"It's unreal," said the Carnegie Hall box office manager, Rita Morose. "There hasn't been this much interest in live performance since the Taft-Henderson debacle." The event that Morose refers to was the Democratic Convention held in 2064, in which a fist-fight broke out between then presidential hopeful Sister Alice Jane Henderson and the Democratic nominee Representative Elias Taft. It has been much speculated the embarrassment that Taft faced after being knocked unconscious by a nun weighing less than one hundred pounds cost him the race. Returning to office, Taft (also of the infamous Taft-Pallis Act) began the "Right to Electronic Representation Reform," which, among other things, abolished the traditions of real-time campaigning and political conventions.
One of the reasons the Right to Electronic Representation Reform (RERR) met with such success when it was introduced was the belief, which had continued until today, that the American public was more interested in spectacle than political content. Taft's reform was based on studies dating back to the 1960s and the first televised debates in which it was shown that Americans tend to vote based on the "image" (physical attractiveness, poise, etc.) that a politician gives off at live and recorded events. Taft's reform intended to reduce campaigning to its purest form – text and content – in order to "purify" the political process. Though the complete absence of image was never approved, Congress did pass much of the RERR, as the reform was called.
Until today, few would have argued the soundness of the ideas behind RERR. It seems that the public has, in fact, been following with much interest the content of Rabbi-Senator Grey's recent accusations against Letourneau. Perhaps it's the personal nature of Letourneau's unstated political platform (ie: that he is the Second Coming of Christ) that has roused the concern in the American people that he is, in fact, an actual human being. The nature of his being has become the focus of this debate, and the average American is clamoring to see him, live. People have started to camp out along the streets in front of Carnegie Hall hoping to catch a glimpse of the Reverend-Senator as he passes on his way to the debate. We'll switch now to Bob, who is standing by ...
Chapter 23
The impact shattered the back window. Glass cut the back of my neck. My hands and head crashed into the steering wheel, while my knees banged against the dash. The air bag deployed, which cushioned my whole body, but I was thrown backward and pressed hard into the seat. When the jostling stopped, I held my breath. My neck hurt like a son of a bitch, but I was still alive. The padding of the Israeli armor likely saved my life.
Thinking of the armor reminded me of the page. Page? Are you okay?
Opening the car door, I fell out from under the airbag. I scrambled to my feet. I knew it wouldn't take long for the cop to do the same, if he was alive.
What are you doing out there? Your systems are going crazy. I'm sure you can see the warning light, but you're going to lose invisibility in a matter of seconds.
I could see the warning light the page talked about; the red letters filled the screen and threatened to blot out everything else. The only problem was if I switched off the armor, I'd have to remove the helmet. Without the systems operating properly, I'd be blind. Minus the helmet, my head would be a perfect target for some gung-ho cop.
I decided to take the chance and flipped the off. Even if I somehow managed to salvage the uniform's invisibility program, all the cops seemed aware that I had armored gear, anyway; no doubt any I encountered would be as prepared as the ones I had met earlier, I removed the helmet and took a deep breath.
Pulling myself upright, I leaned heavily on the hood of the car. The cop car's front-end was mashed. Windshield glass littered the tunnel, and its air bag had ballooned on impact as well. Wails from the siren filled the tunnel.
More police could not be far behind I knew, yet I hesitated. I hated myself for even thinking about leaving behind a cop who was injured and could be dying. I had to remind myself that it was me that caused the officer harm, and that I'd done it to buy myself time – all of which I was wasting, standing here feeling morally corrupt. My feet betrayed my brain and started moving closer to the driver's side window of the cop car.
I've got to get out of here, I told myself, but my step quickened as I moved up to the door. Inside, I could see the officer slumped back in the seat, pinned by the air bag. Blood smeared her forehead. I checked for a pulse at her throat. I found it – weak but steady, thank God. I knew better than to try to move her; her back could be broken. She'd been lucky, and so had I. At least vehicular manslaughter wouldn't be added to my long list of crimes.
