"No," I cried, watching Michael's body tumble into seven pieces. "Don't go!"
Swallowing his flesh, the fire popped with joy. A hiss from the bush seemed to say, "We love you."
"No!" The coolness of the air startled me, and I blinked. The houselights were up, and people moved through rows and rows of plush seats. The curved vaulted ceilings bounced the sound of voices around the hall until the noise jumbled together into a pleasant and excited thrum. Carved columns supported the proscenium arch of the stage. A crew of people were busily setting up podiums and positioning LINK-sensory camera connections.
I blinked again, even though part or me knew I wouldn't see him, I whispered, "Michael?"
"Deidre, darling!" A tall Asian woman waved at me from the central aisle. Her bobbed haircut bounced around heavy dream-catcher earrings as she made her way up the row of seats to where I stood under the balcony – blinking and bewildered.
Reaching me, the woman gave me a measured look through long lashes. Her dress was tie-dyed and shimmered under the houselights. Putting her hands on her narrow hips, she frowned at my trench coat. "You're a little underdressed, honey, but it'll have to do."
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I looked past the woman to the stage, where workers were adding velvet drapes to the podiums. The chill of the theater's air-conditioning reminded me of the absence of a hot desert sun; even the bright stage lights lacked heat.
"I'm Ariel," the woman said, startling me by dropping her voice an octave. "The archangel Uriel. I'm here with some boys I think you know."
She pointed to the edge of the stage. In a turban and tux, Jibril's dark features stood out in the crowd. Raphael nodded in agreement to something Jibril said. "Where's Michael?" I asked.
"Oh, the poor lost lamb. He's ..." Ariel's smile crumpled at the edges. "Let's just say, karmically, he couldn't make a return trip ... just yet."
"Karma?" I looked Ariel up and down. "So, what are you? Buddhist or something?"
The tips of her black bob swished, and her earrings shook to and fro. Her smile showed crooked, masculine teeth. "Honey, do I look like a bodhisattva to you?"
I shrugged, moving out of the way as a couple stepped into the hall to find their seats.
"Well, I am. In the flesh, as it were," she said with a broad wink.
I nodded, but I wasn't really listening to her. "Michael is gone for good, isn't he?"
Dark lipstick became a sharp line. "I like to think positively, you know, PPT: 'Power of Positive Thinking' and all that," she said. Lightly taking hold of my elbow, she herded me into the hall. "The boys like to obsess on the Old Testament – all that flooding and Sodom's destruction – but don't listen to them; it'll only raise your blood pressure. I believe, ultimately, that whatever higher power there might be is a forgiving, loving entity. You have to trust in it."
I made the appropriate uh-huh noises, but I was thinking of Michael consumed by the holy fire. I would never see the Michael I knew again, I was sure of it. If there was one thing Michael forced me to appreciate, it was that our flesh defines us. Even if he came back, he would not be in the same form; I had lost him.
The boys, as Ariel had called them, seemed to know it, too. Raphael's eyes watched mine warily, sympathetically. Jibril shook his head sadly, and said, "It's the final hour, Deidre. Are you ready?"
I nodded solemnly, not trusting myself to speak yet.
"Spirit never dies," Ariel said, her breezy manner abandoned momentarily. "Like energy it can neither be destroyed nor created, only transformed."
I turned away to watch the stage. The podiums and cameras were in place, and the crew had left the stage. A hush permeated the concert hall, which was filled to capacity. Nearly everyone had taken a seat. "Do you know what time it is?" I asked Raphael.
"Six on the dot," he said.
The lights dimmed, and a young man stepped out onto the stage. Clearing his throat nervously, he said, "Reverend Letourneau's plane has been delayed."
The crowd rippled with disapproval.
"It should only be a matter of minutes," the nervous aide assured the audience. "Rabbi-Senator Grey has nobly offered to begin with his opening remarks."
From where we stood, I could see the senator standing behind a heavy velvet traveler curtain. Like his name, his hair and beard were a steely gray. Though his body was trim and athletic, he looked at least sixty, perhaps older. Even from a distance, I could see the sharp glitter of his eyes; he looked meaningfully at the four of us, as though he understood the significance of our presence.
