Brain Plague

TWENTY-FOUR

The terror of the flight from poison would never be forgotten, especially by the children swept out into new worlds. And still, Forget-me-not knew, worse was yet to come. Somewhere out beyond the familiar gods walked others, gods who could dissolve people with as little care as for a mindless virus floating in the blood.

But the Eleutherians who returned from the Diaspora were a different people than before. Some individuals had stayed behind to dwell with their new gods, while many strangers had left their own gods to join Eleutheria. The newcomers brought their own ways, but in the end most took up the great challenge of the past generations. And this time they made sure their work would outlast even death.

'Fear not,' Forget-me-not told the god. 'Fear not the future. Whatever becomes of us, Eleutheria will remain. We have stored all of what we are, our history and our works, for whoever will find it after we are gone—in all the different worlds to which we fled. For in truth, Eleutheria is no genetic race, nor a physical place, but a way of being, a path of endless life. All those who seek to build in truth and memory shall find our way.'

The three carriers went in to see Arion, flanked by octopods. So much for peaceful Elysium. The Guardian of Peace sat there behind a conference table, live butterflies flitting outside the window beyond. Beside him sat his brother.

Chrys stopped to let her pulse subside. 'It's all over.'

'Not yet,' said Forget-me-not. 'Another year's as good as ten. So long as we live, we live free.'

Eris did not even pretend to meet their eyes. He studied his hands, clasped before him on the table, as if to say, this was none of his affair. Beside him, Arion looked on as before, his features the color of alabaster, his eyes penetrating. 'Seat yourselves, Citizens.'

Andra narrowed her eyes, her gaze hunting Eris like a bird of prey. 'Eris. How long it's been.' Her voice was deceptively relaxed. 'How long since I've seen our descendants?'

Descendants of her own people? The false blue angels? As if a window opened, Chrys saw now why Arion did not trust Andra, and why Daeren's slip had sparked her anger. The worst of micros could become the best; but even the best had produced the worst.

Eris acted as if he did not hear. Arion ignored the remark as well. He nodded at Chrys. 'For the record, Citizen Chrysoberyl, you are the betrayer of two worlds, indeed the very integrity of the Fold.'

'Excuse me?'

'You tipped off the slaves before our mission.'

'I tried to,' she admitted. 'To prevent genocide. But someone else got there first.' She glared at Eris, daring Arion to ask who.

Arion added, 'You are also the only human to have seen the Slave World and come back free—twice.'

'I know of none else,' she admitted.

'And you made an exhibit of their obscene propaganda.'

That took her aback. 'You want facts, or art critique?'

'And you expect me to believe that you follow your own free will, and not that of the brain plague.'

She studied Arion's eyes. They met hers, just barely. 'No,' she said at last. 'I honestly don't expect you will believe me. I expect to leave here with my people wiped, victims of—'

He waved a hand. So much for hearing the full truth. 'Daeren,' he began. 'The main tester of carriers at Hospital Iridis, you gave yourself up to the Slave World.'

Andra said, 'He was not himself.'

'Let him answer.'

'I was myself,' Daeren corrected, his voice level. 'You, Arion, were not yourself when you chose to annihilate what remained of a crippled world. The ancient barbarians, as you call them, left grass and insects. Your own act left nothing.'

'You did not object,' Arion pointed out. 'You knew why it had to be done. It was either that, or wipe all the carriers of Elysium, and make the Valans do the same.'

'I was wrong,' Daeren said. 'There are other choices.'

'But you came back.' Arion turned again to Chrys. 'You rescued him. How?'

Her throat tightened. She could still hardly bear to speak of it. 'The ... Leader. Her portrait paid.'

Arion frowned. 'You and your portraits. There, too, you abused my trust.'

'That's true,' Chrys admitted. 'I should have asked your consent.'

'But Daeren—you recovered.' Arion's voice took on a peculiar note of urgency. 'How? How did you recover, from the worst depths, yet hold on to your 'people'?'

Andra explained, 'An experimental treatment. Doctor Sartorius has the details.'

'Did the treatment work?'

'We believe it is working.'

'Would it work for others?'

No one looked at Eris.

'Daeren's failure was brief,' Andra reminded Arion. 'Even so, his recovery has consumed substantial resources, and the care of very special... people.'

'No amount of resources would be too great to save a millennial life.' As if an eighty-year-old sim would not matter. As if a person's worth could be measured by his lifespan.

'Did you hear, Eris?' Arion's voice softened. 'Did you hear that even the worst case can be cured?'

The room was suddenly still; had a fly crept across the table, it could have been heard. Only butterflies flitted in the garden beyond. At the table, Eris did not move. He did not respond aloud, but his electronic sense must have reached Arion.

'Yes,' Arion nodded. 'Chrysoberyl, please explain what we found the night after you left your show. The medic who treated your injury reported mysterious trace molecules—later identified unmistakably as a mark of the brain plague.'

Andra insisted, 'She was cleared. Arsenic-wiped.'

'But how did they get there?' pursued Arion. 'How can you explain, unless you were a slave?'

Chrys stood suddenly, her hands planted on the table. From behind, an octopod arm gripped her shoulder. 'He did it!' Her voice rose to a shout. 'Eris did everything, you know he did. He sent the damned snake-egg to poison me. He's poisoned half your own carriers, sent them to the Slave World; he tried the same with me. And now he's starting on your children.'

The two Elves listened calmly to this outburst. At last Eris sighed and shook his head. 'How sad. I told you what they'd say.'

'You did,' Arion agreed.

'Definitely tainted. Nothing to do but wipe them.'

'Evidently,' said Arion quietly. 'Still, we have to be sure.' He nodded. 'Test them.'

Andra leaned forward, her hands on the table, her eyes avid. 'Eris, you're absolutely right. We could have gone bad; heaven knows, we've suffered enough exposure.' She extended her hand, as if for a transfer patch. 'Test me.'

Eris said, 'That won't be necessary.'

Furrows appeared above Arion's eyes. Surprised to be contradicted, he turned toward Eris. Their eyes met. Arion froze. 'As you say, Eris.' Outside of his eyes, the rest of his face grimaced, as if puzzled by his own words.

'Eris.' Andra's tone deepened, in that classic Sardish inflection that made people cringe. 'Tell me,' she said slowly. 'Who do you fear more—myself? Or your masters.'

Eris wrenched his head around. For an instant, perhaps, the human face of him looked out. 'Silence, you unspeakable—' He stopped, checked by the furious purple flashing in Andra's eyes. The seconds passed. Then his