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 the 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 connection 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.
The mouse's black eyes narrowed, and he darted up my leg. His claws, like needles, scratched my thigh. I tried to bat him off me, but he was too fast. Finding the exposed flesh of my hand, he bit down with sharp teeth.
Opening my eyes, I cried out in pain and grasped at the virtual wound that throbbed far too realistically. I pulled the LINK connection from my temple. The snap of electricity arched between the filament and my receiver, as I severed the active connection, but it was nothing compared to the sharp pain in the soft flesh between my thumb and forefinger.
I could have killed myself disconnecting like that, but Mouse's bite surprised me. Subconsciously, I'd gambled on the fact my connection, though open to the LINK, was more with the uniform. Though I could feel a headache starting, I was lucky.
"He bit me; Mouse bit me." In the light streaming into the open trunk, I inspected my hand. Turning it over and over, I checked for some mark. Of course there was nothing, but, as I wiggled my fingers experimentally, I could still feel the phantom teeth marks.
Pulling the lid into place one more time, I frowned. Stretching the aching muscles of my hand, I began to understand the seriousness of the page's warning about the LINK-Michael. Before now, the LINK had been exclusively virtual. Jordan Institute must have come up with LINK technology that not only could access emotions, but also exact pain centers. Having stolen that technology, Mouse had the ability to do real-time damage to his enemies. But, could he kill?
The damage I had done to the FBI agents was slightly different. After all, they were completely cybernetically enhanced; their entire body pulsed through complex interconnects of biology and computer technology. When I had "stopped" them, I had severed the line of communication between computer and synapses. I still wasn't certain how I'd done it; apparently, Jibril's biotech came with a few built-in miracles.
As a kid, I'd heard stories of people who had scared themselves to death or died of loneliness. After my battle with Phanuel, I was beginning to believe that was possible, at least in part. I could have stayed caught in his web of fear until my heart burst or I starved to death. If the LINK-Michael's purview was violence, perhaps Mouse intended to send enough anger over the LINK to cause a riot, or worse.
I shook out my hand. The soft flesh still throbbed. Clearly, since Mouse had the precision to send pain to specific nerves, the LINK-Michael might be able to tell the brain to shut down its involuntary functions, like breath and heartbeat.
"Damn," I whispered under my breath. If Mouse could send the LINK-Michael to stop a person's heart, he could kill anyone on the LINK. I had to locate the page and find out whom he thought Mouse might target ... besides me.
One answer sprang to mind. Mouse was clearly in league with Letourneau, and, right now, Letourneau's greatest enemy was his opposition in the presidential race – Rabbi-Senator Grey. From all the advertisements I'd seen, the public outcry for a real-time debate was high. If Letourneau was in fact a virtual personality as some people suspected, then he would need a distraction tonight. LINK-Michael was scheduled to wreak havoc tonight at prime time. Not a coincidence, obviously.
The tow truck slowed. I moved the latch as far down as it would go without connecting to the lock. Loud clanks and clunks signaled the car being released from the tow truck. An engine revved, and the truck sped away.
When I felt that I was alone, I released my death grip on the latch and opened the trunk a sliver. Bright, artificial light stabbed my eyes. I blinked away the watery tears and strained to hear voices. The impound lot appeared quiet and empty.
I stretched out my back, only to recoil quickly in pain. The ride had been rough, and my body protested every bump and tensed muscle. Pulling my legs over the lip of the trunk, I swung them back and forth. Pins and prickles danced along the pinched nerves.
As I'd hoped, the tow truck had taken me to the district police impound garage. Cars, most of them old and battered, stretched along the floor. Fluorescent bulbs snapped in the rafters. Somewhere up there a number of electronic cameras buzzed near the light like flies, sweeping the garage for activity.
I had to hide from them. Letting gravity do most of the work, I let myself stumble to the ground. Ignoring the pain, I shut the trunk and wedged myself under the car. Plascrete was rough and cool against my cheek. The thick, warm smell of old batteries mingled with the scent of rubber tires. I barely fit in the space between the tires and the electric rail connection, but tightness felt oddly comforting.
I shut my eyes and opened my connection to the armored suit cautiously. I ran a diagnostic and swept the area for any sign of Mouse. The LINK access door had been closed, and the uniform's interior appeared completely blank. As the search program completed, my avatar slid to a corner of the uniform. The search program illuminated the body of a mouse, lying flat on its stomach. I knelt to get a better look.
Closed, dark eyelashes stood out against the white fur. The little furry body was racked with deep, shallow breaths.
Page? I was certain Mouse would not leave an avatar behind inside the uniform. Since the LINK-door had been open when I off-lined, it would have been easy for Mouse to escape without being damaged. Besides, a non-AI avatar cut off from its host normally dissipated. Yet, Mouse had surprised me in the past, so I remained careful. Page? Is that you?
The little rodent shivered, and its eyes fluttered open. Dee?
It's me, Page. You're safe inside the uniform again. My hand stroked the fur on the image's back. I couldn't feel anything, as the action was virtual, but I hoped it gave the page comfort. It seemed to, as he stopped visibly shaking.
