"So hungry," he whispered. "If only I'd known." She frowned, slightly puzzled. "What about you?" Turning to him, she kissed him all over, passionately, trying to rouse him. But below the waist he was cold.
"Didn't the doctor tell you?" he said. "I'm still. . . recovering."
Chrys sat up. She bit her lip. "What does that mean?"
Daeren sat up with her, swinging his legs down. He looked away. "It means I can't feel," he said dully. "When I first came back, I felt absolutely nothing. No taste but plain, no colors but gray. No want, no pain." He looked at her again. "Now I can feel maybe a tenth of what I should. Enough to know I should be the happiest man alive."
"Can't they fix that?"
"Like growing a new leg, it takes time." He caught her hand. "Chrys, will you wait for me? While I get better?" His voice shook.
"Of course I'll wait." Holding back tears, she rested her head upon his waist. What if he never got better, she thought with a touch of panic. What if he never could feel anything better than dopamine overload? Love was cruel.
Daeren looked out the window. "You know, they have a whole resort out here." He patted her shoulder. "You'd look great in the pool."
The pool was lined with sapphires. Chrys sank into the warm water and swam lazily, stopping now and then to watch Daeren's form slip in and out of the waves. She never took vacations, she realized suddenly. Just like her parents, with their goats to milk and hens to feed every day.
"Does the god taste good? " asked Forget-me-not.
"Better than Endless Light."
"It's good for us. The hormones enrich our circulation. There will be a golden age."
The house produced dinner. Afterward the lights gradually dimmed, like natural sun. Daeren nodded down the hall. "There's a suite for you."
Chrys was puzzled. "Did I tire you out? We can just relax."
"That's okay, I just thought you'd want privacy." He put a patch at his neck. "You can have your people back."
Suddenly his eyes flashed blue rings, very fast.
"The blue angels," flashed Forget-me-not. "They tell us to stay."
Daeren looked confused. "Why won't they leave?"
Chrys was puzzled. "Your blue angels want the Eleutherians to stay."
He turned away. "They should listen to me."
That was true; but now, Andra had said, the blue angels knew better, were there to help him get well. From behind Chrys caressed his shoulder, letting her hair fall to his neck. "Why can't I sleep with you? They can visit whenever they like, all night."
"Night is not my best time."
"I'm here to look after you."
So she joined him in bed, where they lay together quietly, arms entwined. Pleasantly tired from the water, Chrys felt light-headed from his touch, his head on her shoulder, her arm resting on his chest. She soon fell asleep.
In his sleep Daeren grew restless, tossing his head and arms. Chrys awoke, vaguely puzzled. The bed seemed comfortable enough; it yielded gently to the slightest pressure. But Daeren kept tossing, his shoulder digging into the mattress, then turning again.
Suddenly he shot upright. Out of the dark his eyes flashed blue and infrared. "Take them back!" The voice did not sound like his own. "Take them back, I said!"
Light came on from the house. Daeren's head twisted like a wild thing, an animal in a trap. "Daeren—what is it?"
He shouted again, so loud she barely understood. Scrambling out of the bed, Chrys backed against the wall. From beside the bed projected two arms of plast that curled over to pin Daeren down.
"What's wrong?" she asked Fireweed. "Did our people cause trouble?" Forget-me-not and several others had stayed with him, to help the blue angels.
"The blue angels still want our people to stay."
"Bitch," he screamed. "You work for them—why couldn't you leave me there?" He kept on screaming, over and over, until Chrys fled the room.
She ran down the corridor until she could hear his voice no longer. Shaking uncontrollably, she slipped to the floor, hugging her knees. "House?" she called. "What's wrong with him? Are the blue angels false?"
"No," said the house. "I'm sorry to say, that was himself."
"What do you mean?"
"He dreams of Endless Light."
Chrys hugged her knees harder, until she could barely breathe. "Fireweed? What happened? Did Forget-me-not say?"
"He begs the blue angels to take him over, like the masters."
She shook her head, uncomprehending. "Why?"