Now what to do? There really wasn't anywhere to run. The traffic tunnels went on for kilometers. I only had two options if I decided to try to make it on foot: forward, or back the way I came. The cops would know that and close off both ends. Without a crowd to blend into or a working invisibility suit, I'd be an easy target to trace.
The wreckage of the car I'd stolen looked like a crumpled wad of paper. The bumper hung off the frame at an odd angle, and the lid of the trunk had popped open. Suddenly, an idea hit me.
Without opening the car door, I reached between the cop's legs and pulled the trunk release. Thankfully, despite the crash, the mechanism worked, and the trunk opened with a pop.
I quickly made my way around to the rear end of the vehicle and crawled inside. Pulling the trunk lid down, I wondered how the hell I was going to get out once the lock latched. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the slip of paper that Michael had written his LINK address on.
"Well, he said I should use this in the case of an emergency," I muttered. Putting the paper carefully on the latch, I pulled the lid down as far as it would go and held it there. Now it would look closed, but I wouldn't be trapped. I should be safe, and remain undetected as long as I could hold the lid tightly enough.
Without the helmet to show infrared, the darkness in the trunk was absolute. I had to forcibly remind myself not to let in even a sliver of light. The air smelled like rubber and oil, and I could feel something wet where my cheek pressed against the scratchy upholstery. Shifting my legs around, I tried to find a comfortable position. This was one time I was glad I wasn't overly tall. I settled down to wait.
Deidre?
At the sound of my name, I knocked my head painfully against the rim of the spare wheel. For heaven's sake, Page. I forgot you were there.
I know. His pout was evident even in the darkness. You really know how to make a boy feel appreciated, you know that?
I shut my eyes and let myself go deeper into the connection with the uniform. Making sure I could still sense my body enough to keep track of how tightly I held on to the latch, I called up the image of the page. Behind my eyes, the page looked battered. His hair was mussed, his usually pristine clothes were stained, and his collar was akimbo. The page even went so far as to bruise his cheek. I chuckled under my breath; only a bodiless AI would think of wounds as an affectation.
Page! I decided to give him what he wanted. You look terrible. Are you okay?
No thanks to you, he said, his bottom lip out, arms crossed across his chest. You take crummy care of your equipment.
I'm sorry, I said, as I adjusted my equipment pressed against my temple. My neck was twisted in an odd angle. Holding on to the thin wire, I tried to get comfortable in the cramped space of the trunk. But I'd be nicer to you if I thought you'd help me fight the LINK-Michael
Mouse's page looked taken aback. You think kindness can be bartered? You're worse than Mouse.
Stop pouting, Page. You know I'm teasing you.
Hmph. He recrossed his arms in front of his chest.
However, I said, time is running out. If Michael is going to be released at midnight Greenwich Mean Time, that's – I did some mental calculation – six o'clock in the evening here. Prime time. A coincidence?
Knowing Mouse, probably not, the page grumbled.
Outside, I could hear the siren joined by another. My stomach lurched in fear; they would be here soon. I tugged on th
e trunk, gripping it tighter.
I have to get a message to Michael. Can we risk going on-line for a microsecond?
Mouse's page pinched his lips together in disgust. If it were really a microsecond, I'd say yes. But you humans can never process anything that fast.
I smiled. Are you volunteering, Page?
The siren cut off. Someone outside had flipped the switch. That could only mean that the police were on the scene. I held my breath and strained to hear the sounds of approaching footsteps.
Okay, the page said. I'll do it only because I can open up a connection, send the message, and get out before you could even finish flipping the go-ahead.
I lifted the latch a hair and removed the paper Michael had given me with his address. A thin shaft of bright light sliced through the darkness. Squinting at the swirling script of Jibril's handwriting, I read off Michael's address to the page. Then, I added, If everything goes well, tell him to meet me at the impound lot.
The page nodded, and the window closed. Pressing the paper back into the latch, I slowly lowered the lid again. The trunk was plunged into absolute darkness.
I heard more voices outside. The sounds were muffled and strange, but I thought I made out the word "dogs." My heart pounded in my ear, and I risked a short, thin breath.
