To THE LAND OF THE ELECTRIC ANGEL: Hugo and Nebula Award Finalist Author (The Frontiers Saga) (33 page)

"Put the girl down!" he yelled. "Gently! Put her down gently!"

He held on as the control room tilted and on the big screen he saw Kong put the redhead down on the upper tier of the seats. She started to run, fell, got up and ran again.

Blake turned his attention to the bishop's box. He could see that though most of the religious executives had left, several figures still stood amid the overturned chairs and discarded programs.

"There!" he shouted, pointing at the screen that had the image. "Step on them!"

The Kong-controller looked stricken. "But – but that's the–"

"Step on them!"

Kong lurched toward the raised VIP box just as Blake recognized one of the figures as Voss. "Get out of there!" he muttered to himself. Although he disliked Voss for joining the "enemy," he had not yet heard Jean-Michel's side of it. But he did not stop the immense Kong robot from crunching his way down toward the box.

A flicker of color stood out on the edge of the screen. It was Doreen, her dress in tatters, scrambling over seats and through clots of people now running for cover.

"She's going to Voss!"
No, no!
"Watch out, Doreen!"

Blake saw Voss catch sight of her and step away from the cringing remnants of the San Francisco archbishop's party. Deliberately, Voss raised a weapon and pointed it at Doreen. She froze. Voss ran to her, grabbing her arm and putting the laser to her head. Blake saw him look up at Kong, holding Doreen as he backed away.

As rage engulfed him, Blake shouted at the big screen. "You goddamn son of a bitch!" He turned to the frightened man controlling the hairy colossus. "Turn! Don't step on the box!"

The man looked grateful as he turned away from the seat of power. He teetered a moment, caught his balance, then started upward again.

"Now get those goddamn planes!"

Kong rose to full height and roared. Blake was surprised until he realized the controller was starting a well-rehearsed scene.

"Goddamm it, don't play with them,
get them!"
Blake screamed over the sound of the dive-bombing planes.

Kong roared again and a plane crunched, then exploded in his fist. On a side screen, Blake saw thousands of people trying to get out of the Arena. Police and revolutionists fought across the stands and the hundreds of still, broken figures.
Not Rio, please, not Rio...

I'm trapped here,
Blake thought.
If I leave him, this controller will tell them. If I stay, they'll get me.

Blake moved close to the sphere, which rolled and rocked – or rather, it was Blake that rocked and the sphere stood level. "They'll kill you now, unless you kill them first," he
said to the man. "Knock them down, then run like hell! You can always say I made you do it."

The man touched a button on a neckband and spoke. His voice did not now boom out as Kong's. "They'll kill me, anyway, just for not stopping you."

He looked sad, but Blake shrugged. "Sorry, but I'm not just a troublemaker, really."

"I know who you are." The man stopped talking to make a futile swipe at another plane. "This beast won't hold together much longer, but ... go do what you have to. I'll get the rest of these bugs and lead them off."

Blake looked at him. The only thing that came to mind was the old cliché "Go on without me, it's only a flesh wound."

Blake waved at the nameless controller and ducked down the ladder. He was banged up as the great robot lurched about, but he made it to the right leg and scampered down the ladder. At the bottom he saw a communicator inside the door. He snatched up the mike and said, "Put your right foot near the bishop's box and hold it there for ten seconds. That's all I ask. And good luck!"

Blake dropped the mike and braced himself for the bone-crushing thump of the huge leg. After a few moments, the foot came down with a teeth-smashing slam and Blake fused open the door and leaped out. He dived off the foot and rolled as they had taught him, but came up hard against a fastened-down seat.

There was noise and confusion everywhere. The bishop's tented box was in ruins, even one side of the laser-proof glass that had risen swiftly at the first signs of trouble was smashed in. Inside were several bodies and one gibbering man in robes embroidered to depict an atomic explosion.

Blake looked around for Voss or Doreen, but found no sign of them. Most of the bishops, clergy, and police had gone, leaving only bodies and wreckage.

A man, his face splattered with blood, came up to Blake and tugged at his tunic. With difficulty Blake recognized him as one of the outlawed cardinals Urban had pointed out. "Oh, it's terrible, it's terrible!" he moaned.

"Where's Rio? Where is Doreen?" Blake realized the man was half out of his mind. "Where's Urban?"

The cardinal crossed himself and pointed. A cluster of people surrounded several bodies sprawled between the rows of seats. Blake ran over and saw that Urban lay in a pool of his own blood. His lunch box and shattered laser was close by two of the bodies, which were brutal-faced police. The old man's head lay in Rio's lap. Blake looked at her and she shook her head.

"Mason..." Urban acknowledged his presence with a weak smile, "God ... bless you, Blake Mason!" A bloodied hand tried to make the sign of the cross, but it was too weak. "Have we won?"

Blake looked around. It looked more like a riot than a victory, but he could see fresh police arriving by an entrance on the far side. Kong had gone over the wall and there was the sound of falling wreckage and screams coming from that direction.

"I don't think so," Blake said, "but we've hurt them."

"That's ... not enough. We must
win.
George ... George?"

One of the men kneeling at Urban's side took his hand. "Yes, Your Holiness?"

"We must win this one. You are too old, George. We are ... we are all too old now. The leader must be young ... and strong. He ... may have to fight for years."

"Don't try to talk, Your Holiness," the cardinal said.

The old man smiled bleakly. "I must. I don't ... have much time." He looked at Blake. "You. You ... are the one. You must become pope."

Several people gasped, and Cardinal Crowe made a sound of protest.

"I'm not even a Catholic, Father ... uh, Your Holiness."

