Our eyes met. The noise of a subway car – the sound seemed to rush toward me, bringing with it a strong wind.
"Dee?" It was Rebeckah. She stood next to me, her hand soft my shoulder.
"Sorry," I mumbled, leaning into her to steady myself. "I've been having trouble with visual feedback lately," I lied.
Concerned eyes slid away from mine. Feedback was a common problem of those who had their LINK connection severed. The subject was too close to home for LINK-hackers, who could face a sentence of disconnection if caught. I took the opportunity their discomfort provided to take another look at Raphael.
With a sheepish grin on his face, he lifted a hand in a brief wave. The look on his face seemed to say, "You caught me."
I snorted a laugh and shook my head. He slid over, offering me a seat. Rebeckah helped me into it and sat down beside me. Once I settled, I whispered to Raphael, "You people are everywhere. Can't I get away from your kind?"
He turned his head to inspect me with the same intensity as he had inspected his coffee cup earlier. Then, he smiled. "My mistake. I thought you were one of 'our kind.' "
"What?" I exploded, my voice a little louder than I intended. Everyone put their spoons down and stared at me. Rebeckah frowned, her eyebrows crinkled with concern.
"Dee," she asked, "you okay?"
"Sorry. I'm a little on edge. I guess I could use that drink you promised."
"I'll get it," Raphael offered. "Apple juice okay?"
"No, wait..." I'd wanted Rebeckah to get it so he and I could have a chance to talk, but Raphael bolted out of his seat and was halfway to the bar before I could stop him. I frowned at his retreating form. I didn't even get a chance to tell him I preferred something stronger – like coffee.
"You guys know each other." The way Rebeckah spoke, the phrase was more of a statement than a question.
"Not really." I looked her in the eye, hoping she'd see the truth.
"Hmph," Rebeckah said. "Well, Raphael has that effect on people. When we first met, I thought I'd known him. I spent months wracking my brain, trying to remember if we'd ever served together in Israel..." Rebeckah looked as if she were about to say more, when a soldier approached. "Yes?"
"A word, Commander?"
Rebeckah nodded, standing up to move a short distance from the table. "Excuse me."
l lookea away, not wanting to intrude on ner ousmess. My eyes strayed back to the table full of strangers.
"You're an American Catholic, then?" A bearded man to my left asked politely. Ringlets of brown hair fell down either side of his face.
"Oh." I forgot what I must look like to them. "This is borrowed. I ..." I couldn't think of a simple way to explain how I ended up in Eion's vestments, so I just said, "My brother is a Roman Catholic priest."
"I see." He smiled, sensing my discomfort with the situation. "Well, any friend of Rebeckah's is a friend of mine."
"She's not just any friend. That's Deidre McMannus. You guys remember all the stink when the Pope was killed last year," a woman said at the end of the table. Underneath a leather vest, she wore a black muscle shirt with a picture of a rodent chewing on coaxial cable. Tattooed barbed wire and fiber-optic lines wound like Celtic knotwork around her biceps. The uniform of a LINK-hacker, if I've ever seen one.
"She's that Deidre McMannus," the wire-wizard continued with a touch of awe in her voice. Her eyes snaked over to mine cautiously.
I gave a weak smile. I couldn't get away from my reputation anywhere, it seemed. "Yep, that's me."
"Ironic choice in clothing, then, eh?" Raphael said with a wink, as he returned to the table. He shoved a plastic glass of apple juice in front of me.
"I was in a rush." I cupped my hands around the sweating clear plastic – though it wasn't what I'd wanted, at least the juice was icy cold. I took a long, refreshing swallow.
"I hear you've never been much of a slave to fashion, anyway." The hacker at the end of the table gave a hearty laugh. "Hanes, bikini cut? I would have thought you a boxer shorts type."
I blushed. Mouse, the stinker, had actually posted the information about my underwear. "Well, uh, they're cheap."
The people around tne table laughed, and not unkindly. I found myself smiling warmly.
Raphael touched my elbow. "We should talk." His breath tickled my ear.