The paper crinkled as someone leaned against the trunk. I held my breath, hoping the lock wouldn't punch through. Then, a heavy clank shook the car. As the back end lifted up, I banged against the sides of the small space. When I felt the wheels moving, I started to relax. They were towing the police car; I'd be in the impound lot in no time.
The familiar window began to open in the corner of my vision.
Took you long enough. I smiled expectantly at the screen.
Opened all the way, the window was blank. The empty screen glowed a deep blue.
Page?
Like black ink injected into a pool of clear water, the edges of the screen started to swirl and dissolve into the darkness that surrounded me.
FEAR. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. The trunk was too small, too tight. The page's window had gone completely dim, blending with the blackness of the space. Darkness surrounded me; I was trapped. Blind, I could feel the airlessness of the confined area bearing down on me. I took shallow breaths, and, despite the stuffy warmth of the trunk, my muscles shuddered involuntarily. Sweat beaded on my forehead and tickled under my armpits.
A ghost of a form slithered through the window. I leapt back from the vision, banging my head on the backseat. The sudden dull pain brought me to the present, and I realized what was happening. Shutting my eyes, I concentrated on breathing slowly and steadily. "You can't scare me, Phanuel," I whispered hoarsely. "I know this is just one of your LINK parlor tricks."
FEAR. Like a physical blow, the emotion hit me. I curled into a tight fetal ball. A whimper escaped, unbidden, from between clenched teeth, and I started rocking back and forth. Involuntarily, I let go of the latch, the paper slipped out, and the trunk began to open.
I tried to reach for the lid, but fear immobilized me, and spiders scuttled along my nerve endings. I hugged myself tightly as another wave of the shakes racked my body. Part of my brain knew that the LINK-angel was not real, that it was just a sophisticated program searching out my fear center, but that didn't make it any easier to resist. Overcome by a desire to run, my feet kicked out blindly.
A sharp turn shook the frame, and the trunk bounced open wider. Light streamed inward, and dispersed the darkness, waking me. I clamped down hard on my teeth; the pain distracted me from the emotion that gripped me in its icy clutches. I had to gain control before the tow-truck driver noticed that the lid of the trunk had sprung open.
But what could I do? I couldn't run, and Phanuel was too strong for me simply to shut him out. I had to face him. I bit my cheek to give me sharper focus. Then, squeezing my eyes shut, I expanded the page's window until it filled the space behind my eyelids. With all the courage I could muster, I called out into the darkness. Where are you, Phanuel? I'm not afraid of you.
Inside the window, smoke slithered at my feet like snakes. The tendrils grew up from the floor, and wisps of mist crawled along an invisible form. They twined upward until they reached a height of seven feet or more. Growing dense, the skeletal lattice of holes filled, and I saw the murky outline of a winged beast.
The sound of dry autumn leaves shaking in a November wind whispered, Be afraid.
The LINK-angel had completely materialized. Dark robes waved, as if in a soft breeze. Crow black wings extended fully behind him. In his bony hand, he held a scythe, the symbol of his office. A rotting death stench blended with the sickly-sweet smell of funeral incense.
The tingle of fear fluttered in my stomach, but I bit the inside of my cheek until I drew blood. Lights blinked behind Phanuel in the haze, and I knew they represented the open gateway to the LINK. Apparently, the page had left the LINK access open, and that gave me an idea. With deliberate patience, I circled Phanuel cautiously.
You're just a ghost in the machine ... a machine I am master of, I said, moving closer to the blinking lights of the open LINK port. You can't frighten me, construct.
Phanuel raised his cloaked head sharply at my words. His bone white forehead glowed in stark contrast to the murky twilight that surrounded us. Empty eye sockets glared at me.
I felt myself hesitating, wanting to run. Though the metallic taste of blood was already in my mouth, I bit down harder, superseding the fear with pain.
The twinkling lights intensified. The open LINK port was just behind my back. Phanuel stood inside the uniform's space, and I between him and the freedom of the LINK. I stopped my slow circling – ready for the kill.
