Firebird (21 page)

Most of the structures depicted were either unidentified, or the identification had lost all meaning. Here was the Church of the Angels, located in a place whose name didn't appear on the maps. And there was a picture of a woman in red vestments, presumably a cardinal, whose name was Carassa, but about whom no other fact was known.

We went back to the
Belle-Marie
to recharge. It didn't make much sense to use the lander when the ship, with its scopes, provided as good a view. But Alex said something about wanting to get as close as possible, to be in a position to pursue anything of interest without having to wait. Again, the impatience was out of character, and he didn't seem inclined to offer a better explanation.

The argument for doing the search from the ship gained momentum when we flew into turbulent weather, but we stayed with the lander. I was able to get above the storm, and we were gaining on the sun, now high in the sky, but it made little difference: We'd lost sight of the ground. “It doesn't matter,” Alex said. “If what we're looking for is really confined to a single church, we aren't going to find it anyhow.”

Later, under clear skies, we passed over a construction site. Silver bots, some on legs, some incorporated into vehicles, moved across the ground with polished fluidity, hauling equipment, erecting walls, striding along girders several stories off the ground. One, a giant mechanical spider, was climbing a wall.

Not far from the construction site, we saw a church. There was nothing special about it. It looked like a hundred other churches we'd seen over the past few hours. A smaller building, probably a rectory, was attached. It dominated a neighborhood of attractive homes with wide lawns and picket fences. (The lawns were overgrown. The AIs apparently hadn't been charged with looking after yard work, other than possibly clearing fallen branches.) “Let's take a look at it,” said Alex.

“Any particular reason?” I asked.

“I like the angel.”

The angel was a sculpture near the front doors. It was a female figure, its wings spread in full flight. It lent an air of majesty to the church.

The church had an old-style Gothic design, and was maybe four stories high, with gray stone walls. A bell tower rose at one corner. A large cross, set at the peak of a sharply slanted roof, looked out across a modest avenue lined by trees. A car was passing.

A large rectangular building, constructed in the same style, stood on the other side of the avenue. A church school, probably. Lettering was engraved across its entrance. Probably St. Mark's or some such. Private homes, all apparently in good condition, surrounded the complex on three sides. Behind the church, and the homes, dense forest stretched to the horizon.

A small feline creature sat placidly in front of the school. Large birds nested along the rooftops. And music was coming from somewhere. It had no discernible rhythm, just noise, instruments I didn't recognize.

We were still getting a lot of wind. Antigrav vehicles are notoriously vulnerable to high winds, so I was careful going down. “Behind the church,” said Alex, “where we're not so visible.”

There was open space between the church and the forest. A large granite cross rose from the overgrown soil. It was, I thought, a gravesite. But if there was a stone base with an inscription, it had long ago been buried.

We settled into the thick grass. I opened the hatch, and we sat for a minute, listening to the wind and the buzz of insects, waiting to see if we'd attracted any attention. But nothing came rolling in our direction.

Alex cleared his throat. “Ready?” he asked.

We got out. There was some rain in the air, but not much more than a sprinkle. I dropped down onto the ground. A car moved past on one of the side streets. It had flared tailfins and looked unlike anything I'd ever seen at home. It was automated, of course. Empty.

Before I'd taken more than a few steps, two trucks rumbled by out front. We hustled around to the side of the church so we could see. They were going in different directions. One had an open bed filled with boards. The other was covered, but there was lettering on the side. I used my link to ask Gabe for a translation.

“Toco Liquors,”
he said.

I looked at Alex. “AIs drink?”

“Maybe here they do.”

“I don't get any of this,” I said.

“I think what's happening, Chase, is that the controlling AI is simply continuing to do what it's always done. We might be seeing the resolution to the old debate about whether AIs are actually intelligent.”

I heard a noise that sounded like air moving through a vent. It was the equivalent of Gabe clearing his throat.
“Alex,”
he said.
“Don't jump to a hasty conclusion. They may see no reason to break clear of their programing. It is what keeps them going in difficult times. Like people, if
I may interject a thought of my own.”

