"Don't you dare. Rebeckah smiled, her eyes unreadable behind the goggles. At a LINKed command the holographic armor changed to nil, and her suit became blue-screen blue. Her hand rested lightly on the handle of her flechette rifle, non-threatening, but ready.

Turning to the Gorgon, she said, "Go back to the command center, Tober. Tell them I'm bringing a guest."

Tober shrugged for a response, then scampered into the glass city. We watched his lithe form jog away.

"He works for you?"

Rebeckah shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Is he reliable?" I couldn't help but ask. In the distance, the Gorgon vaulted over one of the frozen car-shapes playfully.

Considering my question, Rebeckah clicked the safety back in place, and let the rifle dangle on its shoulder strap. "As a rule, Gorgons' priorities are askew, but Tober and I are friends. He'll do what I ask because he likes me, and because, right now, there isn't anything more interesting going on."

I scoffed. "Rebeckah, you don't ask – you command. Who said I was going back with you anyway?"

"The longer you stay here the more likely you are to be infected." She looked at my bare feet, mere inches from the glass. "The command center is well shielded."

It was neither an apology nor an excuse, just a statement of fact. My smile broadened. "All right. Lead on."

We passed through a glittering gully. Mountainous apartment complexes cast shadows across the glass street in long, dark stripes. Last night's rain made parts of the street almost impossible for me to navigate in Eion's shoes. Rebeckah steadied me with a hand around my elbow.

"Do you believe in angels, Rebeckah?" I asked without preamble – shattering the silence in which we'd been walking.

"What kind?"

"You know, Old Testament kind. Oh, sorry, I mean like in the Torah..." Then I stopped, failing to find words to describe Michael and my dream. Rebeckah's firm grip steadied me as I slid on the street as though it were a sheet of ice.

"Of course. The first time the Torah talks about angels, they're just 'messengers.' They come into the Israelite camp and have food and drink, like regular men. I think those kinds of angels exist. I might even be an angel like that to someone sometime. You never know when you're doing God's work."

"Trust me, sometimes it's painfully obvious," I sneered.

"You sound bitter." Her voice was soft, concerned.

Pretending I hadn't heard her comment, I continued, "But, what about the other kind of angel? The ones the LINK-angels are based on – with big wings, and flaming swords, and all that?"

We reached dry ground, and she let go of my arm. Readjusting the rifle's strap on her shoulder, she turned her head away. "I've never met any like that."

"You've met Michael Angelucci."

"I have." She spoke slowly, her tone dark.

"I thought so," I murmured, adding a mental check mark next to my suspicions. "So, Rebeckah, what'd you think?"

I left my question purposely open-ended, and she chewed on her response for a long moment. Wind blew through the glass-encased leaves of a lone tree-shape on the boulevard. Instead of the rustling I expected, the breeze whistled and moaned through the unmoving glass. Finally, Rebeckah turned to look me in the eye.

"Your Michael knows how to cause a shake-up, that's for sure."

My anger flared up. "He's not 'my' anything."

Rebeckah shrugged off my outburst. "I lost several good soldiers after his brief stint with us. We've always had spirited debates in camp about LINK-angels, our work, and whatnot. His philosophy was ... disturbing."

"Yeah, that's an understatement," I said with a low whistle, reminded of my conversation with Michael in the belfry. I shook my head, banishing my growing dread. "Do you believe him?"

"He gave very persuasive proof to back up his arguments."

I didn't have to ask for details to know what Rebeckah meant. The look on her face told me she knew exactly what Michael was. Fear pulled her face taut, and I could feel a chill returning to my stomach.

We turned the block. A chain-link fence surrounded what was once a playground. Though the barrier had probably been forbidding in its earlier incarnation, the Medusa-glass gave it a delicate appearance, like crystal lace. The sun danced along the symmetrical curves, catching my eye.

"For myself, I decided that it didn't matter," Rebeckah said. "The Talmud is filled with conjecture about the nature of God. Thousands of scholars have wrestled with the question since the beginning, each of them claiming the others were wrong. It shouldn't surprise me that no one got it right. That's the reason the name of God remains unpronounceable ... to keep us from trying to define, to limit, that which is undefinable, unlimited. As for the rest, we do what we do because it's a good way to live. The laws we follow are sound. Whatever might be decided about the nature of God has very little effect on the truth, the goodness, of those laws."

The chill I felt disappeared. I smiled at Rebeckah. Even though our beliefs were worlds apart, her faith steadied me. "You're good for me, you know that?"

Her lips turned up in the slightest of smiles. "Anyway, I have to believe in angels."

"Why's that?"

"I'm a Malach Nikamah, an avenging angel, after all."

I had heard the Hebrew translated when reports of LINK-terrorism first broke in the news, but had since forgotten the irony. Rebeckah and her followers purposely chose to name themselves after angels to challenge the LINK version and to remind people of the possibility of hoax and of a human hand behind the stir.

The glass-encased buildings grew denser as we approached the center of the city. The city was deadly quiet. No pigeon coo or insect buzz broke the unearthly silence. In the warm afternoon air, I imagined I felt the deadly chain reaction reaching up to grab me from every surface.

"We're here," Rebeckah announced, jumping down into the window well of a basement-level apartment. Over flash-frozen marigolds in a window box, I could see the dark hairs of her flattop. She knocked three times on the bottom pane. After a few seconds, someone on the other side removed the false glass. Rebeckah crawled through, motioning for me to follow her.

Gingerly, I lowered myself. It was tempting to use the fire escape for leverage, but I wanted to avoid as much direct contact with the Medusa glass as possible. I crouched, ready to take the awkward plunge and crawl through, when a hand from inside offered a pair of armored gloves.

"Thanks," I said, pulling them on. Ducking my head, I scrambled through the narrow opening. The Medusa blast had entered the apartment the same way I did, through the open window, freezing everything inside. The new occupants had removed most of the walls that were glassed in the explosion, including the ceiling. The same armored fabric that comprised Rebeckah's camouflage suit draped the outer wall and the floor. With the false glass in front of the opening, the danger was effectively minimized. Even so, the four guards wore fully operational combat armor.

One of them waved the tip of his flechette rifle in my direction. His eyes were locked on Eion's vestments. His voice held a thin, incredulous tone when he asked, "Your guest, Commander?"

"Yes, and see that she gets outfitted with armor pronto, soldier," Rebeckah said. Acknowledging his "Yes, sir," with a brief nod, she gestured me farther into the complex. "I'm afraid I can't give you the full tour, you understand, but let me show you to the mess hall. We can get something to drink while you wait for some decent clothes."

Sure, I murmured, willing to be led anywhere, especially since the action didn't involve any thinking on my part. I stripped off the gloves and looked around for a place or a person to return them to. One of the other guards took them from me wordlessly.