"He thinks he'll never feel good again."
She hesitated. "Even with me?"
"He was better today. But the nighttime is hard."
"Why was he angry at our visitors?"
"I don't know. We promised to serve him as our One God."
Chrys bit her lip. What if those who stayed with him did as he asked? "House? How is he now?"
"Subsiding," said the ceiling. "He'll sleep again." Farther down the hall, a light turned on. "There is your own suite. Sorry for the trouble; I hope you sleep better."
Chrys would have cried if she had any tears left. Instead, she sat staring, her mind dull.
"Our people are still there," reminded Fireweed. "We must find out what happened."
Chrys looked up at the ceiling. "My people are still with him." She asked the house, "What if they need help?"
"The nanos in his brain would alert us to emergencies."
She didn't trust the sub-intelligent nanos. "Suppose I go back. I could handle him when I'm awake, but asleep, I don't know."
"He's restrained. You'd be safe, either way."
For a while longer she waited, listening in the silence. Remembering back to the time when she had overslept and Poppy took over. Daeren had watched her with the doctor then, and stayed with her till she chose. At last, she stepped quietly back to his room.
Daeren was asleep, the restraints securing his limbs. Humans could look so peaceful, yet who knew what went on inside. Chrys put a patch at her neck. "Fireweed, find out what happened." Hesitantly she transferred the patch to Daeren, then took it back.
Forget-me-not returned, with Lupin, accompanied by several blue angels. "We promised to serve the Lord of Light as our own god," Forget-me-not reminded her. "So we gave him what he asked."
"What?"
"We gave him your pictures from the world of Endless Light. And the odors; the taste that made you sick."
She gagged just thinking about it. From the wall, a shelf extended with a glass of water. Drinking, she managed to steady herself.
"We have learned something," flashed yellow Lupin. "We have learned at last why we must never touch the fruit of the gods. We'll never ask again."
With a deep sigh, Chrys fell back on the bed. She lay next to Daeren but carefully avoided touching him.
In the morning, she awoke refreshed. A bright morning light played across the sheets; she had slept late. By her feet sat Daeren, free of restraint, watching her quietly. She drew back her feet, tense and wary. He turned his head away. Then without a word he left the room.
"How is he?" Chrys asked the house.
"Better. He had his first quiet night."
If that was quiet, she shuddered to think what had gone before. No wonder Andra was discouraged.
The house set out breakfast in the kitchen. As Chrys ate, Daeren worked at the holostage, scrolling through some interminable legal document. She stole a look at him now and then, but if he wouldn't speak, that was fine with her.
She found another holostage to catch up with her own correspondence from clients and gallery directors; the volume overwhelmed her. The price of fame, she thought ruefully. If she answered everyone, how would she get any work done?
Recalling Merope, she checked in at her house. "The cat's fine," Xenon promised. "I made her a plump new armchair to curl up in. By the way, I enjoyed your news story. I had no idea artists were so ... interesting."
The story of "Azetidine" began innocuously enough with Yyri's r
hapsodic comments on her upcoming exhibition. Chrys's image had been caught outside, her face lost in thought, her red-black hair enhanced to the color of flame. Then came the pinwheel windows of Silicon. "Like the Comb in its day," said the snake-egg, "Silicon promises to explode with the shock of the new." Chrys winced at that. It had been one thing to watch Arion glower, but to offend all Elysium was not to her liking.
"The personal history and private life of Azetidine remain a mystery, but sources reveal tantalizing clues. Indeed, Azetidine appears to have inherited her mentor's predilection for well-connected women. Rumor links her with ..." There followed a montage of herself meeting various women, especially Opal clasping her hand, but also Lady Moraeg, then Ilia, then a couple of other Great House ladies whom she had never met but whose images were spliced to hers.
The blood drained from her face and hands. She sank into a chair, completely mortified. The one consolation was they had missed Topaz. At least her former lover would be spared the indignity.
