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

down for a dollar and a half bonus as soon as we get the retainer."
    "You are too kind. Monday would be a good day to go out. No weekend guests, and a business day gives you a good excuse to make it a quick trip."
    "Make that two bucks even and tell Sebastian."
    "He'll love all the froufrou and the fawning."
    Blake, grunted and clicked off. Ravel was playing, but he wasn't listening to it now. His mind had gone back to the possibility of a Voss undersea project. In the Atlantis dome he had used a mermaid decor in one area; a seashell motif in another; a pagan throne room with gas torches; mosaics set with rocks, then laser-cut and polished and permafinished to look wet.
    But he would have to come up with something different for Voss. Blake wanted to have at least one idea to throw out spontaneously when Voss brought the subject up. That always gave the client a feeling he was talking to a creative person. But the best idea, the final idea, should never be revealed quickly or casually. Although he might come up with the concept in a second, Blake liked to polish it in private, mainly to give the client the feeling that this was the best possible answer to his problem, and one not quickly or lightly reached. Blake remembered a senior environmentalist, one of the old breed who still called themselves decorators, who used the phrase "I was thinking last night," and then proceeded to improvise his thoughts of the moment. "Doing so gives greater weight to your words," he had told Blake in his student days, "And it gives you the reputation of being a thinker."
    The intercom lit up. "Mr. Mason." Not "boss" – someone was there.
    Blake hit the stud. "Yes, Elaine?"
    "Mr. Voss is here."
    "Please show him in." Ritual and facade. Oh, what the hell!
    Voss was tall, tanned, and ugly, with that beautiful sort of arrogant ugliness that seemed to devastate women satiated with pretty men. He was quick and sure as he came through the door. Everything about him radiated money and power. He doesn't walk as if he owns the place, Blake thought, he enters as if he doesn't care who owns it. Used to the rich and powerful and their often egocentric ways, Blake was nevertheless impressed.
    Voss's handshake was firm and quick, his smile wide and friendly, his eyes steady and automatically appraising. Behind him two burly men eyed Blake and the room, but then left instantly at a flick of Voss's hand.
    Voss sat down in a Life-style chair and fingered his Martian firestone cuff links as his gaze took in the room. "You have many lovely things," he said. "I believe I have a Coe assemblage of that period. Somewhere."
    "Thank you." A pitiful handful, Blake thought. You probably have more warehouses full than I have pieces. "Would you like a drink?" As he spoke, he thumbed the bar stud and a panel slid upward.
    Voss peered at the wine behind the cooler panels, then his dark eyes scanned the array of bottles, flasks, and vintage tubes. "Ah, a favorite," he smiled. "Benedictine and brandy, please." Blake selected two small Gral goblets and poured. He left Ravel playing, but turned down the volume.
    "Shawna suggested you to me," Voss said without preamble. "Her home is very pleasant. Fits her beautifully. Nothing that I would want, of course, but very pleasing."
    Blake was silent, smiling briefly and acknowledging the compliment with a salute of his glass.
    "What I have in mind is ... unusual for our time, but very ancient, really. I want a tomb."
    Blake was surprised. Voss seemed so young to be thinking of such things. "Yours?" Blake asked, just to be certain.
    Voss smiled broadly. "But of course." He held up his hand warningly. "But, please s not some tacky little pillared tomb, all solemn and marble, a piece of ego sculpture. Nothing, ur, tricky. You did a lovely miniature Taj Majal in something transparent for Topaz."
    "Magnaplastics."
    "Yes, and that Moon-orbiting casket for Ron Bellingham is really quite beautiful. It's becoming something of a tourist