Burning Bright

Damian swore at the blank screen, slapped the controls with more force than was really necessary. But ji-Imbaoa was lord and master of Highhopes, and if the jericho-human colony there was going to trade with Burning Bright without the interference of the brokers backed by the tzu Tsinraan, they had to work through ji-Imbaoa. And ji-Imbaoa had to get his share of the profits. The system shut itself off, and he stood for a moment staring at the sky beyond the long windows. The last shells made a curtain of fire, sheets of gold and red that frayed to long streamers against the invisible stars, but he barely saw it, lost in calculations. If Ransome wasn’t distracted by the Game, his own security was probably inadequate: he paid well, employed the best experts, but Ransome was a superb netwalker in his own right, and he knew too many people within the systems. If he couldn’t crack the security wall himself, he would know someone who could give or sell him the keys. Damian tapped his fingers against the case, winced at the echo of ji-Imbaoa’s gesture. He’d increase security— it’s a good thing I thought to organize a blockade of the port feed already, but I’ll have to do something more. And I can’t transfer the lachesi to the transshipment group without those codes. Still, it would be better if Ransome stayed in the Game.

The door chime sounded then, and the remote buzzed gently against his thigh. He frowned— no one should know I’m here—and touched the code that threw the security feed onto the small display. Cella was waiting in the hall, demure in a sheer overdress. Damian’s frown deepened, and he touched the controls that released the lock.

“They’re starting to wonder where you are,” Cella said, without preamble.

“Damn them,” Damian said, and then, “Which them, anyway?”

“Your siblings, mostly,” Cella answered, and Damian made a face.

“I’d better go up, then.”

“I do need to talk to you,” Cella said.

Damian Chrestil looked at her. “I hope it’s good news. I’ve not been having a pleasant evening.”

Cella smiled wryly. “I’m afraid not.”

Damian sighed. “Well?”

“I suppose it’s good and bad, at that. I stopped in at Shadows before I came here. Lioe—Ransome’s pilot—is running a session tonight, and I wanted to look over the play list. The good news is that Ambidexter himself is back in the Game—he’s even playing Harmsway—but the bad news is that Kichi Desjourdy’s also part of the session. And as best I can discover, it was Lioe herself who asked her to play.”

Damian’s hand closed convulsively on the pocket remote, and there was a squeal of protest from the mechanism. He released it hastily, and Cella went on.

“Desjourdy is known as a Gamer, but I thought you ought to know.”

“Damn,” Damian said softly, as much to himself as to Cella, and he stared into space for a long moment, trying to order his thoughts. The sky beyond the windows was very black, the fireworks over: no inspiration there, he thought, and turned his eyes away. “This Lioe,” he began, “is she still seeing Roscha, or was it a one-night affair?”

Cella shrugged. “I don’t know. Roscha was slated to play Avellar, but Lioe seems very taken with Ransome. And he with her, for that matter.”

“So.” Damian shoved his hands into his pockets again, running his fingers over the remote’s smoothly indented surface as though it were a talisman. If I can get Roscha to watch Lioe—Roscha’s done that kind of job before, she can certainly handle it—then I can be sure to find out if she contacts Desjourdy again. He touched the remote’s control points again, and the image in the display screens shifted, became a memo board. He leaned over the keyboard, typed a quick message into the wharfingers’ computers—CONTACT JAFIERA ROSCHA 2 STORM AM, SEND HER TO MY OFFICE AS SOON AS SHE ARRIVES—and set it loose on the main systems. And if all else fails, she can deal with Lioe, and I can get Ransome out of the way. “Can you get a transcript of this session for me?”

Cella blinked, startled. “Yes, of course. It’ll be on all the Game nets by three this morning if not before. Why?”

“I just want to see how they behave,” Damian said vaguely. I want to see if Roscha thinks she’s competing with Ransome, and I want to see how good she is at it. Because if she has any grudge against him, I can make good use of it. “Dump it to my private system as soon as you can get a copy, please.”