"I don't want to know you, Raphael," I said firmly. I stared into the remains of the apple juice. A yellowed reflection of my stern expression glowered back at me. "I don't want to know any of you."
"Too late for that," Raphael said, taking a sip from his coffee mug. I could smell the rich aroma. I stared furiously at my juice.
"It's not like there are hundreds of us running around," he continued. "If you've met even one other – you're already in the thick of things. In the center of the storm, as it were."
"Story of my life," I muttered. My breath rippled the surface of the juice, fracturing the image of my face into abstraction. "Only this time, I'm going to walk away."
"You don't seem the type." Raphael's voice was low and sincere. With a shrug, he added, "But, it's your choice."
" 'Choice,' why is it always about 'choice' for you people?" I slammed the plastic cup down with such ferocity that juice sloshed onto my hand. "It's like you're obsessed with freewill."
Raphael arched an eyebrow, and his mouth drew into a thin line. His eyes scanned the table, but the others seemed engrossed in their own conversations. Turning back to me, he shrugged. "We don't get out much."
"There's an understatement." I laughed through my fingers, as I sucked the spilled liquid from my palm.
Turning back to his coffee mug, Raphael took a long sip. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, but his face betrayed no emotion. Sliding his gaze back to mine, he asked, "May I ask who you met?"
I stifled the urge to say no because I wanted to see how he reacted when I dropped the names. I started at what I presumed he felt to be the bottom of the list, and worked my way up. "Morningstar, Jibril, and Michael."
Raphael set his cup down gently, and his brows drew together. He ran a callused thumb along the rim of the mug. Corded muscles jumped on his powerful forearms as he crossed his arms and balanced his elbows on the edge of the table. Steepled fingers lightly bounced against his lip, the only sign that what I'd said disturbed him. Finally, Raphael spread his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. "You really are in the center of things."
I laughed. Unbidden, my mind flashed to an image of Michael naked. I remembered his smooth, cool skin under my fingers and the smell of his sweat. The dream-image of the thundering of six wings of a monstrous seraphim broke my pleasant reverie. Shaking my head, I grumbled, "I'd really rather be somewhere else."
"I'm sure you're where you're supposed to be," Raphael said gently.
"I'm not sure of anything anymore," I countered. Rebeckah touched my shoulder, interrupting my train of thought.
"I've got some news, Dee. Come with me."
She pivoted on her heels and began heading out of the suite before I could even acknowledge her command. As I stood up to follow, I leaned close to Raphael and whispered: "We'll talk again."
He smiled. "I don't doubt it."
I would have taken the time to come up with some parting shot, but Rebeckah was already to the door. If I didn't hurry to catch up, I'd lose her. I scrambled out of my seat.
"Hey, McMannus!" I heard from the table. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the hacker at the end of the table give me the "thumbs-up." I returned a smile and a wave.
"A contact of mine has seen Daniel," Rebeckah informed me when I caught up with her in the stairwell. "Apparently, some of your fellow officers helped him make a break for it when the power blew in New Jersey."
I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. "Where is he?"
"My contact saw him in the underground heading into Manhattan. I have a feeling he's looking for you." She looked at me sideways, judging my reaction. My mind was already meeting with Daniel. I
wondered what he looked like after all this time, what I would say to him, and how I could explain why I never answered any of his letters.
Rebeckah's firm voice cut through my jumbled thoughts. "You shouldn't even risk it, Dee. It's going to be quite a trick to get ahold of him without alerting the syscops."
"You know where he is?"
"Not exactly, no," Rebeckah said patiently. "Just that he's on the move and headed into Manhattan. It's possible you could intercept him before he gets too far. But, it's dangerous right now – "
I cut her. off with, "I have to try."
Rebeckah nodded grimly. "Somehow I knew you'd say that."
We stopped in front of one of the apartment doors. She took a key card out of one of her belt pouches and swiped it through the lock. The door popped open. "There's armor in there. I had to guess at your size." A slight blush rose on her cheeks, but she cleared her throat, and added, "If we get caught trying to contact Daniel, I don't want you to get busted for impersonating a priest."
"Thanks, Rebeckah." I reached out and captured her hand. I gave it a quick squeeze. "I owe you."
