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

by William Rotsler

  "Enough of that," he said, and pressed another stud.

  The screen showed a slow camera pan around the Grand Hall – that magnificent, cryptic ruin on Mars. It was near sunset and the weak, red light brought out the worn nature of the stones, the carvings on the walls blurred by more than two hundred centuries of blowing sand. "Christ walked upon these sands in the years before his ministry, reading the ancient writings and contemplating his glorious future," the narrator said unctuously. "All the mysteries of the ancient Martians were revealed to our Lord and–"

  Blake cut the sound and made a rude noise. "They have yet to decipher anything because nothing readable is left!"

  The screen now cut to the incredible Star Palace – that mountain-sized mass of organic crystals arranged in tiers, balconies, caves, passages, domes, spires, and a million other beautiful shapes.

  Blake cut the sound back in.

  "–here in the Crypt of the Holy Virgin Mother, she lay for seven times seven years before ascending to Heaven. No resting place on Earth was sufficiently–"

  "Do-it-yourself religion," Blake muttered as he changed channels.

  The next channel was showing a commercial for Freezedri Foods: "The best in the western parishes!" This was followed by another commercial for an arcolog called Kaniel on the Adriatic Sea. One of the features stressed was a temple on every floor. Then the screen switched to a nighttime view of a Circus arena. "Welcome back to the highlights of last night's games at Augustus Arena in Florence, Italy. This is Chick Porter at arena side." The screen cut from a high-angle shot showing the thousands of spectators to a ground-level camera. A man and two youths, possibly his sons, were in the center. A metal snake slithered in.

  Blake cut the wallscreen off. After a long moment, he looked at Rio. "Death as entertainment. And they called us corrupt and decadent."

  "People died in the Arena in our time, too," Rio reminded him.

  "But it was more professional and..." He stopped. "But that was how the first Roman Games started, isn't it?" He got up and went to the window. "We shouldn't have come, any of us."

  "But we did and we must make the best of it."

  "I know, but..." He turned toward her. "When I saw you in the Arena I went crazy. I would have killed anyone to save you. When I think of the way they–!"

  Rio rose and went to him, holding him close. "It will turn out all right," she said.

  "Have faith? Trust in God?" Blake snorted.

  "Yes," Rio said. "Maybe not the god they seem to revere around here, but some kind of god."

  "I've never been one that was very religious," Blake said, smiling wryly. "I wasn't even interested enough to find out if I was an atheist or an agnostic."

  "Or a believer?" Rio asked softly.

  Blake was silent. After several moments, he said, "Yes ... or a believer."

  Chapter 28

  Constantine came home late, bringing Linda Muir-wood with him. They were smiling. The black man instantly went to the bar and poured drinks all around of a potent dark liquid called St. Vitus.

  He raised his glass and said, "A toast!"

  Blake and Rio looked at Constantine warily.

  "To what?" she asked.

  "To victory! To the triumph of magic! To a new day!"

  "I'll drink to some of that," Blake said, and did.

  "Sit down," Linda suggested, her eyes sparkling. "Let us tell you what the leaders decided."

  "Here it comes," Rio said softly.

  Constantine paced back and forth, and his enthusiasm was infectious. "They were all there. Robinson, Urban, Craddock, Dr. Constance, Colonel Hope, the Abbess of St. Mary's, Brother Ziehm, even Judy Johnson from New America and Milliard from Canada. Some were on security null-circuits – but they were all there."

  "What happened?" Rio asked impatiently.

  "We have decided to attack!" He smiled widely and took a big swallow of his drink.

  "And the honor is ours!" Linda Muirwood said. "This area, I mean.

  "New Day's responsibility, of course, will be to cast spells, supply talismans, and make charms."

  "Just what every revolution needs," Blake commented.

  "And a revolution it is!" Constantine exclaimed. "What a day! What a day! And you, the two of you, will have the fantastic honor of leading the revolt!"

  Blake looked at him for a long moment, then he glanced at Rio.

  "Oh?" he said to Constantine. "How nice for us. Why don't you just cut our throats now, dump us off the ark, and claim the Swords did it. That will be just as good in the publicity line."

