To THE LAND OF THE ELECTRIC ANGEL: Hugo and Nebula Award Finalist Author (The Frontiers Saga) (17 page)

Attempting to distract the colonel, Rio said, "My goodness, Colonel, was it necessary to make the trip that rough?" She looked sick and swayed on her feet.

Blake didn't know if she was faking or not.

"You people were quite lucky getting down to Salt Lake. We picked you up early, up near the Snake, but you just happened to come down the channel with the lightest radar coverage of the whole Skypilot state."

His eyes never left Voss, who was climbing over the debris and around the branches of the fallen tree. Blake could hear Voss direct the soldiers not to step on a perfectly harmless rock. They looked warily at it and edged around carefully.

He's setting them up nicely,
Blake thought.
He has them doing exactly what he wants them to do, like a salesman asked the kind of questions that generate a lot of "yes" answers. But we must generate our own schemes, in case his fails.

Blake decided to back Rio's ploy. "You look pretty sick," he said to her. He edged toward her consolingly, watching the laser rifles of the soldiers but not appearing to do so.

Voss and the soldiers, meanwhile, disappeared into the tomb.

After a few moments, Voss reappeared and called to the colonel. "All right, send everyone up."

Blake gave Vogel a look and they each took the elbows of one of the girls and started on ahead, without waiting for the colonel's order. Granville started angling slightly to the right, as if choosing an easier path.

"Get ready," Blake whispered to Rio. "I think he is–"

"Down!"
Voss's cry from the lip of the air lock sent Blake and Vogel into the rubble, pulling the girls down next to them.

At the same moment the hiss of the laser rifle from the air lock burned the air over their heads.

Alert as they were, the unexpected move caught most of the soldiers by surprise. Several fired at the mouth of the air lock but the full sweep of Voss's stolen laser ripped into the flesh of the guards. A blast from a falling soldier flashed off a rock near Rio and another sliced into the clumps of dirt at Blake's side, but neither of them was hit. All was silent for a moment, then there was a clatter behind them and Blake heard a man moan. The laser hissed again from the air lock and there was a gurgle, then silence.

Blake twisted his head around and looked back at the soldiers and crew members. Two had been cut down flat by the heavy military weapon and another lay against the skid of the aircar with both legs gone and a pool of blood glistening around the stumps. He was alive, but stunned and unmoving. Colonel Calkins lay close behind Blake, his eyes staring open and a deep slash from shoulder to chest all the way through his body. Blood and bits of viscera were seeping slowly from the wide wound. He was dead.

"Are you all right?" Voss called.

"All right," Vogel answered, getting up.

He reached over, took the laser pistol from Calkins's hand and walked back to the legless soldier, who did not look up. His hands were twitching, and his eyes were open, but he didn't move. Vogel shot him expertly through the heart and the man died at once.

Now me!
Blake thought suddenly. He thrust himself to his feet, and jumped a small rock to seize a laser rifle from a soldier with a blood smear where his head should have been. Blake hadn't the faintest idea how to use it, but presumed it would not have been on safety. He aimed it roughly in Vogel's direction and watched as the man turned.

Vogel's eyes went to the gun and he stopped. He looked up at Blake and a slow, evil grin crept across his face. "Smart," he said, and thrust the laser weapon into his belt. He started up the hillside to Voss without looking further at Blake.

A percentage player,
Blake thought.
The percentages were not in his favor, so why risk it?

"My God, my God!" said Doreen, sitting up and looking at the carnage.

Rio rose and dusted herself off. She seemed neither elated nor distraught at the bloodshed. Blake felt sick, but under control. He moved on up the hill to the air lock.

Voss's first furious firing had exhausted and partially fused the delicate laser, and he now held Kroeg, the other soldier's, weapon in his hand. His face started to twitch into a smile as he looked at Blake.

"Thank you for saving Rio," he said.

Blake noted the singular "object."
The rest of us are spear carriers in your life, aren't we? Even Rio is only a character actress. An expendable bit player.

"They're both dead," Vogel told Voss, coming back out of the air lock.

Voss raised his eyebrows, and Blake had the uncomfortable impression the two soldiers had been alive when the financier had taken their weapons. "Of course," Voss said. "Drag their bodies out of here. Put them all in the aircar."

"Why not just bury them?" Blake asked.

"We're going to dump them in some lake so there will be no trace. The aircar, too. But first we'll have to find some other transportation. Mason, get down there and pull as many good uniforms off those men as you can. Clean 'em up.
Move!"

Blake obeyed, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
If low-necklines are trouble, what is multiple murder?

But as he went down to the aircar Blake argued with himself.
What else could Voss have done? It was certain we were headed for prison, perhaps even for execution. Voss
could
have called out for the men to surrender, but would they have done so? They had five hostages right in front of them. What would Jean-Michel have done if they had put a gun to my head and ordered him to surrender?