We walked around to the front and stood admiring the angel. It was weather-beaten, and had probably never been considered exemplary sculpture. I suspected it had been cranked out by some mass-marketing process. But somehow that didn't matter. In that vast, empty place, it possessed a badly needed nobility.

Like the sign at St. Monica's, it was tilted by the passage of time and the erosion of the soil. There was something heart-stopping in that angel, trying to soar above and beyond all that desolation. “This one,” I said, “would be worth making off with.”

Alex smiled. “It would.” There was a line of symbols across its base. Three words. Badly worn, but still legible.

“Gabe,” I said, “translation, please?”

He needed a moment. Then:
“Going to Heaven.”
And, finally,
“No, I think 'Heaven-bound' more closely captures the spirit of it.”

I looked up at the large stone cross on the roof, standing directly over the main entrance. Somehow, the architecture suggested that everything emanated from that cross.

“Chase.”

“What is it, Alex?”

“The car. Look.” An automobile was slowing. It was a blue four-door sedan, with its windows rolled down. It pulled toward the curb, close to where we were standing, and stopped.

The engine continued to run. A sudden gust of wind shook the tree limbs.

We were in plain view from the car, so there wasn't much point trying to hide. We walked toward it but halted a few steps away.
“Hello,”
it said. And I froze: The thing was speaking Standard.
“May I offer you a ride?”
It had swept-back headlights, and it looked comfortable.

“No, thanks.” Alex backed away a step or two. “But it's very kind of you to offer.”

“It is my pleasure.”

“Who are you?” Alex asked.

“A friend. It would please me to be of assistance if you will allow it.”

Alex glanced over his shoulder. A small truck was pulling off the road, easing onto the grass. As we watched, it started slowly toward the lander. I glanced at Alex, but he shook his head. No way we could get back there without being intercepted. “Gabe,” Alex said, “get off the ground.” Then he turned back to the car: “You speak Standard.”

“Of course. We would not expect any other language to be understood by a visitor.”

“How does it happen that you know the language?”

“We have learned it from those who have come to spend time with us, of course.”

“I see. Do you have a name?”

“You may call me Roam. And you are—?”

The lander lifted off.

“My name is Alex. It's a pleasure to meet you, Roam.”

“And the lady?”

“I'm Chase,” I said.

Alex looked my way. Do not get any closer to the car. Don't get in front of it. Don't even get too close to the doors.

“The pleasure is mutual. May I ask what brings you to Villanueva?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Gabe pass over the roof of the church.

“We're admiring your churches,” he said.

“Why, yes, they are admirable, aren't they?”

“Are there others that carry the same motif?”

“Which motif is that?”

“Heaven-bound.”

“Ah, yes, an objective we should all seek. Would that we could all find the road to Heaven.”

“Yes. Would that it were so.” Alex looked at the angel, then back at the car. “It is something you seek?”

“Indeed it is. It is something all right-thinking entities should aspire to.”

“We would like very much to tour other churches that have this same theme. Can you possibly tell us where we might find them?”

“That would be a rather esoteric piece of information. I suspect it would be available at the office.”

“Which office is that?”

“The Malcolm Library Data Center. You're in Malcolm, you know.”

“No, I wasn't aware of that.”

“Oh, yes. Malcolm is the cultural heart of the entire state. The Data Center is only a few minutes from here. If you'd like to go, I'll be happy to take you.”
The back doors opened.

“Thanks. That's very generous of you. But we'd better pass. We're running late.”

“There'd be no problem coming back here. I'd bring you myself.”

“That's quite all right, Roam. But we appreciate the offer.” The doors closed again. The car backed up and angled its front wheels toward us. “It's a beautiful day,” Alex told the car. “Is the weather always this pleasant in Malcolm?” And without looking my way, he gave me a nod and formed a single word with his lips: “Go.”

