Brain Plague

provocative. Though perhaps . .. some might take exception, do you think, dear?'

Ilia's eyes gleamed. A moment's silence, then two heads nodded. 'A curtain at the door, and a warning.'

'We Elysians take children very seriously,' Yyri added, as if Chrys might think otherwise. Elf children were raised in precious nurseries deep within each city, with every conceivable resource showered upon them, from education to entertainment for fifty years.

'And here,' Ilia added, 'we have political statement.' In a place of prominence beside a dramatic ornamental fountain, Ilia had placed Mourners at an Execution and Seven Stars with the Hunter.

Yyri clasped her hands. 'Our Guardian of Peace will have a stroke.'

Ilia murmured, 'Perhaps it might knock some sense into his head.' Then she turned to Chrys. 'Your latest works? We've expanded another hall.'

Chrys cleared her throat. 'I wanted to show you in person, for your approval.' She blinked at her window to download the scenes from the masters. Cadaverous micros crowded the brain of a half-dead host, like worms in rotting flesh. After much thought, she had placed Rose's portrait here, next to the towering, obsessively monumental vision of her beloved Leader.

Ilia sucked in her breath. Beside her, Yyri at first looked puzzled. Then Yyri's creamy complexion paled, revealing every vein. A brief glance at Chrys, as though the artist had gone mad. 'I don't know, Ilia. You're right, the citizens need to know, but...'

The minutes of silence lengthened, while the Leader's interminable speech kept flashing. At last the two heads nodded. 'We'll need to hire ...' Ilia paused dramatically. '... security.'

'The Gallery hasn't needed . .. security,' Yyri added, 'for a hundred years.'

'A hundred twenty,' Ilia corrected. 'That Solarian performance artist, remember?'

Yyri waved a dismissive hand. 'Nothing compared to this. The very foundations of our society, shaken to the bone.'

Ilia took a deep breath, then turned to Chrys. 'You promised us another Endless Light.'

'Oh, right.' She quickly downloaded the block of pure white, the one she had stared at after Daeren's rescue, unable to do more. 'There you are. Endless Light.'

Yyri clapped her hands. 'Of course.' She sounded relieved. 'Minimalism. Your talent is so versatile, dear.'

That night the snake-eggs interviewed Eris, the Guardian of Cultural Affairs, about the Gallery's upcoming exhibit. Eris—She had not seen Arion's deadly 'brother' since the day he left his false blue angels hiding in her brain. His sprite in her window made her hair stand on end.

'Our season's premiere exhibition will prove more controversial than usual,' the secret slave admitted, his voice at its most charming. 'But educational,' he stressed. 'In these difficult times, we Elysians must learn to master and bend to our will the forces that threaten us from less civilized realms.'

The snake-egg bobbed in his face. 'So you support the judgment of the gallery director? Will this 'educational' exhibit be safe for the classes of school children that tour every fall?'

Eris smiled condescendingly. 'Of course I support my gallery staff. I myself have acquired a first-class Azetidine for my personal collection.' Another word, thought Chrys, and she'd head for the sink.

'And now,' said the snake-egg, 'for a view from Valedon regarding the cultural contributions of microbes, we bring you the Palace physician.'

The Palace physician, a worm-faced advisor to the Protector, draped himself like a lord. 'The brain plague endangers all law-abiding citizens,' the doctor proclaimed, emeralds and adamants glittering beneath his worms. 'Even regulated 'carriers' are essentially slaves to their microbial masters. In the long run, their supposed contributions to culture will be viewed in the same light as the psychedelic delusions of humans under the influence of toxic neurochemicals.' A couple of worms raised for emphasis. 'Fortunately, we can help the all plague carriers overcome their addiction and modulate their minds with our own pharmaceuticals.'

Slaves in Elysium, mind-suckers in Valedon. Chrys made the Dolomite hand sign against evil.

She took the night off to escort Lady Moraeg to Olympus. Lord Carnelian was still absent, put off by her micros, but Moraeg would give no one the satisfaction of a sign of grief.

'Keep your eyes off the caryatids,' warned Chrys.

Moraeg regarded one with disdain. 'That old trick.'

'Carriers are really very nice people,' Chrys hurried to add. 'They just have, um, unusual customs.'

'Moraeg!' Opal embraced her. 'So good to see you. That diamond,' she exclaimed. 'Such an distinctive cut.'

Moraeg smiled. 'An original, from the jewels of Ulragh.'

'I thought as much.' Opal's eyes flashed colors. 'May we visit?'

Chrys turned away, seeking Andra. How was Daeren?—It had been two days since his blue angels came home.

Garnet caught her hand. 'Chrys, it's been so long.' His eyes twinkled. 'You never check your investments. I could be bribing you again.'

She shrugged. 'The least of my sins.'

He leaned closer to whisper. 'Where the devil is Carnelian? Put off by us?'

Chrys sighed.

'He's been a Hyalite client for years. I'll have a word with him.'

There was Andra, reclining beside a redwood tree. Chrys had to wait to catch her alone. 'How is Daeren?'

Andra thought a moment. 'Medically, he's making progress. But his mind—' She hesitated. 'He's not trying.'

'It's only been two days.'

'Too long, for his people. Too many generations of anguish.'

'Why isn't he trying, Andra?'

Andra looked as if she had much more to say, but would not. 'We'll see.'

Suddenly tired, Chrys sank into a seat, refusing the delicacies from the caryatid. Jasper sat next to her and touched her hand. Dismayed, she remembered that Jasper did not yet know that her people couldn't handle Silicon. 'Are you sure you won't try the lamb berries?' Jasper asked. 'They're new from L'li.'

'I'm not hungry.' Reluctantly, she passed him the transfer patch.

Jasper puffed on his pipe, his short thumb tapping restlessly at the stem. 'We're waiting to hear,' he reminded her. 'Anything I can do?'

She took a deep breath. 'I'm sorry, Jasper. We can't do the job.'

He nodded. 'I understand. I'll come back with a better offer.'

'No, I mean it.' She struggled to explain. 'The Eleutherians say they can't do it. They'd need a computer too big to fit inside my head.'

Jasper's expression did not change. 'We knew that.'

'You did?'

'We were aware of the theoretical problem. But since it didn't come up in negotiations, I hoped they had it solved.'

She grimaced at this optimism. 'They haven't.'

He set the pipe down. 'Well, as I said, we'll come back with a better offer. After all, the job will take longer.

Chrys was astonished. 'A better offer—for a job we can't do?'

'Chrys, this project is unprecedented. Elysium hasn't built a new city in over twelve centuries. And now, a dynamic form, to grow of nanoplast. Entirely new technologies will be needed. The sentient engineers, too, have several fundamental problems unsolved.'

'But—but it's sheer lunacy.'

'Do you suppose the builders of the first Pyramid knew exactly how they'd complete it?'

'But what if we fail?'

'You'll succeed,' Jasper assured her. 'The math problem, they will solve. They'll fail in other ways. Who knows—maybe Silicon won't be finished in your lifetime, or perhaps never, like the ancient temple of Asragh, forever