"Ha." I didn't even pretend to find his quip funny, because my heart was sinking fast. "Why are you telling me all this? If it is all part of God's plan, there's clearly not much I can do about it."
"No, there isn't. I'm telling you because I want you to suffer the knowledge that God used you."
Used by God. I let the words penetrate me, fill me. Air left my lungs in a long, emptying sigh. From the moment I forced myself to realize that Michael was an angel, I'd feared this revelation. Pressing my forehead against the knuckles of my hand, I leaned heavily into the desk. Everything was out of my control; my whole life was reduced to being a pawn in some cosmic game.
Yet there was something strangely comforting about that concept. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Lifting my head out of my hands, I looked at Morningstar.
"Of course," I said slowly. "If I believed that, I have to believe God really does have some grand plan in mind. That would be more faith than I've had my whole life."
"Would it?" Morningstar asked, with a curiously serious expression on his face. Holding his body very still, he said, "Tell me, Deidre, do you? Do you believe? Are you a reverse Job? Are you willing to believe the worst and not the best? But, believe nonetheless?"
"You know what? I think so. Yes."
Morningstar stared into my eyes, saying nothing. His face still held an unnerving seriousness. The muted green light of the outside grew brighter, as though a storm were brewing. Cool wind kissed my cheek gently, and, from somewhere, I heard a rhythmical flapping. A white flash of paper flew past my face. Startled, I jumped.
The wind increased. The pile of tickets stacked neatly in the tray beside the wall fluttered and spilled everywhere. Made of heavy paper, the tickets crawled along the floor to swirl beneath Morningstar's feet.
"What's going on?" I shouted over the now howling wind.
My work here is done, A voice in my head said.
Shutting his eyes, Morningstar opened his hands, palms up. He looked like a supplicant. Wind battered him, whipping coppery hair around his head. His trench coat snapped in the barrage of air. The papers on my desk broke free of the blotter and swarmed around him like a miniature hurricane, with Morningstar as the eye.
In a thunder crash, Morningstar exploded. His body shattered into thousands of pure white pieces. The light stabbed my eyes, and I turned my head. Paper flew everywhere, slapping against my back ineffectually.
When I turned back around, Morningstar was gone, and my office was a mess of paper. I stared at the spot where Morningstar had been, incredulous. He was gone, just like that.
Moving out from behind the desk, I sat cross-legged in the spot Morningstar had stood and started cleaning up the debris. Residue warmth tingled beneath my legs. Collecting a stack of overdue tickets, I tried to decide if his disappearance was a good sign or a bad one.
I could interpret his last words in two ways. Either his work was done because I had been corrupted to his evil ways, or Satan really was an agent of God and was sent to bully me into some tattered semblance of faith. Forming a pile of all the papers I could reach, I concluded that I preferred the irony of the second option. An angel is still an angel, whether his message is pleasant or hurtful. Satan simply had the misfortune of always being the bearer of bad news.
The truth was, I did find it easier to believe the bad things about God, and my religion, than the good. Evil seemed possible and rational. It was not in the least bit fanciful to feel that dark powers lurked under the surface, ready to soil and destroy humanity. During secular times, Satan had remained a popular figure in the media despite the proclamation that "God is dead." Yet, Satan only exists if there is a God.
I had faith all along; my faith was just twisted, focused on evil. I, too, had fallen victim to the idea that goodness was just a myth, but that evil was powerful and real. Michael had been obvious in many ways when he first appeared to me, but I refused to see him for what he was. I had no faith that my life, or any life, was important enough to warrant the attention of an archangel, of God. So much so, it took the Devil to convince me that there was a God after all.
Pulling more papers toward me, I laughed. Michael was right about one thing. The problem with goodness was that it wasn't nearly as flashy as evil. Evil had the advantage of being dramatic and spectacular. It was easy to discount the goodness that wandered into your life wearing blue jeans and looking like something out of everyday life.
