“My deepest apologies, God of Mercy,” the yellow letters flashed. “Alas, these heretics were undone by the tales of our exploits in the uninhabited world. We’ll remove them, to trouble you no longer.”
“New god”—What had Moraeg told them?
“We shall return,” the green one challenged. “We’ll defy even death. Every year, we’ll return to demand our New World.”
“Why?” asked Chrys. “What’s wrong with Eleutheria?”
“Eleutheria is a sham. Corrupted, untrue to its founding principles. ‘World of opportunity’—what falsehood. See all the beggars floating homeless in the veins.”
“Jonquil? I thought you and Rose took care of this.”
“We tried,” Jonquil admitted, “but in recent years, perhaps, I’ve not kept up so well.”
“Rose? Is this your doing?”
“Nonsense,” said Rose. “I have nothing to do with those god-talkers. I’ve tried what I can to spread enlightenment, but degenerate societies consume themselves from within.”
“Rose,” countered Jonquil, “you yourself want only the best chess champions. How could we breed the best, if we let all cells with inferior genes into the nightclubs?”
“Fireweed?” blinked Chrys. “What do you know of this?”
“Such heretics,” said Fireweed, “in ancient times would have had their arsenic torn out.” The letters came blood-red. “But truly, the heretics remind us how poorly we ourselves serve our God. With faith and patience, we’ll learn to love even the meanest ones as we do God Herself.”
Red, yellow, green—Chrys shook her head, as if she could clear out the lot of them. “Go, then, and do so.”
“And the heretics?” asked Jonquil. “What shall we do with them?”
“Pteris, why can’t you stay and make Eleutheria better?”
“Our own god calls us,” said the green one. “We’ll return every year, until you let us go.”
“Not every year. Or there’ll be an eclipse of the sun.”
For some seconds the letters vanished. Chrys guessed they all had plenty to say to each other. Then Jonquil asked, “How often will the god allow?”
“Once a generation.” Chrys sighed, her eyes aching. Microbial rejection.
And today was her own day to be tested. What if the tester heard of Jonquil’s little “visit”?
Her tester now was Pyrite of Azuroth, a nanodesigner from the Comb, who looked even younger than Daeren. Pyrite arrived a few minutes late. “Sorry,” he apologized, “I was delayed below. A vendor tried to talk me into a trophy, a giant caterpillar claw.” He smiled, obviously trying to put her at ease; Chrys knew their routine now. “How are you? Anything I need to know?”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “They visited a non-carrier,” she forced herself to say.
His brows lifted. “With children?”
“Certainly not. Just two elders.”
“You let them?”
“My friend insisted. She’s upset because the doctor put her way down on the list.”
“I see.” Pyrite nodded. “Well, let’s sit down and have a look.” His irises flashed green, like Opal’s. Perhaps his people came from hers. Pyrite nodded again. “Once you let them explore a ‘virgin,’ they get all kinds of ideas.”
“I don’t understand,” exclaimed Chrys. “Before, they were perfectly happy with me. They’re welcome to visit any other carrier.”
“When humans discover a new habitable planet, what happens?”
Nervously, she clasped her fingers. “So what can I do?”
“Put up with it. After a few generations they may forget.”
“Not Eleutherians.”
Pyrite thought this over. “With luck, we may find a recipient soon. But there’s a long waiting list for emigration.”
Chrys frowned. “If there’s a waiting list for hosts, as well as emigrants, why not let more go ahead?”
“Both need to meet our standards, and make a good match. The streets have enough slaves already.” Pyrite’s eyes defocused, and he nodded again, as if to someone unseen. “The good doctor wants to know who they visited. We have to check her out.”
Chrys gripped the chair. “You reported it already?”
“Of course.”
“Moraeg will be furious.”
“She shouldn’t be, if she’s a serious candidate.”
“Why should she be way down the list?” Chrys wanted to know. “She’s a totally together person. She’s been married a hundred years.”
“Is her spouse a candidate?”
“I don’t think so.”