The crowd rumbled again. Like a roll of thunder, the noise started in the far end of the hall, growing louder and angrier as it moved up the rows.
"It's starting," I murmured, watching as the back row staggered to their feet. The maliciousness of Letourneau's plan made me laugh. "That bastard. LINK-Michael will cause a riot, and then some stand-in for Letourneau will show up just in time to pretend to calm the beast, making it look like Letourneau saved the day. Clever. Evil, but clever."
"What should we do?" Raphael asked.
"Keep the rabbi from physical harm," I said, pointing at Grey. "I'm going to see if I can distract the LINK-angel before any damage gets done."
The angels leapt up onto the stage as one. They made a strange sight: Muslim in turban and tux; Israeli Jew in full military uniform; and Asian New Age drag queen striding purposefully toward where Grey waited in the wings. To his credit, Grey seemed unafraid.
Security met the angels halfway across the stage, but was quickly distracted by the possessed audience swelling toward the podiums.
I settled into a crouch in the corner where the stage met the wall. Attaching the filament to my receiver, I entered the uniform.
Page? I scanned the uniform's contents for the AI.
Here, the page said, popping into view. Still the small mouse, his avatar looked rested. His whiskers quivered, testing the air. What's going on out there?
Michael has ... I choked at the mention of his name, my mouth drying like a desert plain. I swallowed my grief, and started over. The LINK-angel has been released. I'm going to try to stop it.
The mouse shook his head, and this tail quivered in fear. What are you going to do, Dee?
I sighed, but squared my shoulders. I don't really know. I'm hoping it will come to me.
The mouse icon blinked. A shake of its furry head transformed the mouse into a human image, with a face full of bewilderment. That's your grand plan? It'll come to me? Great. We're screwed.
You have a better idea?
The page's face scrunched up in thought. He was silent for mere seconds, and I wondered how many scenarios the page was able to run in that time. How about a blackout?
Can you do that?
I have access to Mouse's power connections, but I can't affect anything in the physical world.
An idea sparked, and hope surged briefly in my heart. So, what you're saying is that we need some terrorists. Someone who could, say, physically smash the black boxes in the subway system. I was thinking of Rebeckah or even the Gorgons.
The page frowned. If LINK-Michael has been unleashed, it might be difficult for me to get a message to anyone.
I'll worry about that. You do what you can to screw up Mouse's system.
The page beamed with pleasure. Okay. Sounds like now you've got a plan.
I nodded, even though the page couldn't really see the expression. We opened the connection to the LINK. Darkness subdued the usual glitter of the space. The angel's presence oozed around us, dampening the normal vibrancy of the space.
Shit, the page whispered beside me. This is worse than I imagined.
Go, I said. I'll get the message to Rebeckah.
With a cascade of light, the page disappeared into the ether. I stepped out into the LINK. The LINK-Michael had infected the crowd through the entertainment and news channel. My avatar interpreted the sensation by showing thick, slimy tentacles undulating through the ceiling of a tunnel and disappearin
g into the floor. The air held a charred smell, like wet burned toast. I grabbed the nearest feeler and yanked hard. Moist flesh slithered through my fingers.
You're not going to make this easy for me, are you, Mouse? I said. This time I punched at the waving palp. Continuing to pull and punch, I danced through the narrow band, calling him out. Are you afraid to fight me? Are you scared I'm going to kick your ass just like I did Phanuel's?
That got a reaction. Rearing out of the floor, two tentacles reached out. Their slippery wetness enveloped me. Curling around the body of my avatar, the feelers hugged me tightly. At first the feeling was welcoming and warm – dark, but not threatening, like snuggling under a feather comforter at night. Suffocating heaviness descended next. Panic rose in my throat, but the pressure in my skull squeezed tightly, pushing my consciousness deeper and deeper. I fell back into that place that I watched myself from when I was a practicing wire-junkie.
