Brain Plague

'The hell it is. I know the law as well as you.' Jasper faced Daeren coolly, but his hand was shaking. 'I want him safe, do you hear?'

'If he chooses to keep them—the innocent majority—he'll be safe enough. My Watchers will see him through.'

Jasper's hand closed into a fist. 'You put him up to this.'

'We haven't yet spoken—he doesn't even know if—'

'You wanted an excuse to give him your people, was that it? Or was the idea his?'

'Jasper,' said Daeren in a low voice, 'you're not yourself. Think clearly—you need to help him.'

Chrys's heart pounded. 'I could give him Watchers.'

The two men turned to her. Jasper was incredulous. 'You?'

'She's trained,' Daeren agreed.

Jasper added, 'You mean Eleutherians would be willing to spend their lives with Garnet?'

'I'll ask them. I mean, they'll do as I tell them.'

Daeren looked away. 'Thanks, Chrys. You know, this was my third call today. Perhaps you and the doctor could take it from here.' He caught her hand, a bit harder than usual. They quickly exchanged transfers. Then he left without looking back, the taut deltoids shifting smoothly beneath his nanotex. Chrys wanted to run after him, to say something, but he was gone.

'Jonquil, could you recruit seven Watchers for the God of Love?'

'Certainly, God of Mercy. Though it's hard to believe, I know elders of good character who despise modern design and would embrace a mission of service.' And the chance to invest in palladium, she guessed.

Jasper sat straight and folded his hands. 'We're greatly in your debt.'

'It's our job,' she breathed. 'Thank the Committee.' Damn it, she was sounding like a bureaucrat already. She watched Jasper, his face like a mask, his fingers tightening and flexing, struggling between pride and fear.

'The God of the Map of the Universe?' inquired Jonquil. 'Any word on our bid? Our aesthetic engineers have new options to offer.'

Chrys tapped Jasper on the hand. 'They want to talk shop.'

He looked up in surprise. 'Here?'

She shrugged. 'You know Eleutheria.'

Jasper accepted a transfer. His face relaxed. 'The Silicon planning board agreed to hear us next month,' he told her. 'A good sign.'

A bad sign, thought Chrys glumly. Even sentients made mistakes.

At the door appeared a face full of worms. It was Doctor Sartorius.

'The Terminator,' flashed Jonquil. 'Flee for your lives!'

'Be dark.' Executions—that's all her people could think of the good doctor. 'Be glad for those spared.'

'You can see him now,' Sartorius told Jasper. When Jasper had gone, the worm-face took a seat, out of politeness; he could just as easily have shaped himself down. 'Welcome aboard, Chrysoberyl.' His voice sounded more melodious than usual. 'You are a welcome addition to the Committee.'

'What happened exactly?' Chrys asked. 'How did Garnet get in trouble? Why didn't the nanos warn him?'

The doctor's eyes swiveled unnervingly around the post of his body. 'Our dopamine sensors are tuned to a fine threshold. We wouldn't want to sound alarms, say, every time you look at a beautiful painting.'

Chrys rolled her eyes. 'Saints preserve us.'

'His people convinced themselves they did no harm, so long as they set off no alarms. But when testing time came, they panicked. They even fudged his memory, a worse sin than the original. He actually believed he was okay; but when they couldn't face the blue angels, he panicked.'

'I see. That's why he seemed fine at first.' She shuddered.

The worms hung still. 'I'm sorry.' The doctor's voice came soft. 'Sorry we let this happen. I've contacted Opal; we'll redesign the sensors.'

Good luck, she thought. No sensor could keep humans from fooling themselves.

Jasper returned, his face beaming with relief. 'Everything will be fine. Thanks for all you've done, Doctor.' He extended a hand. The doctor shaped a hand to clasp his. 'And you too, Chrys; much obliged.' He nodded. 'Garnet knows what he has to do.'

Behind Jasper stood Andra. The sight of her with Sartorius struck Chrys like a blow. Back in the hospital, she remembered, her head still in pain, her own people sentenced to death—

'Judgment day,' flashed Jonquil. 'The day of judgment for those people. God of Mercy, will you defend them?'

'Come, Chrys.' Andra's voice was as icy as Chrys's own veins. They went with the doctor to the bedside where Garnet lay. His head was turned away, his hair straggled across the pillow.

'You will choose,' Andra told him. 'You and no one else.' She glared at Chrys, as she had once glared at Daeren. 'By the end of the hour, Garnet, you will choose either Watchers from Eleutheria ...' She turned to Sar. '... or the arsenic sweep.' With that she was gone. But not unaware—Chrys knew that now. Every moment of the hour was on record.

'God of Mercy, please—all those children—'

'Be dark. Your work is done; this year is not for you.' Chrys sat by the bed, waiting. Idly she surveyed the living walls, sickly green, wondering where all the little camera eyes hid. When she first came from Dolomoth, it had taken a long time to get used to the ubiquity of public vision. 'Garnet?' she whispered at last. 'Garnet, I have a question.'

His head slowly turned.

She leaned over. 'Why are the Seven Stars but seven?'

Garnet gave a feeble smile, then shook his head. 'It's no use.' His lip twisted. 'Jasper is furious at the lot of them. He won't rest till they're gone.'

She watched her words. 'The choice is not his.'

'The fault was mine. I made them do it.'

'Why?'

He shrugged. 'I was curious. Why not, after all. I can buy any pleasure in the Fold. What's a little dopamine?' He paused. 'I can't buy back yesterday.'

'Did you explain to Jasper?'

'Jasper can't accept it. If he did, he'd have to be furious at me.'

'He loves you.'

'He loves me to death.'

Chrys knew that one well enough. Before Topaz had left her, when it started to go bad, Chrys remembered lying awake in the wee hours, watching that lovely white neck beside her, imagining her own powerful hands around it. Wearily, she pulled up a chair and sank in.

'There's nothing left,' he added. 'Lose them, or lose Jasper— I might as well go off to an Elysian Final Home.' Elves generally chose their own end, once they tired of their centuries.

'I know,' Chrys sighed. 'I know that feeling well. And for me, there's no one hanging outside to care if I live or die.'

He glanced at her sharply.

'I'll tell you what I do,' she added, 'when I feel like that. Find someone worse off. Go round the corner to the Spirit Table and serve the folks in our neighborhood who haven't got enough to eat.'

'Not enough to eat—in our neighborhood.' As if it were a new idea. He shook his head. 'I could feed the whole Underworld, but it wouldn't help. Economics—you know that. The poor will always be poor.'

'Perhaps. But they might help you.'

He turned to her, fixing her with his stare. 'Chrys, tell me the truth. Will Jasper leave me, if I keep them?'

One human, a million people. Chrys swallowed. In her teeth Andra's voice spoke, 'Don't answer.' Startled, she half jumped from her chair. 'I'm sorry, I—I can't say.' She bit her lip. 'You know I'm fond of Jasper.'