Brain Plague

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?"

Daeren met her eyes, his own still dark. "When I have something to say."

She let out her breath. Glancing at the juice and AZ, she asked, "Shouldn't I stay objective?"

"You needn't be a saint."

Chrys reached past him for the cup of juice, her heart pounding to feel him so near. She raised the cup to her lips.

"Chrys . . . what did you give them?"

Her throat tightened. "No arsenic."

"I would have. For you."

Her face burned. For the first time, she realized, she saw him without any micros chatting along. Just the two of them, alone.

"I just want to know," he said, "what to thank you for."

With difficulty she swallowed. "You'll see it at my show." Recalling the Leader, she shook her head. "What an egomaniac— to give up a world for her starving billions, just to see her own damned portrait preach Endless Light to the stars."

"Of course," he whispered. "That would be worth a world." For a minute, he was silent. Then he held out the plate of AZ. "Reward them, for me."

She eyed the blue wafers warily, fearing the Eleutherians would think it meant chatting time. "They haven't done anything good yet."

"They did for me. Let me feed them." Picking out a wafer, he raised it slowly to her lips. Chrys thought, if his finger touched her lips she would faint. She took it into her mouth.

"Oh Great One, we don't want azetidine. We just want to see the blue angels."

Seeing her face change, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"I told them they can't visit."

His eyes widened as if in fear. "Are they angry? I'm sorry," he half choked, "I'm sorry, I—"

"No, Daeren," Chrys insisted. "Of course they're not angry, not anymore. We're the ones to blame; we're all dreadfully sorry." But he looked away without answering. Chrys felt frustrated. "Would you let Forget-me-not visit? She used to be yours."

He looked up. "So that's what you call her." His head nodded slightly. "All right."

Chrys put the patch at his neck. Her hand felt reluctant to leave.

Closing his eyes a moment, Daeren took a deep breath. "All right," he said at last. "Let the others come."

"Take it easy," she told them. She placed the patch again at his neck. This time her hand stayed. He leaned into it like a cat.

Then he looked at her, surprised. "Why, you're right, Chrys. They're not angry at all."

She remembered what they had said they would do, when she told them how she felt for Daeren. "Saints and angels," she muttered. "Don't take them too seriously," she warned halfheartedly. "You know what tricksters they are."

"Oh, but I like what I'm seeing."

She burned all over, full of confusion.

Daeren smiled, almost like he used to at Olympus. A faint flash of blue in his eye, then red and green. "Shall we return the favor?" He placed the patch on her neck, and his hand stayed. If there were a heaven, Chrys thought, it would feel like this.

"Forgive us," came the words, another shade of blue. "Forgive us our complicity in genocide."

"Forgive me," returned Chrys. "Forgive me for deserting you. From now on, I will protect you always, as my own people."

"Oh Great One!" The yellow words of young Lupin. "We must praise your greatness in restoring these good people. Can't we reward the god as you deserve? We have new technology—"

"No," she said aloud.

Daeren's hand came down.

"Sorry," she explained, "they still ask now and then."

He looked down. "You are strong."

"I would have slipped once. But they remembered the Watchers."

He looked up again, his face suffused with delight. "The Watchers. Your people still remember, after a hundred generations." Leaning toward her, he caressed her neck and her luxuriant hair. "Chrys, they can't—but I can. I can make you happy."

She blinked twice. "I'm afraid."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid I'll be your slave."

"I've been yours," he said. "For a long time. Chrys, have mercy."

Her lips parted in surprise. Everyone loved Daeren, they said, but it never occurred to her what she might mean to him. His eyes were again dark, dark and pleading. She closed her eyes, and her lips met his. Lightly at first; like a butterfly at a flower, she still half expected him to flee. Then she caught his head between her hands and pressed hard, her tongue exploring what it longed for.

Daeren stroked her hair from head to shoulders. Then he pulled her to his chest, head against her cheek. "I've dreamed of your hair," he murmured.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I told you, you could have anything you ever need."

"I thought you said that to everyone."

"What?" He drew back, looking her in the face. "Don't they wish." He stroked the hair at her shoulder. "There's been no one else. Not since I met you."

"I'm nothing like Titan."

He shuddered. "Thank god," he said. "Thank god you're not like Titan."

"But you loved him."

"I was captivated by him," Daeren admitted. "His people, and the miracles they made—I could never get them out of my mind. I tried to hide it, when I had to test him, but they knew. When we warned him of the risks he took, they laughed." He looked out to the virtual wilderness. "One night, as I turned to go, he asked me to stay."

Chrys listened, barely breathing.

"The next morning, as I left, he told me to come back to him— as a woman."

