyzed Washington for months. The church people had the numbers and the rules. Then someone tried to assassinate President Canfield, and all hell broke loose. Congress declared about forty congressmen and senators wanted criminals and ... well, they finally disbanded Congress by acclamation, returning power to the states. The elected members went around for years as a government-in-exile, but most of them were eventually captured, killed, or betrayed ... Oh, Rio, that looks marvelous on you!"

  Rio now wore a dress that covered her completely to the neck but still managed to show off her figure. Blake had on tights and a severely cut jacket. Maya handed them both dark cloaks.

  "You can wear these to the party," she said.

  "Party?" Blake asked. He felt constantly foolish, always asking inane questions about what was obviously commonly accepted practices, but he had little alternative if they were going to learn anything.

  "Yes, Venus is giving a party in your honor."

  "Is that safe?"

  "Oh, yes, quite safe. We've never had a raid of that sort in this ark – not one. That's why we brought you here. Everyone is dying to meet you!"

  Blake looked at Rio.

  "It might be good relaxation," she said.

  "It seems so dangerous for two fugitives to ... Oh, well, let's do it."

  Maya smiled brightly and took their hands. "Good! Follow me!"

  The party was in the big, rambling condo of Walter Robinson, the majority stockholder of Proteinettes. The robot butler let them in after identifying them visually, but the foyer seemed like a tomb. Rio and Blake looked at each other, their expressions saying, "A party?"

  Then the robot keyed an electric door with his radio, and it slid open. The room beyond was quite dark, and Blake saw some movement. But there was no sound whatever.

  Maya stepped forward, gesturing them to follow. As they passed through the door, noise flooded over them in a sudden, shocking wave. First, the hard pulsebeat of music, which almost drowned out everything else; then, filtering through, a few grunts and cries.

  "Ohh!" said Maya, her eyes bright as she turned back toward Blake and Rio, who stood just inside the acoustical curtain. "Isn't it deliciously exciting?"

  Blake and Rio peered into the darkness beyond the wedge of dim light cast through the electric foyer door.

  They caught glimpses of movement, flicks of light on metal or jewelry, the gleam of eyes, the faint sheen of sweaty flesh. But nothing definite. Then the door closed silently behind them and the room was almost pitch black.

  Maya took their hands and whispered, "This way."

  They followed her on a weaving course through the big room, sometimes stumbling over an unseen soft object. Soon they approached a faintly glowing ball, which illuminated a few steps, and carefully ascended them, emerging into a short hall.

  Maya led them through a curtain of fabric and another acoustical curtain, into a room more brightly lit. Here the music was quieter, less strident, and more erotic. A man and woman detached themselves from a group of softly laughing people and ambled toward them.

  In the dim light Blake was not sure if he would recognize these people on the street. He was introduced to Walter Robinson, a man in his fifties, with an air of power and authority about him, and to Ramona Nelson, a slender dark woman. They shook hands, and Blake was immediately annoyed at the possessive manner Robinson adopted toward Rio. He was also aware that Ramona's eyes had never left his face or body.

  "Greeting, wayfarers," Robinson said with a dramatic voice. "Welcome to my humble abode." He gestured around him, into the semi-darkness where others were heard laughing or talking. "Everything you see is yours."

  Ramona closed in on Blake with half-lidded eyes. "You must come with me, Blake. We are all eagerly awaiting your reactions to our little group here."

  The woman tugged at Blake's arm but he did not want to be parted from Rio. He held Rio's hand tightly and she signaled back with her grip. Robinson and Ramona were persistent, but unsuccessful.

  "Aren't you all afraid of being arrested?" Rio asked. "I thought this sort of thing would be–"

  Robinson laughed. "Oh, no! The level monitor is one of us, and the floor monitor is sympathetic. The sounds never penetrate outside, and my people are careful."

  "This is Venus?" Blake queried.

  A sudden burst of laughter rang out in a dark corner and Robinson looked that way with a tolerant smile. "Part of it," he said. "There are thousands like us, just waiting for the time when we can overthrow the shackles of oppression," he said proudly.

  Blake glanced again at Rio. The man seemed sincere, but to Blake this underground attempt at an orgy was ludicrous. Liberty is never won by hiding away and pretending one's lusts are revolutionary. Liberty is only won by deeds. Robinson's guests and their pitiful attempts at striking back at their society's sex taboos are sad. There has to be more to Venus than this, Blake thought; and he could see by Rio's face that she was hopeful, too.

  Robinson was still pressing Rio to go into another dark room with him, just as Ramona was tugging at Blake.

  We're prizes, not people, Blake told himself. He turned quickly to Maya. "Look, we're tired. This party is very nice, very much like the very best sort of parties in our time, but we'd like some sleep. It's been a long time, and–"

  "Don't go," Ramona said, coming close.

  "You're going?" Robinson said incredulously.