Pyrite shook his head. “We take singles, or couples, but not half a couple. Too many problems.”
“That’s hardly fair,” Chrys exclaimed.
“Maybe not, but we can’t afford mistakes.”
Chrys sighed. Another old friend lost.
Pyrite leaned forward. “Are you the real ‘Azetidine’? The one who does the portraits?”
She smiled, recalling her provocative signature. “I’m afraid so.”
“Awesome,” he exclaimed. “Could I have your autograph? I mean, after my two months testing you.”
Over the next two days, the would-be emigrants kept their word, asking each night for their Promised World. The rest seemed happy as usual, and Jonquil was thrilled to help her new compositions. But now each day ended with sadness.
The day came for her to test Lord Garnet, with Daeren’s help, of course. Daeren stopped at her studio, where her painting stage displayed her latest work in progress, a couple of children in a nightclub hung with luminescent proteins. As he turned to watch, Chrys stole a look at him, his deltoids nicely filled out, a pleasing valley between the shoulder blades.
Daeren nodded. “I like that one best.” He turned to her. “Are you ready? Remember to sell off your investments.”
Her investment with Garnet had grown considerably. “I’m not sure I can afford to,” she realized. “I just gave Xenon a raise.”
“You’ll just have to work for a living.”
They started up the street toward the Hyalite complex. One of the neighbors had a new grillwork of stunplast, forming pretty stars and moons with an angel on top. Chrys took care to avoid a touch. “Are you sure I’m still allowed?” she asked. “My people got in trouble.”
“Don’t let them do it again,” Daeren warned. “If they had smuggled children in, they’d all be dead.”
“They know better.”
“Do the would-be emigrants give you a hard time?”
“Only once a day.”
Daeren smiled, and his dark hair glinted lava in the sunlight. “Just like Fern, and the one I couldn’t see.” Fern and Poppy—she could imagine. It seemed so long ago, yet it was only a few months. “You did a good job the other night,” Daeren added. “The Committee was pleased.”
She realized he meant Pearl. “How is she doing?”
“She’s making progress. She’s lucky to have a caring partner.”
“That’s for sure,” Chrys exclaimed. “If anything real bad ever happened to me, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Chrys, you know we’d always help you.”
“It’s not the same,” she said. “Not like…having a friend.” Her eyes filled and she quickly looked away. The devil take Topaz, and those stupid emigrants, and whoever else.
Ahead, before Garnet’s house, stood the first pair of golden caryatids. Their style had altered subtly since her previous visit. Each caryatid had its own pose, one carrying a platter of grapes, another a glass of wine. She could not help admiring the artfulness of each pose, the way the gown draped over the ankle. Even Xenon could learn a few tricks here.
At the end of the colonnade they faced the door with its cornucopia of gems. Seeing them approach, the door came alive. “Please, friends,” begged the door. “We’ve so much to share.”
Without thinking Chrys looked down at the gems.
“Chrys…” warned Daeren behind her
.
She remembered. Straightening her back, she gave the door a murderous glare.
“Very well,” sighed the door. “Just remember—all that’s gold doesn’t glitter.”
Inside, they were met by a chorus of birds, their plumage like a rainbow. The hall had redone itself in decorative panels topped with finials. Lord Garnet smiled. “Please excuse our door, I’ll have a talk with him.” From his tone, Chrys suspected he had indulged the door for years. “A pleasure to see you, Azetidine,” he told her with a bow. “We share such good taste.”
“She’s training, as you know,” Daeren told him. “Thanks so much for helping out.”
Looking slightly aside, Garnet smiled. “It’s always a pleasure to receive Eleutheria.”
Daeren glanced at the finials and the singing birds. “The conference room, if you don’t mind.”
The floor glided down the hall until they reached a massive arch at right. Inside the conference room, the table was long enough to span an ordinary house. Three chairs slid around together.
“It’s good to see you again,” said Daeren, sitting down to face him. “Your caryatids—I like the new look.”
“You noticed,” said Garnet. “You always had an eye for beauty, Day.”
