Brain Plague

'Our god was tested once in my lifetime, by the Lord of Light.' Only once? Of course, every two weeks, and micros lived but a month or two. Two weeks with Chrys, and before that...

Fern must be getting up in years. 'That time, the Lord of Light was angry. He said our god let us 'push the edge.' '

Chrys smiled. That was what she told Merope when the cat jumped up on the table at supper. Suddenly she remembered, her cats had had no food. She called her apartment to view them. Merope lay curled up asleep, while Alcyone prowled ghostlike through the volcanoes. She told the universal dispenser to put out food.

Late that afternoon, Andra returned. The sight of her brought back Chrys's memory of pain; she felt faint, but she made herself stand. She observed Andra more closely than before. The chief had a few lines in her forehead, suggesting she had chosen 'Distinguished.' Her eyes burned violet, a hellish bright that made Chrys look away. Or was it her own people who did not want to look?

'Please, God of Mercy,' begged Fern. 'It's too soon for the Thundergod. We saw the judges take our children.'

Chrys guessed this would not do; she had to keep her eyes steady, or the chief would keep her in the hospital. 'It's been eight years. You must visit the Thundergod. I decree it.'

Their eyes locked for what seemed an eternity. At last Andra nodded, then put a patch at her neck.

'Not the judges, God of Mercy. Don't let the judges come hack.'

Chrys took a breath. 'If you've behaved, you have nothing to fear.'

'The judges wanted us all dead with the Blind God.'

The Watcher, Delphinium, flickered blue. 'The judges must come. It is the law.'

She looked at the patch in Andra's hand. 'I'm the God of Mercy. I will protect you,' she promised. She put the patch at her neck.

At last the chief nodded, seeming satisfied. 'You have a choice,' she said. 'You may stay here under observation, the rest of the week. Or you may go home tonight with Opal.'

Opal smiled apologetically. 'I'm so sorry,' the round-faced designer told Chrys. 'I should have stopped by your home before, but I'm working day and night on these new cardiac nanos.'

Another treatment her brother could not afford. 'That's okay, you don't want to see where I live.'

Opal impulsively took both Chrys's hands. 'It's so good to see you, after all we've heard. Are the Eleutherians there? Are they earning their AZ? Can we have a peek?' Like visiting a new baby. The rings round Opal's eyes twinkled several colors.

'The God of Wisdom!' called Fern. 'Please, God of Mercy, let us visit; we have not seen the wizards in ten generations.'

Opal already had a transfer patch at her neck. 'Do you mind? We assume everyone wants to 'visit.' If not, just say no.' She quickly placed the patch at Chrys's neck. Chrys drew back, not used to being touched like that.

'Transfer done.' The letters were yellow.

'How about yours?'

'You can visit,' Chrys told Fern.

'Ready to go.'

She put a patch at her neck, then hesitantly raised it to Opal. Opal's neck was smooth and white. Chrys felt embarrassed.

For a moment Opal stared; then she laughed. 'Eleutherians— they're just the same!' She shook her head in wonder. 'After all they've gone through. Most strains protect their own DNA, but Eleutherians just want to get everyone's brightest children.'

Chrys crossed her arms. 'Are your 'wizards' bright enough?' she demanded. 'Do they have good jobs? Are their parents respectable?'

'Of course they have good jobs,' said Opal indignantly. 'Didn't you see the news?' She held up a viewcoin.

Grains of cardioplast that rebuilt aging muscle cell by cell. The replay filled Chrys's window, happy sprites with Plan Ten planning to live another two hundred years. Even happier sprites planning to make a billion credits. Yet Opal herself was not mentioned.

'That was ours,' insisted Opal. 'Most carriers keep their names out of the news.'

'Not Titan.'

Opal nodded. 'We don't want to end like Titan. Too much fear and jealousy—but that will change. You'll see.' She sounded as if trying to convince herself. Then she smiled, her dimples returning. 'You and I have lots in common. I work at the Comb, and my wife Selenite's a dynatect like you. She can't wait to meet the new Eleutheria.'

'I'm no dynatect,' Chrys insisted.

'That's right, volcanoes. Not so different, is it? I mean, volcanoes build up from below. Come, I'm sure you've had enough of the hospital. The lightcraft's waiting.'

Chrys had never ridden a lightcraft. Outside, she eyed it warily, a giant squashed egg rimmed by rectennas; she half expected a couple of Elves to come out. Instead, she followed Opal inside. The door's lips smacked shut. 'Seat yourself,' ordered the lightcraft. From its walls came giant fingers, curving over to strap her down. Her stomach lurched as the city dropped sickeningly away below.

Opal relaxed beneath her straps. 'Selenite does testing for the committee.' One of the other seven votes. 'Did Daeren tell you how the committee works?'

Chrys shook her head, still trying to steady her stomach.

'We all adore Daeren, but he tends to see everything from the micros' point of view.'

The lightcraft dipped, its descent even worse than the climb. Chrys closed her eyes and held her breath. At last the craft settled, and the straps fell away. Her steps still unsteady, she followed Opal out to the street. Tall, forbidding towers seemed to say, starving artists don't belong here. 'Andra's different,' Chrys remembered. 'Andra gives them no slack.'

'Andra's a lawyer—an entire law firm, actually. She takes care of all the hospital malpractice.'

'I see.' Things were starting to fit. 'Does Sartorius often need her services?'

'Andra and the good doctor are a pair.'

'What?' exclaimed Chrys. 'You mean she's a worm lover?'

Opal paused at a ramp leading up into a dark, discreetly intimidating tower of plast. 'Don't be provincial, dear,' she said. 'They actually got married, out on Solaris where it's legal. Sar runs our clinic, and Andra defends our right to exist. Without them, we'd be gone.'

Chrys was repulsed. 'How could anyone stand it?'

Opal shrugged. 'How he looks, alone with her, is anyone's guess.'

Chrys followed Opal up the ramp. The ramp began to rise; Chrys had to catch herself.

'Watch your step, Ladies,' breathed the building. Plast all over; rather live plast for her taste. Chrys hoped its roots below were healthy.

'Keep still,' advised Opal. 'The house knows where we're headed.'

The live walkway carried them inward and upward. Light revealed a vast virtual wilderness—a forest of redwoods, taller than the eye could see, their canopy crowding out the sky. Amazed, Chrys caught herself on a soft railing.

Opal guided her to an artfully placed tree branch that offered drinks and plates of AZ. Out of the forest emerged a petite woman with black curls. Her nanotex pulsed black and gold, and her jewels swam attractively around her waste. Opal clasped her arm and gave her a kiss, while they exchanged a patch at the neck.

'Chrys, I'm Selenite.' A dynatect, Opal had said. 'How's Eleutheria?' Selenite's delicate fingers held out a patch; the standard ritual, Chrys realized.

'The Deathlord,' Fern told her. 'This god puts all dissenters to death.'

Chrys blinked. Deathlord? The woman had fine, delicate fingers, no muscles to speak of. Her pupils twinkled reddish orange.

'The Deathlord's minions want to visit us. Is it safe?'