  Maya was also surprised, and she protested.

  Blake was adamant, however. "Some other time," he said soothingly. He gestured around him and told Robinson, "Very nice, very nice. Wish we could stay, but really, we're bushed."

  "'Bushed'?" Ramona asked curiously.

  "Tired. Worn out."

  Blake let Robinson and Ramona follow them back to the front door, acknowledging a few introductions to dim figures on cushions and couches, then told his hosts good night. He gently but firmly refused the offer of their company, then followed Maya back to their hideout.

  Maya became more and more excited as they neared the apartment. Obviously the now bubbling, eager Maya was expecting a triple – something she could brag about for the rest of her life – and Blake hated to disappoint her. But he and Rio both made it
obvious they were looking forward to rest. Finally she took the hint.

  "This is your room," she said to Rio, then pointed at another door. "That's yours."

  Blake and Rio looked at each other in surprise. Somehow they had expected to finally share a bed. But Maya looked firm. "That's right. One may ... may do things together, but unmarried people just don't sleep together."

  "All right, my little revolutionary," Blake said. He smiled at Rio. "I’m tired. Things have been happening so fast. I’m tired of running."

  "I'm so weary," Rio agreed. Her eyes lingered on Blake, then she went into her room.

  Blake said good night to Maya and fell into bed. He lay awake for a few moments, thinking over the long day, wondering what lay ahead for them. Tomorrow, Maya had said, they would be sent to the New Day people.

  Pawns. Prizes. Targets.

  But you must keep moving, Blake thought sleepily. The idea of giving up never occurred to him.

  Chapter 27

  Rio and Blake had insisted on sleeping late and spending the afternoon talking with a now sober Walter Robinson. It was after six p.m. when, with Maya, they left Venus.

  Maya stood on the public mall and pointed over the edge of the railing at the arcolog next to them. It was like pointing across a canyon to an adjacent mountain. "There, that pinkish dome, the one by the blue pyramid? That's Level Ninety. Go in there and ask for Linda Muirwood."

  Blake took her hand and thanked her for all her help. She looked sad, but smiled anyway. "Maybe next time," she said.

  Blake wished he had something to give her, but he had nothing that she had not given him. So he kissed her.

  She started as if struck by lightning, and jumped back, blushing furiously. She looked around in fear, saying, "Don't, please! Oh, dear..."

  Rio tugged at Blake, and they went down the escalator nearby, then took a drop elevator to an interark slideway and went over to the other arcolog.

  "That wasn't too shrewd a move," she said as they slid between the man-made mountains. "But I know why you did it."

  "I keep forgetting the way they feel around here," Blake said. "It just seems so foolish to deny perfectly natural feelings."

  Rio nodded, her eyes on the upper levels of the arcolog they were approaching. "What next...?" she wondered aloud.

  Blake's eyes were on a black-clad policeman standing just inside the slideway entrance to the arcolog. He was scanning the passing throng, and then his eyes lit on Blake and Rio and he didn't look away.

  "Pretend you don't know me," Blake said quietly. "The blackcoat at the entrance–"

  "I see him," Rio said in a whisper.

  "You go left, I'll go right. If he follows me I'll lose him. If he follows you, I'll – I'll follow him."

  "Blake..."

  "You forget, I'm the terror of the Caligula Arena." Blake shifted his weight away from her and moved to get off the slideway first. He stepped off fairly close to the policeman and paused as if to get his bearings, then strode off purposefully to the right. Rio went the other way, down the mall, and Blake glanced around casually and saw the officer speak into a communicator. Blake started to walk faster, and the black-suited officer started after him.

  I've got to do this quickly, he thought. Blake rounded a corner and saw the entrance to a working-class saloon ahead. I can't just lose him, I've got to stop him!

  Blake slowed and turned into the saloon just as the policeman came around the corner.

  Blake quickly took stock of the bar. It was neither as dark nor as disreputable as he would have liked, but it was all he had. He walked quickly toward a passage marked WASH ROOMS, smiling confidently at the bartender. The few customers paid no attention.

  Without hesitation Blake stepped through the door marked WOMEN. No one was inside. He held the door open a crack and heard a rough voice say something and another voice grunt. Then the policeman was in the passageway. He passed the women's wash room as Blake hoped he would, holding a stubby black weapon in his hand. A jewel-like light pulsed steadily at the back of it.

  Blake stepped out.

  The policeman started to turn, but Blake hit him hard on the side of the neck. Two more blows and the blacksuit folded, his weapon tinkling to the floor. Blake grabbed his feet and tugged him through the door into the women's wash room and set him in a booth. He found the weapon was fastened to the man's locked belt by a thin but tough line.

  Blake gave up trying to get it loose, and shut the booth door and walked swiftly out. The bartender looked up from a visionphone and Blake smiled.

  The bartender watched him leave with expressionless eyes.