We bolted for the church. Roam beeped a horn and jumped the curb. It plowed across the lawn and came after us.

The church was probably three times the size of St. Monica's, with three big double doors at the top of a set of stone steps. We charged past the angel and ran up the steps. Roam sideswiped the angel, smashing its right bumper. But it kept coming, bouncing up behind us, its bottom screeching against the stone.

Alex fired his pulser, and the engine exploded. The car veered to the right, came the rest of the way up, and crashed into the front of the building. The truck that had chased Gabe came around the corner, and two more vehicles, a gray two-door convertible and a small van, came in off the street.

Alex tried the church doors. The first wouldn't open, but one of the center ones swung out. “Yes, indeed,” he said. “Welcome to Villanueva.”

The door was heavy. As at St. Monica's, the hinges didn't squeal, and one would not have guessed that worshippers weren't coming in regularly. We slipped through and pushed the door shut behind us. All three sets of doors had bolts, which slid smoothly into place.

The church was big. The benches could have accommodated upward of a thousand people, which was considerably more than St. Monica's. I was surprised at first to see what appeared to be a pair of candles burning on the main altar—I thought maybe I'd spoken too soon about the divine presence—but they turned out to be electrical. A choir stall overlooked the rear pews, and above that, the overhead arched into a dome. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows that looked as if they'd been cleaned the day before.

Both walls contained alcoves. Several held statuary; others contained small altars. Holy-water fonts stood at the back. As at Monica's, they were filled.

“Alex.” I kept my voice down. “I think we can get out one of the side exits.”

“This stuff is priceless, Chase.”

“Alex—”

Someone, or
something,
began banging at the doors behind us.

Then I heard Gabe:
“More vehicles are arriving. Suggest you consider departure at earliest convenience.”

Alex took over: “Which exit do you suggest, Gabe?”

“The truck has returned to the area where we touched down. It appears to be waiting there, on the west side. Two other cars are joining it as I speak. A van is now pulling up on the east side. There is also a small truck in the rear.”

“Is there an exit at the rear?”

“Nothing that I can see. There does not appear to be a clear area anywhere at the moment where a pickup can be made safely.”

“What's happening out front?”

“More vehicles are arriving. There are now four of them close to the angel. All are passenger cars. One is a small two-seater with no roof. It has climbed the steps, and I assume you can hear it trying to break through the door. I think you are safe for the moment, however, until something heavier arrives.”

Side exits flanked the altar. The one on the right also had an elevator and a marble staircase. Alex signaled me to follow, and we headed in that direction. “Gabe,” he said, “we're going to take a look at the opposite side. On the east.”

“Okay, Alex.”

We heard another loud bang at the front door. But it seemed to be holding. “Gabe, be ready to move quickly. Are there any aircraft?”

“Negative. I'm alone up here.”

We hurried to the front of the church, circled the altar rail, and stopped at the exit. I heard nothing outside the door. Alex twisted the knob, pushed, and it opened out. Three steps went down to a short walkway that led to the adjoining building. The rectory.

But nothing was moving. “Okay, Gabe,” Alex said. “Come—”

Somewhere, out of sight, an engine roared to life.
“Heads up,”
said Gabe.
“It's in the rear.”
It was a truck, and we heard it start moving. Gabe was descending quickly but he broke off as it rounded the corner and came into view.
“No chance,”
he said.

The truck bounced across the lawn, turning sharply in our direction.

Alex fired his pulser. The engine choked and died. The vehicle rolled over and lay with its wheels spinning.

“More cars out front,”
said Gabe.
“And another one pulling around in the rear.”

“Can you land safely?”

“Negative.”

We pulled back out of sight. I heard sirens from somewhere.

“Police?” asked Alex.

“Two police cars and an ambulance. They're pulling onto the church grounds now.”

“Okay.”

“And the spider.”

“The what?”

“The thing with the multiple legs from the construction site.”