Archangel Protocol

"People believe in the LINK-angels," I countered. "Isn't pulling off miracles your whole gig?"

"That's exactly why I can't just pull the plug on them."

"You could do that?" My eyes were wide.

"Only the mind and will of Man is beyond my purview."

I sputtered. Now he was acting like the wireheads I knew, with their I-rule-the-world-by-my-genius-alone attitude.

"Right," I said sarcastically. "Come back to Earth, Michael. You're taking this archangel role too seriously. Anyway, if that were true, why would you need me?"

"I can't expose my involvement ... not until the very end."

"I get it," I said. "If you're the first Michael, you can't afford to have Letourneau find out you intend to rat him out, not until showtime."

He nodded, and stopped pacing.

"Where am I at the end, when the curtain comes down, Michael? Center stage?"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. He stood with his legs slightly apart, like an athlete. The line his body formed was arrow-straight. My mind returned unconsciously to the vision of the LINK-angel with the flaming sword. I swallowed hard. He said, "You think I'm looking for a scapegoat."

"I do," I murmured.

"I have no intention of making you the fall guy." His voice was assuring. "When this is through I promise you that you will be revered."

"More likely I'll be burned at the stake. Mike, you've got to respect my position here. I need something concrete, some proof that you really can bring Letourneau down before I invest in this caper of yours. If the LINK-angels are a fraud, and I help you expose them, I'm going to be one hell of a lot less popular than I am now ... and I'm already as far down in official approval as I care to go."

"I can offer you two things, Deidre." Michael leaned over the desk. We were face-to-face. "First, the LINK." His gray eyes locked on mine, and I tried to keep the deep desire from surfacing. I quickly shut my eyes before he could sense my desperation. It was too late.

"I know exactly how much that means to you, Deidre. You've lived in silence a long time, shu

"The LINK and my reputation back." I opened my eyes slowly. "I guess you know how to make me an offer I can't refuse, don't you?"

"We can still make the appointment tonight." He held out a hand.

"Are you sure you're not the Devil himself come to tempt me?" I smiled weakly and took his hand. A brilliant warmth enveloped me. It was as if, outside, night had become day, and the sun had broken through the clouds.

"Yes," his voice floated into my consciousness, "of that I'm certain."

Excerpt from the New York Times multimedia, 3-D graphics interface, from April 1, 13:05:76, ... text– or audio-only format available for the user-impaired.

April 1, 2076 13*05*28

CHRISTENDOM NODE, PARIS.

A real-time assault was carried out against the Paris node earlier this morning. Though hardware damage was sustained during the attack, emergency sysop crews from the French Christendom Commonwealth were able to reroute the systems through a provincial backup power source in a matter of hours.

The shock of the sudden loss of LINK functions sent seventy-two people into severe cyber-trauma. Hospitals are overloaded, but no cyber-related fatalities have been reported thus far (hot-link to continually updated hospital reports).

Traffic control also suffered during the LINK-attack. Twenty-three accidents happened as a direct result of cyber-trauma. Miraculously few people were seriously injured. French Traffic Control sysop, Andre Montenque had this to say, regarding the surprisingly low number of serious accidents, "The French, we're already crazy drivers ... If nothing, we know how to drive defensively."

Experts have also reported surprise at the low number of cyber-trauma and cyber-shock victims. American biotech surgeon Christine Robinov, who was instrumental in aiding damage control during last month's attack in Helsinki, explained, "The only people affected dramatically by this kind of hardware terrorism seem to be those engaged in some form of multiprocessing. High-level system operators and LINK-maintenance workers – anyone who can't make a quick node transfer – are the ones we see most in the hospital."

No group has claimed responsibility for the Paris attack, but Christendom spokesperson Shelia McEvers believes this to be the work of the LINK-terrorist group known as Malachim Nikamah. (hot-link here to discussion of the Malachim Nikamah, and their history of terrorism in Christendom and beyond.) "The method is very similar," she said. "Cruelty like this could only come from a non-Christian group like the Malachim shel Nikamah. Who else would do this kind of crazy, destructive thing?"

The Nation of Islam cautioned the Vatican regarding issuing broad statements against non-Christians, but joined in denouncing today's attack. Both superpowers donated extensively to the relief fund, (hot-link here to see actual donations sent.)

The French government has increased security around its hardware nodes and cautioned other governments in Christendom to do the same. Any citizen wishing to route through French nodes must follow the international law of full-disclosure. The French sysops have a

French president Anton LeLand told real-time reporters, "This kind of terrorism is the work of agents of the Antichrist. They must be stopped."

Chapter 7

Michael let us in the apartment complex and led me down a flight of stairs. I stayed two steps behind him. Parking up a couple of levels was my idea. Bad enough I had to park my classic in Hell's Kitchen, the least I could do was stow it in the slightly more affluent upper levels.

At apartment 301, Michael stopped and knocked once. Without waiting for a response, he entered. I hesitated only briefly before following him through.

"Gabe?" Michael called out. Water came on in the back of the apartment. Followed by the clinking sound of someone doing dishes. Michael headed toward the sound. "Gabe?"

Michael didn't invite me to follow him into the kitchen, so I closed the door behind me. I heard the lock engage automatically. A large tricolor flag spa

The walls were as thin as the cloth, and street noise filled the tiny apartment. Gaudy wallpaper peeled away from the edges of a water-stained ceiling, and a single bare lightbulb hung dangerously overhead. Despite the harsh light it cast, the apartment felt homey. Brick-and-board bookshelves lined most of the walls and under the windows. Five worn but comfortable-looking chairs circled about a battered end table. The smell of dark-roasted coffee wafted in from somewhere and mingled with the strong aroma of curry.