Chrys called for Opal. On the holostage Opal was shaping her atomic models, the virtual molecules jointed into multilegged dragons. "The masters' defectors revealed a new class of peptide toxin." When at work in her lab, Opal had a one-track mind. "False blue angels use the toxin to overwhelm a native population. What puzzles me is how they can produce it so fast."
Chrys smiled. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Opal, about the news—I'm so sorry."
Opal shrugged. "Better linked to you than Titan."
"I could just die. I hope Selenite wasn't upset."
"Selenite's doing better," Opal told her. "She reached a truce with the minions. No more executions. Instead, exile."
Chrys smiled. "Well, that's progress. Give her my apologies too."
"Andra will file an injunction, and the snake-eggs will back off. But you know, Chrys, you could manage the media better. Pick one, and give her exclusive rights to your story. Then she'll have a stake in the truth."
She grimaced. "They all look alike."
"Then you should look closer." Opal moved toward Chrys. "How is Daeren? We miss him so."
Chrys wished she could say. After Opal signed off, she stood there, lost in thought.
"Oh Great One," came Fireweed's infrared, "isn't it time to visit our sisters? Send a new group to spell them."
Daeren was still at the other holostage, reviewing legal briefs. Chrys asked the house, "How is he today?"
"He's gone back to work for the first time," said the house. "Now that he's calm inside, his brain can heal."
Chrys rose and approached him from behind. When she reached him, she let her hand rest upon his shoulder.
Daeren stopped and shuddered slightly. "Chrys. I thought you'd never ..." He fell to his knees and embraced her ankles.
She whispered, "Daeren." She bent at the knees to put her arms around him, though he would not meet her eyes. "It's okay. Please." She caught his head gently in her hands, running her fingers through his hair.
His eyes flashed blue and yellow. "I'm no longer worthy of you."
"Then why did all those people invest their lives in you?" She gave him a patch to retrieve Forget-me-not.
"We've been busy," reported Forget-me-not. "Rebuilding infrastructure, bringing things up to code. Putting up a few nightclubs."
Hesitantly, he stroked her hair. Her eyes half closed, and her fingers dug into his back, remembering. His face drew so near that she breathed his scent. Then his lips were on her again, meeting her hunger until she was satisfied.
At last she lay beside him again, quietly. Her hand caressed his chest, wondering at his strength. "You've certainly got the touch, Daeren. As good as a woman."
He raised himself on one elbow. "Chrys, do you like women better? I'll get changed, to please you."
She stared, overcome by the need in his eyes. Then she let out a long, shuddering sigh. "Daeren, please yourself. I'd love you even as a worm-face."
He paused as if considering. "I don't think Plan Ten has that option."
"Well for heaven's sake, don't give them ideas." Cradling his head, she whispered, "Just get better."
"What if it's too hard?"
"You have to try."
"I'm trying. It's the hardest thing I ever tried."
Another afternoon of swimming amid sapphires, pulling weights in Andra's gym, and hiking the virtual trail up to an endless scarp stretched beneath a tree-lined sky. Chrys leaned on Daeren's shoulder and watched the sunset. "Lawyers and doctors sure know how to live."
"When they have time." Andra and Sar spent all their time getting people and hospitals out of one scrape or another.
That night Daeren again tossed in his sleep, struggling with unseen demons. At first he subsided, as if determined to stay asleep. Then his shoulders shook. He was sobbing in his sleep.
Chrys grasp his back, her arms fiercely encircling his chest. "Daeren—what is it?"
"They died," he gasped. "They all starved, even their children." The blue angels, he remembered. "How could I do that to them?"
"Daeren, that's over. They forgave you, generations ago. Think of the future."
"But I can't forget." He shook his head. "I never knew what it was like, for all those slaves I dragged to the clinic. Nothing left but their memories."
"You have us, don't you? Saints and angels—what will it take?"
The following night Chrys slept through. He must have too, she realized. In the morning, she recalled regretfully, Andra was to return.
As Chrys read her mail on the holostage, Daeren hugged her from behind, his hands cupping her breasts. Taking a deep breath, she turned and wrestled him to the ground.
