Still dazed, she thought it over. "What's wrong with the Elves? Why don't they do something?"
"The one Elf leader who took micros seriously retired on Solaria twenty years ago. After a thousand years in government, she found micros more interesting than human people."
Chrys looked at the ceiling, where Xenon kept trying out new gargoyles. "Maybe too interesting for their own good. Maybe Elves wouldn't know disease and crime if they saw it. Why didn't you warn me?"
"We'll have to warn our carriers not to trust Elves," he sighed. "But when Arion hears, he'll be incensed. We can't afford to lose him; he's still our most open-minded supporter."
"What if Eris infects him?"
"Arion's not a carrier; he gets scanned for arsenic twice a day. He knows the danger, but he'll never believe it's Eris. Not till Elves start disappearing to the Slave World." Daeren looked at her curiously. "I'm still amazed that Eris took the risk to come after you. Andra has a warrant for him; if she were in town, she would have hauled him in the minute his ship touched down. He planned well." Daeren leaned closer. "What did Eris want from you? I mean, aside from the obvious."
She rolled her eyes. "Maybe we both should have picked 'Distinguished.' "
He gave a quick smile. "I've tried a more mature look, but it intimidates the Palace lords. When you sell outrageous ideas, they listen longer to a face that pleases the eye."
That figured. She herself didn't mind gazing at him, but wasn't about to admit it. "Eris came for my art. He bought Endless Light."
"I see."
"He really wanted this." She held up a viewcoin of the children merging.
Daeren's face changed, almost like the face of Endless Light. His lips parted and his eyes seemed to gaze far away. "Of course, his masters would want that. Even my angels beg me to keep looking."
She offered him the coin. "It's yours."
"Sorry, I can't take gifts."
"It's not a gift—just a viewcoin. It's, like, advertising."
He smiled. "Okay, I'll help you advertise." Taking the coin, he faced her again, blue sparks in his eyes. "Chrys, I hope you know that you can always call on me—not just professionally, as a friend. Whatever you or your people ever need, just ask. Okay?"
"Well, thanks," she said, rather surprised. "I wish I could help you—you'll need it."
He hesitated, as if struggling with something. "Andra wants you to help, too. She wants you on the committee."
"What?" She gripped her chair till the nanoplast melted in. "You can't be serious."
"You have the nerve, and your people are smart as hell. They saw through Eris in a minute."
"Rose did. You said she'd do me in," Chrys reminded him.
He shrugged. "We have to live with double agents."
She looked away. "So that's what you wanted—"
"No," he snapped. "7 don't want you to do it." He sounded as if he were arguing with someone else. "I want you to keep making art, and beautiful buildings. I don't want you to spend your time pulling slaves out of hell, only to see them run back the first chance they get."
"Oh Great One," flashed Jonquil, "we will join the cause. We will fight to preserve our way of life."
"And checkmate the false purveyors of Enlightenment."
Chrys took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If even Elves succumbed to the brain plague, what chance did she have? What gods would help humans?
THIRTEEN
The Thundergod sent judges to train Eleutherians to judge the gods themselves. But their transfer took several microbial "hours," while the one god reached out to the other.
To pass the time, Jonquil and Rose played chess. Jonquil was not a bad player, but her mind tended to wander to the Comb, the latest iteration of the torsional stress problem, or to art—how to inspire the god to ever more daring creations. Jonquil's own body had aged and stiffened too much for the athletics of passion, but she poured her dreams into the divine arts.
"Your move," flashed Rose. The micro chessboard curled over in a ring, so the pieces lined up in circular rows.
Jonquil's filament stuck to one protein piece, then set it down, replacing another.
Rose emitted a molecule of disgust.
" What's wrong? " asked Jonquil. "I trade a knight for a bishop."
"And doubled pawns. My rook swings around to take one. Hopeless," Rose added to herself. "I'm moving to the wizards, see if I don't."
Rose had made this threat so often that Jonquil no longer worried. "Now Rose," she said, emitting placating pheromones. "You know I couldn't manage without you." Flattery, she had learned, was the best way to get around Rose—and to gain information. "Those judges—you really stand up to them, with all you know of the masters."
"No host ever found Endless Light, save by choice."
"Now, Rose, let's not be naive—"
"Come, who's naive? Humans choose the path of Enlightenment. Alas, too many are betrayed; nonetheless, they choose."
"But the slaves who steal ships—"
"I tell you it isn't so." Rose refused to believe that the master-controlled slaves stole humans out of spaceships. "The host always makes a choice. Though we make the choice easy. I'll show you how—"
Rose stopped as the optic fibers flashed. The judges had arrived. They came, rolling sedately through the arachnoid, their filaments brushing the columns of fibroblast. They exuded authority and shrewdness, though they tasted a bit pompous. Jonquil emitted molecules of respect, with a hint of Eleutherian pleasures after their work was done.
"Your people have been chosen for an extraordinary mission," Judge-390 told Jonquil. "Your mission is to save the gods themselves from destruction."
"Eleutheria is honored to be of service." How well Jonquil remembered the false blue angels, and the great "passing over." They had just commemorated the event's twenty-fifth anniversary.
Rose added, "Salvation of the gods has always been my mission. " Jonquil brushed her filaments, flickering, "Be dark!"
"All participants in this service must apply for security clearance." Judge-390 produced a long chain of hydrocarbon, with many complex side branches, each with data tags to be filled in. A similar chain, about twice as long, Jonquil noticed, was presented to Rose. Much annoyed, Rose caught the molecular paperwork in her filaments and hauled it off.
The judge approached Jonquil alone. "Has the double agent served you faithfully?"
As far as Jonquil knew, Rose had done little worse than preach "enlightenment" to a few followers. "She set up food service for the homeless. The Council grumbled at the expense, but after all, even the gods have soup kitchens."
"She tells us nothing. Have you learned much?" "She showed us how the masters attack the brain, precisely which neurons they flood with dopamine."
"Did she say how they locate starships to hijack?" "She denied that masters take slaves by force, but she's starting to reveal the truth. She also helped us figure out how the false blue angels hid from our taste. They engineered their own genes to produce the surface proteins of microglia and astrocytes—making themselves taste like human cells."