Brain Plague

'They could infect the human, as a vampire does,' Chrys pointed out.

'They could,' said Daeren. 'But the easiest way is to take someone already infected. Someone whose eyes say yes.'

Chrys's eyes widened. 'You mean ... they only kidnap people that are already infected?'

Selenite agreed. 'We know that, though we can't prove it. Some victims actually collude with their captors— let them know their travel plans.' All for an endless rush of dopamine.

'Be careful,' warned Opal. 'Our models always prove too simple.

Pyrite crossed his arms. 'The nuclear radiation,' he pointed out. 'How do you explain that?'

Chrys had received high levels of alpha emission from radioactive dust in the air; levels high enough to kill her within a year. It took special nanos from Plan Ten to reverse the few hours' damage.

Andra nodded. 'We've detected trace alpha emitters before. Mainly plutonium.'

'So they are building nukes,' exclaimed Pyrite.

'We have a different theory, which we'll check with Arion.'

In the Nucleus of Helicon, Chrys sat in her talar, her bare feet uncomfortably aware of the floor, Daeren at her side. Once again they faced Guardian Arion.

The fair-haired Elf regarded her curiously, an archway behind him revealing the foliage of a swallowtail garden for daily meditation. Internally, he interrogated Fireweed and Forget-me-not, along with a couple of blue angels. 'So you took a break from your building designs.' That Silicon Board meeting with all the sentients felt like years ago. 'You took the Leader's invitation after all. Without advance planning. And the double turned triple.'

Beside her Daeren's hand nearly touched hers, but he caught himself. 'Guardian, you know it was not like that.'

'Was she not 'abducted' like the others?' Arion emphasized the word.

Chrys narrowed her eyes. 'Plan Ten for all of Dolomoth, you said.'

'We shall see.' Arion's fingers drummed on the table. 'We must check this intelligence. If confirmed, it represents our biggest breakthrough against the brain plague.'

On the back of Daeren's hand the muscles rose taut. 'Guardian, do you realize what this 'plague' is? People— ignorant, even savage, but people nonetheless. They need contact—they need our help.'

Arion turned to him, his face noncommittal. 'So your people tell me.'

'Then listen,' urged Daeren. 'Surely all the wisdom of Elysium can be brought to bear to make that contact— to help those people, and keep them from hurting us.'

'Indeed.'

'You know what we've told you,' Daeren added, 'how migrants from the masters have joined our own populations, sharing diverse talents and virtues.'

'And betrayal.'

'Look at Eleutherians, whom your own citizens chose to design your next city. Half their population descends from 'masters' of the brain plague.'

Arion's lips tightened. The reference to Silicon was unhelpful, Chrys guessed. 'Noble sentiments,' the Guardian concluded. 'But first things first. We must deal with the plague's source, this world of 'Endless Light.' '

Chrys asked quickly, 'Could you identify it? From the geography, and the writings on the wall?'

Arion hesitated. 'Your chief drives a hard bargain. Yes, in strictest confidence, we know the planet.' He whistled a phrase, like the song of a bird. 'That's what the locals called it, some ten thousand years ago.' The medieval period, when world warred against world. 'The planet was known for birds, exceptional in number and variety. Of course, no birds live there today. Destroyed in the Brother Wars—no vertebrates survive. Today, the residual radioactivity still excludes human life. Even Plan Ten could not keep you healthy there more than five years.'

Daeren nodded slowly. 'So that's what caused the radiation exposure. The 'enlightened' people seemed unaware. They never can keep their hosts alive long enough for it to matter.'

'Our investigators, of course, had marked that world 'uninhabitable.' An oversight.'

Placing his hands together, Daeren took a breath. 'Now that you know where they are, Guardian, what will you do?'

Arion assumed a slightly paternal air. 'We'll do what needs to be done.'

Daeren continued gazing at him, as if asking, did you hear our people at all? Then he looked down at his hands, ashamed. Chrys wondered what kind of death the bird world would die this time. Not nukes, that would be medieval.

'What about here?' she demanded suddenly. 'The real source of plague is right here.'

Arion turned to her, his mouth small. 'Where, exactly?' he asked dangerously. 'Your Protector rounds up vampires by the hundreds.' Quarantined until they died. Probably smelled as sweet as Endless Light.

In her studio, on the painting stage, glimmered an evil light around one of the curves of arachnoid, illuminating the maggot-white rings of the masters. The maggot rings tumbled in sickly, wobbling paths, in ever- greater numbers, until the columns of fibroblast withered and ruptured, collapsing in purulent decay. Whatever would Ilia think?

Fireweed's lava-colored letters returned. 'What will the Hunter do to our cousins?'

The masters of Endless Light. Chrys turned to ice. Hugging Merope, who brushed around her feet, she did not know how to answer.

'We told the Hunter that the masters could change,' added sky blue Forget-me-not hopefully. 'Our own history shows how many masters have changed and learned new ways.' Nearly all the population of Eleutheria claimed descent from masters. What would they think of the fate of their cousins?

'Others change for the worse,' Chrys pointed out. 'The false blue angels.'

'That is true,' Forget-me-not admitted.

'God's word is law,' concluded Fireweed.

Chrys reached down to scratch the bib of Merope's chin. The plump feline stretched as if nothing else existed. Then Chrys looked back at her painting stage. What next?

'Show the Hunter,' urged Forget-me-not, recalling their summons to the brain of Guardian Arion. 'Our historic visit to that virgin world, rich as a Garden of Eden.' Forget- me-not's idea shone in her eye's window, sumptuous fibroblasts stretching across the arachnoid like stalactites in a cavern. Rings of blue and far-red, tumbling and flashing their pleasure at the well-grown landscape. Chrys imagined the lining of Arion's brain, complete with visitors. A bigger coup than even Topaz's portrait of Zoisite. How were they doing, Topaz and Pearl? She had heard no word since that fateful night.

Meanwhile, that week she had several carriers to test. Zircon was the hardest; he knew her far too well to take any threat seriously. The night Garnet first introduced him at Olympus, all the caryatids had morphed into Chrys; she had stormed out, furious. But now all the other testers were overworked. Fortunately, Zircon kept out of trouble, hanging out with Garnet or with his aesthetic admirer, Doctor Flexor. His people acquired accounts at the House of Hyalite, and he took to wearing Garnet's finely tailored gray.

Since the death of Rose, Forget-me-not led the testing, while Fireweed stayed home, devoted to her One True God. In his studio Zircon faced Chrys attentively, the sparkling namestone spinning on his talar. After her people finished, receiving the usual unsolicited tax tips, Chrys relaxed. She glanced up at the heroic sculptural forms that loomed overhead. 'So how's the urban shaman?'

'Oh, well.' Zircon sounded embarrassed. 'I just wish I had more time. These people have so many clients.'

'Anything new with Topaz?' She tried to sound casual.

'You didn't hear? Topaz and Pearl left town.'

She sucked in her breath. 'Left? For where?' Topaz was always an Iridian, first to last.

'To Azroth.' Not quite so remote as Dolomoth, but no metropolis. 'To keep Pearl out of trouble.'

'I'm glad for them both.' Topaz must really love Pearl, to have given up her beloved city. Chrys hesitated to ask the next obvious question. 'Any new travels with Yyri?'