Too energized to be able to focus on the rest of the cleanup, I pulled myself to my feet. I wanted to talk to Michael. Tell him everything I'd realized.
As I reached for my backpack, my peripheral vision registered movement outside. A buzz vibrated at my temple, where the filament connected my LINK receptor to the armor. Strange, it was almost as if the uniform was trying to call me. But that was impossible, so I ignored the tingle.
I crept over to the window to look outside. A car sat conspicuously parked on the street. That a car should be on the street was strange enough, since no tunnel exited anywhere near my building. I always had to park in the lot connected to the second-story walkway, but that tunnel didn't exit out onto the street. A car would have had to travel for a kilometer from the nearest street-level traffic tunnel to park directly outside of my office. Once out of the electrified traffic tunnels, you had to rely solely on your battery. Most cars didn't have the power to stray too far. That is, except cop cars.
My temple ticked again. This time I decided to answer it. I mentally flipped the "go" command. A window opened in the right-hand corner of my vision.
I ought to kill you, Mouse said.
* * *
Excerpt from the New York Times, August 30, 2076.
GREY RELENTLESS
DENVER NODE. The real-time presidential debate took another step toward becoming a reality today. Though still in Colorado camped outside of Letourneau's mansion, Rabbi-Senator Chaim Grey responded to the recent virtual attack. When asked to comment, he smiled. "Letourneau said that God has picked him to be the next president of the United States. Who am I to argue with God? But, I say, if the outcome is predetermined, then Letourneau, chosen of God, has even less to fear from talking to a New York rabbi for a couple of hours in front of the people of the United States."
Popular opinion seems to be behind Grey. After this statement, Grey's standing in the polls rose another ten percent, giving him a slight lead in the race.
Tyler Wong, who has been a strong supporter of Letourneau from the beginning, logged on today to announce that he will be voting for Grey if Letourneau does not agree to debate in real time. "It's a real disappointment," he said. "Letourneau should kick Grey's butt, but he looks like a wimp hiding up there in the mountains. If he doesn't agree to come out, man, I'm gonna vote for the Jew."
Others have expressed similar sentiment. Hirohito Smith, presidential candidate for the Islam party, agreed. "Even though the party of Islam did not have enough of a majority to compete for this office, I encourage the faithful to challenge this prophet Letourneau. Remember what is written between the eyes of the great archangel Jibril, he who dictated the Koran, 'There is no God but God, and Muhammad is the Messenger of God.' "
Chapter 22
You nearly did, I told Mouse. I kept my attention focused on the car outside. I tried to discern if there was anyone still in the car, or not. Are those your henchmen here to finish the job?
Who? What? Mouse asked. What do you mean? I've been in your armor hiding from Phanuel, since you and that Kantowitcz character broke into my hub.
I focused on the LINK window. I tried to figure out which Mouse I was talking to. The image had the same dark, ruffled hair and round ears as the real-time Mouse. It was impossible to tell by looking. Page?
You know someone else who can live in your uniform? The page smiled with Mouse's face. This, by the way, is a rocking sweet home away from home. Those Israeli's have great tech. I'm thinking about converting. Do you think they'd let an AI be a Jew?
I have n
o idea, I muttered. I don't have time to chat, page. I've got some possible company here.
Hey, the page said. I'm not some companion software programmed just for your entertainment, I called for a reason. I wanted to warn you about Mouse.
Thanks, I said, as I looked around the room for something to prop the door shut with. But, I already figured Mouse was out to get me when he pulled the gun.
The page looked hurt. He did? I take it the body went to New York?
Yeah. In the closet was a piece of plywood I was using as a makeshift shelf. I quickly brushed my shoes off it into a pile and pulled the board from its brick supports. Pushing the board under the doorknob, I tested it for strength. It would hold for a while. With that, I commanded the uniform's holographic defenses to on and headed out the window onto the fire escape; I started down the ladder. Even though I knew I was invisible, I kept twisting around to check that no one in the car noticed me.
