Good luck, she thought. No sensor could keep humans from fooling themselves.
Jasper returned, his face beaming with relief. "Everything will be fine. Thanks for all you've done, Doctor." He extended a hand. The doctor shaped a hand to clasp his. "And you too, Chrys; much obliged." He nodded. "Garnet knows what he has to do."
Behind Jasper stood Andra. The sight of her with Sartorius struck Chrys like a blow. Back in the hospital, she remembered, her head still in pain, her own people sentenced to death—
"Judgment day," flashed Jonquil. "The day of judgment for those people. God of Mercy, will you defend them?"
"Come, Chrys." Andra's voice was as icy as Chrys's own veins. They went with the doctor to the bedside where Garnet lay. His head was turned away, his hair straggled across the pillow.
"You will choose," Andra told him. "You and no one else." She glared at Chrys, as she had once glared at Daeren. "By the end of the hour, Garnet, you will choose either Watchers from Eleutheria ..." She turned to Sar. "... or the arsenic sweep." With that she was gone. But not unaware—Chrys knew that now. Every moment of the hour was on record.
"God of Mercy, please—all those children—"
"Be dark. Your work is done; this year is not for you." Chrys sat by the bed, waiting. Idly she surveyed the living walls, sickly green, wondering where all the little camera eyes hid. When she first came from Dolomoth, it had taken a long time to get used to the ubiquity of public vision. "Garnet?" she whispered at last. "Garnet, I have a question."
His head slowly turned.
She leaned over. "Why are the Seven Stars but seven?"
Garnet gave a feeble smile, then shook his head. "It's no use." His lip twisted. "Jasper is furious at the lot of them. He won't rest till they're gone."
She watched her words. "The choice is not his."
"The fault was mine. I made them do it."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I was curious. Why not, after all. I can buy any pleasure in the Fold. What's a little dopamine?" He paused. "I can't buy back yesterday."
"Did you explain to Jasper?"
"Jasper can't accept it. If he did, he'd have to be furious at me."
"He loves you."
"He loves me to death."
Chrys knew that one well enough. Before Topaz had left her, when it started to go bad, Chrys remembered lying awake in the wee hours, watching that lovely white neck beside her, imagining her own powerful hands around it. Wearily, she pulled up a chair and sank in.
"There's nothing left," he added. "Lose them, or lose Jasper— I might as well go off to an Elysian Final Home." Elves generally chose their own end, once they tired of their centuries.
"I know," Chrys sighed. "I know that feeling well. And for me, there's no one hanging outside to care if I live or die."
He glanced at her sharply.
"I'll tell you what I do," she added, "when I feel like that. Find someone worse off. Go round the corner to the Spirit Table and serve the folks in our neighborhood who haven't got enough to eat."
"Not enough to eat—in our neighborhood." As if it were a new idea. He shook his head. "I could feed the whole Underworld, but it wouldn't help. Economics—you know that. The poor will always be poor."
"Perhaps. But they might help you."
He turned to her, fixing her with his stare. "Chrys, tell me the truth. Will Jasper leave me, if I keep them?"
One human, a million people. Chrys swallowed. In her teeth Andra's voice spoke, "Don't answer." Startled, she half jumped from her chair. "I'm sorry, I—I can't say." She bit her lip. "You know I'm fond of Jasper."
He kept his eyes on her, as if he could read her mind. Then his irises lit up.
"They will live, Oh Great One. A great victory for love and mercy."
Garnet smiled. "You're very kind, Chrys. You were kind to key the servers to his form." His old sly note crept in. "But I know your real heart lies elsewhere."
The following night the Spirit Table was full, nearing the end of the month when credit lines ran out. Sister Kaol's extra helper ran to the kitchen and back, and Chrys hoisted one pot of soup after another, putting her Plan Ten-enhanced muscles to use. She paused to push back her hair, damp with sweat. Men and women jostled in dead nanotex with strips peeling off, some with eyes overbright, high on one psycho or another. Some of the guests barely spoke, others argued, and one kept up a stream of dialogue with a demon only he could see.
Near the window, voices rose. A glint of metal, and a shriek.
Chrys vaulted over the counter and pushed her way through the crowd. Across a table lay a man streaked with blood while above him his assailant drew back the knife for another strike.
Chrys caught the arms of the assailant and yanked both behind his back. The man bellowed in pain.
The trouble sent all the customers to their feet, bolting to the exit. The Sister's assistant helped an elderly man to leave without getting trampled. Sister Kaol came to tend the victim.
"Oh Great One," flashed Fireweed, "we detect signals of injury in Your blood. The immortal God must heal."
Something wet trickled down her arm; the assailant's knife must have grazed. Still holding onto him, Chrys blinked for public health. "Plan One, someone's critical. Send help."
A flat voice responded. Chrys tried to hear over the assailant's cries. "Citizen identity?"
"Unknown." If he'd had any better than One, the Plan would know it already. "Look at him—you can see the blood."
"Noted. Responding immediately."
Sister Kaol raised her hand. "You can release that poor gentleman; he seems hurt, too."
The assailant fell, clutching his arm, which hung limp. The other Sister came and felt his shoulder. "I think it's been dislocated."
Chrys winced. She hadn't realized her own strength. Blood was seeping through her nanotex; she wiped her arm, where a gash needed skinplast.
"Oh Great One," flashed Fireweed again. "Jonquil is late getting back. We're concerned."
"Check your nightclubs. The gods are busy."
A medic entered, a smaller-sized sentient with just a couple of worms hanging down.
"Thank goodness," Chrys exclaimed, pushing back her hair. "This man was stabbed in the back; he's badly hurt."
The worm-face reached her, pealed the nanotex off her arm, and slapped on some skinplast. "Plan Ten only covers you." So he wasn't Plan One; just Plan Ten, automatically alerted by her slashed arm.
The Sister gave the assailant something to quiet him and managed to reset his shoulder. Sister Kaol had the victim laid on his back and was pressing a first-aid sensor into his chest.
"When will Plan One get here?" wondered Chrys.
"Another hour," said Sister Kaol, "perhaps two. If they get here." She shook her head. "I fear this gentleman won't make it. He has internal bleeding."
The Plan Ten medic still had his worms wrapped around her arm. Chrys asked, "Can I pay you to treat this man?"
"There's a ten-thousand-credit premium for walk-ins. The first available doctor will get back to you."
She watched the worm-face leave. Her breath came faster, and her arms shook. Would the damned city do nothing for a dying man? Who would help? She squeezed her eyes hard.
Daeren's sprite appeared, at home amid his sculptures. "Can you tell me how to get help for an injured man?" Her voice rushed. "Plan One won't get here, and Plan Ten won't even take a look."
Daeren looked thoughtful. "I might find a doctor. Just a minute." The sprite winked out.
The assailant dragged himself up and staggered toward the door.