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A Roll of the Dice
by Catherine Asaro
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Science Fiction
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Fictionwise, Inc.
www.Fictionwise.com
Copyright ©2000 by Catherine Asaro
First published in Analog, July 2000
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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I
Quis Web
Jeremiah's kidnappers let him watch the delegation that came to negotiate on his behalf. The wall in front of him was one-way glassplex; he could see the people in the room beyond, but to them the wall appeared opaque.
He didn't recognize the man speaking, but the fellow wore the uniform of the Foreign Affairs Corps for the Allied Worlds of Earth. Jeremiah knew the other two people in the delegation: Deborah Svenson, Dean of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences at Harvard, and Professor Jack Brenn, Jeremiah's thesis advisor in the anthropology department.
One of Jeremiah's kidnappers also stood in the room: Chankah Dahl. As Manager of Dahl, she governed one of the largest city-states in the human settlement on the planet Coba. A tall woman with gray hair, she ranked high in the power hierarchy of the Twelve Estates.
The voice of the Foreign Affairs officer came over an audiocom set high in the wall. “You must understand, Manager Dahl,” he continued. “Jeremiah Coltman is a citizen of the Allied Worlds. Your decision to send him to another Estate against his will is considered abduction by our people."
Manager Dahl remained unperturbed. “You are well aware that before Jeremiah came here, he signed an agreement to abide by our laws.” She looked around at them. “Your government has no jurisdiction here. He is ours now."
Jack Brenn stiffened. A large man with broad shoulders and a shock of black hair, his intensity almost crackled in the room. “You have no right to hijack him this way! He signed that agreement with the understanding that it meant you could deport him if you didn't like him."
“But we do like him,” Chankah said mildly. “We have bestowed our highest honor on him."
Dean Svenson spoke. “Now that Jeremiah's fieldwork is complete, he wishes to return home. Manager Dahl, he has his school, work, relatives.” Quietly she said, “His life."
The Manager said, simply, “He is Calani. Calani do not leave Coba."
Jeremiah touched the engraved band that circled his biceps. He had one on each arm. Made from solid gold, they symbolized his position. Calani. Dice player.
He really, really didn't want the honor.
“I will relay your regards to him,” Chankah finished.
Jeremiah recognized her tone. She was dismissing the delegation. He hit his fist on the glassplex. “I'm here!” he shouted. He knew it wouldn't carry through the soundproofed wall, but he had to try. “Don't go!"
Only his silent reflection answered. He regarded it, seeing a man more of Coba than of Earth. Three years ago, when he arrived in Dahl, he had been soft, out of shape, plump. Now lean muscles replaced the flab, built by his job on the construction crew where he had worked until ten days ago. He would never be tall or husky, but he enjoyed a fitness now he had never known before. He loved working in the crisp air of the spectacular Teotec Mountains. During the day he labored with his muscles and at night he labored with his mind, writing his dissertation. His only “hardships” were the lack of computers and the relatively low level of technology here, where the culture had backslid. He had otherwise thoroughly enjoyed his life.
Until now.
Instead of comfortable work clothes, today he wore garb appropriate for a Calani: rich suede trousers, a suede vest, and a white shirt embroidered at the cuffs with threads made from gold. His armbands went over the shirt sleeves and heavy gold guards circled his wrists. His hair spilled over his ears and down his neck in tousled brown curls.
Behind him, the lock mechanism on the door clicked. He turned to see a woman enter with an octet of guards. She riveted attention. At six-foot-two, she stood six inches taller than him. Her face showed the classic beauty of Coba's highborn. She was almost twenty years his senior, just past forty, but she had the build and vibrant health of an athlete half her age. Her suede trousers clung to her long, muscular legs. A trace of silver dusted the tendrils of hair that curled at her temples, and a heavy auburn braid fell down her back to her waist. Her eyes, large and gray, had a luminous quality. Her simple clothes had no adornment and needed none: her aura of authority drew notice far more than any jewelry or bright colors.