  Blake took a direct elevator to Level Ninety and walked along until he found the pinkish dome Maya had described. He lingered near a food dispenser and looked for Rio. He found her near a pillar, and walked over to her. She acted as if they had never met.

  "Were you followed?" Blake asked, scratching his face to hide it.

  "No. What happened to you?"

  "Tell you later." Blake looked around. "Come on, pawn of fate," he said. "Nothing looks suspicious around here."

  "Do you think you'd know what was suspicious in this crazy world?"

  "So I haven't had much experience being a fugitive. You wait behind. Look in those windows over there. No use both of us getting caught. If I don't come out, or if the forces of law and order come charging in, then go back to Maya and see what they can do."

  Rio nodded, squeezing his hand in a quick gesture as she walked away.

  Blake went along the mall, dodging a whispering electrocart filled with boxes, then stopped before the dome entrance. Scores of semi-autonomous domes fringed the arcolog on several levels, giving the illusion of being separate houses instead of being part of the massive, immovable ark mountain. The pink dome, a five-eighths globe, housed a retail store that sold religious artifacts. The name "Muirwood's" was scrawled across the curve of the dome in a glowing cerise line.

  Blake went inside, walking between larger-than-life statues of saints, some with symbols that Blake found odd indeed. He also noticed figures that had a demon-like quality, something like gargoyles – fierce-faced and horned, fear-making statues designed to be impressive. Blake wondered what kind of religion needed to frighten its believers, but then he remembered that that wasn't so unusual in history, after all.

  The dome opened up into several balconies overlooking the main floor, and everywhere there were robed figures shopping. Some were in black, some in gray, a few in blue and scarlet. Several of the uniforms made Blake accountably nervous, but no one seemed to pay any attention to him or to his conventional dress.

  He walked through aisles displaying dozens of different bibles, crucifixes, statuettes, and animatronic Christs that blessed, turned, smiled, and glowed. Blake saw a door marked OFFICE and headed for it through a covey of green-clad nuns with sour faces.

  Linda Muirwood was slim and blond, with pale white skin and large blue eyes. She looked at Blake across an ancient carved desk, now black with use, gleaming from polish. "You are Blake Mason," she said, making it a statement. She looked past him and raised her eyebrows.

  "She's nearby."

  Bake gave the room a quick look. Shelves covered two walls and overflowed with objets d'art. A Byzantine mosaic fragment sat next to an early-twentieth-century soft-drink tray. A child's skull, covered with small polished stones, was between a battered plastic object that looked like a peanut made in the shape of a man and a bell jar containing a child's doll with plastic hair and the look of a prostitute, wearing a lame dress. Across the room was a shelf holding old paperbound books, a small sensatron repro cube of a Caruthers landscape, several framed and faded bank checks, a jar of late-twentieth-century pennies, and dozens of odd plastic objects that Blake could not identify. There were boxes and chests, plastic stasis containers, jars of dark glass, and several very old soft-drink bottles on small wooden bases. A portrait of Linda Muirwood hung on the wall behind the desk – a spot Blake thought inappropriate, s
ince the painting and the subject just below it were markedly different: the painting was the more alive of the two.

  Blake took his time examining the room and the woman. She wore a curious pendant that looked something like an animal's head with horns and a long neck; it was wrought in metal. She fingered it as she inspected Blake in turn.

  "So," she said with finality. "Are you satisfied?"

  Blake shrugged. He was tired of running and of being sent from hither to yon. "I’ll get her," he said, and went back outside.

  "Is everything all right?" Rio asked.

  "I suppose so. If this is some kind of trap, they already have us. If it isn't, then we are only taking one more step."

  "Where are they sending us now?" Rio asked anxiously.

  "To where they think we will do the most good ... for them." He smiled reassuringly at Rio. "Fear not, all will be well."

  Rio shivered, and hugged Blake's arm as a wind swept through the mall, which was open to the sky along one side. "Where is Jean-Michel...?"

  Blake had no answer. He took her arm and they entered the Muirwood dome.

  Linda gave Rio an even closer examination with her eyes than she had given Blake. As she did, she fingered a silver bracelet set with large blue-green turquoise stones. Abruptly she said, "We will have a reading." She reached into a drawer of her desk and withdrew a deck of large tarot cards.

  "We don't have time for that," Blake said. "Please pass us on to the next step, or whatever it is you are supposed to do with us."

  Linda Muirwood gave him a steady gaze, her face expressionless, but Blake sensed anger or possibly hatred. "Very well," she said at last, and put the deck back. She rose. "Follow me."

  She went into the shop, down between display cabinets of robes both ancient and modern, past trays of rings and racks of ornamental swords. Blake and Rio followed her briskly walking figure, trying not to look nervous. Linda passed between counters of embossed silver trays and ceremonial cups and on into a storeroom.