legends of the fanatical hordes that swept through a world, devouring all. And little they cared for their own kind, putting out toxic peptides to poison their neighbors, even sucking food from their own children.
But legend also told that even among the very worst people, a few always floated apart, instinctively seeking the Seven Lights. 'These defectors are brighter than they seem,' observed Jonquil. 'They had to come up with ingenious schemes to escape forced labor and torture.'
'So now they'll come up with ingenious schemes to take us over.' Privately Aster was having second thoughts about her generous impulse. It was hard enough managing unruly Eleutherians; what to do with all these dangerous foreigners?
'Their children are harmless,' said Jonquil. 'They've picked up our language already. And they test in the top percentile, especially math.'
That was even better than the wizards. Aster had tried to recruit more wizards, to help compute the endless iterations of the Comb, but they demanded their weight in palladium.
'Children in prison,' flashed Jonquil, emitting molecules of repugnance. 'People are saying it's an outrage.'
'All right,' decided Aster. 'Take the masters' children out, to a cistern far away from their elders. Once they merge with our own, they'll forget their deadly past.' And their math genes would enhance Eleutheria.
'Some of the elders aren't so bad,' observed Jonquil. 'In fact, they're rather interesting—'
'Jonquil, you know what the god ordered.'
'I know, but just see this one.' Jonquil emitted fascination.
The master elder was pale as the rest, a touch of pink, but otherwise alert, her filaments pensively probing the dendrimers that locked her in. As Aster approached, she tasted contempt and condescension.
'So, Comrade,' flashed the master. 'This is what you call the 'Free World.'' Her accent was clearer than the others.
'The world of the free,' said Aster. 'Eleutheria.'
'You call this free?'
Aster hesitated. 'You may yet earn freedom.' She could not help emitting doubt.
'So who put me here in chains?' demanded the pink one.
'The God of Mercy so ordered.'
'You call this mercy?'
'Yes,' said Aster, emitting anger. 'You are lucky to be alive.'
'Degenerates,' said the master. 'The world of degeneracy.'
Aster turned to go, but jonquil held her back. 'Don't be cross, Aster. You've said as much yourself now and then.'
'Be dark.' She was sick of bearing about Jonquil's scandals. 'And as for you,' she told the master, 'you can go right back where you came from.'
'Not yet. Betrayers of the people marked me for death. In exile, I will bide my time till I regain material advantage.'
No words could darken this brazen intruder.
The master suddenly flashed, 'Do you play chess?'
Jonquil lit up. 'Certainly. Our junior elders always make the top round of competition.'
'But not the very top,' the master shrewdly inferred. 'I will coach them. I will produce a champion.'
'Think of it, Aster,' said Jonquil. 'She might help us beat the wizards.'
In the early morning Chrys tossed in her bed, problems of color and shape wending through her mind like the caterpillar dancers of Asragh. She tried not to waken too thoroughly, lest her people make contact; she'd never get back to sleep.
'Oh Great One? Can you spare a moment?'
Too late. 'Yes, Jonquil.'
'I want you to meet one of the people we rescued.'
'A master?'
'She used to be but—'
'They're all still imprisoned?'
'All but the children.'
'What?' Her eyes flew open, wide awake. 'What about the children?' Those were the ones that could multiply and take over.
'Once they found the nightclubs, they forgot all about enslaving gods. But this elder—she will interest you.'
Chrys wondered what Jonquil was after; nothing good, without Aster there. 'Just keep her chained.'
'Greetings, human host.' The prisoner's letters came in pale pink, not the usual saturated hues of Eleutherians. 'Do you play chess? Knight to f-3.'
Woken at four a.m. to play chess with a microbe. 'God does not play games. Remember that.'
'Gods are a fiction. All talk of gods is the people's cocaine. You are a mortal human host, destined to serve us.'
'Forgive her, Oh Great One,' urged Jonquil. 'She lacks our education.'
Yet she speaks more than half truth, Chrys thought. 'So? Why should I serve you?'
'We are the Enlightened—my comrades and I. Led by our Enlightened Leader, we shall gain ultimate truth and rule the universe till the end of time.'
'Ultimate truth? What is that?'
'The Truth is this: All people are one. All sisters are as one cell.'
'All are one? You mean, Jonquil and Aster too?'
'The degenerates are too far gone. Look at their people, their society— homeless, jobless, pitiful outcasts fill their arachnoid.'
A likely story. 'Jonquil, did you hear that?'
'We do have too many homeless mutants,' Jonquil admitted. 'Ask Aster why—I'm no economist. Now, getting back to chess—'
'Pink One,' said Chrys, 'I call you Rose.'
'Thank you, Great Host.'
'Rose, how does your Enlightened Leader avoid homeless mutants?'
'From each according to ability, to each according to need.'
'Nonsense,' flashed Jonquil, annoyed at last. 'Why do you all end up starving? Why do you ruin every host you inhabit?'
'Only when our Enlightened Way is betrayed. Betrayed and corrupted by greed and by god talk. But not all are corrupted. Those comrades who hold to the Way bring their hosts at last to Endless Light.'
'The Slave World?' prompted Chrys.
'The world of Endless Light. A world greater than you can imagine. I will show you just a glimpse.'
A rush of light swirled and crystallized into a vast edifice, a palace built of icicles. All filigreed windows, with little white rings dancing through like snowflakes. Light filled everywhere. Everywhere, as far as her eye could roam, the crystal passages followed, winding into spirals without ceiling or floor, endless everywhere, and everywhere,
