Read Online To THE LAND OF THE ELECTRIC ANGEL: Hugo and Nebula Award Finalist Author (The Frontiers Saga) by William Rotsler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William Rotsler
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asked, I wouldn't have known what they were talking about. My philosophy was survival." She paused, then asked, "Do you think having a philosophy of life is ... unfashionable?"
Blake shook his head. "No, not at all. You arrive at one Willy-nilly, at any rate; it's just better when you think it out. But I have a confession to make."
Her "Oh?" was carefully said.
"I think you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
Rio's face sobered and she turned again toward the sea, looking down so that the twin falls of her bong hair hid her face. After a moment, in which Blake held his breath, Rio said, "Thank you." She raised her face and looked up at the stars, "But it's much too serious a confession to make and then continue a moonlight walk."
She turned, as if to go.
Blake stopped her. "But there's no moon. Besides, I have many confessions to make–"
"Please, Blake, you're spoiling it." She waved her hand around, smiling. "You're ruining the moonbath. Come, let's go back in." She tugged at his arm. "Tell me, do you think Cilento is the greatest of the sensatron artists?"
Blake let her pull him back into the big living room and into a conversation on contemporary artists. But even as he talked, joined by one or two others, he kept studying Rio's face. Her eyes were large, but shadowed by lashes; her mouth was a bit wide, but smiles came easily to it. Her hair was sleek, healthy, very long and very black. Her features were flexible, reflecting her inner thoughts easily and reacting to the words and thoughts of others. Blake watched how deftly she gathered others about her, engaged him in conversation with them, and withdrew, free to act as hostess and catalyst.
Blake looked to see if Voss had noticed their short absence on the terrace, but the financier appeared as urbane and imperturbable as before.
Blake managed to extract himself from a group that was debating the merits of Boynton's laser-cutting of icebergs as an art form. Getting a drink, he drifted to one side of the room, apparently to study a Coe oil but actually to think over his response to Rio. It had been total, positive. He had no explanation for his reaction, only an uncontrollable desire to possess her, to make her part of his life. How little we know of ourselves, he thought, of the reasons we do and don't do things, of our likings and aversions, often for no discernible reason.
In Rio, Blake knew he had found the ultimate in his type of woman. Rio was beautiful, with his kind of beauty. He had never cared much what other people thought was beautiful. If he thought someone or something was beautiful, that was all that was necessary. But she belonged to someone else, someone important to him. Moreover, she seemed committed to Voss, and that was more deadly than being owned by him.
All he needed was Rio. And she was the one woman he couldn't have.
Chapter 6
Voss raised his glass and saluted Blake. "To the future!"
Blake smiled, and toyed with his own glass as the others at the long table toasted him. He was sitting at Voss's left, with Kresadlova on his right, and Rio a light-year away at the other end of the table. He looked at her and found her smiling at him. She gave him a small, direct salute, and Blake felt himself unexpectedly blushing.
Blake tore his gaze away from her and looked at the others down the long baronial table. The count was smiling with icy politeness, annoyed at being replaced as the focus of attention. He saluted Blake stiffly and said "There hasn't been a really fine tomb maker since Michelangelo." Blake wasn't certain whether that was a compliment or not, but he smiled back. Lizette, the girl seated by the count, gave a wiggle, causing the strings of linked metal plates that flowed over her plush body to part and allow her breasts to poke through briefly. She raised her glass and said brightly, "To Blake Mason!"
The company director, Kimsey, dressed in a deep-maroon astrosuit of tropical cut, leaned forward and addressed
Blake shook his head. "No, not at all. You arrive at one Willy-nilly, at any rate; it's just better when you think it out. But I have a confession to make."
Her "Oh?" was carefully said.
"I think you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
Rio's face sobered and she turned again toward the sea, looking down so that the twin falls of her bong hair hid her face. After a moment, in which Blake held his breath, Rio said, "Thank you." She raised her face and looked up at the stars, "But it's much too serious a confession to make and then continue a moonlight walk."
She turned, as if to go.
Blake stopped her. "But there's no moon. Besides, I have many confessions to make–"
"Please, Blake, you're spoiling it." She waved her hand around, smiling. "You're ruining the moonbath. Come, let's go back in." She tugged at his arm. "Tell me, do you think Cilento is the greatest of the sensatron artists?"
Blake let her pull him back into the big living room and into a conversation on contemporary artists. But even as he talked, joined by one or two others, he kept studying Rio's face. Her eyes were large, but shadowed by lashes; her mouth was a bit wide, but smiles came easily to it. Her hair was sleek, healthy, very long and very black. Her features were flexible, reflecting her inner thoughts easily and reacting to the words and thoughts of others. Blake watched how deftly she gathered others about her, engaged him in conversation with them, and withdrew, free to act as hostess and catalyst.
Blake looked to see if Voss had noticed their short absence on the terrace, but the financier appeared as urbane and imperturbable as before.
Blake managed to extract himself from a group that was debating the merits of Boynton's laser-cutting of icebergs as an art form. Getting a drink, he drifted to one side of the room, apparently to study a Coe oil but actually to think over his response to Rio. It had been total, positive. He had no explanation for his reaction, only an uncontrollable desire to possess her, to make her part of his life. How little we know of ourselves, he thought, of the reasons we do and don't do things, of our likings and aversions, often for no discernible reason.
In Rio, Blake knew he had found the ultimate in his type of woman. Rio was beautiful, with his kind of beauty. He had never cared much what other people thought was beautiful. If he thought someone or something was beautiful, that was all that was necessary. But she belonged to someone else, someone important to him. Moreover, she seemed committed to Voss, and that was more deadly than being owned by him.
All he needed was Rio. And she was the one woman he couldn't have.
Chapter 6
Voss raised his glass and saluted Blake. "To the future!"
Blake smiled, and toyed with his own glass as the others at the long table toasted him. He was sitting at Voss's left, with Kresadlova on his right, and Rio a light-year away at the other end of the table. He looked at her and found her smiling at him. She gave him a small, direct salute, and Blake felt himself unexpectedly blushing.
Blake tore his gaze away from her and looked at the others down the long baronial table. The count was smiling with icy politeness, annoyed at being replaced as the focus of attention. He saluted Blake stiffly and said "There hasn't been a really fine tomb maker since Michelangelo." Blake wasn't certain whether that was a compliment or not, but he smiled back. Lizette, the girl seated by the count, gave a wiggle, causing the strings of linked metal plates that flowed over her plush body to part and allow her breasts to poke through briefly. She raised her glass and said brightly, "To Blake Mason!"
The company director, Kimsey, dressed in a deep-maroon astrosuit of tropical cut, leaned forward and addressed
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