Moreover, I couldn't afford it. The price of raising a child was enormous. If I didn't get some new clients soon, I was going to have to live in my office. I was still excommunicated, even if I did have access to the LINK. That meant I didn't have health insurance. What, was I supposed to have this child in a ... "Barn?" I groaned. "Oh, God."

I pulled my face out of my hands with effort. The sun glistened across the rooftops of the glass city. The black of Eion's robes absorbed the warm light. I frowned. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Yesterday's storm had purged the air of much of its usual foulness.

Rubbing my aching feet, I felt a blister on my heel. This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. Angels didn't walk around in painted-on jeans. But then, what did I know? Most of my images of angels had come from artists' renditions, stained-glass windows, Sunday school, and the LINK-angels. I tried to remember angels in the Bible, and all that came to me was lyrics from the Christmas song, "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing." I could no longer distinguish between folklore and fact, and probably even the "facts" of the Bible had been diluted.

I sighed, and leaned my head against the warm bricks of the crumbled warehouse. A fishy river odor drifted above the smell of garbage and human waste. Letting the warm sun batter my face, I shut my eyes and tried to think.

I might not be pregnant. I played "Vatican roulette" with Michael, but I'd been lucky before. I knew my body pretty well. Still, the child could be Michael's one miracle. It was possible that his purpose here was to impregnate me. All the contraceptive planning in the world couldn't stop a cosmic plan.

Michael told me that he kept running afoul of the concept of freewill. Presumably that meant that I had a choice in all of this. Perhaps there was something I could do about it. Thanks to the New Right, abortion was considered murder, and, if convicted, I could face the death penalty. That was only if I was convicted. I used to be a cop; I knew how to avoid detection. I could do it, and I could get away with it.

But, if Michael risked turning to impregnate me, then he would certainly risk more to see me take the child to term. I could probably avoid secular detection, but could I run away from God?

"You're a long way from the nearest mission, priest lady."

I started at the voice. Dirty, ripped jeans hung loosely around a thin waist. The heavy-duty flak jacket still held someone's name and rank. I would've mistaken the man before me for the original owner if it wasn't for the shoulder-length silver hair and matching eyes. I was face to face with a ... "Gorgon." I whispered.

Gorgons were possibly the ugliest by-product of the Medusa bomb. Once human, they had lived too long in contact with the glass city. The Medusa bomb worked by beginning an organic-like chain reaction of crystallization that moved through physical objects. Even though the blast had occurred twenty-one years ago, the reaction was still "hot" inside the transformed glass, and anything or anyone that touched it was infected. That residue "radiation" caused tissue damage and mutation. Gorgons were that mutation – each generation being born, maturing and dying in the span of a few short years. They had a culture that was both childlike and brutal.

The Gorgon crouched down to take a better look at me. He sniffed the air like a wild animal testing my scent. He smiled, showing me his sharpened incisors. "Insults are hardly necessary ... Human." He mocked my horrified whisper.

"Your English is very good," I told him, hoping to appeal to his childlike nature. All cops were trained in the language the Gorgons used among themselves, but it changed every generation. I was out of touch, and Gorgons didn't live particularly long. "Are you a passer?"

"I'm as much of a passer as you're a priest." He tossed his silver mane about his shoulders. "Fraid the hair is a giveaway. It went some time ago. That ended my passing quick." He poked me in the shoulder playfully. "You smell like a Joey."

"Still?" I smiled, willing myself to take deep, even breaths. "I left the force over a year ago."

"Gun oil," he explained. Then, cocking his head at me quizzically, he pointed to my forehead. "What are you doing here if you have a map in your head?"

I touched my temple reflexively. The receiver's lump was warm beneath my fingers. I could almost imagine the thrum of activity dancing beneath my skin. "I turned it off."

"Not very smart." The Gorgon eyed me suspiciously. Not many turned off all of their LINK functions. Most people stayed in constant connection with the weather and directional satellite. When I shut down the urgent message override command, I'd also disconnected minimum service.

After all, Mouse was the best hacker there was. If he wanted to bounce a message through the weather channel relays, he could find a way, and if Mouse could do it, someone else might be able to follow him. With the cops and the FBI on my trail, I couldn't take that risk.

The Gorgon sniffed the air. I wondered if he could smell my fear. "You're running away," he pronounced. With a cock of his head, he changed his mind. "Or are you hiding like the others?"

"What others?"

He shook his head. "It's a secret. They give us outside food if we keep the secret. What we hunt here just makes us sicker. Of course" – he gave me another toothy grin and a tenderizing poke – "your meat isn't contaminated yet."

"Oh." My smile faded. Curiosity had momentarily suppressed my fear. At the Gorgon's veiled threat, a lump returned to my throat. "Um, I thought that was an urban myth."

"Depends on how you define cannibalism. We don't eat our own kind ... Human." The silver in his eyes glittered menacingly. He licked his lips for effect. I heard a faint whoosh; then, suddenly, a spring-loaded stiletto appeared in his hand.

The Gorgon waved the weapon inches from my face so I could get a good look at his handiwork. Crudely fashioned from glass rather than steel, the blade's tip appeared sharp enough to puncture armor. Tattered scraps of fabric served for a functional grip. There was little doubt in my mind that the glass stiletto was as deadly as the look in the Gorgon's eyes.

I lashed out a foot. I aimed for his knee with my best police-training karate kick. The Gorgon absorbed the blow and rolled easily to his feet. Barefoot, I scrambled to mine with less grace.

"You don't want to fight me," I shouted with as much bravado as I could muster.

"Kill her and our deal is off," a voice said just above my shoulder. I swiveled my head at the sound. The sleek barrel of an H&K flechette rifle, a PT37 to be exact, lowered until it rested an inch above my left shoulder. The deadly click of a safety being released echoed strangely in the surrounding glass. The red dot of the laser sight glowed pink against the Gorgon's pale skin. "Drop your weapon, Tober."

The Gorgon shrugged. The stiletto disappeared into his jacket. "Fair 'nuff, 'Becka. Didn't know she was your girlfriend. Don't eat girlfriends."

A throaty laugh barked behind me. "Good policy."

The weapon disappeared. I heard rather than saw the figure come around from behind me. The rifle was a dark spot in front of mirror-camouflage. With a ripple of movement, she exposed her face. A hairline scratch on the mirrored goggles connected to a scar above and below the left eye. In sudden recognition, I shouted, "Rebeckah!"

"Every time I see you, your clothes get less and less practical, Dee." She gave me a crooked smile. The butt of the gun gestured at Eion's robes. "Please tell me you haven't joined some crackpot religious order and taken a vow of celibacy."

"That's the second time someone's asked me that." I looked down at Eion's cassock, reminded of everything that happened in the Church. "Although I'm beginning to think maybe I should."