To THE LAND OF THE ELECTRIC ANGEL: Hugo and Nebula Award Finalist Author (The Frontiers Saga) (18 page)

"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, continuing 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 other 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.

Blake smiled bitterly.
Voss
a
billionaire and m ehopefully – with a fat trust fund. And I don't have the money to make a phone call!
He walked quickly back
to the visionphone booth, glancing at his stolen watch. It was slightly less than an hour since they had left him.

Blake thought about ways he might make a call to Los Angeles, but then realized he wouldn't know who to call until he did some research on what bank might have his trust fund.

Blake stood impatiently in the vicinity of the booth for several minutes, then saw someone about to enter.

He quickly stepped in the way, smiled brightly at the frustrated citizen, and pulled the booth door shut. He sat there for several more minutes, but the confines of the booth depressed him.
I wonder if I got an induced claustrophobia after a hundred and nine years in a steel box?

Blake flicked the
"Out of Order"
signal and stepped out for some air.

For a while he watched robed and uniformed figures walk by. Some gave his LDS uniform a scowl, but took no other notice of him. Blake glanced at his watch: almost two hours.

Then the soft buzz of the visionphone summoned him. Rio's face filled the screen.

She smiled warmly at Blake and said, "We're at the New St. Francis."

"I don't have any money to get there. Can you pick me up in a taxi?"

Rio pursed her lips, then leaned out of range of the pickup to speak to someone. She looked nervous when she came back into view. To someone off-camera, undoubtedly Voss, she said, "Well, he has no other way to get here. I'll have to go get him."

"There's probably a taxi pad up here somewhere," Blake told her. I'll be at the one on the southern end, if there is more than one. Or on the western end, if they run that way. All right?"

Rio nodded, looking angrily off camera for a second. "I'll be there as soon as I can, Blake. I promise."

They punched out, and Blake walked quickly toward an airport map he had seen earlier. He located the taxi pads, memorized the way there and started walking briskly. He was startled by the salute of two young LIDS troopers, and returned it belatedly, much to their surprise. Nervous and anxious to get out of sight, he walked as quickly as he could to the southern pad. He did not expect Rio so soon, but he wanted to scout, the area.