Mouse betrayed me completely, he said with a ragged breath.
You and me both, I assured him. You said the LINK-Michael is a killer. Who does Mouse want dead?
I ... I don't know.
Do you think it could be Grey?
I ... The page couldn't finish his thought; he was obviously strained. I felt bad for trying to pressure him.
I stood up. Rest here, Page. I'll figure it out. Just take care of yourself.
The page didn't respond, but I could see his breathing even out. With one last caress, I disconnected.
The next thing I heard was an urgent, hushed noise.
It took me a second to recognize the sound of my name. "Deidre."
I opened my eyes to see Michael crouched low, peering under the car. His hair was only slightly mussed, as if pulled askew by a slight breeze. On my body, I could smell the sweat and wet trunk. With a snort, I realized the worst aspect of keeping the company of angels: compared to them, you always looked like hell.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Why do I always have to ask: where were you? I thought you wanted to tag along to the meeting with Mouse to watch out for me. Instead, Satan came to my rescue."
Michael smiled. "I distinctly remember you saying you were tired of me rescuing you."
"Hmph. That's not much of an excuse." Even though I scraped painfully along the rough floor, I let Michael pull me upright.
"I'm sorry," Michael said. "I was on the roof. I saw the cops approach and was headed back toward you to warn you, when you came barreling down the road."
I smiled. Looking around, my eyes caught sight of a roving camera. "What about the security cameras?"
"We'll be all right."
"I thought miracles were too costly."
He smiled. "They are. I took care of things the old-fashioned way – I bribed someone."
We headed for the exit, and Michael held my hand. I shook my head, but gave him a smile. "My hero."
Michael squeezed my fingers tightly in response. Calluses I hadn't noticed before rubbed against my palm. There was something more solid in his grip, and I thought I felt sweat tickling between our entwined hands.
As we slipped through the gate, I caught a whiff of the smoldering smell of scorched metal. Someone, Michael I presumed, had cut the lock with a laser. The area where a guard normally stood just inside the doorway was conspicuously empty, and through the window I could see the blank screens of the video recorders. I wondered how Michael's friend would explain his absence and the destroyed chain.
"Where are we going?" Michael asked.
Pushing through the double doors, we entered an enclosed walkway. "To the Grey-Letourneau debate," I decided. "The page told me that Mouse is going to unleash your nemesis tonight at 0:00 GMT. That's when the debate is scheduled. Since the page told me that this Michael was a killer, my guess is he intends to assassinate Grey."
Checking his watch, Michael said, "It's after five o'clock now. That give us less than an hour."
I started to log on to the LINK to confirm, but, remembering the page, I stopped just in time.
"This is it then," Michael said quietly, sadness deepening his tone. Before I could ask him what he meant, Michael handed me a bundle of brown material he'd picked up when we passed the guard booth. "Put this on," he said.
Unraveling the cloth, I realized it was a trench coat. I shrugged into it, happy to be covering the stained and dirty uniform. One swish of the hem proved that the long material easily covered the bulky armor. "You've thought of everything haven't you?"
"Not everything. If we're going to save Grey from the LINK-angel, I'm going to have to contact the other archangels." Michael gave me another mysteriously sad smile as he pushed the button for the elevator.
"Okay," I said. "What's wrong?"
The door slid open with a ting. With a mock bow, Michael held the door for me. "It means I'll have to go back."
"Why?" I asked, stepping into the elevator.
"To assemble all of the archangels at once we need a miracle. If I go back, I can do that."
Cringing at the slight drop when Michael added his weight to the car, I held my breath as the doors swooshed shut. Michael pressed the button for the sixty-first floor, the public transportation level. From there we could catch a taxi, ride a bus, hop a bicycle, or take the El to Carnegie Hall, where the debate was scheduled.
"Can't you use another miracle without going back?"
"I could." Michael agreed, a sneer tightening his handsome face. "And become a dark one. I don't really think this is the best time for me to be switching sides, do you?"
"No." I watched Michael, who glanced patiently at the numbers scrolling on the display. The elevator slowed suddenly, and my knees buckled a little. "But, I don't get it. I thought your whole reason for being here was to stop this LINK-Michael. Why can't you use your powers to that end? Why does God make it so difficult to be good?"
"To make it worth it."
I rolled my eyes. We reached the sixty-first floor, and the door opened up to the public-transportation tube. The light was brighter here, augmented by fluorescent strips along the upper curve of the tunnel.
Shops lined the narrow walkway, and a crowd of people flowed around me. I was constantly amazed at the bustle of the city. Despite the fact that most people carried their offices in their heads, New Yorkers seemed to have an innate need to be on the move. After fighting our way to a city bus shelter, I plopped unceremoniously onto a bench and grumbled, "If being good means having to take the city bus, I can see why Satan is so much more popular."
Michael slid a credit counter into the ticket dispenser and punched in our destination code. His fingers jabbed at the keypad, and his face held a tight grimace. The machine spit out the tickets. When he moved away, other bus riders moved in to use the dispensers. Standing over me, he shielded our conversation from the gathering crowd. "I have struggled this whole time to be normal, human, mortal; all you seem to want is empty drama and quick fixes."
