To THE LAND OF THE ELECTRIC ANGEL: Hugo and Nebula Award Finalist Author (The Frontiers Saga) by William Rotsler Read Free Book Online Page A

Caren regaled Blake with the history of the old port's social downfall decades before, starting with the murder of a beach boy by a jealous heiress. A series of small but messy situations had been capped by the discovery of a homosexual satanic coven. The jet set said, "No, not this season," and the town started to die. The resort had gone on some years, feasting off the middle-class tourists who didn't know it was déclassé; but in time they, too, caught on.
    Blake knew how the Beautiful People moved from watering hole to watering hole, and how others followed, hoping that the glamour would rub off on them. The southern Peruvian villages were easily reached by aircars from big city jetports. And the tourists found their way to Lake Sahara; the pampas ranchos; the Gold Coast of Africa, with its legal slavery; the undersea pleasure palaces like Triton; and the plankton skimmers with their lush accommodations. So Puerto Vallarta had grown weedy and the beach boys developed paunches.
    "Then Jean-Michel bought up practically everything here, tore down those dated old hotels, and redesigned the whole city from the ground up. Spanish Colonial is the motif, not bastard Grand Motel," Caren said proudly. "But this is the capitol," she laughed, gesturing overhead at the big house above. "This is where things happen!"
    Debra pressed against his arm. "You're Blake Mason, aren't you? You and Jean-Michel are up to something big, right?"
    Blake smiled noncommittally and looked down at her bare flesh. She smiled back and the two girls led him across the terrace to the cool shade under the big thatched roof of the seaside bar. He was brought a cold drink, introduced to a count, to the director of a large corporation, and to two vice-presidents of Voss Investments. There were three other beautiful women in the terrace lounge: Wendy, Pei Ling, and Doreen, a redhead. The girls wore jewelry and sandals but little else, and they were uniformly – almost monotonously – beautiful. The men, all middle-aged, wore brief swim suits, and some had on robes that covered their aging bodies. Blake noticed how casually the male bands caressed the unresisting women. The helmsman's comment came back to him . A convenience for the guests...
    Debra tugged at his arm. "Come on, Blake, Jean-Michel wants to see you!"
    Blake shrugged and got - up. They went out into the sun again and up a wide, stone-stepped path under the green trees. A few Olmec stone heads were lying in the undergrowth. The retaining walls seemed to be a thousand years old, but the greenery was as fresh as morning. He could hear music, something rather exotic but unknown to him.
    The climb was tiring, for the hill sloped steeply. But they at last cleared the level of the final terrace, and Blake saw the high white walls of the big house rising over him. At least fifty rooms ... he thought; and knew that this was only one of Voss's homes. And I thought Shawna Hilton was rich!
    Blake took in the terrace quickly, for he saw Voss emerge from a large and ancient double door and come toward him smiling. On Blake's right, a tanned beauty lay supine on a lounge. She raised the brim of her crushed straw hat when she heard Voss say Blake's name, and looked at him without expression. On Blake's left was the terrace wall, stone blocks capped by deep rust-red the squares. Potted plants and an excellent Mendoza bronze lined the wall. The sea was seen beyond, through the trees. Several birds hopped about on the tiles, pecking at crumbs.
    "Blake, they just told me you had arrived! Welcome. Mi casa es su casa. Did you bring sketches?" He noticed Blake staring at the woman on the lounge. "That's Theta, my sister." When he saw the expression on Blake's face, he laughed. "Yes, sometimes it's hard to tell her from the others. Except she doesn't make a fuss over me."
    "Oh!" Blake said. He couldn't think of anything else to say.
    A beautiful blonde, deeply tanned and wearing nothing but an ornate silver necklace,