"Thanks," I murmured.

I followed Rebeckah into the bowels of the apartment complex. The hallway was dark, except for a string of Christmas lights running along the seam between the wall and the ceiling. The light was weak, but steady. The apartment was too deep inside the glass city for the Malachim to be easily siphoning power from the main grid. I deduced that they must either have their own generator somewhere or a really good LINK-hacker on their team. Knowing Rebeckah, it could be both.

The number of people we passed surprised me as I shuffled along the nubby carpeting. Occasionally, wild silver locks interspersed among the dark, militaristic haircuts. Rebeckah must have noticed my eyes following a pair of silver heads as they disappeared up a flight of stairs, because she said, "The Gorgons lived here first. It didn't seem right to oust them. Besides, they've proven to be excellent scavengers ... and surprisingly willing to barter."

"Politics and strange bedfellows." I shrugged. I was intrigued by the alliance between the Malachim and the Gorgons, but too tired to pursue it. My eyes were distracted by the soft colors of the Christmas lights. Someone had made a Star of David at the intersection of two hallways. "Nice decorations."

Rebeckah laughed and held out her hand to indicate the direction I should go. "The Gorgons," she explained. "They must have found a warehouse full of the lights. They string them up wherever they go. Some of my boys augmented their haphazard design and siphoned a bit of power for them. The light is strange, but I've gotten used to it."

"I've seen something like this in the abandoned service tunnels in Manhattan."

"I'm not surprised." Rebeckah nodded. "The tunnels are a great way to get around unnoticed."

"For you or them?"

"Both," Rebeckah said, as we headed up a flight of stairs. The stairway was too narrow for us to walk side by side, so Rebeckah took the lead. Over her shoulder she asked, "Why?"

"Do you have your own generator, or do you boost the city's power?" I asked. My fingers brushed the handrail. Red lights looped around the rail, giving the shadows of Rebeckah's armor a purplish cast.

"You didn't answer my question, Deidre. Why do you want to know if we use the service tunnels?"

I waited, saying nothing. I hoped she'd drop her question, but I knew I'd never win a game like this one with Rebeckah. At the landing, I paused to catch my breath. Rebeckah turned to regard me evenly.

"All right, all right." I gave in. I smiled, because I knew I'd be the first to break. "I only ask because I saw these strange boxes set at intervals throughout the tunnels running along the old cable-car power lines. They didn't look like maintenance units; they were too purposely concealed. In fact, I wouldn't have noticed them at all if it weren't for the Gorgon's lights. Are they yours?"

Rebeckah looked genuinely surprised by my information. "No. Manhattan, you said?"

"Yeah, not far from the deli we met at, actually. I guess that's why I suspected they might be your power siphons."

"We have our own generators."

The stony look on Rebeckah's face made me realize what I'd implied was very definitely against her code of honor.

"I'm sorry, Rebeckah. Of course, you're not thieves. I didn't mean ..."

Rebeckah cut off my lame attempt at apology. "Whose are they, I wonder."

"I don't know. I suppose it could be the Unitarians' underground railroad."

Dismissing that idea with a shake of her head, Rebeckah smiled. "They're not that organized – too much infighting. Besides, it's summer."

I laughed. The Unitarians were notorious for closing down their churches in the summertime. At Rebeckah's nod, we started back up the stairs. After my long walk in ill-fitting shoes, I had to ask. "What floor is the mess on, anyway?"

"It's the top floor. Back when this was a condominium it was used as a 'party suite,' a common room for the residents."

"Great," I grumbled, hoisting myself up more steps. The red lights changed to a bright white at the next floor. "What about the Gay Liberation Ecumenical folks?"

"Most of their energy is concentrated on repelling the gender-bending fashion restrictions. Even the extremists in Vulva Riot and Act Up's LINK protest have been confined to newsgroups – very much within the letter of the law. The most they do is run under handles to protect their identities. The ones with resources to pull off a siphon are under too much scrutiny." Ahead of me, I saw Rebeckah's proud shoulders droop just a fraction. "I wouldn't rule them out, but it's unlikely."

"I heard the Black Muslims were organizing around this guy Jibril Freshta," I said, hoping to slide past Rebeckah's iron defenses. "Could it be them?"

Either I was sly enough that she didn't catch it, or she gave it to me. "From what I hear, Freshta is a pacifist and very law-abiding. So far, his people seem to prefer peaceful demonstrations."

"Then why are the police after him?"

"Nobody likes a troublemaker in an election year ... even a peaceful one. Besides, he's been an easy target. Unlike us, he operates a hundred percent in real time. That means no handles, no quick reroutes. The cops know what he looks like and where he goes. Brave guy."

I remembered Jibril's broad smile. "Yeah. He's got the kind of face you remember. You ever met him?"

"No." Her tone was even. I couldn't tell if she felt anything more than a passing respect for Jibril's message or not. Black Muslims had an unfortunate history of being anti-Semitic. I couldn't imagine Jibril as one of those, but I could understand her caution.

"I hope he's okay," I said mostly to myself. We continued climbing. After passing a level of yellow Christmas lights, I asked, "Have you heard anything about me on the LINK? About Daniel?"

"I heard you were plugged in again," Rebeckah said, as we turned the landing, moving up to a stairwell draped in blinking pink lights. The shadows fluttering along Rebeckah's suit looked lavender now. 'There's an APB on the police frequency about how dangerous you are."

I chuckled. "Dangerous? I guess I'm giving your reputation a run for the money, eh?"

"I'm not feeling my reputation threatened just yet," she said with a wink, as we finally came to the party suite. I was out of breath.

Leaning against the doorframe, I looked in. The suite had not made the conversion to cafeteria very smoothly. The ghost of a once-swanky apartment party room hung around the edges of the mess hall. What was once a wet bar now served as a buffet line. None of the furniture matched; soldiers sat on sofas and on the floor around end tables.

The only lights in the room were eerie shafts of muted sun that penetrated the Medusa-sheathed penthouse windows, and, of course, the ubiquitous Christmas bulbs hanging in great profusion from the ceiling.

Despite the awkward accommodations, the mess hall bustled with activity. Men and women sat scattered about the suite in clumps of conversation, laughter, and heated debate. Silver hair was mixed liberally among the Orthodox men wearing payot, the side locks, and military buzz cuts. The smell of beef stew simmering in a Crock-Pot made my mouth water. Rebeckah headed into the room, amid many waves and shouts of greeting.

Grief tugged at my heart. Watching Rebeckah move easily through this band of LINK-terrorists and Gorgons,

I envied her. It seemed strange. This woman was public enemy number one, constantly on the run, forced to live in the glass city and risk infection from the Medusa bio-virus or worse, but at this very moment I wished I were she.

I had no one like her comrades in my life. Since the excommunication and all that came with it, I'd been alone – without even the ethereal community of the LINK in which to find comfort. My lover was an ... no, I didn't even want to think about that. With a shrug, I pushed away my darkening mood as Rebeckah waved me over to a central table. For the time being, I was given a respite from a loneliness I hadn't even fully realized I felt. I might not be able to have Rebeckah's life, but I could pretend I did for as long as I was a guest here.