The conversation was going just the way she’d hoped it would. Lioe said, “I was hoping to. I don’t know the clubs, though.”
Vere spread his hands. “I can give you some names, if you’d like.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“There are really only three clubs that are worth your while,” Vere said, lowering his voice until she could just hear him over the noise of the engines. “Billi’s in the Old City, Shadows under the Old Dike in Dock Road District, and the Two-Dragon House, in Mainwardens‘.” He grinned suddenly. “I think Shadows is the best of the lot—it’s where I play, so take it for what it’s worth.”
Lioe smiled back. “What’s the setup like?”
“They’re all about the same, really,” Vere answered. A chime sounded from farther forward in the compartment, and he lifted his head to look over the seatbacks for the source. Lioe followed the direction of his gaze, and saw a call light flashing above one of the seats. Vere grimaced, and pushed himself to his feet, but leaned down to finish what he had been saying. “Shadows has newer machines, but they’re not state-of-the-art. Billi’s was that maybe four, five years ago. Two-Dragon is pretty standard stuff, a little older than Shadows.”
“Thanks,” Lioe said, and Vere smiled down at her.
“Don’t forget me if you run an open session.”
“I’ll keep you in mind,” Lioe said, and meant it. She would be needing good players, if she managed to persuade a club to let her lead sessions, and anyone who could play for Ambidexter was good enough for her. It was just a pity Ambidexter himself was no longer in the Game.
She turned her head to the viewport again, was startled to see how far the orbiter had dropped. The water was no longer just a blue haze, had gained a crumpled texture, and flecks of white dotted the metallic surface. Burning Bright City was just visible in the distance, if she craned her neck, but mostly hidden by the orbiter’s nose. The craft banked sharply then, showing her nothing but the brilliance of the sky, and when it steadied onto the new heading, Burning Bright lay spread out beneath the orbiter’s wing. It seemed very small at first, an island split in three by a forked channel, but then the orbiter banked again, losing altitude, and she began to make out the smaller landformed islands that made up the larger masses. Most of them were thickly settled, furred with brick-red buildings, light glinting occasionally from solar panels and interior waterways. Only the high ground at the outer edges of the islands remained relatively uncrowded. She frowned idly at that, wondering why, and the speakers crackled at the front of the cabin.
Vere said, “I’ve just been informed that we are starting the descent to Newfields. We should be on the ground in about fifteen minutes.”
The orbiter canted again as he spoke, and when it came level again, Lioe was looking at a scene she recognized. Twin lakes lay to either side of a piece of land like a small mountain, falling steeply to the sea on one side and more gently into settled country on the other. That was Plug Island, where the first-in settlers had first dammed the shallow lagoon to create more land for their growing city. Double headlands cradled each of the lakes; the desalination complex and the thick white walls of the tidal generating stations that closed each lake off from the sea gleamed in the sunlight. Outside the generating stations’ walls, surf bloomed against the storm barriers that defended the Plug Island lagoons; it frothed as well against the base of the cliffs to either side. They were coming into Newfields. Even as she thought it, the orbiter rolled a final time, then steadied into the familiar approach. They flashed over the clustered houses of the Ghetto where the off-worlders, and especially the hsai, lived—still on the inner edges of the island, overlooking the land, away from the sea—and then dropped low over the administrative complex. The orbiter touched down easily on stained and tire-marked pavement, and she leaned back in her couch, no longer watching the blocks of warehouses that flashed past beyond the empty field.
Day 30
The ambassador to Burning Bright knelt in his reception room, facing the hissing screen. A few check-characters crawled across the blank grey space; the ambassador frowned, seeing them, and glanced over his shoulder at the technician who knelt in front of the control board.
“Sorry, Sia Chauvelin,” the technician murmured, and his hands danced across his controls. The characters vanished, were replaced by a single steady glyph: the link was complete.