"You are ... the one. You have the strength. The people will ... follow you as they would never follow me. My time is passed..."

"Your Holiness, uh, I have a woman..." Blake and Rio exchanged looks and she smiled faintly.

The dying old man smiled again, weariness heavy on his features. "You ... you would not be the first. Those Borgias, those Medicis ... Oh, what a trial they put upon us! But that ... doesn't matter now. Later ... later ... you can resign, when this is over..."

"Holy Father, do not strain yourself," Rio said.

"You must do it." The old man reached out and grasped Blake's sleeve. "You
must.
Lead them ... my son. They ... are afraid."

"What do you think I am, Father?" Blake said. "I'm scared to death!"

"But you always do what ... you must, even though you are frightened. You ... are the one–" The old man fell back, gasping. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked at the circle around him. "He must be the new pope. Do you see why ... you must elect him?"

Several men nodded, but more looked at Blake with suspicion and fear.

"I'm not a Catholic, I don't know the rules, I don't know anything about your church!"

"You ... you don't have to ... to know how to do anything ... but win." The old man looked again at those surrounding him. "You must. He..." His gaze shifted and he stopped speaking. A smile began, and he died in the middle of forming it.

Finish it in Heaven,
Blake thought, and rose.

"Wait!" Cardinal Crowe said. He rose and pulled Blake away from the others. "You must do it! You know you must."

Blake looked down at the fragile body of the old man, and at Rio's bowed head. They were praying over him, fingering hidden rosaries and muttering prayers unheard a few feet away.

Blake looked around, hoping their forbidden practices were unseen, but be only saw the confusion of the Arena
,
Many small groups clustered around broken bodies.

"Why should I?" Blake said. "Because he asked me? Don't be silly. I don't owe him anything. He was a nice old man, but–"

"Not for him," the skinny cardinal said, "but because be was right. You
can
lead us." He waved his hand around the ruined Arena. "All these people have heard of you, many believe in you, believe that you are a cleansing force sent to us. They fought today, here and all over the world – did you know that? – because of you. Some died because of you."

"They didn't fight because of
me,
they fought because of themselves, their families, their beliefs, their desire for freedom. Don't sentimentalize it,
padre. I am
just a convenient figurehead. Dead or alive, it doesn't make any difference. I was a convenient nonpartisan whom all sides could agree on without losing face."

Blake stepped closer and grabbed the cardinal's tunic. "Listen, no one does anything except in his own self-interest. If people fought today, if people died today, it was because they thought they were doing the right thing. That goes for both sides. The moment one side thinks it is not doing right, they quit, they change. Even the baddies think they are doing what is right for them; they either don't think they are doing anything wrong, or they justify it to themselves as necessary to their survival, or survival of the status quo. People kill to survive. Though sometimes that survival is only for their image of themselves, and not for their actual physical survival."

"Is that why you went to the rescue of the girl in the ring?" the cardinal asked.

Blake hesitated. "No. We came here together. She was ... helpless. Someone had to do something."

"Was risking your life something you did in your own self-interest?" The cardinal was smiling now, a faint, knowing smile that annoyed Blake.

"I–I don't know. I had to do it, that's all."

"You have to do this, too. You must do it because you know it will help."

"I'll resign as soon as this is over," Blake said.

The cardinal smiled slightly and said, "You must be elected by the College of Cardinals, my son. The office of the Holy Father is not given out like some political plum. But, in the interests of the Church and of God, I think we will agree to your leadership."

"My figureheadship, you mean," Blake grumbled.

"We can work out the legalities and precedents later. If there
is
a later."

"Pessimist," Blake said with a smile.

"We are all in God's hands, my son." He pulled away from Blake, and was suddenly all business. He spoke to the men praying around the dead body of Urban. They gathered up the remains and headed for the exit.

Rio came to Blake's side. "He was a nice, brave old man," she said.

Blake nodded, looking around. The Arena had taken on a new feeling. Police aircars were overhead, and loudspeakers were ordering everyone to leave the Arena in an orderly manner.

Blake took Rio's hand and started running for the concrete passage that would take them out, following the cardinals and the other men. Partway down the passage, one of the cardinals opened a service door and they went into a drab concrete corridor, down several stairs, through some unused storage rooms, sprinted across a public hall filled with crying, nervous citizens, and into a maze of more passages. They halted at last in a storeroom, and several people began to prepare Urban's body.

Cardinal Crowe came up to Blake. "We will do it now."

"Here?"

"Here. We know these passages well." He smiled. "The catacombs of our time," he said. "What name will you take?"

"What?"

"Your name? The name you will use during, your reign as pope."

"I hadn't thought about it. What's wrong with Blake?" Before the cardinal could answer, Blake shook his head. "You're right. Pope Blake just doesn't sound right."

"May I suggest something?" Rio said. "Pope Urban was well known as a fighter for liberty, wasn't he?" Cardinal Crowe nodded emphatically. "Why not use his name? He was the Ninth, you could be the Tenth."

"I still don't believe all this," Blake said, squeezing Rio's hand. "All right, fine. So I'm Urban the Tenth. That's X, isn't it?" The cardinal nodded, and Blake grinned. "Urban the X, the first X-rated pope. Urban and his band of merry outlaws! All right, let's get on with it."

To Rio, Blake said, "Voss used Doreen to keep me from getting to the bishops. I don't know where he is, but it sure as hell isn't our side. See if you can find out if he dumped her someplace. I think he went into the passage that all of the clergy used."

Rio's face grew dark and angry. "I'll find her."

"Watch yourself. I don't think Voss is playing around." As Rio started to go, he added, "And find out where the hell our magical friend Constantine is."