Burning Bright

The giant’s expression did not change. “I’ll do that, Na Lioe,” he said, and his face vanished, to be replaced by what was meant to be a soothing hold pattern.

“You heard that,” Lioe said over her shoulder, and Roscha answered quickly.

“Yeah. But I haven’t heard anybody in the entrance yet.”

“If I take too long—” Lioe began, and stopped abruptly. If he doesn’t come to talk, decides to send his people after us instead, what then? I suppose if he doesn’t show up in a couple of minutes, I can cut the connection, we can head back to the port, try again from there—

The communications space cleared abruptly, and she found herself looking at Damian Chrestil. She’d only seen him once before, at Chauvelin’s party, and was surprised again at how young he was. No older than me, if as old. Let’s hope I can play this as well as he has.

“Na Lioe,” Damian said. “I’m glad to finally get to talk to you.”

“I didn’t think talking was what you had in mind.”

Damian Chrestil shrugged. “If you’d come quietly… But that’s old business. What can I do for you?”

“You’re holding Ransome,” Lioe said bluntly, and hoped she was right. “I want him back.”

“You want him?” Damian’s face creased suddenly into an urchin’s grin. “I didn’t think he was yours, too.”

Lioe sighed, ostentatiously refraining from an answer.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible right away,” Damian went on. “I have business in train which I don’t intend to see interfered with. Na Ransome will stay with me until it’s finished.”

“I don’t think so,” Lioe said. “If he’s not released—and if you don’t call off the goons you’ve got chasing me—I will spread this entire business deal onto the nets, Republican as well as Burning Brighter, and into HsaioiAn if I can manage it.”

There was a little silence, and Damian Chrestil said slowly, “I know the nets. I can kill this before it starts.”

Lioe shook her head. “Not on the Game nets. The Game nets run different protocols, different rules, they serve a different clientele. I’ve put a new scenario in motion, Na Damian. It’s a merchant-adventurer’s variant, primed for release in four hours, and it’s based on what you’ve been trying to do, from smuggling the lachesi to the high politics.” She reached into her working space, dragged another copy into the communications space, peeled back the shell to reveal the tiny, perfect—and perfectly recognizable—characters contained in its center, held by the red webbing of the scenario’s outline. “All this has to do is come to someone’s attention in C-and-I, or, I would imagine, in the Lockwardens or the governor’s office, or even back in HsaioiAn, and you’re screwed. And there are enough Gamers in all those places that it’s bound to happen.”

Damian Chrestil shook his head. “Not necessarily. I admit, we may not be able to break that shell, but my people can contain the scenario as soon as it’s open. It won’t get that far, certainly not far enough to cause me trouble. So let’s talk reasonably.”

“Once the scenario’s opened, you’ll never stop the spread,” Lioe said. “You know how Gamers are, we copy things. We share variants we like, sessions we’ve played, work by people we admire. And my name means something in the Game. Once that shell opens, half the Gamers on the nets will have made a copy for their own use—once they realize it’s a jeu a clefeven more of them will want it. How are you going to stop that, Na Damian?”

There was a little silence, and in it Lioe could hear a kind of choked laughter. Ransome, she realized, and hid her delight.

“All right,” Damian Chrestil said. “I’m prepared to negotiate. You’re not invulnerable, Na Lioe, you crewed the ship that brought the lachesi, and that could be made to look bad for you.”

“Possibly,” Lioe said.