Jeremiah knew little more about her than her name. Khal Viasa. As Manager of Viasa, she governed a small but wealthy city-state high in the mountains. During his years here, he had seen her only at a distance when she visited Dahl. He hadn't thought much about it, though he had always noticed her striking appearance. No one would ever describe Khal Viasa as “pretty.” Elegant perhaps, mesmerizing, stunning, regal. It had never occurred to him that so powerful a ruler would notice a simple laborer. Nor had he expected his reputation as a good Quis player to carry beyond Dahl.
Ten days ago Manager Dahl told him the news; Manager Viasa had bought his Calani contract—a contract he hadn't even known he owned. They seemed to find this a perfectly reasonable transaction, despite his incredulous protests.
Be careful what you wish for. If ever a situation had earned that warning, this was it. He had wanted a chance to observe the Calanya, the elite group of dice players that lived on a Manager's Estate. He considered his inability to study that cloistered institution a weak point in his dissertation. Calani played the strategy game of Quis. They studied for years and had to pass rigorous exams before they could apply for positions within the Calanya of the Twelve Estates. Well, he hadn't applied for anything. If he had known his talent would lead him into this situation, he would never have let anyone find out how well he took to the game.
Manager Viasa came over to him, moving with a natural grace. She spoke in the Teotecan language. “My greetings."
“They're leaving.” Jeremiah motioned to the room beyond the glass. “Without me."
She put her hands on his shoulders, making him acutely aware of both her greater height and her sensuality. “Surely you know better than to speak in front of your escort. Manager Dahl told me that you spent the last tenday learning the ways of the Calanya."
Learning? Is that what they called it? He had spent the last ten days in a guarded suite, albeit one far more luxurious than the apartment where he had lived before. Yes, Manager Dahl had given him the Oath: never again read, write, or speak to anyone outside the Calanya. He couldn't live that way. Scholarship was his life. When he broke the Oath, however, they put him in solitary, which he hated. So for now he remained silent.
His thoughts must have shown on his face. Khal's voice gentled. “Jeremiah, I realize you are unhappy with this. I am sorry it is hard for you. I hope you will feel better when we reach Viasa. We leave tonight."
That only made it worse. In Viasa, his chances of escape went to nil.
* * * *
Starlight silvered the towers of Viasa as the windrider descended in the night. The Estate rose out of the darkness like an ancient castle. The old fortress now served as the headquarters and home of Manager Viasa and her staff. A wall surrounded the Estate and city. Sharply slanted roofs came into view, their stark beauty accented by lights within arched windo
ws. Mist wreathed Viasa, turning the lights a hazy gold and curling around shadowed arches and spires. Beyond the city, jagged mountains stepped up into the sky.
Viasa stood near Grayrock Falls, high in the Teotec Mountains. Jeremiah knew that even if he did somehow escape his guards, no feasible way existed to leave here except by air. He had never flown a rider, and the winds that ripped through these upper ranges were inimical to all but the most seasoned pilots. Even with equipment, supplies, and luck he doubted he could survive the months-long hike out of the mountains and across the desert to the starport.
He wondered if the delegation knew he had left Dahl. Would they go home without him? The Allied authorities had warned him that if he insisted on coming to Coba, he would lose their protection. The human settlements that had spread across the stars were splintered into three political entities. The Allied Worlds of Earth existed in the shadow of two giants, the Skolian Imperialate and the Trader empire. The Skolians claimed Coba. Earth had no wish to strain its precarious relations with the powerful, warlike Skolians, particularly not for a graduate student who, in the greater scheme of things, had little consequence.
* * * *
The wings of the windrider spread in metal pinions. Painted to resemble an althawk, the craft rode the gales like a giant bird. It soared over the city rooftops and landed on an airfield lit by misty lights.