"If you think I'm not keeping score, you're mistaken," she said gruffly. "This is barter, not charity."
"Still." I smiled. "Thanks."
I shut the door behind me. The clothes Rebeckah referred to were laid neatly at the foot of a narrow bed. A footlocker, a desk, and several bookshelves were placed squarely along the wails. The interior design evoked a certain je ne sais quoi or perhaps a dorm du college.
I inspected the armor on the bed. Picking up the undershirt, I turned it over in my hands. The fabric was heavy, some kind of blend of super-thin fiber-optic cables and cotton. Its blue-screen blue shimmered in the muted light. The only window was covered in a film of Medusa-glass; the light that eked through had a hazy quality. Heavy-looking curtain material hung on either side of a small window. I got up and pulled it shut, even though I doubted anyone would be passing by, or, if they did, be able to see through the waves of the bomb's sheath.
Shrugging out of Eion's cassock, I let the vestments slip to the floor. I pulled the armor's undershirt over my head. The material was heavy and slick against my skin, like a scuba gear. Though a bit small through the shoulders, the suit stretched to cover my body snugly. The neck of the undershirt came all the way to my chin; the sleeves extended well past my wrists. Rebeckah had made a pretty good guess at my size.
I stepped into the pants and wiggled the tight material over my hips. As I buckled the armored sections onto the leggings, my fingers fell into routine and my mind wandered. Right now Daniel was heading into Manhattan, looking for me. Despite his letters' assurances that he'd forgiven me, my stomach knotted at the thought of facing him again. I sent him to prison. The words spoken in the courtroom maligned his character, and I was part of all of it. Captain Morgan hadn't forgiven me for that betrayal of partner loyalty. Truth be told, I hadn't forgiven myself. It seemed insane to expect that, after everything, Daniel would welcome me with open arms.
Then there was that small problem of Daniel's guilt. He'd killed the Pope. Nothing I'd heard or seen since changed my mind. Daniel's last letter sounded like the ramblings of a madman – with all his talk of "them," and how I shouldn't trust anyone on the LINK.
I hefted the heavily armored jacket onto my shoulders. Connecting the two edges, I ran my fingers along the seam. At my touch, the jacket automatically clicked together, guided by a strong magnet. The instant all the pieces were in place the uniform hummed to life.
Israeli technology was top-of-the-line. The uniform existed as a walking LINK connection, holographic armor, and as a cybernetic exoskeleton to provide physical protection. I ran my fingers along the surface of the armor, impressed with all the bells and whistles.
Only the helmet remained. The Israeli insignia had been scraped off either side and replaced with a crudely stenciled image of a black wing. In indelible marker someone had carefully scripted the word: "vengeance."
Sitting down on the small bed, I put a hand on the pitted surface of the helmet. Michael corrected me when I speculated that his involvement in bringing Letourneau to justice came down to revenge. No, vengeance, he said. Vengeance.
I shook my head. The only thing vengeance had going for it was a healthy dose of righteousness; and, when it came down to mortal affairs, the whole notion seemed like an arrogant shifting of the blame for any bloodshed to a higher authority. Yet, the Malachim fought against oppressive injustice, and Michael, too, in seeking to expose Letourneau, sided with what I could consider goodness. Perhaps "vengeance" was correct in their case.
Despite my rationalization, I shivered as my fingers traced the raised surface of the black wing on the helmet. There was nothing I would kill for. It was my profound lack of Faith that kept me from the kind of commitment to a cause that the Malachim, Michael, and even Daniel had. My experience as a street cop taught me that justice, like truth, mutated and changed. What I'd seen of Michael and his ilk cast doubt on the infallibility of even the divine. That only served to solidify my distrust of absolutes and people who espoused them.
Picking up the helmet, I tossed it from hand to hand. Raphael had me pegged better than I cared to admit. Though I tried to let those with convictions fight in my stead, I found myself again and again in the center of the storm. More than that, I pushed actively against the winds, as if I had the power to turn nature from its course.
