"I'm not God. Others can take my place."

I shook my head. "But you're the best."

He frowned, turning back to watch the Malachim preparing the theater. "That gives me less solace than it once did. The best; the best at what? Vengeance? Now you tell me I may have helped create life. Creation ... 'Who is like God?' indeed."

Michael's gaze returned to mine, and his eye glowed like a proud papa. My stomach soured. "Michael, I don't want this baby."

"You're not ready to be a mother?"

I hugged my knees. "I don't want to be the mother of a new messiah."

Michael turned around and propped himself up on the control booth. He watched me with concern, as I rocked back and forth. Finally, he said, "Okay."

"Okay? You said that before: okay what?" I stopped the rhythmical movement and unfurled my legs.

"I told you, messiahs are tricky things. My parentage doesn't guarantee anything."

"Uh-huh. I see." I tugged at the short hairs at my forehead in exasperation. "Michael, doesn't it seem a tad coincidental that I should become pregnant now, when Letourneau is claiming to be the Second Coming?" I hopped off the control panel and started pacing. My stomach felt like a spring unwinding. "When you first came into my office, you said you had proof Letourneau wasn't the new messiah, but I've never seen of heard a word of it. That's because this baby is the proof, isn't it? You said I would be revered for my role in all this when things were done. No wonder you could promise me that: I'm going to be worshiped as the holy mother."

"Sex was your idea, Deidre."

His voice was calm and almost emotionless, but the impact of his words burned me like a sword of flame. I stopped pacing to stare at him. The whole thing was my fault, just like with Daniel. When I could speak, my voice sounded like a little girl's. "I thought you said sex wasn't a sin."

"It's not." Michael leaned back against the console. "I'm just saying, it's impossible for me to have planned this pregnancy. I never intended to go to bed with you."

He smiled up at me. "I don't regret it ... I just never intended it."

"You really believe this is just a happy accident?"

He shrugged. "Deus volent."

I let out a short, exasperated huff. " 'God willing,' Michael?" My head hurt. "Shit."

Michael stared innocently at me. I couldn't even begin to formulate words for my feeling. So, I resorted to my favorite trick during emotional crises – I turned on my heels and fled.

The wood door made a satisfying slam against its frame. I could almost pretend my action had solved everything. I started walking. It felt good to be moving, doing something. I didn't really care where my feet took me, as long as it was away. I focused on movement. The feeling of my weight shifting from foot to foot, the hardwood floors under my boots, my breath coming and going – all served to center me.

"Deidre, wait!" Michael's voice followed me down the hallway.

I stopped and let him catch up. As Michael continually proved, I couldn't run away from an angel of God.

"I'm sorry," he said. To my surprise, Michael took my hand in his. It was an intimate, loving gesture, and the first touch between us that I remembered him initiating. "I'm still learning how to ... be with people."

I stared at his cool, dry hand. Squeezing firmly, I wondered if I could alter the sense of emptiness that surrounded my palms. The feeling was like clutching a hollowed-out eggshell – tough yet fragile.

"I need more than this," I said, as I let go of his hand.

"Michael?" A young man in uniform had approached us. He stood just close enough to be seen, but far enough away not to intrude. "Is that you?"

Michael clearly wanted to continue our conversation. His eyes danced back and forth between us, then finally settled on the Malach. "Matthew. Good to see you again."

Matthew looked me up and down, measuring. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Actually ..." Michael started.

"No," I finished. I reached out my hand. "I'm Deidre McMannus."

"Matthew Mahaffry." Two pumps. It was a strong, confident handshake.

"Mahaffry?" I smiled, "Irish and Jewish?"

He returned my smile with a dimpled one of his own. "It happens, but I'm not. I've got a different kind of 'family' connection to the Malachim, if you get my meaning."

I shook my head.

"Girlfriend."

He smiled.

"I'm gay."

"Oh." It was rumored that Rebeckah sheltered gays, lesbians, and other sexual deviants unwilling to renounce their lifestyles, but I'd always thought the rumors false, a smear campaign to destroy the Malachim reputation further.

"How have you been, Michael?" Matthew asked politely. "Maxine told me you'd left in the middle of the night. What happened?"

"I ran afoul of Rabbi Feinstein."

"Theologically?"

Michael nodded.

"I guess I did hear about that. Your little display was quite the talk." Matthew shrugged. "I'm surprised you left ... without saying good-bye."

As they continued to renew their friendship, I found myself staring, searching for clues. I'd never met an admittedly gay man before. If Matthew hadn't told me, I doubted I could have guessed. There was nothing about him that seemed feminine in the least. He held himself arrow-straight, none of the "warning signs" of unmanly posture. His body was slender, but not unmuscular. Matthew wore his uniform well, and I wondered if he did any actual soldiering. Most likely he did, as I doubted Rebeckah would allow anyone to tarnish the Israeli insignia by not doing their part for the Malachim cause. Rebeckah had an interesting sense of irony.

A ban of gays in the military was the first battle cry of the New Right's campaign against the Queer Nation.

The New Right claimed that the mass destruction of the war came down to a secular president's leniency toward gays during the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" years. If we hadn't left the protection of the country in the hands of a bunch of fruitcakes, they claimed, none of this would have happened – "this" meaning the Medusa bomb. And here stood Matthew in the center of the glass city wearing a uniform.

"So, Michael," Matthew was saying, "maybe I'll see you later tonight? We could go dancing like we used to."

Michael's eyes slid over to mine, which were wide in surprise. "Like we used to?" I mouthed.

Michael blushed and turned back to Matthew. "Uhm ..."

"You're welcome to come too, Deidre," Matthew said. Then, he added, "As long as you're willing to share." With a wink to Michael, Matthew waved goodbye. Over his shoulder, he said, "I've go to run ... guard duty. It was nice meeting you, Deidre."

As Matthew moved off, Michael said, "Your mouth is still hanging open."

"What?" I hadn't realized I was still staring. I tried to stop my analysis of Matthew's walk before Michael noticed, but when I pulled my eyes away, I knew it was too late. Michael grinned at me. I blinked innocently up at him. "What?"

"You're terrible." Michael shook his head, still smiling.

"Me?" I said, still reeling from the shock of Matthew's parting shot. "You're a flirt."

Michael shrugged. "Matthew appeals to me. He's very funny and sharp. He was one of the most interesting people I used to hang out with when I was here before."

"Were you lovers?"

"No," he said quietly, almost regretfully.

"Are you bisexual?"

Michael grimaced. "You say that like it's a dirty word."

"Are you?"

"Gender is a human notion. Flesh is a costume I wear. My insides are male and female – in God's image."

I looked at Michael's broad, masculine form, and said, "So ... God is okay with ... It's not a sin?" I could still see Matthew moving through the hallway. "What about, what is it, Deuteronomy? 'Two men shall not lie down together.' "

"There are hundreds of laws in that book. Do you follow them all?"