Brain Plague

spend a few hours serving at the Spirit Table. Get to know their neighbors.'

'An excellent idea! If it weren't for headball season; the team takes up every minute.' He sighed and shook his head. 'Besides, the tube stop, you know—we wouldn't want them to pick up'—he whispered—'diseases.'

'Very well,' said Chrys abruptly. 'I'll accept your offer.'

The lord waved his hand. 'It's done.' In Chrys's eyes, a digit increased by one.

'Since your boys have no time for charity,' she added, 'I'll donate the sum, in their name, to the Simian Advancement League.'

His faced turned dark as his namestones before his sprite vanished.

That afternoon, Chrys took a trans-world call. To her amazement, there stood her younger brother, his face pink and his arms tan. His eyes glowed.

'Hal,' she breathed.

The boy waved. 'I can see you!'

She smiled. 'I see you too.'

'An angel visited our hill,' he rushed on. 'The angel brought health to all the children of the village.'

From behind, her mother put her arm around his shoulder. 'A very special angel. An angel of the Spirit, who always knows our need.'

Chrys swallowed, her eyes too full to speak. What did the mountain people need more—their health, or their pride in their own belief? For years her mother's pride had wrestled with her own. They were one, and yet they were estranged. Chrys could reach back and help them, yet she could never go back home.

TWELVE

Aster felt her memories slipping, the molecules losing their grip and floating out into the cerebrospinal fluid. After a life of exceptional length, going on three months, her time in Eleutheria would soon end.

'Jonquil, you will have to carry on.' She feared the yellow one's lack of character, but she could still lead the people, and she had a genius for design.

'Don't worry, Aster. Rose will help me.'

Aster did not like leaving Eleutheria under the influence of a former master. But Rose, despite her outlandish ideas and lingering foreign accent, was an effective organizer, running a dozen councils and committees, establishing a system of social welfare. Her personal lifestyle was even more ascetic than Aster's; she ate only unsaturated hydrocarbons, and avoided any hint of scandal. 'Live like her, but don't listen to her.'

'Don't worry. I never listen to anyone.'

'I only regret I will never live to see our next masterpiece.' The creation she had dreamt of, the plans still alive in the heart of Eleutheria, and in the people of the Map of the Universe. She had seen enough of the plans to know one thing: The new creation would have no roots, like the Comb, but would float on a vast body of water. Where such a structure could exist, she had no idea. 'But you will. Remember, build for the future. For beauty, truth— and all the gods that have to dwell there.'

Chrys felt bad for Aster, the one who had helped Fern restore order, who always looked ahead for Eleutheria. She wished she had pressed Jasper sooner about his new project. But now it was too late to do more than sketch the little ring's last portrait. And with her biggest show of the year coming, she faced getting tested by Selenite, with Jonquil and a former master leading her people.

'Oh Great One, when will we return to the Underworld?' A flash of Jonquil's gold.

'Not for many generations.' No distractions till after her show.

'We need new immigrants,' insisted Jonquil. 'Our settled generations grow lazy.' Again already? Their generations flew so fast.

'Find the uncorrupted Enlightened Ones,' added Rose. 'Bearers of the Truth.'

'Show them our portraits,' countered Jonquil. 'They'll forget about Truth.'

'They won't care for your dirty pictures.'

Chrys held her head in both hands. 'Behave yourselves and let me work, lest you feel the god's wrath.' Early every morning, new scenes bubbled up from her mind, demanding to be composed. Beyond single portraits, an entire cityscape of micros floated through their filamentous dwellings in the arachnoid. The shear newness of it took her breath away. Yet who but a handful of carriers would understand?

One morning she had a visitor—Lady Moraeg. 'Chrys, it's been so long.' Moraeg's diamonds glittered as they traveled round her neck, her curls dark except for lava tint. She embraced Chrys just like the old days.

Chrys said guardedly, 'I've been here long enough.'

'Oh,' said Moraeg, 'Carnelian and I took such a grand tour this year, to Solaria and Urulan. We saw a real 'caterpillar,' up close. What a monster.' She caught Chrys's arm. 'But now it's back to work. Goodness, my dear— how well you look.' Probably she had waited to see how Zircon survived.

'What wilderness is this?' flashed Jonquil. 'Can we visit?'

'Stay dark.' Chrys had warned them—why didn't they listen?

'It's almost time for your show,' added Moraeg. 'Can I help?'

'First take a look.' The room darkened, then filled with the cityscape. Microbial wheels tumbled through the columns of arachnoid, their colors winking, their nightclubs pulsing with colored music.

Moraeg's eyes widened. 'There's a planet I've never been to.'

Chrys grinned. 'It's inside my head.'

'Is it true then? You have Titan's own brain enhancers .. . inside your head?'

'What about your own stuff? Don't you have a show too?'

'Oh, another six months.' Moraeg called up her florals; carnations in baskets, lupins on the slopes of Urulan, the sort of thing you'd hang in a sitting room. Then, unexpectedly, Wheelgrass Meadow. Red looped petals hung from hooplike stems before a distant singing-tree.

'Our ancestral home! Beauty, imagination, excellent taste— Oh Great One, we must visit this—'

Chrys squeezed her eyes shut. 'Stay dark, or face the god's wrath.'

'Does it hurt when your eyes flash like that?'

Startled, her eyes flew open. She shook her head. 'They just talk too much. But then, like, I have a million minds to draw inspiration.'

Moraeg held her chin thoughtfully. 'You know, I've lived a hundred years; I made one giga-credit fortune, and married another. Now I've made a second life—in art. To go for the best.' She paused. 'Does that trial still have openings?'

'We have a party of visitors all set to go,' Jonquil insisted. 'We'll be most considerate.'

Chrys's pulse raced. 'I don't know. I can tell you who to call.'

'I thought you might have connections. If they need volunteers, let me know.'

After her friend left, Chrys took a deep breath. Another artist on Olympus—she was thrilled, yet wary, thinking what she had gone through. As for her people . . .

'Jonquil? You must call all the elders here at once.'

'I will try, Oh Great One. They are busy planning urban renewal—'

'At once. There is serious trouble.'

Chrys counted the seconds until Jonquil returned. 'We are here, all thirty.'

'Rose too?'

'All of us. What is the god's wish?'