Brain Plague

missing its tallest spire. Even if it does reach completion, someone will want to kill you, for one good reason or another.'

'Selenite will,' she added ruefully.

'That's why Selenite never gets these jobs herself. But you'll handle it. How long since you've walked on lava?'

She swallowed, thinking, I'm getting too old for lava.

The next day Opal called. 'Selenite's at the hospital. Her people got in trouble.'

Chrys stared. 'Not the minions?'

Opal hesitated. 'I think the blue angels emboldened them. They'd never seen people so totally unafraid, even when forced to live at her mercy.'

At the hospital Chrys held Selenite's hand. Selenite's face was creased, and she blinked more rapidly than usual. Chrys made herself smile. 'Can I help? Send over a few 'libertines' to lecture them?'

'They took their own lives,' Selenite whispered. 'Twenty of them. Protesting one execution.' She struggled to raise herself in bed. 'The blue angels inspired them.'

'Well, now,' said Opal, seated by the bed. 'Blue angels never hurt themselves.'

'But they encourage disobedience. Chrys, I was wrong,' Selenite added. 'The blue angels are not safe— they're the most dangerous strain we have.'

Opal's eyes met Chrys's for a long while.

'One True God, let the wizards visit,' flashed Fireweed. 'We've founded a new school of mathematics.'

'Could you take half her caseload?' Opal asked at last. 'I know it's hard, with your show coming up.'

'I'll manage.' In fact, Chrys had painted nothing since Endless Light. She wondered if she could ever paint again.

The message light; Andra appeared. 'Chrys, Sar and I have to leave town for three days, on personal business. Could you stay over here and look after Daeren? The house has the full medical capacity of the clinic, but in case his people need help, we need a human carrier.'

TWENTY-TWO

The defectors from Endless Light had brought with them their unique branch of calculus, from the masters' best minds drawn together in the one intellectual pursuit permitted by the Leader of Endless Light. Now in Eleutheria, they founded a new school of mathematics, a constructive theory of numbers bridging the infinite to the infinitesimal. Their algorithms vastly simplified the creation of the very large from the very small.

'Even the wizards come here to study,' flashed Fireweed.

'Working together,' predicted Forget-me-not, 'we'll soon have what we need to build Silicon.'

'Perhaps,' said Fireweed. 'But I'll never see the building completed. Not within my lifetime.'

'Nor mine,' agreed Forget-me-not. 'But we've shaped the design, the promise of things to come. What could be greater?'

Fireweed extended her filaments, tasting the molecules of excitement from the mathematicians. 'As I age, I think over and over again of the God's commandment: Love me, love my people. Something tells me we have more work to be done, beyond Silicon.'

'We saved the blue angels,' said Forget-me-not. 'The deed shines in our history like a golden light.'

'But where are the blue angels now?'

'I fear for them, and for us all,' the blue one admitted. 'There is trouble in the world of the gods, trouble greater than our own.'

The snake-eggs picked on Chrys, buzzing so thick she could barely find Andra's address.

'How did you get out alive from the Slave World?'

'Do the slaves pay you to paint their propaganda? Why are you spreading the brain plague?'

'Can you confirm reports that you are secretly a vampire?'

Her best defense, she had found, was silence. But one pesky reporter got tangled in her hair like a fly. She tossed it out, annoyed at losing a few precious strands. 'If you won't comment,' it warned, 'other sources will.'

Andra's home was faced in brick, at first glance monotone, but in fact each brick had its own subtle shade. There was no obvious door, but as Chrys watched, two camouflaged octopods slowly shaped themselves out of the brick. The snake-eggs vanished.

'We inform you,' said an octopod, 'as a matter of courtesy, that this facility is fully secured. No one gains entry or leaves, save by our consent.'

'And no one makes trouble within,' added the other.

'Over the years we've foiled explosives, poisons, information viruses, even exotic animals,' the first added wearily. 'Make our day. Try something new.'

Chrys frowned. 'I'm expected.'

'Very well.' The disappointed octopods faded back into the brick, which parted to form a doorway.

Inside stood a man she did not know. Not a man; a humanoid sentient, his form too perfect even for Plan Ten. His eyes and nose were of classic proportions; his gray talar flowed majestically from shoulders to feet, his chest bearing a single white stone. 'Chrysoberyl.'

The voice was Doctor Sartorius. His tone had softened, the voice he had used the night she rescued Daeren. Chrys felt herself flush all the way from her face to her toes.

'I've not had a chance,' he said, 'to tell you how much it meant to me, what you did for Daeren. I think of him as my own brother.'

Speechless, she nodded slightly.

'You understand that he is still very sick.' The doctor's lips produced perfect speech. 'His brain needs time to heal. The house takes care of that. You need do nothing, except stay here.'

Andra approached, also in gray. Her hand brushed his back. They looked like a couple off to a gem-trading convention. 'It's been hard for Sar,' she said, 'these past two weeks.'

'And hard for you,' said Chrys, recovering her manners. 'I'm sorry.'

'We're glad we can depend on you.' Andra looked backward, toward a passage lined with chandeliers. 'Daeren's treatment facility is down the hall.'

From the ceiling, the house voice added, 'There's a suite for you, Chrysoberyl. Whatever you need, just ask.'

'Listen to the blue angels,' added Andra. 'But be considerate; they don't yet take visitors. They're sensitive about their condition.'

'I understand.' She warned her people, 'No visiting.'

'But the blue angels—it's been generations since—'

'Stay dark, lest you lose the sun.' Down the hall, false windows hung with valances produced a soft light. There stood Daeren.

He did not speak; though if he had, she might not have heard, for the blood pounding in her ears. She whispered, 'Day.'

Daeren's eyes were dark, not a hint of light. Without a word, he turned and walked away, down the hall. Chrys followed. At her left, the arched windows came gradually larger, until at some point their light became real, the windows expanding into open archways above long, cushioned seats, as inviting as Olympus. The archways looked out onto a swimming pool, a headball court, and a virtual hiking trail leading up into distant mountains.

Daeren was sitting in a seat beneath the arch. From the wall by his shoulder extended a small table, holding two cups of orange juice and a dish of AZ. Chrys sat beside him. He seemed relaxed, one leg up on the seat, hands clasped upon the knee. The minutes passed. 'Daeren, can you talk?'