The distinct, floating part of my mind became aware of my body shifting in real time. The LINK-angel twitched my muscles, as if testing out the controls of a new machine. Through the angel's senses, I felt a familiar heaviness in my breasts. Observing my body in this way, I understood what had happened to Rebeckah's male sysops. Most men were still socialized to be able to distance themselves from their bodies – wire-wizards even more so. The more into the machine you could go, the faster your interface was. Thus, the LINK-angels were able to devour them whole.
On the other hand, most women were brought back, once a month, like it or not, to the sensations and needs of their bodies. That's why Sharron had been able to function where Rebeckah's male hackers had not.
Feeling the heaviness in my womb, my body was telling me I was pregnant ... pregnant with Michael's child. Michael had sacrificed to get me here, and I refused to let me down. No matter how hard and how deep LINK-Michael pushed on my consciousness, part of me stubbornly clung to the physical realm. I used that to my advantage now. Opening my eyes in real time, I thrust my back firmly into the corner, resisting the angel's command to stand. My body twisted with the effort and flopped hard against the floor. At the same moment, I sent out a plea for help to Sharron, Rebeckah, or any Malach on the web. As double insurance, I sent out a message to Dancer via Michael's credit counter. I told her that if she could gather enough friends to smash Mouse's boxes in the tunnels, I'd find a way to get her in the front door of some restaurant.
Before I could get a response, I was yanked away by searing pain.
Curse you, McMannus, Mouse said, with LINK-Michael's deep echoing voice. I don't want to hurt you – not really.
Pain cut like a knife across my abdomen. I wanted to disconnect, but I was too far out on the LINK for that move to be safe. Curling around my stomach, I gasped in pain. I tried to stay focused on my body, to think about breathing, the baby, but the pain centers the LINK-Michael manipulated were part of me as well.
Switching tactics, I tried sending another message to the Malachim on broadband.
No one hears you, the LINK-Michael informed me. I can block your pathetic attempts at communication.
The page is headed toward the hub, Mouse, my avatar hissed through clenched teeth. In real time air escaped in bubbles between clenched teeth. We're going to pull your plug. Expose you like Oz behind the curtain.
Bullshit, Mouse spit, cramping the muscles across my back.
I cried out in pain, shinnying along the floor like a crab. You think he won't betray you? I sputtered, You ... you should have told him about the Pope.
Mouse hesitated. I sensed other ears listening intently; the octopus tentacles of LINK-Michael projected our conversation into the minds of the others he possessed.
Using the angel technology to kill the Pope was a stroke of genius, Mouse. Proto-Michael possessed Daniel, didn't he? Feeding his anger ... moving his body like a puppet. Did you attack me just to see if it could be done – directed at a specific person ... ?
My accusations stopped. Prone, I could feel the weight of my back pressing down on lungs that suddenly stopped working. I no longer took in air on my own. Mouse had upped the ante, and I was out of chips.
I'd always hoped to think of something clever at moments like this, but all I could think was: Fuck. Breathe, damn it, breathe. Despite my pleading, my lungs refused to obey my commands. My muscles spasmed as I tried to flop onto my back to relieve some of the pressure. Veins stood out on my neck, tight with lack of oxygen. My head felt light.
My eyes opened, and I saw flames licking at my flesh. The tongues danced along the material of my trench coat, but there was no pain. I smelled the spicy scent of crushed bay leaves, and I knew I was dying. My mind whispered a prayer, my first in years, Let Rebeckah or Dancer get my message.
A year ago, the idea of dying would have frightened me, but Morningstar had kindled the ember of faith left in my heart. I felt myself moving upward, floating toward the surface. The sun-speckled surface of the water Michael's archer shot through glowed above. The dark haze that shrouded the LINK lifted, and glittering stars shone in the sky. Tentacles receded, and I surrendered.
Your faith is admirable, Deidre, but this is an exceedingly bad time to die, a warm, familiar voice said.
Michael? Then, I asked, Morningstar?
The voice didn't answer. I felt something akin to a push, and then I buoyed upward toward ... Consciousness. A harsh gulp of air brought the pain back to my body. My lungs heaved with the effort to make up for lost breath.