  Constantine sighed, his smile dying slowly. "No," he said. "You must lead! You must be seen leading the revolt. We will put everything on tape until we seize Network A, when we'll put it on the air. From then on, the coverage will be live."

  "And what will the forces of righteousness be doing while we are doing that? They have an army!" Blake exclaimed.

  "But it is not a robot army, my dear Mason, not even in our ever so advanced time. It is an army composed of humans, men and women and even cyborgs who grew up in this society, who have seen what it does to people. One survey showed that 82 percent of the citizenry have had a relative or a friend get in trouble with church law. Forty-four percent have had someone they knew sent to the Circus. That's a lot of people. Up until now, they have not been united. There was just no common bond. Look at us! How could we, in good conscience, cooperate with the Roman church? They have persecuted us for over two thousand years! How could Venus expect the stricter disciplines to help them out? Even coalitions like the People for a New Day needed a focus, a catalyst. And you are it!"

  Constantine spread his hands wide. "They were here, all of them – unhappy, discontent, angry, oppressed, and just waiting. You didn't create them, nor did L The various churches did, by the way they did things, by their We-know-best-for-you attitude, by their arbitrariness, by their arrogance and corruption. We are the tinder, Blake Mason, and you are the flame!"

  He smiled brightly at both Blake and Rio, but they did not seem to respond with the enthusiasm he wanted. "What an adventure," Constantine continued. "What an incredible adventure! The anarchists are ready, naturally, and the Lutheran League, the First Amendmenters, the Congressionalists, the outlawed political parties, the opportunists, the Order of St. Michael–"

  "Who are they?" Rio asked. "They sound like one of those orders the other side has, the 'Swords'..."

  "They're fighters who have been trained in secret by certain, urn, interests. Their flaming swords are pretty powerful lasers. They were recruited from quite a few different factions, and are a rather motley collection. They sometimes call themselves a 'Foreign Legion,' whatever that means."

  "How did they keep all their military preparations secret?"

  "They didn't – at least not for too long. The first training group of the order was massacred by the Imps of Solomon the King. A portion of the second group of volunteers was hit by the Warriors of the Purest God, the fighting arm of the Eye of the Mystery of Eternal Life."

  "Oh, god, those names!" Blake groaned.

  "We have had our losses," Constantine said. 'We have been betrayed, penetrated, killed, captured, pursued. But we could only exist if the people wanted us – not a majority, perhaps, but enough. We think an attack like this one will swing enough to our side to make the difference."

  "You said 'attack.' That doesn't sound like a victory. A sacrifice, perhaps, but not an operation you think is going to win." He looked Constantine over carefully. "It's a diversion, isn't it? Something with a lot of splash and noise, with two dummies volunteering to be dead martyrs? No thank you! We won't play."

  Constantine's ever-ready smile faded. He glanced at Linda, who bit her lip.

  "That's too bad," he said quietly. "Then we will cut your throats and dump you, and you'll be dead martyrs without ever even being able to fight for a chance."

  Blake's body became tense and his eyes bore into Constantine. "You'll lose a lot of troops trying t
his attack."

  Constantine smiled faintly. "Yes, no doubt. But you help us more as dead martyrs than as live but invisible fugitives."

  "Blake," Rio said, "I think he would kill us."

  "Of course, I can think of many more pleasant alternatives," Constantine said, looking at Rio. "Many. But I have a higher duty."

  "It's amazing," Blake said, "how many people excuse their crimes on the basis of political expediency and in the name of some god or other." He looked levelly at Constantine, whose mouth continued to smile but whose eyes had stopped.

  "My dear Mason, we need not quarrel. We will give you every opportunity to succeed. We want you to succeed! We will give you some of the best fighters we have."

  "Could I get the gladiators out of the San Francisco Circus?"

  Constantine pursed his lips. "I don't know. That's a large order. However, we have the option of striking here, at the Forum or City Center, or in San Francisco. That was left up to us, organizers on tactical grounds. I suppose we could hit there, and recruit your precious gladiators. It might have a comforting publicity angle: Spartacus and his men, that sort of thing. They held the whole Roman army off for a couple of years, didn't they?"

