Burning Bright

Gueremei led her through a second set of hallways, and then out into a wider corridor where one wall opened onto a central courtyard. There were more VDIRT tables set out under the carefully tended trees. Lioe tilted her head, curious, and saw light reflecting from a glass dome that enclosed the courtyard. A group of players, perhaps half a dozen, were clustered around a bank of food-and-drink vendors: probably on intermission, she thought, and turned her attention to her own scenario. It was solid; if the players were halfway competent, it would go well. If they weren’t—well, she would have to trust to luck and her own improvisational talents.

Gueremei stopped in front of a door marked with horizontal silver bands on a deep, brick-colored background, and laid her hand on the touchpad beside the lock. The mechanism hissed softly, and the door popped out from the frame. She tugged it open, and motioned for Lioe to precede her into the dimness. Lioe did as she was told, and swung her carryall onto the massive VDIRT table that dominated the space. She found the room controls, set into a dropboard at the session leader’s seat, and touched the keys that brought up the lights. The room was just as it should be, banks of blank-faced processors, telltales red or unlit, and she settled herself in the heavily padded chair. The chair shifted under her weight, squirming against her as the oilcushions adjusted themselves to her body, but she was only dimly aware of the movement, concentrating instead on the panels that opened to her touch. She checked the air and temperature— comfortable and stable—and folded that board away, reaching for the table controls. The VDIRT display came to life under her fingers, the tree of lights that defined the library and display connections slowly changing from red to orange to yellow, and for a moment a faint haze of static filled the air above the center of the table. Lioe smiled, seeing that, imagining it filled with her own images, and touched keys to tune the system to her own specifications. A red light flashed instead, and glyphs filled the smaller, monitor screen.

“I need a password,” she said.

“Sorry.” Gueremei pulled herself away from the doorframe where she had been leaning, came around the table to lean over Lioe’s shoulder. She touched keys; the screen, as usual, showed nothing but placeholders, but Lioe looked aside anyway, out of old habits of politeness. “I’m setting up a temp account for you,” Gueremei went on. She worked one-handed, like a lot of older Gamers, using chord-keys to speed her input. “You can set your password now.”

Lioe hesitated for a moment, then typed a single word: hellequin. The letters hung on the screen for a moment, and Gueremei lifted an eyebrow.

“What’s it mean? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Lioe shrugged one shoulder, already regretting the impulse. It was no more than superstition that made her use that name; she should have known better. “It’s my full name. Quinn’s the short form.” It was the only name I could remember when the Foster Services people found me, the only thing I have that isn’t theirs.

“So.” Gueremei nodded, and touched another sequence of keys. “Like Harlequin, right? You’re all in,” she added, and stepped aside.

“Thanks,” Lioe said, and was glad to concentrate on the larger screen that windowed under the tabletop. Familiar glyphs and query codes filled the blank space, laid out in an outline form as familiar to her as the hyperspatial maps of a star system’s deeps and shallows. She spilled the rest of her disks out onto the table’s smooth, slightly spongy surface, and began slotting Rulebooks and databoards into the waiting readers. On the screen, glyphs changed shape, queries smoothing into acknowledgment as the VDIRT systems found the data they required and forged the links between them. More lights flared on the wall systems, the machines whirring slightly as they came on-line. Faces and shapes, familiar icons, began to appear in the haze of static.

“That’s Desir of Harmsway,” Gueremei said abruptly, and Lioe looked up in some surprise. “And Gallio Hazard. You did know they were local Types?”

“Yes,” Lioe said, and wondered why it mattered. Notables generally didn’t mind other people using their character templates—that was one of the definitions of a notable, someone whose characters were played by a lot of different people.

Gueremei’s smile widened. “I think I’ll definitely sit in on this session.” Lioe looked at her questioningly, and Gueremei turned away. “Oh, don’t worry, there’s no problem. It’s just they’re Ambidexter’s templates, and he hasn’t played in years.”