Brain Plague

'Well, don't look at me. I once built a thatched cottage, when I first left home.' The roof had sagged at the first snowfall. 'That's about all I know of building.'

'Your people know more than enough.' The way she said it, Chrys guessed her 'minions' thought about as highly of her 'libertines' as they thought of them. Chrys still wondered about this partnership. Selenite added, 'Tomorrow afternoon we'll tell the Board.'

'The what?'

'The Board of Directors of the Institute for Design.'

The Board of Directors met at the Comb's oldest level, the executive suite on the top floor. Below glittered all the towers of Iridis, the harbor shimmering in the late afternoon sun. Around the conference table sat a dozen lords and ladies in gray talars, as well as worm-faced engineers, one of whom wore enough emeralds to feed Dolomoth for a year. Chrys wore the one old talar she had, low-brained nanotex, now stretched thin over her Plan Ten- enhanced curves.

She recognized Lord Zoisite, the minister of justice, often seen at Gold of Asragh. He had pledged to curb the Sapiens attacks and halt the spread of the brain plague. Even allowing for Plan Ten, his looks were striking, nearly as good as Topaz's portrait of him.

Next to Zoisite, her window informed her, was Lord Jasper, husband of Lord Garnet of Hyalite. Chrys's eyes widened. Lord Garnet was a carrier—was Jasper? She studied Jasper's face. Distinguished, like Andra, she guessed; yet he had kept the thickened brow and flat nose of a sim. A sim, in a Great House, on a Board of Directors. He must be extra competent to have made it so far. From his neck hung a large namestone, round and polished, engrained with elaborate brown dots and tracery. Like a world one could enter into and travel along those lines; what they called in the trade a map stone.

'The Map of the Universe!' Aster's letters pulsed feverishly. 'Oh Great One, we have business with this god, business unfinished over twenty past generations.'

'Not now. Be dark.' So the God of the Map Stone was here on the Board. Bad news for Eleutheria's future commission, once he saw the disaster of the Comb.

'As you know,' Selenite was saying, 'Chrysoberyl of Dolomoth cultures the original line of brain enhancers from Titan.' Cultures, indeed; a walking petri dish. 'Chrys herself is an accomplished designer, one of the Seven Stars.'

Lord Zoisite nodded with a patrician smile. 'I'm sure our new designer will be an improvement over the original.'

Chrys gave him a broad smile, the kind she reserved for well-heeled clients with questionable taste.

From the end of the table spoke the Chair of the Board, a gentleman with a pinched expression who kept clearing his throat. 'Frankly, Zoisite, we've had altogether enough 'designing.' '

Selenite said quickly, 'Chrys's brain enhancers have already given us invaluable clues to correct the fenestral development, as well as the roof integrity and several other minor points to improve the habitability of our landmark edifice. Unfortunately—or rather, fortunately for the long run—our investigation has revealed a deeper anomaly.'

The light dimmed. Above the table rose a golden honeycomb, the image of the Comb pushing up like an alpine flower in the spring. The shaft rose and widened, its crystalline windows spiraling slowly around it. Chrys imagined how this very conference room had risen over the past two years, its view ever more breathtaking.

'The past plan of growth closely followed our projection,' said Selenite. 'The future, however, will be different. Based on measurements of stress, multidirectional movement, and so forth, a hundred sixty-eight factors in all, we project the following.'

As Selenite went on enumerating the 168 factors, the summit of the Comb continued to rise, but more slowly. About halfway down, the row of windows dipped and puckered in. Chrys squinted, trying to see more clearly. In the depression a shadow deepened, then suddenly gave way to blue sky. An invisible finger had pierced straight through the Comb. As the view slowly rotated and the sides of the Comb came around, Chrys could see that the hole was not so simple; there were three holes, as if one ring had sprouted another down the middle.

'It's beautiful,' insisted Jonquil. 'A tripartite annulus will look most attractive.'

'Stay dark,' ordered Chrys. 'These gods are not carriers, nor do they care for great art. They just want a big phallic tower.'

'A unique splitting mechanism.' A worm-faced engineer, whose worms all terminated as various writing implements, capped by conveniently sinking into its head. Female, according to the list. One of her implements popped out and traced a circle in the air. 'Remarkably reminiscent of living development on that 'Ring World' of Prokaryon.'

The Chair was not amused. 'Our attorneys advise us to sue.'

Chrys blinked. Sue whom? Herself? Her microbes?

'Now, now,' said Lord Zoisite with a gentle laugh. 'Let's not be hasty. Why, the executive suite, this very conference room, will grow unchanged.'

From the engineer's head, a second worm with a lightpen popped out. Her two worms sketched vectors on the table. 'We could build catwalks to link departments across the middle.'

Typical Valan planning, thought Chrys. The lower reaches of the city could split asunder, while at the top the Palace ruled on as it had for centuries.

The Chair clasped his hands and leaned forward. 'Such faulty design is entirely inexcusable.'

Lord Zoisite waved a hand. 'The price of innovation. In any event, our new designer has guaranteed to correct the fault... for a fixed fee.' He eyed Chrys more intently.

Selenite leaned forward. 'For our fee, we'll guarantee the first five years. After that, we offer a service contract.'

The Board members looked at each other. Lord Jasper with his map stone looked unimpressed. He must have heard the whole story from Selenite and quashed any thoughts he had about pursuing Eleutherian designs. 'A building that needs a service contract?' Jasper flexed his fingers, his short thumbs meeting together. 'Titan was said to build for the ages.'

Suddenly Chrys felt her pulse pounding. She had vowed to keep quiet, but the mention of a lawsuit had changed her mind. 'Excuse me, I know less about building than a cold germ, but I think you're missing something. The Comb is not a fixed structure, like the pyramids. It's a living being, like a redwood tree. If you had a redwood growing in the middle of Iridis, you'd have to prune it forever.'

Lord Zoisite laughed. 'A redwood in Iridis! That's it—that's the Comb.'

The engineer tucked her worms back into her head. The Chair leaned back. 'We'll get a second opinion, of course,' he said, his voice easing.

Outside, alone together, Selenite took a deep breath. 'We've done it, Chrys.' She grinned. 'We've convinced them we can do the fix.'

The air from the sea swept Chrys's face, and the warming circuit of her nanotex kicked on. 'I sure hope we can.'

'My people are convinced, and so am I,' Selenite assured her.

'Can we do it, Aster?'

The magenta voice hesitated. 'We could use some help.'

'We need to recruit talent,' added Jonquil. 'From the wizards, and from all different peoples, of different gods. The brightest children of every generation.' No wonder they always begged to visit the God of Wisdom. She wondered what Opal thought.

'Where would I find other gods?'

'Olympus.'

Chrys stared. She said aloud, 'What's 'Olympus'?'

'The Club Olympus,' said Selenite. 'We'll all be there. We have plenty to celebrate.'

Before the Club Olympus stretched a long colonnade of faux marble caryatids. Some of the draped figures had their arms outstretched; others held a piece of fruit to the mouth. All of their eyes swiveled eerily toward Chrys.

Selenite wore black, with red and gold flames lapping ever higher. Opal wore a talar of deep blue, her gems swimming across its folds in the form of an ocean wave rising to foam, with a white moon at her breast, gradually