Jeremiah looked around the cabin. It seated ten: his guards, Khal Viasa, and himself. The pilot and co-pilot sat up front. As he undid his safety harness, his guards rose to their feet. All eight women were taller than him, as were most Cobans, both male and female. These wore dusky purple uniforms with the Viasa symbol on their shoulders, a stylized image of Grayrock Falls. Stunners hung on their belts, guns that fired needles with a fast-acting sedative.
The captain opened the hatch. Accompanied by six guards, Jeremiah jumped down onto the tarmac. As he pulled his fur-lined hood tighter against the tearing gales, Khal stepped down with the other guards. Her hood framed her face, making her large eyes even more intense. She smiled slightly at him, as reserved as always, but also with discreet surprise, as if she too found it astonishing that he was her Calani.
The icy wind at Viasa made even the gales at Dahl seem like puffs of breeze. Leaning into the rushing air, they ran across the tarmac to the Estate and entered the fortress through a graceful quartz arch in its stone wall. Relief washed over him as they reached the protection of a vaulted hall.
Several Estate aides waited for them. As they bowed to Manager Viasa, they darted glances to where Jeremiah stood with his escort. He seemed to intrigue them just as much as his rare glimpses of a Calani in Dahl had fascinated him.
A dark-haired woman spoke. “Welcome back, Manager Viasa."
“I came as soon as I received your message,” Khal said. “What is the situation at the dam now?"
Her aide looked worn out, with dark circles under her eyes. “The electrical plant still isn't functioning. The beacon that guides windriders in the mountains has already failed. If this continues much longer, neither Viasa nor Tehnsa will have power."
Jeremiah tensed. No wonder Khal had wanted to return so soon. The Viasa-Tehnsa Dam harnessed energy from the Grayrock Falls. In this remote mountain region, it provided the only continuous source of power for Viasa, and also for Tehnsa, its dependent city-state.
Khal came over to him. She stood a fraction closer than he expected, nothing that would have been unusual in Cambridge on Earth, but a bit off-kilter here, given the famous reserve of the Viasa people. She spoke in her husky contralto. “I'm sorry, Jeremiah. It seems Viasa demands my attention. Your escort will show you to your rooms."
He nodded, relieved. Tired and disheartened, he needed to withdraw into privacy.
Khal spoke to the captain of his escort. “Take him into his suite by the private door. The others can wait until later to meet him.” She smiled at Jeremiah—and it changed her entire face. Instead of classic reserved perfection, she suddenly became warm and vibrant. “The other Calani are curious about you. None have ever even seen an offworlder, let alone met one."
He just nodded again, glad he didn't have to think of a response. She brushed his arm in an unexpected touch of farewell. Then his guards escorted him out of the hall. They followed marble corridors with high, arched ceilings. At first he thought the bronze claws on the walls held torches; then he realized they were electric lights. The lamps resembled flame, adding to the ancient atmosphere, a reminder of Viasa's age and conservative nature.
The next wing they entered, however, had genuine torches in the claws. They stopped at a wall engraved with arabesque designs. When the captain pressed a series of ridges in the design, clinks came from within the wall. She leaned against the stone and a door swung inward. Moving to the side, she bowed to Jeremiah. He looked back at her, puzzled. Then he realized she was waiting for him to enter.
He walked into a suite of stunning luxury. The darkwood furniture gleamed with red highlights. Pale green cushions lay on divans and in piles on a plush gold rug. The walls were painted dark amber near the floor, then shaded upward through lighter golds and into ivory near the ceiling. Held by slender gold chains, lamps hung from the ceiling, spheres of delicate frosted glass hand-painted with mountain scenes. Blown glass vases graced the tables, each with a blue-green stalk topped by a spray of gold spheres the size of marbles, but airy and hollow.