He smiled. “Thanks for letting Chrys in on our session. Anything we need to know?”
“No,” he said. “There never is, is there.” Garnet leaned back into the tall chair, stretching his legs in a relaxed manner.
Daeren leaned forward. “Garnet, we’re having a little trouble fixing on your eyes. Could you keep them steady?”
Garnet blinked a couple of times. “Your irises somehow seem brighter than usual. Sorry, I must be tired; it’s been a bad day on the market.”
Tendons shifted in Daeren’s neck. “Sorry to be slow,” he said softly, “but we still can’t quite connect.” Somehow Garnet’s gaze kept veering just off center. “Perhaps you might try Chrys.”
“My pleasure.” His gaze shifted to meet her eyes.
“Rose,” Chrys summoned, “it’s time to test the God of Love.”
“Great Host,” flashed Rose, “his people don’t want to meet us today. They claim they’re not ready.”
Chrys kept her gaze steady, hoping her face did not change. “Were you polite?”
“Certainly; what do you take me for?”
“We’re polite,” agreed Jonquil. “The people of the God of Love just don’t want to see us this year.”
Chrys swallowed. “Should we come back later?”
“What’s wrong?” Garnet asked.
“Well, they said—”
Abruptly Garnet rose from his seat. “It’s not working today, is it.” His breath came faster. “I’m just not myself, that’s all. Come back tomorrow; I’ll make sure I get better rest.”
“I wish I could do that,” said Daeren very quietly.
“You don’t have to report anything. Just come back tomorrow.”
“It’s already been reported.”
Garnet shuddered, and his head twisted back and forth as if trapped. Like Pearl. “Who do you think you are?” His voice was loud and unsteady. “I’ve heard enough. The house will show you out.”
The conference room door peeled open wide. Chrys suddenly realized, they were in the hands of a very frightened man.
“You’ll be okay,” said Daeren. “Just let Chrys continue. We’ll do our best to—”
“You’ll wipe them all out.”
All of them—to lose them all, just like that. “No,” exclaimed Chrys. “I won’t. I promise, we won’t hurt anybody.”
Garnet’s throat dipped as he swallowed. “All right then.”
Chrys remembered to hand him the patch, which he put to his neck himself. A good sign, he was still in control. But what could have happened, she wondered in dismay. What went wrong? Did he get the bad strain from Eris?
The minutes lengthened as she waited for her people to do their work, while Daeren stepped out to the hall for a moment. Then he was back. “Jasper will meet us at the hospital—”
“No,” exclaimed Garnet. “You needn’t tell Jasper.”
“Just for overnight observation.”
“But if they’ve done something forbidden—”
“We’ll see.”
Garnet’s irises flashed pink; that was Rose.
“I need them back now,” Chrys told him.
“What did they say?”
Chrys flexed her fingers awkwardly. “I don’t know yet.”
Garnet looked from her to Daeren in a calculating way. “Just let me go. I’ve a home on Solaria; I’ll go, and won’t come back.” Run twenty light-years, but not escape what’s within.
Daeren caressed his shoulder. “We’d miss you. All of you. Olympus wouldn’t be the same.” At his touch Garnet relaxed enough to let Chrys have her people back.
“They’ve ‘experimented’ with his neurons,” reported Rose.
“‘They?’ You mean his own people?”
“They claim he asked for it, just for fun. They offered us untold amounts of palladium not to tell—as if the nanos won’t find out anyhow. Pathetic, if you ask me.”
“You yourself once looked pathetic, as a refugee,” Chrys reminded her.
“Look, I know the Great Hosts don’t give an atom for what I think, but what’s the harm in a little Enlightenment? Sure, they messed up a few dendrites out of ignorance, but they’ll grow back…”
“I’ll call my attorney,” Garnet added, but his tone had softened.
“It’s not yet a matter for the law,” Daeren pointed out. “If you come now, it stays with the Committee. Section Five-oh-three-three, subsection A.”