Titan, his work so modern, his desires so medieval. She stared without seeing.

"I knew then that he wanted only a conquest, like his others. Just to see if I would do it."

"But why did you have to test him?"

"I told Andra I'd never test him again. But he told her no one else would."

"What? They can't get away with that."

"We make exceptions," her reminded her. "Your friend Ilia; for her, only Andra will do. It's either that, or leave her to Eris."

Chrys thought, she'd tell Ilia a thing or two. "So you went on ..."

"It was that, or turn him in. He knew we needed him, the great dynatect, the shining example of what micros can do. A month later, he was dead."

"But not his people."

Daeren nodded. "I thought being refugees would teach them something. But all they could think of was saving their plans and starting their own New World. So that's what they got." He looked her in the eye. "With you, they did improve. Andra was impressed."

"Well, that's something."

"They still never gave me a clue. Usually when someone likes me, their people make no secret of it. But with yours, it was always, 'Anything you can do, we can do better.'"

Chrys smiled ruefully. "They are kind of stuck on themselves. Well, you have them now."

Daeren gripped her shoulders, as if desperate. "Chrys, if you lost them all, I'd still love you, just the same."

That made all the difference. She took a deep breath. The feel of his fingers, the scent of him, only cried for more. She pressed him to her breasts, her waves of hair spilling over his shoulders. They rolled down together on the cushion, only nanotex between them. She caught him between her thighs, feeling his hardness press into her. She pressed harder until she climaxed. She gasped, her nails digging into his back. Then she lay back with a smile, tossing the hair out of her face. "I couldn't wait," she breathed. "I've wanted you so long."

Daeren lay beside her, stroking her forehead. "Chrys, I just want to make you happy, if it's the last thing I do."

"Don't say that." A touch of fear returned, fear of something she could not define. "You have to live forever."

"Anything," he promised. "I'll do anything I can." She looked him over speculatively. "Then let me see a little more of you."

He regarded her as if thinking it over. Then he reached behind his neck to touch the collar control. The nanotex peeled slowly, down his arms and his chest and beyond, all the way revealing clear, unblemished skin, not even a broken vein. Just to be sure, her hand traced the curve of his muscles, exploring every inch. I got him back, she thought; I'll never have to see those muscles rotting in my dreams. She sighed. "I'll sleep better now." "Then why don't you help me sleep better?" Twisting back her hair, she touched behind her neck. The nanoplast creased and gathered, flowing down from her breasts and up from her legs, collecting as usual into a compact disk that slid onto the cushion. Daeren started with his lips at her breasts, as sensitive as a woman, she thought. Then his lips traveled downward, deliberately, no hurry, only time out of time. After a time she felt herself rouse again. He slowly brought her up, soaring higher than before, until she cried out.

"So hungry," he whispered. "If only I'd known." She frowned, slightly puzzled. "What about you?" Turning to him, she kissed him all over, passionately, trying to rouse him. But below the waist he was cold.

"Didn't the doctor tell you?" he said. "I'm still. . . recovering."

Chrys sat up. She bit her lip. "What does that mean?"

Daeren sat up with her, swinging his legs down. He looked away. "It means I can't feel," he said dully. "When I first came back, I felt absolutely nothing. No taste but plain, no colors but gray. No want, no pain." He looked at her again. "Now I can feel maybe a tenth of what I should. Enough to know I should be the happiest man alive."

"Can't they fix that?"

"Like growing a new leg, it takes time." He caught her hand. "Chrys, will you wait for me? While I get better?" His voice shook.

"Of course I'll wait." Holding back tears, she rested her head upon his waist. What if he never got better, she thought with a touch of panic. What if he never could feel anything better than dopamine overload? Love was cruel.

Daeren looked out the window. "You know, they have a whole resort out here." He patted her shoulder. "You'd look great in the pool."

The pool was lined with sapphires. Chrys sank into the warm water and swam lazily, stopping now and then to watch Daeren's form slip in and out of the waves. She never took vacations, she realized suddenly. Just like her parents, with their goats to milk and hens to feed every day.

"Does the god taste good? " asked Forget-me-not.

"Better than Endless Light."

"It's good for us. The hormones enrich our circulation. There will be a golden age."

The house produced dinner. Afterward the lights gradually dimmed, like natural sun. Daeren nodded down the hall. "There's a suite for you."

Chrys was puzzled. "Did I tire you out? We can just relax."

"That's okay, I just thought you'd want privacy." He put a patch at his neck. "You can have your people back."

Suddenly his eyes flashed blue rings, very fast.

"The blue angels," flashed Forget-me-not. "They tell us to stay."

Daeren looked confused. "Why won't they leave?"