  "Several armies. But are you running a publicity campaign or a revolt?" Blake asked.

  "Ah, my dear fellow, every revolution needs publicity! The common people must know what is happening and why, or at least they must know what we want them to know. That is why we are hitting Network A: if we plan it right, we will take over right at the top of the ratings, right at the height of the Centurion Classic, the year's biggest event. Millions will be watching! Lofflin estimates that close to three billion people will be watching! It is perfect for us!"

  Constantine leaned closer to Blake. "That is why the man from the past and the woman out of time must appear, in person! You are symbols. Pete Fields is writing you a speech. Ted Tuckahoe is going to need a run-through, then he'll score it with some stirring music. Too bad we can't use Alpha projectors through the television. We'd have them screaming for blood in seconds!"

  "Is that what you want, blood?" Rio asked.

  "They won't give up and step aside because we ask, you know," Constantine answered "There will be fighting, there will be dying. On both sides. If it takes blood to get us free, then, yes, I do want blood. But we must win. This is the biggest coordinated revolt in history. There's been nothing like it. It will be worldwide. Craddock, from Dubeers Towers in Capetown, is in on it. Colonel Hope of the North American Defense Command. Dr. Constance over on Novanoah, Jack Barrow's group in Empire Tower back in Buffalo. Goldstone at Nepenthe up in Alaska. Willis is ready at Castlekeep in Devonshire, and Curlind in London, Berry and Hughes in Florida, Eric at Cloudcastle in Austria, Milliard from Toronto's Diamondtowers. Even some of the churches – yes, they have joined in. The smaller ones, of course, and some rather odd cults, too. We'll have a hell of a time getting things straight afterward, but first we must win."

  "And you can't do it without us," Blake said dubiously.

  "We can do it better with you. But they all know about you now, that's the important thing. If you died in the next half-hour it wouldn't stop the revolt. We'd just keep it quiet. We might use doubles. But it would be better if you were there."

  Blake took a deep breath. He looked at Rio. "Can it be just me? No need for Rio to go. If – if I should fail, you'd still have her in reserve, for the next time."

  "There won't be another time, at least not for a long, long time, Mason. Not for a very long time. If we try and fail, they'll hunt us down. They would have more evidence than before, more faces, more bodies, more lines of investigation. It might take fifty years to get another such force together: people would be too afraid. It would only consolidate the power of the churches if we tried and failed."

  "It's now or never," Linda Muirwood said intensely. For a moment she looked more like the portrait in her office.

  Blake sighed. "All right." He took Rio's hand. "The two of us. When does it happen?"

  "Three days from now. Fields will have the speech in the morning. Tape it, and we'll get a copy to the musicians. You'll do it live, of course, when the time comes, right from the Arena. That would be better than the studio, for the Circus is a symbol. People hearing our capture of it would be good symbology. Yes, you'll give the speech from the Arena."

  Blake nodded, and squeezed Rio's hand. "I hope making a speech is all I have to do," he said.

  Chapter 29

  Blake stepped off the escalator and joined the crowd of excited citizens heading toward the gates of the Caligula Arena.

  His nearness to the huge structure again made him nervous and he was unable to resist checking the attitudes of the black-clad police who stood along the mall. There didn't seem to be any more than usual, although the usual number was quite large, due to the reactions the Arena crowd exhibited from time to time. Certain acts and certain types of acts were popular, some were not. Certain gladiators were in favor, others were not. The police often had to quell small riots with nerve-lashes, gas, and weighted batons.

  The crowd was moving slowly but steadily. Blake was in no hurry. It was still half an hour before the opening parade. He mingled with one group of boisterous citizens and hoped to be accepted by them. Rio was somewhere behind him, with a pair of strong young warlocks supplied by Constantine. Linda was with Constantine, and they would make their entrance much later. The coven leader had separated Blake and Rio, and both were disguised to make them less conspicuous. Rio's long black hair was hidden under a fashionable hat, though a few strands peeked out. Blake wore a workingman's tunic with MARIN COUNTY RENTFORCE across the back. It was Blake's hope that any cop might think a second before he cut down a member of a brother franchised police force, even if he were only a janitor or mechanic.