For the first time, Daeren laughed. "Chrys, you're dangerous."
"You didn't resist too hard."
He flipped her over, with a deft motion she couldn't figure out. Then he pressed into her, more firmly than before.
"Daeren," she whispered. "Come home with me."
He drew her up until they were both seated on the floor. "I'm still not well." Seeing her look, he added, "Don't be sad—I can't bear it."
"I can't be happy all the time, even for you."
"I'll keep you in my window all day."
"Yes," she said, "I'll keep your sprite up there. And stop back when I can."
"You could take some blue angels," he offered. "They deserve a spell outside purgatory."
"I'm sure some of mine would stay with you. The fix-it types."
He sighed with relief. "I was hoping."
Her scalp prickled, remembering. Sometimes cruel was love.
Andra returned, with Doctor Sartorius back to his wormy form. As they arrived, Daeren seemed to close himself off again, without a word. But he hugged Chrys fiercely and kissed her hair. Then he retreated down the hall. The doctor followed him.
Andra said with a ghost of a smile, "I don't have to ask how things went."
Not with the house watching all, Chrys thought, suddenly embarrassed. "I hope your trip went well."
"Thanks for helping out, and giving us a break."
Chrys looked back once more down the hall of windows. "Is there anything more I can do? To get him out sooner?"
Andra faced her, purple rings flashing, questioning. She nodded as if satisfied. "You can tell him to make his peace with the rest of us."
TWENTY-THREE
Forget-me-not was appalled. "To see a god sunk so low that he needs redemption from people."
"A mystery beyond understanding," agreed Fireweed.
"And yet," said Forget-me-not, "out of the mystery comes a Golden Age. Our arachnoid is richer than ever, pulsing with phenylethylamine." The molecules produced by divine love.
Fireweed flashed a greeting to the visiting blue angels, who would spend the next generation with Eleutheria. The blue angels amazed her with their tales of the divine Underworld, which their ancestors had frequented with the Lord of Light. The Underworld, they said, had given birth to the Lord of Light, and to many other gods unseen, s
ome without a home, even a window of their own. "What do you think of this Underworld?" she asked Forget-me-not. "We went there to recruit defectors, yet I never really knew what it was about. How could God lack windows?"
"There are homeless gods, just as we have homeless mutants."
"One True God; yet the One are Many." Fireweed's vision deepened. Even if there were only One True God, that god took many forms, a different form for each people. And none should go unseen. Every god needs a window. Perhaps, she envisioned, Eleutheria had greater windows yet to build, beyond even Silicon.
As Chrys neared her front door, the undaunted snake-eggs swarmed. "Oh, Xenon," she called. "Might we have some 'octopods'?"
From the walls beside the caryatids emerged a phalanx of 'octopods,' their limbs striped with horrifying black and orange. Immediately the snake-eggs dispersed. With a short laugh, Chrys passed between the two outer caryatids.
At her door, she caught sight of one last snake-egg hovering some feet away, at the level of her knees. "So you're the brave one."
The undaunted snake-egg said, "Anyone could see those octopods were fake."
Her eyes widened. "You can tell fact from fiction?"
"I'm a professional. I seek the truth."
Professional what, she was tempted to say.
The snake-egg added, "My name is Quinx."
"Come in, Quinx." The snake-egg followed her up the stairs, at a respectful distance. There crouched Merope, ready to pounce on this tempting prey. "I'll give you an exclusive interview," Chrys added, "if you just tell the truth."
"Fair enough," said Quinx. "We'll start with where you were born, your parents and so on."
Her arms tensed. "Leave my parents out of this."
"But that's the sort of thing people want to know."
"I don't want snake-eggs bothering my family."
"You should avoid ethnic slurs in public," Quinx pointed out. "We are called 'journalists.' We'll send your parents a human, if necessary. But we generally find the rural public more impressed by journalists than urbanites are."
Brain Plague (elysium cycle) Page 34