"Have faith." Michael put a hand on my shoulder. "Things may yet reveal themselves. We should join the others and give Rebeckah our condolences."
"Sure," I said, though I didn't really feel like being with other people. I followed Michael through a series of smaller and smaller hallways that snaked toward the back of the theater. As we passed an open door, I looked in. Piles of material and rows of finished costumes hung on racks, untouched by the glass. That not-unpleasant musty smell hung in the air, as we continued through to the back stage.
The Malachim had transformed the prop shop into a reception area. A couple of Gorgons were still setting up chairs and smoothing out tablecloths. There were others, like Matthew, who were non-Jews, but friends, and part of the Malachim cause, all doing their part. Rebeckah had gathered a family around her, and I suddenly realized the depth of her sacrifice.
The smell of roasting potatoes made my mouth water. I hadn't realized how hungry I was. I settled into line behind Michael to get some food. Once my plate was full, I continued following him to a table. I was so anxious to eat that it took me a beat to recognize Raphael as he stood up with open arms to greet us.
"Rafe!" Michael said, putting his plate down to clasp Raphael in his arms. As the two men held on to each other, the world seemed to stop. The sounds of the gathered Malachim hushed, and a noise like wind around gables whispered in my ears. A welcoming feeling crept through my toes, warming me. When they separated, my heart ached almost physically. The room filled with the echoes of chatter again.
A chirping noise broke my concentration. At the second ring, I realized it was my phone. I put my plate down.
Over Michael's shoulder, Raphael eyed me curiously. Very few people used phones anymore. "Excuse me," I said, turning away to answer it.
A hand on my shoulder prevented me from moving away. Michael asked, "Are you sure you should?"
"This thing is a lot less traceable than a LINK-up. Besides," I said, as the phone rang again, "I'm curious."
He raised his eyebrows at me, but let me go.
Pushing the video and voice button, I said, "Hello?"
"Hey, Dee, it's me." Mouse's voice was almost a whisper, and he gave a little embarrassed wave to the screen. The video was a grainy black and white. On the wall behind him, I could see graffiti splashed in a crazy conglomerate of halftones.
"Are you in a public access booth?" I was startled, I didn't know any of those were still functional. "How?"
"Hot-wired." He shrugged, as if it were something he did every day. Ironically, the image chose that moment to waver. "I'm embracing my roots: phone phreak."
I smiled. "I'm impressed."
With a nod of agreement, Mouse took the compliment in stride. "Nice uniform. You convert?"
I shook my head. I opened my mouth to explain how I ended up with the Malachim, but when I thought of Rebeckah, no words came.
"Uh-huh," Mouse said, interested, but not pushing it. "So, did you ever catch up with that escaped fox?"
Danny. Of course, Mouse wouldn't know. "Have you talked tp your page yet?"
"No. And, that's the other thing: I come back on-line, and everything is in chaos. No page in sight. Worse, someone breached my inner sanctum. My hub, Dee, my hub. I swear, if some two-bit hacker spiked me, I'll burn him."
I mustered all my courage and said, "Maybe you should send Phanuel after him."
The card I played made an almost audible snap hitting the table. Mouse's expressive face turned to stone. The only part of him that moved was his eyes, and they danced. Letting out a long, thin breath, he said, "I see." His voice was even and measured. "We should meet in person, don't you think?"
Excerpt from the New York Times, August 23, 2076
Grey demands REAL-TIME
NEW YORK NODE. The presidential campaign reached a fevered pitch today as Rabbi-Senator Chaim Grey demanded a real-time debate with his opponent Reverend-Senator Etienne Letourneau (New Right).
"If the public is as willing to elect Letourneau as the polls show," Grey said during a regularly scheduled virtual debate at the New York node, "then they should demand to see how he reacts in real time. Though it is true that Letourneau could perform most of his presidential duties via the LINK, it is equally true that he might be called upon to act as an ambassador to a country that has no LINK access, or that an emergency situation could arise where LINK access is damaged to a certain section of the population. If Letourneau is the man you want, then call him down from the mountain to face me."
In a bold move, Grey, who had previously been unwilling to sling mud, continued to hammer Letourneau 's reputation by saying, "Look at his track record. Letourneau has never shown up at a single session of Congress in real time."
Letourneau responded by reminding the Rabbi-Senator that thanks to the progressive and populist Gates Act from the turn of the century the question of residence was determined both by real-time address and electronic. Letourneau assured the gathered crowd that he qualified as both a resident of Colorado and of Washington DC.
He finished his remarks by saying, "Rabbi-Senator Grey continues to show what a Luddite he is. He doesn't stand for LINK progress. He stands for a regression into a Stone Age era."
However, in opinion polls taken after the debate, Letourneau dropped in popularity by twenty percent. Grey and Letourneau are now almost evenly matched. (Hot-link here for exact numbers and methodology.) The pressure on Letourneau for a real-time debate has escalated rather than diminished.
Shelia Brown, a longtime supporter of Letourneau, logged on to the post-debate to say, "I just want to see if Etienne is really as handsome as his avatar." Brown's post touched off a flurry of spam, all of it echoing similar thoughts. The responses ranged from strong Grey supporters to the most rabid New Righters. One respondent, who asked to remain anonymous, asked, "What if Letourneau looks nothing like his avatar? It's, like, totally possible he's a woof-woof, you know?"
Many Grey supporters raised the question of honesty. Joss Feinstein said: "All this resistance to a realtime debate makes me wonder what Letourneau has to hide."
So far, there has been no response from Letourneau's office.
Chapter 19
Mouse's black eyes bored into me. I found myself shaking my head. "No, I don't think so."
The shadow of a smile on Mouse's face held no warmth.
"No, really," he said. A shaft of dusty sunlight illuminated the access booth, and Mouse's smile transformed into something light and feathery. I was almost seduced.
"I think we should," Mouse continued. "It'd be fun. I'm in New York, as it turns out. I'd love to see where you live. Sounds like there's a party going on." He craned his neck, trying to see around the edges of the view screen. "Celebrating Daniel's return?"
"Something like that," I muttered. I'd have to get rid of the wristwatch phone. If Mouse knew enough about old tech to hot-wire a public access terminal, he'd be able to trace the satellite signal. The Malachim had just relocated, and, besides, I'd already brought enough hardship down on Rebeckah. This one I'd do alone. "I'm reconsidering, Mouse. Let's meet. My office is in Manhattan, Lower East Side. Give me a couple of hours. I want to say good-bye to Daniel."
"Okay," Mouse said with a frown pulling at his brow. "How about noon?"
High noon? Noon seemed far too much like a showdown at the OK Corral.
"No," I said, giving in to my superstitious instincts. "I need more time than that. How about one?"