Still dazed, she shook her head. "I had no idea Eris got his people from her."
"His original strain. He promised to set up the same system here as Andra and Sar did in Iridis."
She reflected, "I guess Elves always come to Valedon to pick up our vulgar diversions. Just like Indians go slumming in the Underworld."
"We'll never really know what happened to Eris," Daeren said, "whether his people went bad, or they got replaced by another strain." Out on the balcony, an aging heliconian fell off a branch, its wings still bright and crisp. The delicate insect landed below, its blue-spotted wings outstretched, a dead angel.
Her head nestled against his neck, and he brushed her hair. "I'm just glad someone was there for me when I needed help," added Daeren. "Some very special people."
Chrys looked up. "Daeren, if we, like, get out of this alive—" She swallowed hard. "We could have children. I mean, the micros have so many, why can't we have our own?"
For a while Daeren looked at her, unable to speak. At last he brushed her cheek. "I never thought you'd trust me."
That afternoon, as they waited together, a group of Elves appeared on the holostage. Startled, Chrys sat up and straightened her hair. Among the Elves was Ilia.
"We need your help," Ilia told her, a slight edge to her normally unflappable voice. "Arion has put all the carriers under guard, until we can prove we're clean. You can test us, Daeren."
Before, only Chief Andra was good enough for her. Daeren crossed his arms. "What became of your own testers?"
"Eris was wiped."
Much as he deserved it, Chrys shuddered. One day in hell had been enough for her.
"It's terrible to think of," exclaimed one of Ilia's companions. "We knew Eris had 'turned,' but should it come to this? He led a respectable life."
Daeren looked away. "I'm on vacation. You can ask Chrys."
"What?" the Elf exclaimed. "Not that scandalous artist."
Ilia gave her companion a glacial stare. "Consider it an aesthetic experience. You've never refused one before."
Chrys thought of something. "We'll train you to test the others," she told Ilia. "Your people can learn; it's not hard."
Ilia shuddered. "Too much temptation."
Daeren added, "And tell Arion, we have ways to help Eris."
Once again, they met with the Guardian of Peace. Both he and Andra had an air of business about them, the product of many hours of negotiation. A couple of Elf assistants were present.
"Elysium agrees to drop all pending charges," Arion told the Valans, "under the conditions indicated." A long list scrolled down the holostage.
"And we agree to help rebuild your carrier security program," said Andra.
Arion nodded. "And I shall ask the Guard to open consideration of the rights and status of the alleged micro people."
Andra said, "I've gone over the whole thing, but you both need to read thoroughly before you sign."
Chrys read the suspended letters word by word. A lot of prohibitions, such as don't ever visit the Slave World again—she could certainly live with that. Then her eyes stopped. " 'The undersigned agrees to desist from representational depiction of government officials.'"
Andra looked mystified. "That wasn't in our final draft."
Arion glanced at his aides, saying smoothly, "My staff must have put that in." The line vanished.
After reading through it three times, Chrys at last put her hand to the document. A weight lifted off her chest. The plague still raged, but it no longer reached so high.
"One last point." Arion looked hard at Daeren. "You said you could help Eris."
"Yes."
"You know he can never carry people again." Arion's voice was bleak.
"I've discussed an experimental alternative with Sartorius," said Daeren. "We've never had an effective treatment for hard-core addicts. They can't manage without company inside. Based on my experience, I can understand that. But suppose we give them just a few elders, to talk to."
"Would that be safe?"
"Elders can't breed. They'd need replacing every month or so." Microbial methadone.
Arion reflected on this. "Would the elders do it? It sounds like a lonely existence for them."
"A lonely way to spend one's millennial lifetime. But mercy is their calling."
As Chrys and Daeren rode the transit bubble to the Elysian hospital, her people rhapsodized about all the elegant dwellings they'd seen. "We're taking notes," flashed Forget-me-not. "Elysian dwellings maximize efficiency and aesthetics, suitable to house divinity." Their model for the future Underworld, their project to dwarf Silicon.
Daeren took yet another AZ.
"Don't spoil them," Chrys remarked with a smile.
"They deserve it. They're giving up their seven best elders for that..."
"Bastard," she finished.
"Be careful, Chrys."
"He was human enough to know what he did."
"Human, and proud of it. That's what saved us in the end." That last slip before Andra's eyes.
At the hospital, a doctor led them through a bank of apartments just like the place Chrys and Daeren had been sent. So that had been part of an Elf "hospital." Eris, of course, had a more generous suite.
On a bed of nanoplast in shifting colors, the stricken Elf lay on his side hugging his knees, his head turned away. The doctor rested a hand on his pillow. "Eris, you have visitors."
Chrys held back. Daeren squeezed her hand, then let go. "Leave us," he told the doctor.
After the doctor had gone, Daeren stepped toward the bed. "Eris. You remember me."
Chrys had to restrain herself from pulling him back. She'd have her people scour his bones afterward; she doubted those Elves who cleared Eris knew what they were doing.
The white folds of Daeren's talar swished as he took another step. "Eris, I have some friends for you."
Eris roused himself, twisting around. His face was a tortured mask. The shock of recognition nearly made Chrys black out; she caught herself, stepping back. "You have them, don't you?" Eris tried to rise from the bed, but he fell to his knees on the floor and grasped Daeren's talar. "Give them back. Please, give them to me."
Daeren's face tightened with pity and distaste. He held out the transfer. Seizing it from his hand, Eris pressed it to his neck. His eyes widened, a rapt expression suffused his face. Then he fell to kiss the talar's hem.
Suddenly Daeren grasped his arm and tried to pull him up. "Listen, friend. Pull yourself together. You're a human being."
The Elf could only stare, uncomprehending.
In the news, an old unused satellite station outside Valedon had exploded, the cause unknown. Andra confirmed it was the end of the Slave World, and the Leader. "But not the end of 'endless light,'" she warned the carriers at Olympus. "We're advancing for now, but who knows what the brain plague will do next."
Opal agreed. "There will always be light and leaders, and only wisdom to tell good from bad."
Catching sight of Sartorius, Chrys gave the post-shaped sentient a quick hug. "I hope it wasn't too bad at the Palace."
"Tolerable, thanks," said the worm-face. A vast understatement, Chrys guessed. "For now, Flexor is taking over our treatment program. I have to go to Helicon to start theirs."
"With microbial partners." The blue angels had a new calling.
"They really help," said the doctor. "They help those who need to say yes."
Chrys searched the virtual singing-trees for Jasper, who was planning the official seeding of Silicon. The seed would be sown in a protective enclosure floating just outside Helicon. Beneath the arch of a tree Moraeg waved to her. Beside her, Carnelian, who had officially joined the Committee to represent "independent" interests, was there listening earnestly to Garnet's latest investment advice.
A newcomer caught her eye, an exceptionally tall woman with the most impressive build Chrys had ever seen. Chrys stared, puzzled. There was something familiar about her. Then the face smiled back. Chrys's jaw just about dropped to the floor.