"That's not fair," I said. "I never asked for the LINK miracle or the one that healed me. What I want right now is to save Grey and come up with a way to stop Mouse. This is the first miracle I've asked for."
Michael's eyes watched the tips of his shoes, and the muscles of his jaw flexed. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glanced up at me. His eyes were full of guilt. "Deidre. I'm afraid to go back ... I think it would mean the end for me. ..."
A thrum reverberated in the shelter. I felt a pressure against my back and spun around to see a woman throwing herself against the shatterproof plastic. She was shouting; the muffled sounds were filled with incoherent rage. The woman stood in the middle of the walkway. Her hair was a mass of tangles, and her face crumpled into a tight frown. I would have thought her a relative of the Revelation preacher, but, despite her wild expression, her clothes were neat and trim. She wore a power suit of bright blue, but there was blood from her nose on her blouse. As she ran at the shelter again, I backed away.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked. People around me stared in horror and confusion.
I caught a businessman's eye, and said, "You, call the police."
Michael gripped my shoulders protectively. The woman crashed headlong against the plastic again, leaving a smear of blood. The plastic began to buckle, and this fueled her anger. The woman scratched and tore at the indentation she'd made like a wild dog.
People in the shelter screamed and scattered. A mother and child huddled in the farthest corner.
"Where are the police?" I muttered, looking around for another exit. "She's going to hurt herself."
An angry roar erupted at my side. Turning I saw the businessman I'd talked to clutching his head. Then, lifting his fingers from his eyes, he glared at me with pure hatred.
"I'm going to kill you!" the businessman screamed, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. He launched himself in my direction.
With a rush of air, Michael stood in front of me. One strong punch sent the possessed businessman sprawling backward. Another thrum echoed in the confined space, as the woman continued to beat against the bloodied plastic shield.
Ignoring his rapidly swelling jaw, the man in the business suit staggered to his feet. His eyes stayed locked on mine.
Michael pointed to the ticket dispensers. Catching his meaning, I scurried to the protected alcove between the two machines. I slid sideways between the humming dispensers and rested my arms against the cool metal.
The bus shelter erupted with noise; shrill screams of terror turned to guttural cries of anger. Around Michael's bulk, I could see all the eyes around us filled with dark emotion. The woman who'd been huddling in the corner with her child leapt up. The child, too young to have a LINK implant, looked bewildered.
"Michael," I said, "it's the LINK-angels. We've got to get out of here."
Turning to face me, Michael's arms were around me in a second. "I will do it. For you. Shut your eyes, Deidre."
"Why? Wha ..." My words were swallowed by a torrential wind. Lightning stabbed my eyes.
"Shut your eyes, Deidre," a calm voice intoned, as I felt myself rising, as if separating from my body. I had the distinct impression that if I were to look "down," I would see my body crumpled in the bus shelter. "We're going back."
" 'Back'? Back to heaven?" Panic made my voice tight.
* * *
Bob Courtland reporting in real time from Manhattan, in front of Carnegie Hall:
Bob:
"Thanks H.C. The crowd here is enormous. There are people stretching in both directions for kilometers on the pedestrian tube near the main entrance to Carnegie Hall. Police have had to arrest an unconfirmed number of adults who were attempting to gain foot access to the vehicle traffic level apparently trying to be the first to witness what type of vehicles in which the presidential candidates will arrive. To say the mood here is chaotic and exciting is an understatement."
H.C.:
"Tell us a little bit about what's happening down there, Bob."
Bob:
"Well, it's amazing. People have unplugged in a serious way. I've been talking to some of the crowd and several have said they joined the crowd just out of a need to be with other human beings on such a historic moment. Let's talk to this young lady. Hello? This is Bob Courtland from LINK-politics, can I ask you a few questions?"
Woman:
"Wow. The Bob.Courtland.pol LINK? You look so much shorter in real time. Do you think Letourneau is shorter than he seems in VR?"
Bob:
"It's hard to say. Is that why you're here today?"
Woman:
"I guess. I heard about all the people gathering here and I thought maybe it was some kind of sign or something, you know? I mean, if Letourneau is the Second Coming, then, maybe this moment is like the whole sermon on the mount/bread and fishes thing. Who would want to miss a thing like that? I mean, I want to be able to tell my kids I was there, you know?"
Bob:
"Thank you. Let's ask someone else. Ah, here, excuse me, sir, I'm Bob Courtland from LINK-politics, can I ask you a question?"
Man:
[waves] "Hi, Mom."
Bob:
"What brought you to Carnegie Hall today, sir?"
Man:
"I'm a big Grey supporter, see?" [points to tee shirt bearing slogan "Grey in 76 – REAL people's choice!"] "I've been to every one of Grey's talks. It's kind of an event, you know, getting out and meeting realtime people. I used to be this total plug-head, and I've had this epiphany, see? It's time to unplug and experience real-time real life ...
Bob:
"Uh, right. Moving on ..."