Caressing the stencil of the black wing, I put the helmet on. I searched through the lining of the hood for the tiny filament connecting the uniform to the LINK. Finding it, I spit on the tiny rounded pad at the end of the wire and stuck it to the panel in the helmet above the almond-shaped lump in my temple that housed my LINK receiver.
Ones and zeros flashed briefly as the uniform's computer calibrated to match my LINK connection. Once the systems meshed, a window popped up in the right corner of my field of vision. A two-dimensional box scrolled pertinent information, and certain files automatically downloaded in the memory system of my LINK. I still couldn't see through the helmet's armored face shield. Mentally, I toggled the view option. My vision unfurled to a complete 360-degree view. The experience disoriented me, until I focused on one thing. Holding my gloved hand up in front of my face, I tested the holographic defense.
On, I subvocalized. I could hear a faint hum as holographic imagers came on-line. Tiny lights, like pinpricks, broke out on the surface of the gloves. Seconds later, my hand disappeared. Almost. When I wiggled my fingers, I could see the mirroring camouflage struggle to re-form a reflective surface. The imagers lagged a fraction behind the movement, giving the illusion a rippling effect. When I moved slowly and precisely enough, I was virtually invisible.
Off, I commanded. My glove returned to blue-screen blue. Hey, partner ... it's me.
* * *
New York Times, April 4, 2026. Text only file follows.
"FLAME" DISRUPTS GREY'S VISIT TO WIRE TREATMENT CENTER
The presidential candidate Rabbi-Senator Chaim Grey's visit with patients at the Lou Dameshorey Wire-Addiction Treatment Center today was interrupted by public outcry during his on-line address. The "flame war" was so massive that it caused node static for nearly two hours. The situation was remedied when the candidate narrowed his speech broadcast band to members of the press.
The controversial sound bite follows. [The New York Times requests all responses be directed to editorial.link, and not the main frequency.]
"These are the forgotten ones; the ones to whom the current administration turns its back. Wire-addiction is the epidemic of modern times. Never, since the AIDS crisis have so many people been so neglected by a United States government."
Immediately following the above statement, a flame war began. Grey's campaign managers were unable to reply fast enough to the LINKed responses and the node overloaded. Grey's campaign spokesperson, Augustino Sanchez, explains, "People were cranked that the Rabbi-Senator paralleled the current administration with the o
utlawed secular government."
Many of the flames have been lost, but Grey's campaign managers say they are carefully sifting through the undamaged responses in order to understand what touched the public's nerve.
"There's more than the secular analogy going on – it's the queer thing," an anonymous representative from the illegal organization ACT UP told this reporter. "First of all, no one likes to be reminded of the 'gay plague.' And then, for Grey to say that queers weren't deserving of their fate is like admitting he likes the sin and not the sinners, if you get my meaning."
The ACT UP spokesperson's comment may have some merit, as a large percentage of people polled since the flame war agree that it was the reference to AIDS made them the most angry. [To see survey methodologies and results – hot-link here.]
"Wire-addiction is nothing like AIDS," said Gail Beckmen from Brooklyn. "I know some good people who have had trouble with the wire."
Reverend-Senator Etienne Letourneau was notably silent during this controversial event. His office has made no response, except to say that the Reverend-Senator's "heart goes out to all those who suffer."
Chapter 14
Hey, partner ... it's me. I jumped at the sound. I turned to look around the room, even though my brain instantly registered the voice as subvocal.
An image wavered into existence, like a ghost given form. His face, as always, looked as if it had run into too many fists over the course of his forty years. Wild black hair had been tamed by a prison buzz cut. His features were thinner, hungrier, but his dark eyes still flashed with mischief. The smile he bore was the roguish grin of a wolf.
With a cluck of my tongue, I admired his craft. He had taken the time to construct an image, as well as preempt the LINK'S usual command routine. No incoming message warning, just Daniel, standing there like he'd never left. Although, not quite. The facial image was recent, as the buzz-cut attested, but it was evident he cobbled the body together. Crackling with energy, the picture refused to stay still beneath the perfectly replicated face. I imagined he hacked the image from the prison camera, maybe even during the breakout to cover his tracks.
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