Chrys was puzzled. "Your blue angels want the Eleutherians to stay."

He turned away. "They should listen to me."

That was true; but now, Andra had said, the blue angels knew better, were there to help him get well. From behind Chrys caressed his shoulder, letting her hair fall to his neck. "Why can't I sleep with you? They can visit whenever they like, all night."

"Night is not my best time."

"I'm here to look after you."

So she joined him in bed, where they lay together quietly, arms entwined. Pleasantly tired from the water, Chrys felt light-headed from his touch, his head on her shoulder, her arm resting on his chest. She soon fell asleep.

In his sleep Daeren grew restless, tossing his head and arms. Chrys awoke, vaguely puzzled. The bed seemed comfortable enough; it yielded gently to the slightest pressure. But Daeren kept tossing, his shoulder digging into the mattress, then turning again.

Suddenly he shot upright. Out of the dark his eyes flashed blue and infrared. "Take them back!" The voice did not sound like his own. "Take them back, I said!"

Light came on from the house. Daeren's head twisted like a wild thing, an animal in a trap. "Daeren—what is it?"

He shouted again, so loud she barely understood. Scrambling out of the bed, Chrys backed against the wall. From beside the bed projected two arms of plast that curled over to pin Daeren down.

"What's wrong?" she asked Fireweed. "Did our people cause trouble?" Forget-me-not and several others had stayed with him, to help the blue angels.

"The blue angels still want our people to stay."

"Bitch," he screamed. "You work for them—why couldn't you leave me there?" He kept on screaming, over and over, until Chrys fled the room.

She ran down the corridor until she could hear his voice no longer. Shaking uncontrollably, she slipped to the floor, hugging her knees. "House?" she called. "What's wrong with him? Are the blue angels false?"

"No," said the house. "I'm sorry to say, that was himself."

"What do you mean?"

"He dreams of Endless Light."

Chrys hugged her knees harder, until she could barely breathe. "Fireweed? What happened? Did Forget-me-not say?"

"He begs the blue angels to take him over, like the masters."

She shook her head, uncomprehending. "Why?"

"He thinks he'll never feel good again."

She hesitated. "Even with me?"

"He was better today. But the nighttime is hard."

"Why was he angry at our visitors?"

"I don't know. We promised to serve him as our One God."

Chrys bit her lip. What if those who stayed with him did as he asked? "House? How is he now?"

"Subsiding," said the ceiling. "He'll sleep again." Farther down the hall, a light turned on. "There is your own suite. Sorry for the trouble; I hope you sleep better."

Chrys would have cried if she had any tears left. Instead, she sat staring, her mind dull.

"Our people are still there," reminded Fireweed. "We must find out what happened."

Chrys looked up at the ceiling. "My people are still with him." She asked the house, "What if they need help?"

"The nanos in his brain would alert us to emergencies."

She didn't trust the sub-intelligent nanos. "Suppose I go back. I could handle him when I'm awake, but asleep, I don't know."

"He's restrained. You'd be safe, either way."

For a while longer she waited, listening in the silence. Remembering back to the time when she had overslept and Poppy took over. Daeren had watched her with the doctor then, and stayed with her till she chose. At last, she stepped quietly back to his room.

Daeren was asleep, the restraints securing his limbs. Humans could look so peaceful, yet who knew what went on inside. Chrys put a patch at her neck. "Fireweed, find out what happened." Hesitantly she transferred the patch to Daeren, then took it back.

Forget-me-not returned, with Lupin, accompanied by several blue angels. "We promised to serve the Lord of Light as our own god," Forget-me-not reminded her. "So we gave him what he asked."

"What?"

"We gave him your pictures from the world of Endless Light. And the odors; the taste that made you sick."

She gagged just thinking about it. From the wall, a shelf extended with a glass of water. Drinking, she managed to steady herself.

"We have learned something," flashed yellow Lupin. "We have learned at last why we must never touch the fruit of the gods. We'll never ask again."

With a deep sigh, Chrys fell back on the bed. She lay next to Daeren but carefully avoided touching him.

In the morning, she awoke refreshed. A bright morning light played across the sheets; she had slept late. By her feet sat Daeren, free of restraint, watching her quietly. She drew back her feet, tense and wary. He turned his head away. Then without a word he left the room.

"How is he?" Chrys asked the house.

"Better. He had his first quiet night."

If that was quiet, she shuddered to think what had gone before. No wonder Andra was discouraged.

The house set out breakfast in the kitchen. As Chrys ate, Daeren worked at the holostage, scrolling through some interminable legal document. She stole a look at him now and then, but if he wouldn't speak, that was fine with her.

