Brain Plague

determined to stay asleep. Then his shoulders shook. He was sobbing in his sleep.

Chrys grasp his back, her arms fiercely encircling his chest. 'Daeren—what is it?'

'They died,' he gasped. 'They all starved, even their children.' The blue angels, he remembered. 'How could I do that to them?'

'Daeren, that's over. They forgave you, generations ago. Think of the future.'

'But I can't forget.' He shook his head. 'I never knew what it was like, for all those slaves I dragged to the clinic. Nothing left but their memories.'

'You have us, don't you? Saints and angels—what will it take?'

The following night Chrys slept through. He must have too, she realized. In the morning, she recalled regretfully, Andra was to return.

As Chrys read her mail on the holostage, Daeren hugged her from behind, his hands cupping her breasts. Taking a deep breath, she turned and wrestled him to the ground.

For the first time, Daeren laughed. 'Chrys, you're dangerous.'

'You didn't resist too hard.'

He flipped her over, with a deft motion she couldn't figure out. Then he pressed into her, more firmly than before.

'Daeren,' she whispered. 'Come home with me.'

He drew her up until they were both seated on the floor. 'I'm still not well.' Seeing her look, he added, 'Don't be sad—I can't bear it.'

'I can't be happy all the time, even for you.'

'I'll keep you in my window all day.'

'Yes,' she said, 'I'll keep your sprite up there. And stop back when I can.'

'You could take some blue angels,' he offered. 'They deserve a spell outside purgatory.'

'I'm sure some of mine would stay with you. The fix-it types.'

He sighed with relief. 'I was hoping.'

Her scalp prickled, remembering. Sometimes cruel was love.

Andra returned, with Doctor Sartorius back to his wormy form. As they arrived, Daeren seemed to close himself off again, without a word. But he hugged Chrys fiercely and kissed her hair. Then he retreated down the hall. The doctor followed him.

Andra said with a ghost of a smile, 'I don't have to ask how things went.'

Not with the house watching all, Chrys thought, suddenly embarrassed. 'I hope your trip went well.'

'Thanks for helping out, and giving us a break.'

Chrys looked back once more down the hall of windows. 'Is there anything more I can do? To get him out sooner?'

Andra faced her, purple rings flashing, questioning. She nodded as if satisfied. 'You can tell him to make his peace with the rest of us.'

TWENTY-THREE

Forget-me-not was appalled. 'To see a god sunk so low that he needs redemption from people.'

'A mystery beyond understanding,' agreed Fireweed.

'And yet,' said Forget-me-not, 'out of the mystery comes a Golden Age. Our arachnoid is richer than ever, pulsing with phenylethylamine.' The molecules produced by divine love.

Fireweed flashed a greeting to the visiting blue angels, who would spend the next generation with Eleutheria. The blue angels amazed her with their tales of the divine Underworld, which their ancestors had frequented with the Lord of Light. The Underworld, they said, had given birth to the Lord of Light, and to many other gods unseen, some without a home, even a window of their own. 'What do you think of this Underworld?' she asked Forget-me-not. 'We went there to recruit defectors, yet I never really knew what it was about. How could God lack windows?'

'There are homeless gods, just as we have homeless mutants.'

'One True God; yet the One are Many.' Fireweed's vision deepened. Even if there were only One True God, that god took many forms, a different form for each people. And none should go unseen. Every god needs a window. Perhaps, she envisioned, Eleutheria had greater windows yet to build, beyond even Silicon.

As Chrys neared her front door, the undaunted snake-eggs swarmed. 'Oh, Xenon,' she called. 'Might we have some 'octopods'?'

From the walls beside the caryatids emerged a phalanx of 'octopods,' their limbs striped with horrifying black and orange. Immediately the snake-eggs dispersed. With a short laugh, Chrys passed between the two outer caryatids.

At her door, she caught sight of one last snake-egg hovering some feet away, at the level of her knees. 'So you're the brave one.'

The undaunted snake-egg said, 'Anyone could see those octopods were fake.'

Her eyes widened. 'You can tell fact from fiction?'

'I'm a professional. I seek the truth.'

Professional what, she was tempted to say.

The snake-egg added, 'My name is Quinx.'

'Come in, Quinx.' The snake-egg followed her up the stairs, at a respectful distance. There crouched Merope, ready to pounce on this tempting prey. 'I'll give you an exclusive interview,' Chrys added, 'if you just tell the truth.'

'Fair enough,' said Quinx. 'We'll start with where you were born, your parents and so on.'

Her arms tensed. 'Leave my parents out of this.'

'But that's the sort of thing people want to know.'

'I don't want snake-eggs bothering my family.'

'You should avoid ethnic slurs in public,' Quinx pointed out. 'We are called 'journalists.' We'll send your parents a human, if necessary. But we generally find the rural public more impressed by journalists than urbanites are.'

This urban journalist had never met the like of her parents, she thought. 'Another thing—I am sick to death of hearing about Titan. Always 'just like Titan,' or 'nothing like Titan.' Can't you just write about me?'

'Titan was yesterday's news. Believe me, people will forget about Titan when they hear the truth about you.'

In the wee hours, Chrys roused just enough to see Fireweed's letters flashing. 'One True God! We've done it at last.'

'Done what?' she sleepily replied.

'We solved the problem of Silicon. We have the mathematical tools to grow the city.'

'Congratulations.'

'The construction costs will only increase by a factor of two.'

Predictably, Selenite was furious. 'A two-fold increase in our estimate?' her sprite demanded in Chrys's ear. 'After winning a competitive bid?' Her expression spoke volumes unuttered, probably how this was even worse than Titan. But perhaps her own 'slip,' from which she'd now recovered, had left her slower to judge. 'Let's take it to Jasper.'

They met with Jasper at Olympus, over ambrosia and meat-fruits, the virtual singing-trees arching above. Chrys described the predicament, adding, 'Before you say anything, let's get one thing straight. Not another word about dead dynatects.'

'Live ones are enough trouble.' Jasper's brow wrinkled briefly, then he shrugged. 'Before we face the board, I'll have the brains in the back room take a look.'