Brain Plague

Chrys shrugged, hoping the Eleutherians kept dark.

'Well, it's in good time,' Selenite told her. 'The Board wants a demonstration, a test run on-site.'

'A test run? Tapping the roots?' Visions of cancerplast made Chrys ill.

'Only halfway down, level twelve. Inject the virus and see if it sends its data clear up to the executive suite.'

That weekend at Olympus, Opal clasped her hands in delight. 'Selenite really thinks it will work—I can't imagine what it will be like here without all those pans of dripping water.' She leaned over and whispered. 'Do you really think Eleutheria will win at chess? Who's their mysterious coach?'

'A woman with a past.'

A caryatid approached with a spiral assortment of nuts, and pate sweeter than apples. Averting her eyes discreetly, Chrys nonetheless permitted herself one of each. The taste went straight to her toes.

'Chrys.' Lord Garnet's eyes sparkled with excited people, even more talkative than her own. 'The portraits are exquisite. I'll keep them to look at forever. Such fond memories.' He slipped a transfer lightly at her neck.

'Thanks for the investment,' she told him, leaning back gingerly in her seat. The trunk of the singing-tree hugged her.

'The market's done well,' he admitted.

Chrys admired the exceptionally fine texture of his talar, very plain, yet its nuanced shaping responded to every move. 'I wish I had more time to spend it,' she sighed.

'That is the hard part,' Garnet agreed. 'By the way, I hear you portray the gods as well. A rather . . . striking portrayal.'

She shuddered. 'Never listen to microbial gossip.'

'Don't hide your best work. And when do you dine with us?'

'After my next show.'

A living tire-creature wheeled past; startled, she followed the Prokaryan image till it vanished through the arch of a singing-tree. Around the arch of the tree sat Daeren and Selenite, at it again.

'Too many defectors,' Selenite was saying. 'If we take in so many, their genes will displace those of our own people.'

While Daeren listened, Garnet leaned over to pass him a transfer and massaged his shoulder. 'The defectors reject slavery,' Daeren pointed out. 'They risk death to reject it. They desire freedom even more than our own, who take it for granted.'

Garnet nodded, and Opal sipped her drink thoughtfully.

Selenite shook her head. 'In effect, we're favoring strains more virulent than our own, more likely to enslave us. You can't get around it.'

'Defectors are creative,' Daeren insisted. 'The most independent-minded of their kind. They bring vital genetic diversity. Otherwise, our own populations in-breed and degenerate, growing tame and lazy.' Exactly what Rose said, thought Chrys.

Selenite's eyes narrowed. 'That's not true. We'll see who ends up at the Slave World.'

Opal extended an arm around each of them. 'We don't have to agree.'

The next night was Chrys's regular shift at the Spirit Table. Sister Kaol was stirring the soup while Chrys chopped a growing pile of potatoes, keeping the skins for extra vitamins. At the long table sat a couple of derelicts, one of whom smelled so bad it filled the room.

'From each according to ability,' reminded Jonquil. 'That's what Rose says.'

'Watch out for Rose,' warned Chrys.

An elderly man came in off the street. But usually by eight the tables were full, and she and Sister Kaol were running back and forth to fill the pots. 'Sister, where is everyone tonight?'

Sister Kaol leaned over to whisper. 'There's a vampire, hiding out by the tube. The poor thing is scaring off our customers.'

Chrys peered out the window. A light was out, and the tube entrance was in shadow. She could just make out the contorted shape of the vampire. 'I'll call an octopod.'

'Oh, no. An octopod would scare our customers worse. They'd never come back.'

Chrys frowned. Vampires even on this level—how far had the slaves spread? In her window, the purple button was waiting. She blinked.

Daeren's sprite appeared, at his home for once; usually he was outside some hospital waiting room. Chrys felt bad. 'Sorry to bother you, but there's a slave outside, and—like, if you could send someone to help them ...'

'It's okay, I'm on call,' he said. 'Where is the slave now? Did they seek help?'

'I don't know. He or she—it's a vampire.'

Daeren shook his head. 'Chrys, we only help those with the will to ask. Otherwise, they just end up back on the street. At the vampire stage, they're beyond help, their entire bodies consumed by micros. They've lost most of their brain. Like a mad dog, they exist only to pass on a few desperate microbes.'

'You're sure? You couldn't just try?'

'If I came, my eyes would only scare them off.'

Chrys thought this over. A second bowl of soup steamed invitingly, yet no customers. 'Why do some slaves turn into vampires, while others go to the Slave World?'

'Like tuberculosis, it can be acute or chronic. We guess that the Slave World is for hosts who readily obey, whereas those who don't...' He shrugged. 'It's hard to know, since no human's ever been to the Slave World and come back alive. Either way, it's pretty grim.'

'How do you know that? I mean, if you've never been there.'

Daeren eyed her intently. 'Why do you ask?'

Chrys did not answer. She thought of Rose, and Endless Light. She signed off and looked again out the window. 'Rose?' she called. 'Rose, where are you?'

'Here I am, Great Host. It takes me time, you know. Someone has to bring me out in chains.' The former master slyly played on her sympathy.

'Can you tell me how to help a vampire? If you can, I'll set you free.'

'In a vampire, the betrayers have gone completely wild. Instead of bringing their host to Endless Light, as they should, they burn and pillage, devouring the very flesh. When their host dies, they will all meet their just end.'

Chrys thought of the street folk who would go hungry that night. 'Can we at least get the vampire to move off and quit scaring customers?'

'Let the betrayers see me flash in your eyes. They'll scare off.'

She put down her potatoes. 'Back in a minute, Sister.' Outside, her eyes adjusted to the dark as she warily approached the tube. Music floated over from a neighbor's house, and the sparks of busy lightcraft rose and fell in the distance. Her steps slowed. What harm could come, she thought. As a carrier she was immune; even picking up Rose had not hurt her. She took another step toward the shadows. A foul smell reached her.

A sound of gasping, with a rumble underneath. Then she saw the hunched figure, a man, she thought. He was bent over double, gasping and growling, as if at his last breath. His nose and fingers were white and blunted, dissolving inward like those of a leper. Chrys felt all her hair stand on end. 'You, there.' Her voice rang hollow, and her throat caught with nausea. 'Who are you?'

The head moved, catching light from across the street. What had once been a face now bulged with veins clogged by multiplying micros.

'Environmental disaster,' flashed Aster. 'The masters destroyed their own host.'

'Betrayers,' added Rose. 'The Enlightened Leader shall hear of this.'

'You think your 'comrades' don't know?' Aster challenged. 'How could they not? '

'The Leader is light-years away. Even human leaders cannot limit their own depravity. Of course, you naive Eleutherians think the gods are perfect.'