The slaves prodded her out onto a windswept platform, overgrown with grass. The air smelled fresh and welcome. Still, no sign of human life, nor any animals, not a bird in the sky. A building stood there, blocks of it fallen down, its surface eaten away.
In her window a light started blinking. A health alert, her Plan Ten nanos warned: some strange toxin was damaging her chromosomes. Whatever could that be, she wondered, inhaling the clean air. Whatever it was, Plan Ten was far away.
The slaves led her into the depths of the decaying building. Its interior looked more intact, but wholly dead, no sign of plast, not even a door opening its mouth. Rectangular gaps cut into the walls; everything was angular. A sign appeared, full of strange letters; Chrys made sure to observe it up close, for her recording.
"Great Host, the damage to the DNA fits a pattern," Rose told her. "Either cosmic rays, or intense nuclear radiation could cause such damage. We'll work on it."
Radioactive—was this where the slaves built their nukes? Chrys looked around, though she saw no sign of such equipment here. "Rose—just let me go home." No response.
The corridor turned at a right angle, as all the corridors did. Several more slave workers came out, their eyes flashing bleach white. The air became even more rancid than the ship, and a fly brushed her arm. Did the slaves never bathe?
Deeper within the decaying building, the only light came from blobs of cancerplast stuck to the ceiling. The dying cancers throbbed dull infrared. The corridor led straight down into reddish black, like a lava tunnel. Then it turned at a right angle. Several more slave workers came out, silent shadows, only their eyes flashing bone white.
Through one rectangular cutaway, she glimpsed cots with humans lying upon them. A steady hum of flies. Her steps slowed to a halt. The slaves turned around.
"What is there?"
The mouth of the slave worked out of its grin. "The Enlightened Ones."
She brushed another fly from her face. "Let me see," she told the slave. "Rose, tell them to let me see... those 'enlightened' hosts. Let me see what I'm choosing." She stared at the deadened eyes of the grinning slave. At last he inclined his head and led her in.
Within the room full of cots, the air was fetid, and flies settled everywhere. The slaves barely treated their wastes, either, she guessed. The humans, all thin and pale, seemed mostly asleep, although some sat up in chairs, their eyes glazed, rocking. One was being spoon-fed by a slave. "Rose? Is this what you call Endless Light?"
"Remember, the Enlightened Ones lack resources. They are desperately poor—but all they have is shared equally, all for one and one for all. From each according to ability..." To each, according to need. Chrys saw plenty of need. "Why are they all sick in bed?"
"They've achieved an advanced stage, the experience of endless light. They no longer desire to move."
Having started the tour, the slave seemed determined to show her room after room. The next room smelled so foul she had to clench her teeth to steady her stomach. On the floor were soiled bedsheets and fecal matter. "Can't you taste it, Rose? Can't you see how vile this is?" No sound but the everpresent flies. The humans were wasted away, their limbs like sticks, flies all over their eyes and mouths. For a moment her head swam, but she forced herself to stand and look. The recording, she told herself again. None of the humans made a sound; she hoped because they felt no pain.
"It's not easy to run your own universe," said Rose. "Did your own ape ancestors smell so sweet? The Enlightened Ones are just learning. They try bard, but they are starved for arsenic. They need help."
Chrys felt a touch of panic. This conversation was not leading the way she had hoped. She followed her guide into the next room.
The stench overpowered her. She vomited over and over, until her stomach was empty. Gasping for breath, she wiped her face and looked up. The bodies here, some piled next to the wall, were concave where muscles ought to be convex. Eyelids shrunken back, leaving round holes like mouths screaming. The drone of the flies. In faces and other soft parts, twisting and crawling, white maggots.
Chrys doubled over again, retching violently, though there was nothing more to come out. She turned and stumbled out back to the corridor.
"Let me go," she croaked at the worker slaves. They grinned back, as if forgetting their errand. Suddenly she remembered something. Her hand trembling violently, she fumbled at her pocket for a viewcoin. "Look. You can have this. Let me go."
The slave gazed intently. "Star pictures." Seeming to recall his business, he beckoned her onward through the lava tunnel. On the ceiling a cancer went dark and fell to the floor; Chrys steered herself around it. At last the slave brought her to a larger room, reasonably clean, bare of any furnishing.
In the middle of the room stood Saf.
"The Leader of Endless Light," rhapsodized Rose. "I will die content."
A fly caught in Chrys's hair. Frantic with revulsion, she tore it out. Then she turned to the Leader—actually, the Leader's host. After all these months, Saf's body remained in reasonable health, still recognizable as the slave Chrys had met at the Gold of Asragh after the Seven's last show. Perhaps, despite "all for all," the Leader managed to keep more than a few extra resources for her own host.
Saf's irises flashed white rings, like maggots biting their own tails. "I—am—the Leader of Endless Light," Saf rasped. "You— make pictures in stars."
Chrys swallowed and dug her hands in her pockets. "Take whatever you want. Just let me go."
"You—choose Endless Light. You make pictures for us."
She shivered so hard she nearly collapsed. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, no," she said more loudly. "Let me go." Her voice broke.
Saf hesitated. "No one ever says no." That was because everyone else who got this far was already hooked inside. Chrys was not—but Rose kept pretending. Why? she wondered. Why did Rose still keep out the others? Not quite ready to give up degenerate Eleutheria?
"Rose, I've seen enough. I need to take my people home. Tell the slaves to let us go."
"Great Host, how can we leave? These people are so poor—they need our help, and all our arsenic stores, to promote their dream."
"Their dream will come to nothing, Rose. Believe me. All I can do is provide food for maggots."
"I could make you stay. One touch of dopamine, and you would beg to stay. Such are the 'gods,' " taunted Rose.
"Where are your sisters of Eleutheria? My people, why have you forsaken me?"
For a long moment, no answer.
"Here I am," came the blue letters of Forget-me-not.
Chrys nearly collapsed with relief.
"The Council voted to override the High Priest."
"Alas," added infrared Fireweed, "we have nothing to learn here. Half starved, overrunning their habitat; lacking even civil discourse, they follow authoritarian control."
"Then let's get out of here," urged Chrys.
"Rose must give us her codes. Until then, we can do nothing."
Saf still stared, maggot rings in her eyes, the Leader inside puzzling at this unprecedented act of noncompliance. How long before she figured out?