Burning Bright

Chauvelin watched him leave, watched the door slide shut again behind him. As long as you stay on the Game nets, as long as you’re conspicuously doing what ji-Imbaoa wants, then I’ve got a little time. He reached for the shadowscreen, recalling one of the chronometers, and checked the transmission pattern between Burning Bright and maiHu’an. He had just missed a window: the two planets would not be in phase for another twenty hours. Not until tomorrow, then, he thought, and tomorrow afternoon at that. For a moment, he considered using the more complicated—and expensive—emergency channels, but rejected the thought almost at once. The Remembrancer-Duke would never sanction the expense. But tomorrow he would send a message to Eriki Haas, and find out if, and how, the je Tsinraan were connected to the Chrestil-Brisch. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ocean and the distant cloud bank without really seeing them. There were too many possible connections right now, but with any luck Haas would be able to narrow them down, and then… He smiled slowly. Then ji-Imbaoa would have to regret the way he had behaved. Maybe, he thought, maybe the old superstitions are right, and my luck will change with Storm. He glanced down at the shadowscreen again, and touched icons to shift to another mode. It was time to start asking questions of his own.

Day 1

Storm: Shadows, Face Road, Dock Road

District Below the Old Dike

Lioe blinked even in the filtered sunlight that filled the inner courtyard, set her workboard down beside an unoccupied datanode, and turned her attention toward the food bars in the corner. She fed one the last of her free cash, and chose a box of thick rice and seacake from the cheaper half of the menu. She chose a bottle of medium-priced water as well, and carried the food back to her table. It had been a long session, and a rewarding one; the session leaders had been excited by the scenario, eager to follow her suggestions, and genuinely interested in preserving her intentions for the session. It was a new experience, being taken that seriously: on the whole, she thought, I think I like it.

She triggered the self-heating unit, waited the required thirty seconds while the little charge cycled, and opened the box. The steam that rose from the mix of rice and onions and chunks of palmweed and the flower-shaped seacakes was thick and appetizing, smelling of salt broth and the smoky oil that preserved the fish. There was a tiny dish of sweet mustard as well, but she had learned that it was far more mustard than sweet and should be approached with caution. She spread a pinpoint of the condiment over the first of the seacakes, and tasted warily. It was spicy, cutting the oil, but not so hot that it brought tears to her eyes. She hadn’t realized quite how hungry she had become, caught up in the intricacies of the Game, and she ate with relish, pursuing the last grains of rice around the bottom of the box. Both rice and seacakes were ubiquitous on Burning Bright, the staple of everyone’s diet—the rice grown in the tidal shallows, the seacakes processed at sea from the bits and pieces left over after the more expensive fillets and chunks were set aside—but she had not been on planet long enough to get tired of the salt-and-smoke flavors.

She reached for the datacord then, plugged her workboard into the unoccupied node, touched keys to activate the unit and call up the night’s schedule. Somewhat to her surprise, the session hadn’t filled yet, but then she remembered that it was the first night of Storm, the first night of the Carnival. It wasn’t that surprising, after all, but it was a shame that she wouldn’t be making as much money from the session fees as she had hoped. Unless, of course, she could fill the session herself… She tilted her head to one side, considering. She had reserved Harmsway for Ransome, as he’d asked, and Savian and Beledin had signed up to play Lord Faro and Belfortune again— I’d like a second chance at him, Beledin had said, when she had met him in the hall on her way to the session leaders’ meeting—and a couple of unfamiliar names filled other slots, but no one had signed up for Jack Blue, or Mijja Lyall, or Avellar. Lioe frowned, seeing that. She had expected the unfamiliar names to fill last—and neither Jack Blue nor Lyall was a well-known template—but she would have assumed that Avellar would go quickly. An inexpert Avellar would throw off the balance of the entire scenario; she needed someone good in that spot, if the session was to work at all.

“Quinn. I’ve been looking for you.”