Burning Bright

“I can take him,” Faro said, and nodded to the closer guard. “But that one will spread the alarm the minute he goes down.”

“Leave that to me,” Harmsway whispered.

“Don’t be stupid,” Hazard began, and the electrokinetic shook his head, the ghost of a smile wreathing his mouth.

“The com circuit has to go, or we’re all shot. Lucky you have me.”

“Be ready when he takes out the com,” Avellar said to Faro, and the older man nodded, his eyes fixed over the leveled gun. Africa dropped to his knees beside him, tucked the laser rifle against his shoulder.

Harmsway closed his eyes, drawing on what remained of his power. His whole body seemed for an instant to be stretched to breaking, as though the psionic stress had translated itself to every muscle in his body, and then the pain had passed. He reached along the wires behind the distant wall, searching carefully to avoid anything that was not part of the communications system, and teased his way into the handset. For an instant, he considered the spectacular, blowing all the circuits in a shower of gaudy sparks, but he no longer had the strength for that. He reached for a fuse instead and quietly poured what was left of his power through it. The cylinder melted, and he allowed himself to fall back into his body.

The guard stopped, shook his head and then the handset, and stepped forward to join the other, holding out the suddenly silent com-unit.

“Now!” Avellar said, and the others fired almost as he spoke. The guards fell without a sound. “Nice shooting. Let’s go.” He started across the narrow space without looking back. The others followed, crowding into the narrow space between the outer door and the ship’s hatch, and Africa fiddled with the controls to close the door behind them. Avellar nodded, and laid his hand against the sensor panel in the center of the hatch. There was a soft click, and then a high-pitched tone.

“Royal Avellar,” he said, and waited. A heartbeat later, the cargo lock creaked open. Familiar people, familiar faces, were waiting inside the lock, and Avellar smiled with open pleasure.

“Danile,” he said, and a man—greying, thin, a long, heavily embroidered coat thrown open over expensively plain shirt and trousers—looked back at him gravely.

“I’m back, Danile,” Avellar said again, and the greying man nodded.

“You’re here.”

“And I have Harmsway, and the others,” Avellar went on. “We had an agreement, Danile.”

Danile nodded again, more slowly. “Yes.”

“You said,” Avellar said, a note of menace in his voice, “you said you would support me, support my claim to the throne, if I brought Desir of Harmsway out of Ixion’s Wheel. We’re here, Danile. Are you going to keep your part of the bargain?”

“I didn’t think you could do it,” Danile said. “I thought—I thought I’d be rid of you. But if you can do this…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “If you can do this, yes, you’re the best choice for the position. Yes, I’ll support you—Majesty.”

Avellar smiled with wolfish triumph, and one of Danile’s crew said urgently, “Sirs—”

“She’s right,” Danile said. “We have to hurry. We’re cleared for departure; we’d better go while we still can.”

There was a ragged murmur of agreement, and the group began to move farther into the ship, following Avellar and Danile. The cargo door slid shut again behind them, closing off their last view of Ixion’s Wheel.

Day 16

Storm: Ransome’s Loft, Old Coast Road,

Newfields, Above Junction Pool

Lioe closed down the system for the last time, running her hands over the secondary controls to disconnect the monitors. She already had all the data she needed, stored in spheres until her new space was up and running—a newer building, down in the Dock Road District, closer to the clubs. A haulage company would come for the machines later, or at least for the ones she had decided to keep. It was a generous legacy, maybe too generous, especially since she was still not sure if Ransome would have wanted her to have it. She was better than he had ever been, at both games, politics and the Game itself, and once the novelty had worn off, it might have become awkward between them. But there was no point in might-have-beens. She looked around a final time, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. There was nothing left, nothing that she wanted, and she let herself out into the sun-warmed corridor. The elevator was in use, as always; she scrambled down the new stairway, walled in storm-hardened glass, barely aware of the cityscape spread out below the cliff edge beyond her. Roscha was waiting, with a borrowed denki-bike, and the new Game began tonight. Lioe smiled, and hurried.

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