Mercury Rises by Robert Kroese

purely spiritual form, most find that being unincorporated is, generally speaking, rather impractical. Other than a few obvious benefits (like having a good excuse for not being able to help a friend move), there isn't much advantage to going sans corporealis . Every angel in Heaven has a job to do, and with a few exceptions (contemplating the Infinite, waiting in line at the DMV, etc.) most of these jobs require having some sort of physical form.
    Angels do have some control over what form they take, but their choices do tend to reflect their inherent characteristics and also tend to gel over time. The closest human analog is probably posture: you can choose to walk differently than you ordinarily do, but unless you're extraordinarily talented, you probably can't keep it up for very long. 5 And if you walked with a slouch when you were sixteen, you'll probably find it difficult to straighten up when you're sixty.
    Due to the malleability of their physical forms, angels have no definitive physical identifiers such as fingerprints or a DNA signature. An angel's one unique identifying feature is his name. An angel, whether seraph or cherub, comes into being with a name already encoded into his being. In a sense, an angel is his name, in the same way that a human being can be said to be described en toto by his or her DNA sequence.
    Because of the relative ease with which angels assume different forms, the Heavenly Authorities very early on realized that they would need a foolproof method for identifying angels regardless of their appearance. What they came up with was an artifact known as an identity disc. 6 Observe:
    A tall figure wearing a hooded leather cloak strode silently through the corridors of the planeport, flanked on all sides by four massive cherubim garbed in black except for a white star insignia marking them as members of the Angelic Special Protection Force. A small group of servants, also wearing hooded cloaks, brought up the rear. Perp, flanked by two planeport security guards with flaming swords, led the way. The guard on the right wore a sash marking him as the head of the group. Mercury, accompanied by two more guards, trailed behind. Mercury had taken the place of another escort cherub from Transport & Communications who was more than willing to take a long lunch rather than trail behind some bigwig seraph.
    Occasionally Perp would issue a shrill "Make way!" but for the most part those occupying the planeport's corridors got out of the way well in advance. The entourage seemed to project an air of reverent silence. Only the occasional announcement over the planeport's PA system and a few hushed murmurs guessing at the identity of the tall angel could be heard.
    Mercury didn't care who the tall angel was. He knew who it wasn't , and that's all that mattered. Who it wasn't was the Archangel Michael, commander in chief of the Heavenly Army. The figure walked with a swagger, the sort of affectation that gave away a pretender to power, someone who was overly enthusiastic about his status as the lead dog of the pack. No, whoever that hooded character was, he wasn't Michael, that was certain.
    Mercury was more interested in a smaller figure who lagged behind the entourage as if consciously forcing herself to remain out of sight. She---Mercury couldn't see her face, but was convinced by her size and her walk that it was a she---moved anxiously back and forth across the concourse, like a jockey waiting for an opening. Curious behavior for a servant, Mercury reflected.
    The entourage entered a narrow corridor leading to a restricted area of the planeport that allowed access to mysterious planes that were only open to very high-ranking seraphim. He noticed the guards to his left and right move their hands closer to the hilts of their swords, smoldering in scabbards hanging from their sides. Had they sensed something? Mercury wondered. If somebody was going to attempt an attack, he realized, this would be the place to