Brain Plague

'You tell her,' said Forget-me-not. 'Just like the immortal Fern, of ages past.'

The image of Fern still glittered, a great constellation in the heavens. But Fireweed could not answer. She was not sure she could bear to go on living in a world of deeds so unspeakable.

'In a dark time, the eye begins to see,' twinkled the blue one. 'You and I have seen things no other free people ever saw and lived. What we know now, we will use in ways never imagined.'

Chrys lay strapped into her seat in the ship, her eyes closed, though they could not seal out what she had seen.

'One True God—do you see us?' Fireweed, the true believer—her betrayal hurt far more than that of Rose. 'Though I love you, truly I have transgressed against your will and infinite wisdom. Take my life, but forgive my people.'

'You're forgiven.'

'I risked the lives of all the god's people. I forfeited all right to serve. I am not fit to see your light.'

'Forgotten. Just don't do it again.'

'God's mercy is beyond understanding.'

In truth, Chrys felt anything but merciful. She felt like squashing Fireweed and Rose underfoot, like a couple of those maggots whose sight she could not cleanse from her brain.

'Great One,' twinkled sky blue Forget-me-not. 'The Council has asked me to take over, during this difficult time, until the transition is clear.'

'Thanks. Good luck.'

'You will not be troubled again by Rose. She's in chains.'

Ending as she began. 'She is in fact very ill. She may not last the year.' Her final hour.

'Did she pass on the codes?'

'To Fireweed.'

'Very well. Let her speak to me, if she is able.'

After many long minutes, the pale pink letters returned. 'Great Host.'

'Yes, Rose.'

Her image appeared, the pink ring with its fraying filaments, slowly revolving in the cerebrospinal fluid. 'You won't need to execute me. My advanced decrepitude will save you the trouble.'

'I know.'

'Already the arsenic atoms are falling loose from my proteins one by one. Atoms I would willingly have shared with my starving sisters.'

'I know, Rose.' Social safety nets, arsenic for the poor— Rose's legacy had transformed Eleutheria.

'You know how I spent my life, my endless quest for light. Betrayed, time after time, until the end, when I myself was the betrayer.'

'I know.'

'You will live a thousand times longer. Long enough for a thousand betrayals.'

Chrys swallowed hard.

'This is most essential—remember. Never give up seeking. No matter how many times betrayed, no matter how obsessed with your work, no matter how dangerous the quest—never end your search for light.'

The inner darkness expanded. Chrys tried to open her eyes, but the tears that filled them blurred her sight.

'Great Host? Do you see?' 1 see.

'Unlike my deluded student, I know that the gods are fiction. But if there ever were a true god, that god could do no better than you.'

'Rose?'

No answer.

An eternity passed. Chrys lost track of time as the ship whirled through fold after fold. Her throat was parched; she could barely swallow. She nodded off to sleep, only to wake with a start from some unremembered terror. Then she dozed again.

Into her window popped a human sprite. It was Daeren. 'Chrys! Oh god, Chrys—are you all right?' His face looked more scared than she had ever seen. Within minutes he boarded, with Doctor Sartorius.

Daeren caught her in his arms and pressed her head to his chest. 'Chrys, whatever it is—it's okay. We'll do what it takes, Chrys.' She took a deep breath. The scent of him was like heaven. 'We'll soon reach the hospital.'

Suddenly she sat up. She tried to speak, but her throat would only let her whisper. 'I have to paint.'

Her looked at her, puzzled, irises flashing sky blue. Behind him, the wall of the ship had puckered in, becoming a tunnel to the medical rescue vessel.

'She's in shock,' said the doctor.

'I tell you,' she insisted, 'I have to paint her portrait.'

'Yes,' Sartorius agreed, in a different voice, more soothing than usual, 'you'll feel better at home.'

'Chrys,' exclaimed Daeren. 'In heaven's name, where were you?'

She took a viewcoin from her pocket and squeezed. Then she blinked to transfer all the records of her journey. It took some minutes. Without a word she gave it to him.

At the hospital, they set up a painting stage; the doctor called it 'therapeutic.' Chrys traced her sketch of Rose, hurrying while the memory was fresh. She worked without speaking, heedless of the doctor's face worms still probing her health. Daeren said nothing more, but he approached to pat her arm now and then, as if to make sure she was still there. Andra arrived to share the contents of the viewcoin.

At last, the portrait was completed. The eternity that even Rose gave her soul for. The people's cocaine.

Chrys sank back, exhausted, unable to lift her arm again. Someone bent toward her, and she tried to focus her blurred vision. It was Chief Andra. 'Can you hear me, Chrys?'

She nodded.

'I'm sorry, but I must ask. Is the double agent still alive?'

She shook her head. The homeless mutants had lost their voice. The chess team was on its own.

'The others—you have an hour to decide.'

A face worm from the doctor touched Chrys on the forehead. She withdrew as if spooked. 'Let her sleep,' the doctor said.

The Committee met at Olympus, seven carriers and two doctors, seven million people, huddled alone upon the vast ocean. The branches of the virtual raft had sprouted fragrant orange flowers, spreading pollen out to sea in all directions.

'So there is no fortress,' observed Andra, as if confirming a point. 'Only sick and dying people. And their hosts.'

'They fail to regulate their own growth,' said Doctor Sartorius, 'just as they do in the vampires. As each host dies, the masters need a new host to move into.'

'So they kidnap new ones,' Andra concluded.

Chrys sat with her hands still, watching the horizon, a blue wash against gray. 'What actually happens to the slaves when they get there?' she wondered. 'Why do they just lie there until they rot?'

Doctor Flexor said, 'We'd have to examine them, to be certain.'

'True,' said Doctor Sartorius, 'but from what we see in your recording, the micros must turn on the dopamine center continuously. The intensity of the experience overwhelms any objection from the host. Gradually all other mental functions shut down, until the host loses sentience, a shell of flesh.'

Recalling Rose's threat, Chrys shuddered. 'If that's how it works, then why did Saf—I mean, the Leader, inside—why did she insist I had to say 'yes'?'

Daeren looked up. 'They don't want trouble. They can barely manage their own hosts, let alone fight a free human.'