She found another holostage to catch up with her own correspondence from clients and gallery directors; the volume overwhelmed her. The price of fame, she thought ruefully. If she answered everyone, how would she get any work done?

Recalling Merope, she checked in at her house. "The cat's fine," Xenon promised. "I made her a plump new armchair to curl up in. By the way, I enjoyed your news story. I had no idea artists were so ... interesting."

The story of "Azetidine" began innocuously enough with Yyri's rhapsodic comments on her upcoming exhibition. Chrys's image had been caught outside, her face lost in thought, her red-black hair enhanced to the color of flame. Then came the pinwheel windows of Silicon. "Like the Comb in its day," said the snake-egg, "Silicon promises to explode with the shock of the new." Chrys winced at that. It had been one thing to watch Arion glower, but to offend all Elysium was not to her liking.

"The personal history and private life of Azetidine remain a mystery, but sources reveal tantalizing clues. Indeed, Azetidine appears to have inherited her mentor's predilection for well-connected women. Rumor links her with ..." There followed a montage of herself meeting various women, especially Opal clasping her hand, but also Lady Moraeg, then Ilia, then a couple of other Great House ladies whom she had never met but whose images were spliced to hers.

The blood drained from her face and hands. She sank into a chair, completely mortified. The one consolation was they had missed Topaz. At least her former lover would be spared the indignity.

Chrys called for Opal. On the holostage Opal was shaping her atomic models, the virtual molecules jointed into multilegged dragons. "The masters' defectors revealed a new class of peptide toxin." When at work in her lab, Opal had a one-track mind. "False blue angels use the toxin to overwhelm a native population. What puzzles me is how they can produce it so fast."

Chrys smiled. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Opal, about the news—I'm so sorry."

Opal shrugged. "Better linked to you than Titan."

"I could just die. I hope Selenite wasn't upset."

"Selenite's doing better," Opal told her. "She reached a truce with the minions. No more executions. Instead, exile."

Chrys smiled. "Well, that's progress. Give her my apologies too."

"Andra will file an injunction, and the snake-eggs will back off. But you know, Chrys, you could manage the media better. Pick one, and give her exclusive rights to your story. Then she'll have a stake in the truth."

She grimaced. "They all look alike."

"Then you should look closer." Opal moved toward Chrys. "How is Daeren? We miss him so."

Chrys wished she could say. After Opal signed off, she stood there, lost in thought.

"Oh Great One," came Fireweed's infrared, "isn't it time to visit our sisters? Send a new group to spell them."

Daeren was still at the other holostage, reviewing legal briefs. Chrys asked the house, "How is he today?"

"He's gone back to work for the first time," said the house. "Now that he's calm inside, his brain can heal."

Chrys rose and approached him from behind. When she reached him, she let her hand rest upon his shoulder.

Daeren stopped and shuddered slightly. "Chrys. I thought you'd never ..." He fell to his knees and embraced her ankles.

She whispered, "Daeren." She bent at the knees to put her arms around him, though he would not meet her eyes. "It's okay. Please." She caught his head gently in her hands, running her fingers through his hair.

His eyes flashed blue and yellow. "I'm no longer worthy of you."

"Then why did all those people invest their lives in you?" She gave him a patch to retrieve Forget-me-not.

"We've been busy," reported Forget-me-not. "Rebuilding infrastructure, bringing things up to code. Putting up a few nightclubs."

Hesitantly, he stroked her hair. Her eyes half closed, and her fingers dug into his back, remembering. His face drew so near that she breathed his scent. Then his lips were on her again, meeting her hunger until she was satisfied.

At last she lay beside him again, quietly. Her hand caressed his chest, wondering at his strength. "You've certainly got the touch, Daeren. As good as a woman."

He raised himself on one elbow. "Chrys, do you like women better? I'll get changed, to please you."

She stared, overcome by the need in his eyes. Then she let out a long, shuddering sigh. "Daeren, please yourself. I'd love you even as a worm-face."

He paused as if considering. "I don't think Plan Ten has that option."

"Well for heaven's sake, don't give them ideas." Cradling his head, she whispered, "Just get better."

"What if it's too hard?"

"You have to try."

"I'm trying. It's the hardest thing I ever tried."

Another afternoon of swimming amid sapphires, pulling weights in Andra's gym, and hiking the virtual trail up to an endless scarp stretched beneath a tree-lined sky. Chrys leaned on Daeren's shoulder and watched the sunset. "Lawyers and doctors sure know how to live."

"When they have time." Andra and Sar spent all their time getting people and hospitals out of one scrape or another.

That night Daeren again tossed in his sleep, struggling with unseen demons. At first he subsided, as if 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."