Burning Bright

The loft was pretty much as it had been when she’d left it, nothing changed except the pile of clothes on the floor outside the bedroom door. Her hat was sitting on the folded bed. Was it only yesterday that I left it? she thought, said aloud, “Can I get you anything?”

Ransome was already heading for the tiny bedroom, said over his shoulder, “Coffee?”

“Right.” Lioe went into the kitchen. She filled the machine and set it running, came back out into the main room just as Ransome emerged from the bedroom. His eyes looked slightly unfocused, and there were two spots of red on his cheeks that spread as she watched, as though he were blushing deeply.

“I appreciate your coming back with me,” Ransome said. His voice already sounded better, less choked. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to talk the pilot out of taking me to a clinic.”

“Should you have gone to a clinic?” Lioe asked. “Should you go to a clinic?”

Ransome grinned. “No, I told you, I had what I needed here. They couldn’t‘ve given me anything different.”

Lioe nodded, watching him. “Are you all right?” she said slowly, and Ransome looked away.

“For the moment.” He sighed, turned back to face her. “As you probably already figured out, I have white-sickness—it’s under treatment, so you don’t need to worry—but I’ve had it for a while, and the system’s slipping out of equilibrium.”

Which translates as, you’re starting to die. Lioe said, “I’m sorry,” and cringed at the inadequacy of the words.

Ransome went on as if he hadn’t heard, his tone so matter-of-fact that she winced at the unvoiced pain. “I have five to seven years, or so they tell me, so it’s not an emergency.”

Except that you can’t be much more than forty, and you ought to live another forty years. Lioe said again, “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” There was a little pause, and then Ransome achieved a kind of smile. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure, thanks,” Lioe said, glad of the change of subject, and Ransome disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with two steaming mugs. Lioe took hers with a murmur of thanks, sipped cautiously at the bitter liquid.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Ransome said, and his voice was carefully casual, so that Lioe glanced back at him warily. “Especially since last night’s session.”

“Oh?” Lioe paused, and then shrugged. “Go ahead, I guess.”

“What the hell were your parents thinking of, to let you become a pilot?”

Lioe blinked, completely taken aback by the question. It was not at all what she’d been expecting— though what I was expecting I don’t know —and she didn’t quite know how to answer. She opened her mouth, stopped, closed it again. “I was good at it,” she said at last, and heard the annoyance in her voice.

Ransome spread his hands, almost spilling his coffee. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that you’ve got an artistic sense, a talent for the Game, and for imaging. I’m surprised you didn’t get a chance to pursue it—I’m surprised nobody picked up on it.”

“No, it’s all right,” Lioe said. And after what you’ve told me, I’m not sure I have the right not to answer. She ordered her thoughts with an effort. “I was raised by Foster Services, on Callixte. They steered me toward the union certificate program, and when I won one of the scholarships—well, you know how hard they are to get. I wanted to take it, at least to prove I was as smart as the docents had always said.”

Ransome nodded. “Your parents died?”

Lioe shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember much about it—I pretty much don’t remember anything before the Service creche—but what they told me was, a couple of people found me in an abandoned house near the port district, Mont’eranza, it’s called. I was undernourished, but otherwise unhurt, and about six years old, as best the medical people could tell. So I ended up with Foster Services.”

“And the Game,” Ransome said. “Your scenario’s good, near brilliant, in fact.”

“Thanks.” Lioe grinned. “I’d still like to take this situation a little further, though, pull it all together. Can you imagine what that would do to the Game?”

Ransome nodded, his tone quite serious. “It would be enormous fun while it lasted, though, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m not eager to be lynched afterwards,” Lioe said. “Besides, I’d have to set it up now, change this scenario a little.”

“Do it,” Ransome said. Lioe looked at him, startled, and he said again, “Do it. And let me play Avellar.”

“Not Harmsway?”

Ransome shook his head. “Avellar.”