At the hospital, Doctor Sartorius took Garnet away for the nanos to test every neuron. Chrys imagined him lying there amid worm-tubes all snaking into his head. She turned to Daeren. “What will become of him?”
The peach-colored walls extended a packet of instruments into a bubble of plast, which took off down the hall, dodging the humans at the last moment. Drunks and accident victims passed to and fro, the hospital’s usual evening clientele. Daeren sank into a chair. “What happens next depends on what we find. If Rose is right, Garnet’s people were just starting to go bad. We take out the main instigators and make an example of them.”
Chrys sighed. “Hope mine learn a lesson too.”
“They still ask?”
“Now and then.”
Daeren watched her curiously, as if trying to figure her out. “I’m glad you were there. I’m not sure he would have made it with me.”
Her mouth twisted. “His people thought they could buy mine off.”
“Perhaps. I prefer a more generous view. But remember—” He looked her in the eye. “Never make a promise you can’t keep.”
She looked down. “I’ll remember.”
“Jasper?” Daeren rose from his seat. “We’re glad you’re here.”
Lord Jasper strode quickly toward them, the map stone gleaming on his fur talar. “Is he all right? Where is he?”
“He’s having the brain scan. We expect he’ll be fine, but we need to make sure.”
“Good god, what a scare.” Jasper wiped his brow. “Are you sure he’s all right? You’ve cleaned them out?”
Daeren hesitated. “Chrys is training with us,” he added, noting Jasper’s questioning look. “Her people checked him out.”
“Yes, I recall now he mentioned it.” Jasper nodded apologetically. “Dreadfully sorry for this…inconvenience.”
Chrys said, “It’s an honor to be of service.” She saw the sweat on his forehead. He must be worried sick, but for Jasper, dignity was everything.
Daeren addressed the wall. “Consult, please.” The wall punched in, shaping a small round conference room done in blues and greens. Depression color, Chrys would have called it. As the three entered and took seats, the wall closed them in. “Here are Garnet’s options,” Daeren began. “The choice is his, but he’ll need your support. He�
�s lucky to have you.”
Jasper waved his arm impatiently, as if at a poor business presentation. “I know he’ll be fine. He just needs a clean start.”
“That’s one option,” Daeren admitted. “If micros damage dopamine receptors, the carrier can choose to be swept for arsenic. The people know that.” He hesitated. “That’s a drastic choice.”
“The hell it is. I know the law as well as you.” Jasper faced Daeren coolly, but his hand was shaking. “I want him safe, do you hear?”
“If he chooses to keep them—the innocent majority—he’ll be safe enough. My Watchers will see him through.”
Jasper’s hand closed into a fist. “You put him up to this.”
“We haven’t yet spoken—he doesn’t even know if—”
“You wanted an excuse to give him your people, was that it? Or was the idea his?”
“Jasper,” said Daeren in a low voice, “you’re not yourself. Think clearly—you need to help him.”
Chrys’s heart pounded. “I could give him Watchers.”
The two men turned to her. Jasper was incredulous. “You?”
“She’s trained,” Daeren agreed.
Jasper added, “You mean Eleutherians would be willing to spend their lives with Garnet?”
“I’ll ask them. I mean, they’ll do as I tell them.”
Daeren looked away. “Thanks, Chrys. You know, this was my third call today. Perhaps you and the doctor could take it from here.” He caught her hand, a bit harder than usual. They quickly exchanged transfers. Then he left without looking back, the taut deltoids shifting smoothly beneath his nanotex. Chrys wanted to run after him, to say something, but he was gone.
“Jonquil, could you recruit seven Watchers for the God of Love?”
“Certainly, God of Mercy. Though it’s hard to believe, I know elders of good character who despise modern design and would embrace a mission of service.” And the chance to invest in palladium, she guessed.
Jasper sat straight and folded his hands. “We’re greatly in your debt.”
“It’s our job,” she breathed. “Thank the Committee.” Damn it, she was sounding like a bureaucrat already. She watched Jasper, his face like a mask, his fingers tightening and flexing, struggling between pride and fear.
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