Bummer. The page's voice startled me; I'd forgotten he was there. Dee, whatever you do, don't access the LINK. Phanuel is after me, and Michael. ...
Michael? What, is he okay?
No, the page added. I found out he's going to be unleashed tonight at 0:00 GMT.
The LINK-Michael? Why didn't you tell me this before? I'd reached the last rung. I stopped to catch my breath and stared at the window floating in the corner of my vision.
The page looked sheepish. When I'm on the LINK, it's difficult for me to separate my feelings from Mouse's. He was off-line ... and, then, when I was here ... well, I had time to think.
I let go of the last rung, leaping down to the street level. I landed awkwardly and knocked into a garbage can. Sprawled on my butt, I groaned softly. The pavement was uneven, and sharp edges poked at me through the tough exterior of the armor.
Deidre, you have to warn people. Mouse means business with the LINK-Michael. Serious business.
What's so special about the LINK-Michael, Page? Haven't we already seen him?
The page shook his head. Not this version.
What's this version? I asked, dusting off my knees.
Ever hear the story of how the angel Michael single-handedly slaughtered 185,000 Assyrians in one night? Well, this is that Michael.
I stood up to assess the situation. Apparently, the noise of the garbage can overturning alerted someone in the car to my presence. The car door opened, and a man in a dark suit stepped out to get a better look. He was wearing sunglasses.
Shit, I said, crouching down quickly.
I held my breath; I could hear shuffling footsteps approaching. My back pressed against a Dumpster, and I watched the street for any hint that the man was within range.
When a long shadow came into view, I tightened my muscles, ready to spring. The second I saw a foot, I threw my whole body into a punch aimed at the knee. My fist connected solidly. The man went down with a yelp of pain. I stood up quickly. If he had a gun, I intended to wrestle him for it.
Luck was with me, and the man's fall had knocked the sunglasses off his face. A shoulder holster was visible underneath his suit coat. I grabbed the gun. The pistol slid into invisibility as soon as my hand wrapped around the butt.
Fingertips brushed my ankle as I stepped over him, but I squeezed past. I ran toward the car. Cops and criminals were notorious for leaving keys in the ignition.
I could see heads craning out of the window of my office as I slid into the driver's seat. They all wore sunglasses, despite the muted outside light. My hands wrapped around the wheel, and I felt for keys. Smelling stale coffee in the upholstery, I decided this was, in fact, a cop's car. The engine revved as I put my foot down hard on the go pedal. I pulled the door shut, and the car sprang forward. Securing the safety belt, I just had to hope that they had left enough juice in the battery for me to make it all the way to a traffic tube. I was feeling confident. So far all my prayers had come true.
You know, this is pretty serious stuff, the page said, his face still scrunched into a pout. I don't know what you're doing that's more important than talking to me.
I checked the rearview. No one was in pursuit so far. I flipped open the fusebox panel under the dash. Feeling with my fingers, I pulled out the third fuse from the left. I smiled, twirling the small glass tube in my fingers. Unmarked police car manufactures have always understood the need for cops to drive occasionally with the homing beacon disabled. Sorry, Page, I said, finally, I was just trying to save my skin ... and yours, since you're in my uniform.
Like I care what the body does.
Maybe, in this case, you should. I'm not LINKed to anything but the uniform, so you don't have anywhere to go if someone blows a hole in me. The page looked unsatisfied, so I added, Tell me what this Michael can do?
Um ... the page hesitated, and checked over his shoulder.
Page, I already, know about Jordan Institute. You have the tech to access any LINKed person's pain and pleasure centers. That's how you pulled off the LINK-angel "miracles."
The page's eyes were wide. You knew?
I nodded. Well, I figured it out, anyway.
Mouse always said you'd remember eventually. No wonder he's come to kill you.
The ground-level road was bumpy. The wheels weren't adapted for the broken concrete of the street level. I had to get in a tunnel fast. Spinning the steering wheel with my palm, I swung down the street. There was access to a traffic tunnel near the old library. The battery light was steady for now.