Blake shook his head sadly. He knew what Voss would have done.

They hovered over the Salmon River and shoved the mutilated and nearly nude bodies out of the ship. The bloody corpses fell forty meters into the stream below and trailed a bit of pink as they were swept toward a stretch of rapids further downstream. Vogel twisted the aircar, whose controls were not basically different from those of one hundred years before, taking it up to cliff height and over, toward the Snake River to the west.

Blake, Vogel, and Voss all wore uniforms of the Latter-Day Saints Air Force. It seemed to annoy Jean-Michel that the officer's uniform fitted Blake best.

"A gentleman at last," he sneered.

They flew quickly and close to the surface, frightening a few deer and not a few cows. They caused a beetle-shaped vehicle to swerve off the road as they came through a small valley.

"Keep going!" Voss ordered. "Perhaps he won't report it."

"But we're in the White Kingdom of Light," Rio said. "Are they going to shoot at us?"

"I'm not certain of their relationship with the Mormons," Granville said, "but I would imagine they are not too friendly. The Mormons were always considered a bit odd by other Christian sects. I wouldn't count on any friendly waves, not as long as we're in an LDS aircraft."

"Aircraft ahead," Vogel said, and everyone tried to see through the windscreen at once. "There!" he said, pointing.

"It's going west, too, almost," Voss noted. "Keep it in sight, but keep it just a dot. That way they won't be able to read our markings."

"Won't the Mormons be after us?" Rio asked.

"Not up here," Granville said. "At least I don't think so. There is probably no extradition treaty between these groups – that is, if all the country is as feudal as it seems to be, with each church or sect or order controlling its own little turf."

"Besides," Blake said, "if I read Calkins right he didn't file too careful a flight plan."

"He was trying to score points over this Sister Meaker," Rio suggested. "So nobody will miss them right away."

"Let's hope not." Granville peered out a side window. "If and when anyone finds those bodies after a few miles in the rapids they won't be able to tell how they were killed, much less who they were."

"But what do we do now?" Doreen asked, looking sick again from the dipping and lurching of the aircar as it hurtled into the growing darkness of late afternoon.

"We have to switch aircars, or disguise this one," Voss said.

"It might be safer to disguise this one," Granville suggested.

"We could turn southeast, get back into Mormon country, but west of Salt Lake," Blake suggested. "Then these uniforms might do us some good. If we are caught in these, we might be shot as spies by the White Lighters, or whatever they call themselves."

Voss thought a moment. "That's not a bad idea. Then no disguise would be necessary on the ship. Vogel, go south, toward Boise, but east of it."

Vogel leaned forward and traced a route on an illuminated map with an electric stylus. The ship turned gracefully and headed south by southeast.

"I'm hungry," Doreen announced.

"I'll get something from the supplies here," Granville said.

"I'll help," Doreen volunteered.

Rio sat next to Blake and ran her finger along the thick tubular barrel of the laser lying in his lap. She looked very solemn as she murmured over the noise of the jet blades, "I'm sorry I got you into this."

Blake raised her chin and smiled. "Hey, I'm a volunteer, lady. Maybe I didn't know I would be getting into the middle of some kind of nutty holy war, but I volunteered. You did everything to discourage me." Blake glanced up into the cockpit, where Voss was examining some maps by the light from the instruments. "Jean-Michel wants you. I want you. You are grateful to him and feel needed by him. Perhaps you are even flattered that the great Voss chose you, I don't know. But I
love
you."

Rio's eyes grew large and shiny. Blake grinned crookedly and said, "I hadn't planned to tell you that again under such romantic conditions, but I've been thinking: maybe we won't have any other chance. I have no regrets about coming, Rio. None. Not if I can be with you. No, don't say anything, don't protest! I’m with you now. I'll be with you as long as you will let me."

Blake put his hand over hers, lying on the crystal chamber of the laser. "Back there, when Voss was going to shoot past us at the soldiers, I thought – all in a flash, an instant – I thought,
Oh, God, don't let him hit Rio! I
was angry at Voss for endangering you, but I don't know what else he could have done. I'm sorry those men died, but I'm not sorry we lived. And I'm very glad
you
lived."

Blake looked down at her hand and stroked the fine-boned back of it. "I love you, Rio, and ... and I'll kill for you if I must." He looked up at her. "I won't like it, but I will if I have to."

Rio's face was soft and wondering. Again, Blake stopped her words with a gesture. "You don't have to say anything. No promises, no lies, no words. I don't know what we are in for, or that will happen to us, but I love you. Know that. Rely on it. Use it. Make your own decisions. Don't feel guilty about me, or about Voss. You came along, into the future, into ... this. That cancels out any obligation. You are free, Rio. You can't even let Voss make your decisions for you anymore."

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.