Brain Plague

'Speaking of scandal, what are we to do with Minion-625? She passed our test for citizenship, but the Deathlord demands her arrest.'

Aster's light dimmed. 'What's she done now?'

'She wrote 'Pumpkinheads,' a show making fun of the gods.'

'Oh, that.' The show was making the rounds of the nightclubs, but Aster was too busy to see it. 'She's welcome to stay here, but we can't afford a diplomatic crisis with the minions. Not while we're fixing the Comb.'

After years without notice, suddenly Chrys had more commissions than she knew what to do with. Bemused, she scratched beneath Merope's purring chin, while the little green sketch of Fern twinkled amongst the spattercones and lava flows that now adorned her studio. 'Xenon,' she confided, 'I don't even know what to charge them.'

'You need an agent,' the house told her.

Chrys rolled her eyes. 'An agent for microbial portraits?' She could hardly ask Topaz to recommend one.

'If you don't mind,' said Xenon, 'I've frequented galleries for years, and I've always wanted to sell good art.'

'Really?' Opal sure had picked the right house.

'I'm so excited,' Xenon exclaimed. 'It's simple enough; you start at the top of the market. A top portrait commission goes for around twenty thousand.'

'To paint a microbe?'

'Remember, you've got the market cornered.'

She thought it over. 'We'll do Opal's first.' She had already collected recordings of a couple dozen favored micros, several from Garnet alone. A sketch was one thing, but a portrait in full detail? Topaz would interview her subjects for hours before putting a hand in the painting stage, and the sittings could take days or weeks. When would Chrys have time for pyroscape?

But if she could pull it off. . . what a fantastic theme for her next show.

'Oh Great One?' Yellow flashes from Jonquil. 'Aster asked me to remind you of the passing of Dendrobium.' The last of Daeren's Watchers. Chrys was on her own now, with Eleutheria. 'We ask your favor, to see Dendrobium in the stars.'

Unlike the other carriers at Olympus, Daeren had shown no interest in the micro portraits. 'I'll sketch Dendrobium for you, Jonquil, but then we need to do our paid commissions. You'll have to help with the colors.'

'Thanks for your favor, Oh Great One. Of course, paid commissions come first, but for your show, wouldn't you like to try some compositions of greater intellectual interest than dying elders? For instance, two children merging.'

That would be a challenge, geometrically at least. She could see possibilities. Her show would be unique; maybe even controversial.

'I've reached four of your clients,' reported Xenon, 'and confirmed your commissions. I think you can look forward to steady income.'

She looked up, then suddenly focused on her credit line. 'Speaking of income, what's that 'two' doing in the first digit?' She couldn't have earned another million overnight.

'Your investment has done rather well.'

Chrys twisted a loop of her hair. 'Easy come, easy go.'

'True,' admitted Xenon, 'last night you had another ten million for about five minutes. You might sell off some, now and then.'

'I can buy my brother's health plan.'

'Certainly, Chrysoberyl. Which plan do you wish?'

'How much is Plan Ten?'

'Plan Ten doesn't serve Dolomoth; the mountains are too remote. Plan Six, however, for twenty thousand a year, should cover the basics. The extra levels are mainly for options.'

That was okay. Hal didn't need a gender change, just new mitochondria. Her spirits soared; she felt better than she had in weeks. She blinked at her window to call her parents. Of course, it was impossible to reach anyone directly in Dolomoth; they had to hike out to the village transmitter and call back.

A sprite flashed in her eyes. She was taken by surprise; it could not be her parents already.

It was Andra. 'Chrys, a suspect has been identified in your case. A neighbor of yours; they think he's the one that hit your house.'

The view split to include the suspect, a large-boned simian with the sullen look one would expect of someone bound hand and foot. Chrys recognized him from the tube maintenance crew. 'Can you confirm any connection?' Andra asked. 'Did he ever threaten you?'

Chrys shook her head. 'He used to pass by my door on the way to work. Why do they think he did it?'

'A witness placed him nearby, earlier that day.'

'I see.'

'He's been in trouble before. They want to put him away again.'

'For what? Being a sim?'

Andra nodded. 'I'm afraid other leads have dried up. But for the future, you have good protection. Xenon's security is up to standard.'

'What about Titan? Anything new?'

'That's another story.'

Chrys turned cold, remembering that her new privileges came at a price.

An explosion of sound, and one of the sketches went black. The ash cloud—Chrys had set it to remind her. 'It can't be noon already? The eclipse?'

'Don't forget your glasses,' warned Xenon, as she hurried down the steps past the caryatids.

Outside, the sky had subtly changed. Not the greenish dark of a stormy day, nor the ruddy glow of sunset; something altogether different, an alien bluish light. Shadows developed a fantastic mind of their own. Through the leaves of a tree played little beams of light; not the ordinary, scattered rays, but each little spot of light was a crescent sun, the shrinking crescent of the sun itself behind the dark disk of the moon, of Elysium. At last only a tiny spark remained, just enough of a candle to illumine all of Valedon.

'What is it?' demanded Aster. 'Tell us, what are these curious colors?'

'The sun falls behind a moon. Watch—in a moment, night will fall.' Chrys smiled, remembering. 'The ancients were struck with terror, forsaken by their angry gods.'

'The gods themselves have gods?'

The disk of Elysium sprouted wings of dark. The wings darkened all the sky, until they revealed the stars. Chrys watched, still except for the pounding of her heart. Even though she knew the minutes would pass, she could feel the prayer rising to her lips. How the ancients must have shrieked and wailed.

At last, after interminable minutes, the light returned, as every thinking being knew it must. The blackened moon, though, would remain a while longer, cutting into the sun. Strange, to imagine that turquoise moon of the Elves transformed to a thing of evil.

'What if our god became angry? Will you ever forsake us?'

'Of course not, Aster.' Whatever were they up to now, she wondered.

That evening, Selenite stopped by to conference about the latest plans. But there was something else on her mind. 'Chrys, we work well together, I'll give you that. There's just one small problem.' She paused.

'Yes?'

'You're holding one of my people. You can't do that, you know.'

Mystified, Chrys stared at her. 'Whatever do you mean?'

Selenite's black curls lifted in the breeze. 'Minion-six-twenty-five. You've held her back. You can't ever do that; you must always return visitors on demand.'

'On whose demand?'

Selenite's face hardened, like the Chair of the Board. 'Each of us maintains order in our own way. You can't