Brain Plague

eleven. Perhaps Papilion, center of the arts, home of Ilia and Yyri? Or Anaeon, known for scholars and philosophers?

'Silicon. The future city of Elysium.' Jasper's voice vibrated with pride. 'For a thousand years, there were but a dozen. Now, at last, will rise the thirteenth.'

'It matches our plans—exactly!' flashed Jonquil.

'Down to the fenestration. ...' The faintest of lines revealed an elaborate pattern of hexagonal panes.

'If only Aster had lived to see. Does it please you, Great One?'

Chrys regarded the dome thoughtfully. 'It's lovely. Like all Elf cities, a pearl floating upon the sea.'

'Silicon will be NOTHING like other cities. You'll see.' Jonquil was unusually vehement.

'We have revised the plans substantially, in recent generations, ' agreed Rose.

Chrys found her voice. 'A . .. whole city?'

Jasper said, 'My firm put in a bid for Silicon. The plans for our bid were drawn by Titan—that is, Eleutheria. We were awaiting the client's response, when—' He shrugged delicately. With sudden insight Chrys realized the true reason Eleutherians had called Titan 'blind'—an omnipotent god who failed to foresee his own end. Little did they know, or perhaps they dared not think, that all the gods were blind.

A new floating city. Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to come to grips with it. 'Don't the Elves limit their population? Why do they need another city?'

'Not a city for humans. For sentients.'

A city for sentients. That had made the news, back when she used to listen. She put up her hands and shook her head. 'Saints and angels— Why would sentients hire microbes?'

Jasper nodded. 'Sentients have complex attitudes toward their human progenitors. Yes, they want to do things their own way; and yet, they want to be seen as having nothing but the best, even the best of what passes for human taste. Of course, Silicon will be built by sentients, thousands of them; but the overall aesthetic design ...' His pipe puffed reflectively. 'Your people say they have revised their design. Interesting. With your consent, I'll arrange a new presentation to the Silicon planning board.'

FOURTEEN

Silicon. A glimpse of that future metropolis, the very image of their ancient plan. The prophecy would come true: Eleutheria would design the greatest structure the gods had ever seen. But when would that be? And how could Eleutheria make their city different, greater than any that came before?

Beyond building, Eleutheria had a new mission: To test the gods and their peoples. For two generations the elders rehearsed and remembered what they had learned—the telltale molecules that dissolved into the arachnoid, the signs of an altered brain, and the deceitful ways of the masters. Jonquil let Rose lead the investigation; she seemed to relish the job.

Meanwhile, Jonquil devoted herself to the portraits, helping the god develop color schemes and refine subtle shadings. Her most able assistant was a young elder who flashed infrared. In her youth a chess champion coached by Rose, now Infrared spent all her hours poring over the god's creation, barely stopping to absorb nourishment.

'Come join us in the nightclub, Infrared,' Jonquil flashed at her one day.

'Not till I figure out these hues. Does the detail look best in blue green, or a more saturated blue?'

Such single-minded pursuit was foreign to Jonquil. 'Infrared, life is short. What do you live for, if not the pleasure of taste?'

'I live for love of the god,' flashed Infrared, 'no more and no less.'

'Love? How can one 'love' the god, a being great enough to contain us all?'

'Love is beyond reason. A mere speck in the god's eye, I love her still.'

In her gallery, Chrys awaited the promised visit of Ilia, more distracted than usual. The night after Garnet's dinner, all the exotic food had kept her awake, and her people could talk of nothing but Jasper's revelation. Designing the thirteenth city, dogged by snake-eggs—what a target she'd make for any neighborhood tough with a laser. It would never come to pass, she assured herself. The Hyalite firm was just one of several bidders for the job. With all the revelations coming out of the Comb, any sentient with half a brain would know better.

The Elf gallery director was due any minute. Shaking with nerves, Chrys pushed her thick mass of hair behind her shoulders and wished it would stay there. Nothing terrified her more than to hear the pronouncement of experts, the ones who really knew—or worse, to imagine all the barbs they left unsaid. And carrier Ilia was a million experts in one. 'The Thundergod's judges test her,' she reassured Jonquil. 'Tell everyone to treat her people well. This is the most important contact I'll ever make.'

'Never fear; we've arranged all the best shows for her people. And I present a new elder to help guide us. She'll please you well.'

Chrys froze. The thought of a new elder to name reminded her that Jonquil's own days were numbered, soon to leave her people following enlightened Rose.

'God of Mercy, the One True God, from whom all blessings flow.' The new one flashed infrared, just a touch redder than the deadly Poppy. 'Though I am but a speck in Your circulation, I live for love of You alone.'

Warily Chrys watched the letters cross her window. 'Love me—and love my laws. Never forget.'

'All sixteen hundred of them. 'You shall obey every word I say, and stay out of my—'

'That will do.' Chrys thought a moment. 'I call you Fireweed. ' The flower that arose on Mount Dolomoth the season after the ashes had cooled.

A butterfly of light splayed across the floor, joined by more, as Ilia's train swept through. The petite Elf glided through the doorway, her feet shod in delicate sandals, though Elysian streets were too clean for shoes.

'A great honor, Citizen,' said Chrys carefully. 'Andra sends her regards.' She hoped fervently that Ilia still got tested by the Valan security chief. Whatever did Ilia think of Eris, the Guardian of Culture? Even if Arion was his 'brother,' how could this go on?

' 'Ilia,' please.' Ilia's birdlike eyes flashed rainbow rings. 'Are we 'visiting' today?'

They exchanged transfers. Then Ilia swept over to see Cisterna Magna, the arachnoid columns filled with the micro city, the glowing rings tumbling through it, signed with the molecule Azetidine. 'A landscape of the brain—close at hand, it's even more striking.'

Chrys cleared her throat. 'As you can see, it's quite a departure for my work.

'A departure for us all. A living tapestry of a people never before depicted.'

Chrys blinked. Before she could recover, Ilia had moved on to Lava Arachnoid; the molten rock flowing into the sky, then oozing down into fantastic columns reminiscent of arachnoid fibroblasts. 'Vibrant fusing of landscape, outer and inner—a metaphysical contradiction one could ponder for hours.'

'Thank you,' Chrys whispered.

'The portraits—of course.' Ilia regarded Fern with a fond sigh. 'You must be inundated with orders.'

'Rather.' Then at last Chrys thought of something intelligent to say. 'You and Yyri must be so busy, planning the Gallery's fall season.'

Ilia turned. Her talar swirled, and her projected butterflies streaked madly about the hall. 'Usually it's such a battle for the main exhibit—everyone pushes their own protege, you know. But this year the choice was clear.' She paused. 'If you're available. No conflicting commitments, we hope?'

'No, of course not, I.. .' Her eyes widened. 'You want something .. . for the Gallery Elysium?'