  "Say, I heard they're having a Black Prince go up against an Eisenhower today," a man at Blake's elbow said.

  One of the others spoke up. "Naw, they stopped doing that ages ago, Miller, you ought to know that." The man in front spoke back over his shoulder. "Them big companies got together and said it was bad for a Robotics to fight a General Animators. Bad image, y'know. Fight a human, much better."

  "Yeah, but I used to like those fights. They were really somethin', y'know? Remember the Titans? That was a robot team, huh?"

  "What I heard," said a man behind Blake, "was that there was going to be an execution today. You know, one of them kind."

  Several men gave leering laughs, then looked around quickly. The man walking next to Blake said to the man behind, "Aw, now, Schroeder, you know we ain't supposed to take no pleasure in the righteous execution of no heretic. Serves 'em right, though, huh?" He swung an elbow into Blake's arm. "How about that, huh? Serves those scuzzy unbelievers right, huh?"

  Blake nodded and made a small, rather sick grin. "What else is on today?"

  "There's a race between the Greens and Blues today," the man behind said. "If Blanchard can keep her chariot on the track, that is." The men laughed at this. "There's the usual retiarii and secutors, the regional crashcar championships, some sweets ripping each other – you know."

  "I heard they was bringing back old Kong," one of the other men said.

  "No kidding? I thought they retired those big robbies as being too expensive to run. Except in the religious festivals and things. What about Bunyon, Zeus, Octobot, or Godzilla, that bunch?"

  "Don't know. Just heard about ol' Kong. He's been de-mothballed down the peninsula someplace, I think. Anyway, that's the word I heard."

  "They don't give us no shows like that no more, bless 'em," another man said.

  They were still talking as they went through the ticket takers and on up into the Arena. Blake stayed with them, not so close that they would feel he was intruding, but close enough so that any casual police observation would include him in the garrulous group. He saw the television monitors up on poles and on the walls of the passages through the Arena to the seats. They settled into pa
dded seats, and Blake saw that the, dome sections had been retracted so that they were open to the sky. He could feel the salt air off the bay, even if he couldn't see the water.

  Blake looked around him cautiously, trying to spot both police and the revolutionaries he knew by sight. Police he saw, but not anyone else he knew. He then concentrated on the Arena itself.

  Blake had been in the Circus before, recently, but now he had a whole new perspective. Sitting in the stands, he saw the workings of the Arena in a whole new light. The sand had been combed into an intricate Ando design which he now realized was a secret good-luck symbol. The huge doors at the "base" of the oval ring had considerable activity around them, and Blake looked at the smaller entrances to the Arena. The one on the left was the one through which he had charged to save Rio. The bishop's box was to Blake's left, and he could see the minor officials arriving, preparing the throne-like chairs for the archbishop's arrival. From this angle he could also see several television screens around the base of the box so that His Excellency could see the close-ups.

  A flair of trumpets sounded, and everyone came to his feet. Blake saw the reason for the fanfare: a line of robed figures had emerged from a private entrance and went among waving citizens to the bishop's box. The column was led by several high-ranking clergymen and clergywomen. They were followed by the San Francisco archbishop and two or three bishops, who blessed the crowd to either side. The robes of their various clergy identified them as members of two different sects, but Blake was not interested in their political gestures. His eyes found and held a single figure at the base of the box, standing in rigid salute. Lieutenant Cady was someone Blake was not likely to forget.

  The prelates were soon in their seats and Blake saw Cady speak into a communicator. Almost at once, another flurry of trumpets sounded and the gate on the left rolled open, the first figures in the parade emerging. The honor guard, in exact replicas of Praetorian Guard uniforms came out, flags flying, banners rippling, symbols glittering. These were followed by the honorary grand marshal (an aging vidstar) and then a troop of mixed retiarli and secutors. Blake tried to recognize faces in the troop of gladiators, but the distance and the helmets prevented him.