Help. A desperate squeak came from inside the form of Phanuel. Something protruded from the LINK-angel's stomach. No bigger than my fist, the shape pounded at the material of the robe, like something trying to get out. Originally, I'd thought Phanuel's abdomen squirmed with maggots, but looking at him now I wasn't so sure. A tiny white paw emerged from the twisting folds of the robe. For all the world it looked like a ... Mouse.
Page?
Deidre? Help me get out of this thing.
I will. But be ready, I said, quickly amending my plans. I started moving again, regretfully leaving behind the open LINK portal. Let the page go, Phanuel.
Unbelievers must cower in fear, the angel hissed, flapping his wings to accent his point. A cold wind pushed at my avatar, and my feet felt heavy, as though I were walking through clay. Phanuel's eyes followed me, pulling into their grave-dark depths. Like the kiss of death, a whisper of wet breeze caressed my ear. I could feel myself slowing, succumbing to Phanuel's spell. I bit my lip again, but it didn't seem to help.
Dee ... The page's voice was insistent, hopeful. A bony claw pushed at the mouse image, shoving it deeper into the angel's bowels.
I had to make my move now, or the page would be lost in the LINK-angel's code. The LINK portal glittered behind Phanuel's dark wings. I took a ragged breath to steady myself. Back in real time, I jerked my head backwards until I collided painfully with the tire's rim. The self-inflicted blow brought sharp stars behind my eyes, nearly overwhelming the LINK-landscape.
The intense pain vanquished the debilitating fear, and I sent my avatar rushing toward Phanuel. My vision was riveted to his skeletal face. The angel's slack jaw widened in a howling cry.
As my avatar passed through the LINK-angel's construct, I grabbed for the page's code. I felt the mouse's tail in my grip. Coming out the other side of the LINK-angel, Phanuel dissolved around me, dripping from my avatar like ink. The black liquid of Phanuel's image pooled around my feel and began to re-form. I tossed the squirming page out the doorway to the LINK. Quickly, I closed the door, cutting off the uniform to the outside.
Behind me, I could feel the torrential wind of Phanuel re-forming himself. In real time, I opened my eyes to bright light streaming into the trunk. With cramped fingers, I pulled the LINK conn
ection from my forehead.
"Going to hardboot you into the great beyond, you creepy son of a bitch," I told the LINK-angel trapped in the armored suit.
Pulling open the jacket's magnetic connectors, I cut the power to all of the uniform's functions. With a wicked smirk, I said, "Ha!"
Grabbing for the bobbing trunk, I held the latch slightly open, as the paper I'd used as a wedge was gone. After counting slowly to ten, I reconnected the jacket and waited as the uniform rebooted itself. I placed the LINK filament on my receiver and tentatively opened the uniform's window. The screen was blank: no trace of Phanuel. Now if I could retrieve Mouse's page ... Opening an outside channel to the LINK, I waited. The lights pulsed steadily beyond the door, and I strained to see the page's avatar among the swirling colors.
"Please come back to me, Page," I whispered to myself. After my run-in with Phanuel, I worried that the other LINK-angels might be on the prowl. I didn't want to leave the LINK door open for too long, but the page could be damaged or confused.
The LINK glittered coldly. If I gave up on him now, I told myself, I could check back for him in a few minutes. Just as I reached to close the connection, a white mouse scuttled in between my feet. I closed the door once he was inside.
Thank God you're okay, I said, kneeling down to inspect the rodent.
Oh, Dee ... I hadn't known you cared, the mouse said, rubbing against my outstretched hand. Especially after the way I treated you.
I pulled back my hand. Mouse.
The one and only, and I do mean one and only."
What have you done with the page? My avatar stood up. I opened the doorway, intending to kick Mouse back onto the LINK.
The mouse sat back on his haunches to peer up at me with beady eyes. With a flick of whiskers, he said, Nothing yet, but when I get my hands on him, I'm going to strip him apart ... line by line.
Despite myself, I chuckled. Mouse, if you're going to make threats like that, you really ought to choose a different avatar. You have no idea how silly you look.
Archangel Protocol Page 31