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compared fragments of the surviving LINK-angel programs that are being held in
government storage to that in the sign at Temple Rock," said researcher Miriam
Stone. "The context and structures of the code are nearly identical."
The JOI report went one step further than the Inquisition's by offering a
potential motive for the hijacking. The report suggests that Mouse is the type
of personality who gets a high from disrupting already unstable political
climates. "It's a lot like what he did with the LINK angels," said Stone. "He
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clearly gets a kick out of watching the world freak out over his creations."
In a rare show of solidarity, both the Christendom and Islam Orders of the
Inquisition are discrediting this report. "They clearly are reacting to the
claim that the hacker in question has ties to Israel," said lead inquisition
investigator Reverend Jesse Parker from New York, where he is continuing his
own investigation. "Though we will agree that the code is similar to Mouse's,
we have already discounted his role in the hijacking. He no longer has access
to the LINK. Besides, he's a Muslim. No self-respecting Muslim would claim to
be building the Jewish temple on the Dome of the Rock's virtual site."
Stone countered this argument, saying, "No self-respecting Muslim would have
invented angels that supported a radically fundamentalist Christian, either."
Chapter 12 Page
The shrine looks like a boxy, old-fashioned TV set. On top of it people laid
virtual flowers and other offerings. In front of it, on the cobblestone
street, is an upside-down image of the hat I asked Mai to wear on our trip to
Mecca. It's wide-brimmed, like the kind English royalty might wear. Money
spills out of it, representing donations.
I understand why the Maizombies are out to frag me.
The image on the screen is horrible.
Mai, already a corpse, lies in Shiro's arms on the floor of the hotel room.
Shiro was Mai's bandmate and best friend. I can see tears rolling down his
pockmarked face.
The image is the last recorded image of Mai. The burst blood vessels make
Mai's corneas look black. Green-blue veins etch lines across her cheekbones
and pale forehead. Her wild mountain of hair sprawls across Shiro's lap. She
wears the outfit I helped her pick out a short white dress with bright red
polka dots. Her feet are bare and dirty from the hours I spent walking her
body through the streets of Jidda, trying desperately to find someone to help
me escape her neural net.
Shiro's skinny chest is bare, and his shaved head bows over Mai. He leans
against the bed. Behind him is tacky hotel wallpaper and the doorway out into
the hall.
Their pose reminds me of Michelangelo's Pietà, except gender-reversed. Shiro's
hand disappears underneath Mai's hair. He is thinking about killing me. I
remember the tug of his fingers against the neural plug.
Tears fall from Shiro's eyes as he pulls the net free. That would have killed
me, but I am already gone, my father having come to my rescue.
I feel Kevlar's hand take a hold of my gauntlet. She gives me a squeeze. "It
gets worse," she whispers.
Over the top of the image spray paint appears. The letters bleed like someone
is holding the can too close to the surface of the glass. They spell out: I
would do it again. Death to the infidel. In'shallah, Page.
I can clearly read my own signature file a string of unique code, like an
electronic fingerprint but it seems unreal.
"No," I say. Letting go of Kevlar's hand, I crouch in front of the TV. "This
is not me," I say to her, to the gathered crowd.
"It sure looks like it, girl," Kevlar says. Her lips are a dark slash on her
mahogany skin. The thin braids of her hair swing back and forth as she shakes
her head. "Check out the code."
Others, who had stopped to watch the grisly images on the shrine, have already
begun to whisper. I can hear my name being passed along the bandwidth. I drop
the costume Kevlar insisted I wear. The armor is too bulky for what I want to
do, and everyone here has probably already guessed my identity, anyway. It's
not like Kevlar and I were being especially subtle.
I reach my hands into the glass. My arms disappear up to my elbows inside the
screen as I grope for the command codes. My fingers slide along the
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