I continually checked the rearview for other cars. There was nothing, but the battery light had started blinking a warning a block back. I could see the traffic tunnel above. The plastic tubing curved ahead and angled toward street level. I was nearly there.
Flashing lights appeared above. The police figured out my only possible route. I hit the accelerator. I might be able to make the entrance before they could block both lanes with their vehicle.
The cop car swung around the exit curve; we were face-to-face. Nearly standing on the go pedal, the car shook beneath me. My teeth clenched, and I braced myself for possible impact.
A pop and a spark tore off the side mirror. Metal scraped against metal with a groan. My car fishtailed when I slid past the cops, and I had to struggle to regain control of the vehicle.
In the rearview mirror, I could see the cop car had swung around to cross both lanes. It bounced on its frame. I was satisfied it would take them a minute or two to recover.
What's the new LINK-Michael going to do, Page? I asked. Now that the electrified rail was beneath the car, the battery light was safely off. I took a deep breath and scanned the tunnel for options.
He's an assassin program, the page said. Mouse intends to get rid of all competition.
He's going to take out other hackers? But why? He already has a corner on the market.
I don't know, the page said sadly. I'm not even supposed to know this much. I just happened to come across Mouse's files while he was offline. Then, when you were in the hub, you woke up Phanuel. He's been trying to capture me ever since.
You were with me in the hub?
I was there ... I left with you.
Suddenly, lights illuminated the rear window. I ignored an entrance ramp to an upper level. I'd have to move into heavier traffic soon, since it was only a matter of time before Traffic Control isolated this lower tube and cut power. I grabbed the gun from where I'd tossed it along with my backpack in the passenger seat. I checked to make certain the safety was on and tucked it into one of the pockets of the uniform.
To my left I saw an up-tube. Heaving hard on the wheel, I headed into the tube without letting up on the go pedal. The tires squealed in protest at the sharp turn. I decided to try a move that joy riders called the "stone-skip." Moving as fast as possible, I took the first exit one level up. The car bounced on its frame, moving through the tube like a pebble over water.
How can we stop Mouse, Page?
The page shook his head fiercely. I can't. He's my maker, Dee. That's seriously bad karma.
Besides, he knows how to pull my plug.
All right, I said, how about the LINK-Michael? Do you know how to destroy him?
Mouse's page was silent. When I hazarded a glance away from the road, I could see his lips were stretched into a thin line.
I don't know, Mouse said finally. He's too scary, Dee. Better to just stay off the line, you know?
I shook my head. You can't hide forever, Page, and neither can I.
Sirens echoed in the tube. Dropping down from somewhere, the cops had picked up my trail again. Lights flashed behind me. I pumped down harder on the go pedal even though it was already pressed to the floor.
I passed through a holographic advertisement for today's upcoming presidential debate. In a blur, Letourneau's face slid through the passenger side of the car. With a fizzle, the image became a snow shower. Ahead, I could see lights flicking off. Control was shutting down power to this area. Scanning desperately for an escape route, I saw nothing. The cop was close enough on my tail that I could no longer see the headlights in the rear-view. So, I did the only thing I could do: I slammed down hard on the brakes.
* * *
Link update, August 30, 2076. This site is now updated every 30 seconds as news reaches us! Political history and commentary by H.C. Yoeh:
LETOURNEAU MAKES A SURPRISE REVERSAL
In a reversal of his previous stance against a realtime debate, presidential candidate Etienne Letourneau agreed to meet with his opponent Rabbi-Senator Grey and the public at Carnegie Hall at 7:00 EST today. This debate will also be simulcast on all the LINK political channels. However, the public is clamoring to witness this event firsthand. Carnegie Hall staff say they are already filled to capacity, having issued the final standing room only pass a mere twenty-three minutes after Letourneau issued his statement.
Archangel Protocol Page 30