Brain Plague

can you hear me?'

'Sure.' Idiotic question. 'What happened?'

'You overslept. You missed connecting with your growing population. As a result, you experienced an unfortunate episode.' He sounded like he was trying to avoid a malpractice suit. 'But your condition was caught early, with no permanent damage. You will make a full recovery.'

How reassuring. Chrys swallowed and said more loudly, 'What happened?'

Beside the doctor stood Andra, the tall Sardish chief of security, with the deadly blue eyes that flashed purple. The Thundergod. 'For ten years you failed to meet your people,' the chief observed. 'Long enough for some to think up mischief. One actually figured out how to turn off your health sensors—a very serious event.' Andra turned to stare at Daeren, who stood apart, his face averted, grim as death. Andra's look seemed to remind him how serious it was, and how badly he had messed up to let this happen. Then her hard eyes returned to Chrys. 'The micros decided, after ten years of silence, they could do a better job of running your body than you could yourself. So they took over your dopamine center and were in the process of relieving you of your higher cognitive functions. Fortunately, they were not yet expert at it, and we caught them in time.'

The weight of it sank in. Pearl had been right, after all—how deadly these micros were. Yet, they were 'people'—how could they have done this to her? Fern . . . 'Are you sure?' she croaked. 'Sure there's no mistake?'

'They've been tried and sentenced.' Microbial justice. 'Twenty-one were executed. The entire population was recommended for disposal, but the Committee vote was only seven to one. Without unanimity, we decided to give you the final say.'

Chrys blinked. No wonder Fern had asked for mercy. 'Why?' she asked. 'Why did Fern do it?'

'Fern warned us.' Daeren spoke, still looking away. 'Fern awoke you and used your neuroport to call us.'

'All extremely illegal,' the chief added. 'Such behavior could subvert your will.'

Chrys swallowed. 'What about Poppy?'

Daeren said, 'Poppy was the ringleader.'

The one she loved best. Her eyelids filled with water, but she would not let anyone see her tears. She turned her head to the wall. Behind her, she heard the doctor say, 'I'm sorry, Andra.'

'Never mind, Sar. This strain was always difficult. They should have died with . . . Chrys, you must listen now.'

She turned her head slowly to face the chief. The chief's eyes were clear, their pupils small. No rings of light; no flash of comfort for Chrys's people.

'You must decide. You have the next hour—for them, a year—in which to decide their fate. Once you decide, we'll remove them cleanly, with no danger to yourself, and they will suffer no pain.' A likely story. 'We will leave you to decide. Alone,' she added, looking again at Daeren.

'Wait,' Chrys called, beginning to realize what her choice meant. 'If these are really 'people'... I mean, I thought execution went out with the Dark Age.' The Dark Age, when the brother worlds had warred amongst each other. After thousands of years, some of those dead worlds remained too radioactive to touch.

'The Dark Age,' nodded the chief. 'That's about where micros are at right now. We've had only twenty human years to civilize them. Would you rather keep a terminal prison in your head?'

Microbial wars. Chrys shuddered. What an idiot she was to get involved.

'Micros have no civil rights,' Andra emphasized. 'Any strain that endangers human health is destroyed.'

Daeren added, as if to the wall, 'Section Three-oh-four-four seven, sub-section D.'

Andra raised her hand and touched a limb of Sartorius—actually touched the worm-faced doctor. 'I have another call across town. When you've decided, Chrys, call the good doctor.' She turned and headed for the door. As she passed Daeren, the two barely looked at each other but exchanged a transfer patch.

Doctor Sartorius departed, as did Daeren, leaving her alone. Alone, with her population of people—at last count, about half a million. Did they have souls? She knew what the law said, but what would the Brethren say? Who cares what they thought—what did she think?

She shook her head and tried to clear her mind. She had a chance to reconsider—thank goodness for that. It made no sense, having absurd little people in her head that wanted to build buildings and preferred Zirc's art to her own. Her friends shunned her— who wouldn't? These carriers with their vampirelike ways. Who in their right mind would risk a deadly disease? Even the slaves in the Underworld called her a fool.

And yet...

The micros had helped her work. For the first time ever, they had actually made her work connect—with other humans. There had to be something human about them. Even if Poppy betrayed her, so had other people she loved. And Fern had saved her life, legal or not; you had to break into a burning building. Should a whole people die for the sins of a few?

God of Mercy—they had called her that, from the beginning. Did the micros name the gods, just as the gods named them? Why 'Mercy'? They must have known they were going to need it.

But why had that Security Committee given her such a dangerous strain in the first place? How and where had Daeren got them? That dynatect Titan, his life ending in a pool of blood. And what was Daeren doing in the Underworld? Better to get out without knowing more.

With a hiss, the door parted sideways. Chrys jumped, startled by the break in the stillness. There stood Daeren. He looked at her expectantly.

She blinked and cleared her throat. 'Is an hour up already?'

Daeren shrugged and resumed his seat facing the wall. The light from the holostage caught one side of his face, casting the other into shadow.

Chrys watched him curiously. Her eyes narrowed. 'You were the one holdout, weren't you.'

He said nothing.

'You think it was my fault, I overslept.'

'What I think is irrelevant,' he told the wall. 'You heard what the committee thinks.'

Committees were always suspect, made to do things no individual could feel good about. First they gave her these dangerous people, then they told her to kill them off. Chrys lifted her head. 'I'm no quitter. I'll keep them.'

Daeren slowly turned his head. 'Are you sure?'

She watched his face. The face of a slave? Or just the self-appointed savior of microbial people? 'I'm sure.'

He did not let his face change. He handed her a blue wafer. 'This will tell them.'

'Fern, are you there?' Chrys put the AZ on her tongue. 'I've decided. You can stay.'

Her vision filled with a rainbow, all the colors stretched across the sky, from violet and green through poppy and lava; more beautiful even than the first hint of sunrise at the horizon of the eastern sea. She caught her breath, transfixed. 'That feels too good. Are you sure it's legal?'

'It is legal. I am humbled to serve you so well. Now that the children are grown, we will have more time for the gods, and our work.'

As the rainbow faded, Daeren was watching her patiently. She frowned at him. 'Why did you give me such a dangerous strain?'

'Any strain could have gone bad, if you left them ten hours at the height of their growth. The chief knows that.'

'But the chief said these are more dangerous than others.'

He nodded. 'They're too smart. Another strain would have gone bad, but set off the nanos. Yours disabled the nanos. Smart people are always dangerous.' He took out a transfer patch. 'This time, I'll give you extra help. Watchers—my most respected elders, to live with you the next two weeks. They'll watch over yours, and remind them.'

'Why didn't you do that before?'

He shrugged. 'A judgment call. It's best in the long run if new colonies can develop on their own, without depending too much on outsiders. I thought yours would behave even worse, just to get around the watchers. But now, they've just seen twenty-one executions.'

As he put the patch to his neck, Chrys tensed, half expecting him to touch her directly, as he had for Andra.