I can believe that, Lioe thought, glanced again through the crowd. Ransome had moved away from Gueremei and Medard‑Yasine, was standing for that moment a little apart from all the rest, a glass of methodein one hand, the other deep in the pocket of his plain black trousers. For just an instant, his face was without expression, held nothing but its lines and a bone‑deep exhaustion. Then someone spoke to him, and Lioe saw his face change, take on a mask of detached amusement. So that’s where Savian got it, she thought, and had to hide a grin, deliberately turning her back to Ransome.

“That was a great session, Na Lioe.”

Lioe turned to face the speaker, a stocky, dark‑haired man with a horus‑eye tattoo on one cheek, half concealing the delicate data socket.

“Thanks,” she said, and Gueremei, coming up behind the man, cleared her throat gently.

“I don’t think you’ve met Davvi–Davvi Medard‑Yasine, our main owner.”

Lioe murmured something, and Medard‑Yasine grinned, rather sheepishly.

“Sorry, Na Lioe, I’ve seen enough of your work on the intersystems nets that I feel as though I know you. But it was a great session tonight.”

“I enjoyed it,” Lioe said, and waited.

“I wonder,” Medard‑Yasine began, and turned a shoulder to the other players, deftly easing her away from the others, “if you’d consider coming to a temporary agreement with us here at Shadows. I understand from Lia that you’re only on planet for half a week?”

“Five days at minimum,” Lioe said, and then remembered that Burning Bright kept a ten‑day week. “The ship I’m crewing for is in dock for recalibration of the sail projectors, so I’m dependent on the dockyards. They told my boss it would take five to eight days.”

Medard‑Yasine nodded. “Would it be presumptuous to assume you meant to spend most of that time gaming?”

“This is Burning Bright,” Lioe said, with a smile to take the sting out of her words. “I’d call that a reasonable assumption. Yes, I was hoping to get in as many sessions as possible.”

“After tonight’s session,” Medard‑Yasine said, “we’d be interested in anything else you might have ready to run. We’d be willing to offer twenty‑five percent of the fees, and free machine time to prepare any new ideas.”

“That’s very generous,” Lioe said, and meant it. Most Gaming clubs made a good proportion of their income from the fees they charged for use of the club’s equipment. A session could be outlined easily enough on a Gameboard, but fine‑tuning the details took the raw power–and often the more extensive libraries–available through the clubs. It had cost her over a hundred credits to complete just the prison segments of Ixion’s Wheel.

“We’re very interested,” Medard‑Yasine said.

Lioe grinned. “Would this be an exclusive deal?”

“We’d want it that way,” Medard‑Yasine agreed.

“I see.” She hadn’t really meant much by that, was just buying time, but Medard‑Yasine’s thick brows drew together slightly.

“We’d also be prepared to pay an exclusive‑use fee, for Ixion’s Wheel, on a time‑limited basis.”

“You are serious,” Lioe said, smiling, and Medard‑Yasine nodded. His face was completely without expression, and Lioe realized for the first time that he meant to buy her–her presence at the club, as a session leader–and her scenario, whatever it cost him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and somewhat unsettling; she wondered if she had been selling herself short, back on Callixte. That was an unpleasant thought, and unproductive; she dragged herself back to the business at hand. “What kind of a time period?”

“The length of your stay,” Medard‑Yasine said promptly. “Or, since you’re not sure how long that will be, a week–ten days. We’re prepared to offer you five hundred real, over and above your cut of the session fees, and of course the free machine time, on a second‑priority basis, if you’ll let us have an exclusive license on Ixion’s Wheel for the next ten days. And, of course, if you’ll run at least five sessions for us.”

Lioe hesitated, juggling numbers in her head. She could expect to clear about fifty realper session, if Shadows’ fees were in line with the rest of the club system’s; that plus the five hundred would pay all her bills at the transients’ hostel, and the machine time would let her explore some ideas that had been nagging at her for most of the trip, ideas that sprang directly from Ixion’s Wheel… She curbed her enthusiasm. It also meant that someone else would be running her scenario several times a day, without her having any control at all over how it was handled. But then, most of those players would be household Gamers anyway, people who couldn’t handle the scenario without a highly interventionist session leader, not at all the kind of players she wanted to be bothered with anymore. “What if it turns out that people want to play more than five sessions, and my schedule lets me handle it?” she asked, still playing for time.

Medard‑Yasine said, “From what you’ve told me, I don’t know how likely that is.” He grinned, and looked suddenly years younger. “With Storm coming–the Carnival, that is–I’d expect you to want to see some of the celebration. Frankly, I don’t expect my full‑timers to do much work, this time of year.” Gueremei gave a short bark of laughter, and Medard‑Yasine gave her a conspiratorial glance. “But if you do find time to give us some extra sessions, I’ll match whatever you make from fees.”

Lioe nodded. “All right,” she said. “It sounds like a good deal. I’m willing to try it.”

“Excellent,” Medard‑Yasine said, and smiled again. “I’ll draw up a contract, and you can drop by anytime tomorrow–”

“Anytime?” Gueremei said, and Medard‑Yasine grimaced.

“All right, anytime after noon. I’ll have a voucher for the fees waiting then, too.”

“It sounds good,” Lioe said. “I’ll see you then.”

“It’s good to have you in the house,” Medard‑Yasine said. “Even if it’s only for a few days.” They clasped hands again, and then he and Gueremei moved away.

Left to herself, Lioe took a careful step backward, away from the crowd of Gamers. She was flattered by Medard‑Yasine’s praise, flattered and startled and suspicious in about equal measures, and she wanted time to think. It wasn’t that she disliked the noise and the babble and the flying cross‑talk that surrounded her, compliment and critique and commentary filling the air around her, but it distracted her, made her feel almost too much at home. Her decision wasn’t irrevocable–she could always refuse to sign the contract the next morning–but she felt the sudden need to sit down somewhere quiet and work out what she’d done. Nothing but good, seemingly: a damn good session, a contract, even a compliment from Ambidexter, which, after she’d used his character without permission, was an accomplishment indeed. From what the others had said, Ambidexter had a reputation for being possessive– and I probably wouldn’t ‘ve done it if I’d realized he was still around.

She scanned the groups of players, looking again for Ambidexter– Ransome, she corrected herself, Illario Ransome–but the thin figure had vanished. Out of sight, or gone? she wondered, and the stab of disappointment was unexpectedly keen. Why the hell should I care? Except that he was–is?–Ambidexter, and he complimented my play. That’s reason enough for any Gamer. But… I want to talk to him again.

“So.”

That was Africa’s voice, at her elbow, and Lioe turned, was vaguely startled to see Roscha’s striking face instead of the session’s icon. Roscha went on, apparently unaware of the other’s surprise, or so used to it as to be immune to the effect.

“Did he make you a decent offer?” She held out a glass of methodeas she spoke, added, “I saw you weren’t drinking.”

“Thanks,” Lioe said, and accepted the tall glass. The wine was comfortingly familiar, and she drank with pleasure.