The bathroom alone was as big as his old apartment in Dahl. A pool filled most of it, fed by fountains and tiled in green, with frothy jeweled inlays. The bedroom had a canopied bed made up in blue and green velvet. Copper braziers kept the room warm. In the window seat, starlight streamed through tall panels made from unbreakable glassplex. Looking through the windows, he realized the outside wall was a sheer cliff face that plunged far down into the mountains.
When they returned to the living room, the captain indicated a horseshoe arch set across from the private door. Gold mosaics bordered the arch and ivory drapes hung within it. “That leads to the main common room for all the suites,” she said. Then she bowed to him. “We will leave you to rest. If you need anything, we will be Outside."
He nodded, knowing full well the real reason they were posted around his suite. Khal meant to ensure he stayed put.
When Jeremiah was alone, he sunk onto a divan, too tired even to go to bed. After awhile, a tap came at the archway to the common room. He wanted to ignore it, but the same inexhaustible curiosity that had spurred him to become an anthropologist got the better of him now.
“Come in,” he said.
The hangings shifted to reveal a tall man with a husky build and broad shoulders. He looked about forty, with the classic features of the Coban highborn. Gray dusted his black curls. He stood with natural confidence, as if he took his high status for granted. His clothes resembled Jeremiah's, but darker in color. Three bands circled each of his arms, rather than one. Jeremiah wondered why he rated more, then felt irked at himself for caring.
“My greetings,” the man said. “I am Kev.” He took in Jeremiah's slouched posture. “I can return another time, if you prefer."
Although Jeremiah didn't feel like company, he had no wish to alienate the other dice players. He would be living with them for some time, maybe even the rest of his life, a possibility he was doing his best to forget.
He sat up straighter. “Come in. Please.” He indicated an armchair set across a table from him. “Be comfortable."
Kev settled into the chair and stretched his long legs across the carpet. “Being Outside is tiring. But you need not worry. You will not have to go there often."
“Outside?"
Kev gestured around them. “The Calanya, the place where we live, is Inside. All else is Outside."
Jeremiah stared at him. “We never leave these suites?"
“We have this wing of the Estate. And the parks. They cover twenty square kilometers.” Kev looked apologetic. “Most Calanya have more land. These mountains limit Viasa'
s space. Still, it is enough, I think, for fourteen people."
“Fourteen Calani live here?"
“Counting yourself."
Jeremiah rubbed his eyes. “Don't remind me."
Kev considered him. “The rumors are true, then? You received your Oath against your will."
“Yes."
“It is hard to imagine. Many people would give much to be where you are now."
Jeremiah shook his head. “I had no idea Manager Viasa wanted my contract."
“Normally the Calani decides what offer to accept,” Kev acknowledged. “When Khal initiated the negotiations for your contract, news of your Quis talent spread. Several Estates entered the bidding despite your lack of formal study."
Jeremiah stared at him. Other Managers had also bid for this clandestine dice contract of his? “How do you know?"
Kev's expression turned inscrutable. “Khal and I talk."
Khal. Kev spoke as if it were natural to call one of Coba's most powerful leaders by her first name. Calani were among the elite who might address a Manager in such a manner. Jeremiah couldn't imagine doing so, no more than he had ever felt comfortable using “Jack” for Professor Brenn, even after Brenn insisted. Maybe the ease came with experience.
“How long have you been a Calani?” Jeremiah asked.
Arrogance touched Kev's voice. “Twenty-three years. I took the Oath at sixteen."
That boggled Jeremiah. Kev must have spent most of his life in seclusion, playing dice. Then a thought came to him: Is it really so different from the way I've studied all my life? He might as well have been in seclusion given how rarely he ventured out of the library or classroom.
Yes, he thought. It's different. He had chosen that life, rather than having it chosen for him.
* * * *
Jeremiah slept through the morning, something he rarely did on Coba, given its thirty-two-hour days. He didn't feel like getting out of bed. He spent the afternoon in his robe, sitting in the window seat of his bedroom, staring out at the chasm of air and the drifting clouds below.