Archangel Protocol

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 co

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 Etie

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 operates 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."

Chapter 25

The glass shattered beneath the spade. Underneath the sheath of Medusa poison, I could see sandy soil. Since I was six months pregnant, Rebeckah forbade me from doing any of the shoveling, so I held the thin trunk of the sapling. Rebeckah hadn't even wanted me this close to the remaining glass sections of the kibbutz. But I'd kicked up a fuss, and, more practically, promised to wear the heaviest radiation armor we had.

Leaning into the shade from the hot sun, I could smell the bay leaves. I had to be here. After all, we were dedicating this tree to Michael. Looking across the compound I could see the other trees the kibbutz had planted, each dedicated to a fallen soldier. Daniel's sturdy oak had been our first experiment, and it was recovering nicely from the shock. We'd miscalculated how much extra sun and heat the glass would reflect, but now each of us took turns checking the soil and watering diligently. It would survive.

As would we. Rebeckah had formed the kibbutz at the edge of the glass city. Most of the complex was surrounded by a domed radiation shield, and we were slowly breaking up the glass perimeter. For every section of glass we broke, we added trees.

A red flash at the corner of my eye informed me the page had a message. I flipped the go-ahead switch.

Hey, home, I greeted the image of the page that popped into view. He affected his feminine aspect today, and wore colored robes that covered everything but a slit for the eyes.

Hey, girlfriend. Tell Rebeckah we've got company. Travelers at the door.

Tell her yourself, I said with a smile.

You're the sysop for the compound. Dee. You do it.

Sweat rolled off Rebeckah's back as she heaved another spadeful of dirt out of the glass, oblivious to our conversation. The muted light from the nearby plasti-shield cast strange-colored shadows along the curves of her muscles. We're planting a tree, I protested feebly. You know she hates being interrupted during a ceremony.

Believe me, I know. That's why I'm telling you to tell her. Anyway, these guys can't wait. They're demanding religious asylum.

I stood up straighter, nearly dropping the tree. The leaves shook noisily, and Rebeckah looked up from her work.

Asylum? I repeated. Who are they?

You've read about the prophet, right? the page asked me. Lately, I'd been notorious for not sca

News about the prophet, however, was hard to avoid.

After everything that had happened, Americans were skeptical about any talk of a messiah or a Second Coming. The LINK raged with debate. No one wanted to be duped again, and so the prophet had been branded an outlaw.

Though I'd never seen a vid of him, I'd heard all about his philosophy. From everything I'd learned from Michael, it hadn't been too far from the truth, as I understood it anyway. Still, no one liked to hear the truth, and everything the prophet said managed to piss off one faction or another. No wonder he was seeking asylum here; our kibbutz, like the Malachim before, was known for its open-door policy.

Let him in, Page. Rebeckah and I will meet him in the mess.

Rebeckah leaned against the shovel, eyeing me suspiciously. "Who was that?"

"Page. Apparently, a prophet is at our gate."

Rebeckah nodded and wiped the sweat from the back of her neck. "I hope you let him in."

"We're meeting him in the mess."

With a gesture, Rebeckah handed the shovel to another. Even though she no longer led the Malachim, she continued to have the ability to command with a look. It took me longer to find someone to relieve me of my burden. Finally, after handing off the tree to a disgruntled volunteer, I trotted to catch up with Rebeckah.