Guardian Arion looked smaller than Chrys expected. She had forgotten how diminutive the Elves were; their virtual appearances were designed to enhance their size. Arion sat behind an opalescent conference table shaped like a half moon. His hands on the table were relaxed, but the features beneath his flaxen hair looked tight as a coiled spring. "So you are Chrysoberyl of Dolomoth."
The sound of his voice rang strange, after so many newsbreaks in her head.
"I understand," he added, "you're opening soon at our Gallery."
"Two months yet." As usual, she was desperate to get it all done.
A nod to his right, and the holostage filled with the apparition of Saf. "I'm to understand you entrapped the 'masters' with your art."
The way he said "art" made her face hot. "I didn't trap anything," she exclaimed. "They came after me." As did your dear brother, she silently added.
Daeren put out a hand. "Guardian, Chrys is a trained tester. Her only contact with slaves is professional."
"I understand." Arion waved his hand dismissively. To Chrys he said, "I'd like to meet some of your ... people." He set a transfer patch on the table.
Then it dawned on her, why he had called her all the way out to the turquoise moon to meet in person. It wasn't herself he wanted. She gave him a cold stare. "How do we know you're safe?"
Lines tightened in Daeren's neck, but before he could speak, Arion lifted his hands. "Of course, how would you know. 'Virgin territory' after all. I assure you, I'm well prepared. My phagocytes , are tame."
Daeren nodded. "It's true; the blue angels have been there."
Arion could help the carriers, and their people, Andra had said. Even civil rights. "Fireweed, gather several of your most circumspect elders to pay a special visit."
The guardian added, "Be sure to include the double agent."
Chrys flushed red as rubies. Whoever had told him? she wondered. Ignoring the patch on the table, she used one of her own, which she knew her people kept supplied with moisture and nutrients.
Arion placed it at his neck like an expert. "So tell me, where can we find this Leader?"
"I can't say."
"Can't or won't?"
"I've no idea," she snapped.
Daeren agreed, "None of us do. We told you that, Guardian."
Arion paused, his eyes flitting back and forth as if reading. "Your double agent has a couple of clues. She's still rather keen on Enlightenment." He frowned slightly. "I do hope she's not triple."
"Guardian," said Daeren quickly, "I assure you—"
"Of course," he said dismissively. Then he clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward. "So, Chrysoberyl. The Leader of Endless Light made you an invitation. Will you take her up on it?"
"No." Daeren's face was ashen. "Guardian, as you well know, the Slave World is a place of no return."
"There's always a first time." Arion's gaze did not leave Chrys. "Advance planning minimizes risk. Think well, Chrys. We could make it worth your while. A planetoid of your own, perhaps? Or Plan Ten for all of Dolomoth?"
Oddly, Daeren's loss of composure made Chrys more calm. This offer hadn't been on his agenda, she figured. She gave Arion her difficult-client smile. "We'll think it over."
"Guardian," said Daeren, recovering, "as you know, these are dangerous times. The deadly new strain—even trained carriers are at risk."
"Indeed," said Arion in a low voice.
Chrys thought of something. "Those two Elves who got hijacked. Were they carriers?"
For the first time Arion frowned. "I ask the questions here." No wonder he'd called in outside help to test the others.
"What else can we tell you?" offered Daeren. "You know our surmises. All available evidence increasingly points to one highly placed carrier."
Arion nodded. "We too suspect a highly placed Valan carrier."
Chrys frowned. "Look, we know our own problems. I myself put Zoisite in the clinic."
The guardian did not respond but continued to face Daeren. He did not mean Zoisite, Chrys realized. He meant Andra.
At Olympus, only the sea was quiet, the wind hushed through the virtual branches.
"He all but accused you," Daeren told Andra. Selenite listened, arms folded. Chrys watched, her brain dulled by lack of sleep.
"A well-kept wilderness," Fireweed described Arion's brain. "Paradise." The window filled with Fireweed's view of the elegant fibroblast columns of Arion's arachnoid.
"Not exactly 'virgin,' " observed Rose. "We call him the Hunter."
"He hunts for people," agreed Fireweed.
"He barely let me go, with our chess game half finished. He wants people so bad, he can taste it." Chrys closed her eyes, then forced them back open.
"So he accuses," Andra coolly returned. "Can you prove him wrong?"
"Of course I can," exclaimed Daeren. "I test you, and so does Selenite."
"Suppose I went bad. What would you do?"
"I'd offer you help."
"Like you did Eris?"
Daeren's face darkened. "You think Selenite and I don't make plans for that?"
Andra nodded. "The less I know, the better. But suppose we all went bad. What non-carrier could sort us out?"
He blinked without speaking. Selenite's eyes narrowed.
"Perhaps," reflected Andra, "we need a non-carrier on the Committee, like a miner's canary."
Daeren threw up his hands. "Forget worst-case scenarios. The worst case is there—in Elysium."
"Agreed, though they might point to our streets full of vampires. But suppose Arion does want to stop Eris. How should he do it? Who takes Eris's place as chief tester? Suppose the mole has prepared his own successor?"
Silence. A flying fish dove into the sea. Selenite shifted restlessly. "So what do we do? Give up?"
"Of course not," said Andra. "For now, we play it Arion's way. He gets on well with Daeren and Chrys."
At the sound of her name, her eyes flew open.
"Chrys has done enough," said Daeren. "Let her work on her show. Her art does more good for carriers and micros, and for public understanding."
Andra exchanged a look with Selenite. "That's another matter," Selenite observed cryptically. "A matter for the Committee."
"What do you mean?" demanded Chrys. "What's wrong with my art?"
"What do you think makes us different from Zoisite?" asked Selenite rhetorically. "Micros make good servants but bad masters."
"So?"
" 'Mourners at executions,' protesting 'capital punishment.' Next thing you know, a religious revival— 'The end is near! Repent! The One True God!' I've never heard such drivel."
Chrys sighed wearily. "I'm sorry."
"With that Elf strain around, you realize how much executing we'll have to do? Call it genocide if you like—we've got to do it."
Daeren did not look well. Perhaps he needed sleep even more than Chrys did.
The visit to "the Hunter" rekindled Eleutherian interest in exploring virgin worlds. Migration fever raged, and the ranks of Pteris's sect swelled. The sect distressed Chrys. While Eleutherian pride in their "god" could embarrass her, she was mortified to realize how many now longed to leave. Love was cruel, and fickle, she told herself for the hundredth time. On the street she found herself watching passersby with the eye of a vampire, imagining how easily some lucky host could relieve her of her trouble.
One night she heard from Zircon. In the window of her eye, the muscle-bound sprite frowned anxiously. "Chrys—you know all about the brain plague, right?"
Chrys put a hand to her head. "Zirc, what's wrong?"