I opened my eyes, surprised to be alive. I lay facedown on the polished wood stage. Though the stage lights shone in my eyes, I could see the gathered crowd. They continued to push against the security guards, and in a moment they would overwhelm them. Lifting my head, I could see the angels standing in a tight guard around Rabbi Grey. By nearly dying, I had escaped the LINK-Michael, but, from the blank looks on the faces of the angry mob, he was not gone from the LINK.
I'd escaped, but my plan had failed. I struggled to my feet, just as a collective roar came from the crowd. I ran toward Rabbi Grey and the angels, just as the mob broke over the security guards like a flood over a dike.
"Get him out of here! To the trade tunnels!" I shouted, but I doubted I could be heard over the din. As I was swept up in the flow of bodies, I opened my LINK connection. I wasn't sure what I'd do, but I hoped to reason with the crowd. Before I could hail a broadband channel, an incoming message icon filled my vision.
Who could possibly get through all this noise, I asked, as I flipped the go-ahead. I wondered if someone, some angel, had answered my prayers with a miracle.
It's us. A double vision of Rebeckah and the page filled my screen. We got your message and are in position, Rebeckah's avatar said.
We'll do it for chocolate, piped in Dancer and a frightening multiple image of a gaggle of Gorgons.
Do it now! I told Rebeckah and the page.
Around me the crowd pressed to where the angels guarded Rabbi Grey. I could hear a rain of fists and the tearing of clothes, as the crowd pummeled the angelic defenses. Though they were angels, their flesh was real here on Earth, I reminded myself. They couldn't hold off the crowd forever.
Then, through my LINK connection, I felt a popping sensation. It shook the foundation of the LINK. High-pitched sproings, like suspension-bridge cables giving way, ricocheted through all the channels of the LINK. I felt my feet begin to drop out from under me.
Before my eyes, the LINK-angel crumbled to dust.
* * *
PolLINK feed, back on-line.
"MOUSE" ARRESTED
In a scandal that nearly brought down the LINK, the hacker known only as "Mouse" was arrested today for impersonating political candidate Etienne Letourneau.
Mouse will be transported to the New Jersey State Penitentiary while awaiting trial. He has already made claims of diplomatic immunity. The United Nations, however, in light of current events, has disbarred mouse.net from its customary status as a sovereign "nation." Russia, whose entire network op
erates via mouse.net, has petitioned for Mouse's release. [Hot-link here for more on that political debate.] "You won't keep me behind bars," Mouse shouted as he was taken away from Carnegie Hall late yesterday evening.
"Even if he's not guilty of perpetrating the myth of Letourneau and the LINK-angels, Mouse is certainly responsible for the LINK-outage that happened during the prime-time debates," alleged Captain Allaire Morgan of the New York Police Department. "We can keep him locked up for a while for that."
It is unknown, at this point, whether or not Letourneau ever was a real person, but sources believe it is highly unlikely. More likely, Mouse managed to create the entire persona of Letourneau electronically.
"What is most disturbing," says congressional colleague Pastor-Senator Dwayne Smith, "is that I feel like I knew the guy. He attended several of my online parties, and, well, I'd thought we were friends. Now I find he's completely constructed. It's unreal."
Smith's reaction is not uncommon in the Senate and elsewhere. Many people still don't believe that Letourneau may have never existed in real time. Neighbors of the Colorado ranch where Letourneau supposedly lived said, "I still say he was a good neighbor – real or not. I guess I just figured the man was a recluse. Ain't nothing wrong with that."
"In a way," said one friend who wished to remain anonymous, "he was as real as he needed to be. I had more meaningful interactions with him than I do with friends I know exist in real time. Honestly, I'm going to miss him. I intend to have a funeral in his honor."
A "funeral" for Letourneau will be held in his hometown at the church where he preached. When asked how they felt to discover their reverend might be a construct, one member of the congregation had this to say. "I think he was a fine preacher, and I still say he might have been a messenger from God about the Second Coming. Angels are supernatural, which means they don't exist in nature yet good Christians believe in them, don't they? So, there's no reason to discount what Letourneau said just because he's not real in our usual definition of that term."
Archangel Protocol Page 33