On a distant world, protected by the inimitable Hinterland Deployment, a child with gold eyes was growing to adulthood. She had been born of Kelric's greatest sorrow, but she was an even greater treasure, hidden by the Restriction and by one of the greatest military forces known to the human race.
VIII
Sunsky Bridge
"Peace talks be damned!" Corbal faced Jaibriol across the glossy black expanse of the desk in Jaibriol's office. "With this vote, the Skolians have made their intentions clear. They intend to ramp up hostilities, not flaming chat with us in Paris."
They were on their feet with the desk between them. It was as if they stood within the void of space; today, the walls of emperor's office gleamed with nebulae, and blue points of light glowed in the cobalt floor. A sapphire lamp hung from the domed ceiling. The entire room felt as cold and distant to Jaibriol as any hope for the negotiations.
"The vote was a protest against hereditary rule," he said. "Not peace."
Corbal's red gaze didn't waver. "It was a vote to give Imperator Skolia more power."
Jaibriol stiffened. He could never live up to Tarquine's memory of Kelric, the man who had been her provider and lover, who had escaped from her habitat, shredded her security, and infiltrated one of the largest military complexes in Eube, the Sphinx Sector Rim Base. The Lock that ESComm had stolen from the Skolians was in that complex. Kelric had used it to join the Dyad—to become a Key, which only a Ruby psion could do. Now he was the Imperator. The Military Key. The Fist of Skolia.
Compared to Kelric, Jaibriol had no doubt he seemed young, callow, and inexperienced. Tarquine claimed she no longer wanted Kelric, but Jaibriol didn't believe her. He could never compete with a legend.
Only Corbal and Tarquine suspected Jaibriol could also use the Lock. Except no one would ever use it again, for Kelric had killed it, or whatever one did to deactivate a singularity where Kyle space pierced their universe. Jaibriol had found Kelric in the Lock that day—and he had let the Imperator go free, an act many would consider treason. Meet me at the peace table, Jaibriol had told him. But the Paris Accord had fallen apart and now Kelric had even more power. Enough to conquer Eube? All Jaibriol saw was the long, slow dying of his dream.
He sank into his high-backed chair, put his elbows on his desk, and leaned his head in his hands. He was so very tired, a bone-deep exhaustion that sleep never cured. The longer he lived among the Aristos, the more hopeless it seemed that they would ever deal with the Skolians, a people they didn't consider human. They didn't seem capable of understanding why Skolians abhorred the Concord. After all, Eubian taskmakers had a high standard of living. It took no genius to see why Aristos maintained it; only a few thousand of them controlled two trillion taskmakers. The Aristos didn't care about the soul-parching effects of that control, how they crushed the spirit of those who resisted them. The slagged remains of several worlds served as testament to how far Hightons would take their reckoning against definace.
But no sane Aristo wanted genocide. They knew perfectly well that too much repression inspired rebellion. Taskmakers formed the backbone of civilization; even a fool could see that keeping them satisfied worked better than oppression. Aristos might be arrogant, amoral, and without compassion, but they were never stupid. They ensured their taskmakers lived good lives—as long as they obeyed.
Providers were another story. Aristos believed they had one and only one purpose: to please Aristos. In their twisted world view, torturing providers "elevated" those slaves to a higher form of existence. But the Aristos knew the truth, no matter how much they masked it with the convolutions of their speech. It was why Corbal hid his tenderness toward Sunrise; his love for her threatened the fabric of an empire. Lurking in every Aristo's mind was the specter that one day their slaves would rise against them, not a city, a world, or a star system, but all of them. Trillions. Then nothing could stop the fall of Eube.
Jaibriol lifted his head to regard his cousin. "We will deal with the Skolians as we must."
Corbal was studying him. "Never show signs of weakness. Your enemies will devour you."
Jaibriol just stared at him, and wondered if he could ever resurrect his dream.
Dehya sat at the round table with Kelric, and they each rolled out their dice. While the rest of the Assembly slept, celebrated, or brooded, the Dyad played Quis.
Words had never been Kelric's forte, so instead of explaining the rules, he showed them to her. He placed a regular tetrahedron, a ruby pyramid, in the center of the table. Then he waited.
Dehya looked from the die to Kelric. When he continued to wait, she smiled slightly, then took a gold pentahedron and set it next to his piece.
That surprised him. Did she know she had started a queen's spectrum? She had probably studied records of his solitaire games, trying to figure them out. Building a spectrum against an advanced player was difficult. An augmented queen's spectrum was almost impossible; to his knowledge, he was the only person who had done it in Calanya Quis.
He rubbed his fingers, which ached with arthritis even his nanomeds couldn't eliminate. Then he set a yellow cube against her die. She followed with a green heptahedron. Well, hell. She was making a spectrum.
Kelric played a sapphire octahedron. "My game."
She looked up at him. "You can win Quis?"
He grinned. "Of course. You're lucky we aren't betting; you would owe me ten times whatever you had risked."
Dehya cocked an eyebrow. "Why should I believe you won?"
Despite her outward skepticism, he could tell she was enjoying herself. It was the advantage of being an empath; it helped him learn gestures, body language, and expressions until interpreting them became second nature. He could read Dehya even when she shielded her mind.
He tapped the line of dice. "These increase in rank according to number of sides and colors of the spectrum. Five make a queen's spectrum. Three of the dice are mine and two are yours. That means I have advantage. So I win."
"I was helping you, eh? If you start the spectrum, you win no matter what."
"You can block my moves." He took his dice and slid hers across the table. Then he set an amethyst bar in the playing area. "Your move."
"Are we gambling?"
"If you would like."
She laughed softly. "Ah, well, you made up the rules, I don't know them, and you've been playing for decades. I don't think I want to bet." She set her amethyst bar on top of his.
Kelric stared at the bars, frozen. He felt her amusement fade to puzzlement. Finally, still not looking at her, he said, "I didn't make up the rules."
"Who did?" Her voice had a waiting quality.
He set a diamond sphere near the structure. "Your move."
She waited a while. When he said nothing else, she said, "Spectrums go by color, yes?"
He glanced up. "That's why they're called spectrums."
"And white is all colors, as in light."
"Yes!" She was going to be formidable at Quis. He wondered if she realized he had used the diamond ball, the highest ranked piece, to symbolize her. Dehya wasn't hard like a diamond, but its strength fit her, as did the way it refracted light into many vivid colors.
She set a gold dodecahedron apart from the other dice. Interesting. The dodecahedron came next in rank after the sphere. What did she mean? Possibly nothing. He could never tell with Dehya, though; her complex, evolving mind often startled him.
He set down an onyx ring, one of his symbols for himself. She thought for a moment, then balanced a topaz arch so it connected the diamond ball and gold dodecahedron.
"That's a sunsky bridge," Kelric said. "It suggests a cooperative venture."
She tapped the gold dodecahedron. "Roca." Then she touched the diamond ball. "You."
He regarded her curiously. "Why assign names to the dice?"
"I've watched you play. Your structures evolve. It's almost as if they have personalities."
It gratified him that she understood. "They tell stori
es. Or make the story. The dice shape events as much as portray them."
"I don't see how gambling can spur events." With a wry smile, she added, "Except to lower my credit account."
Kelric waved his hand. "Gambling is for Outsiders. It isn't true Quis."
"Then what do you do with it?"
He leaned forward. "Suppose everyone played. Everywhere. Throughout the Imperialate."
She was watching him closely. "And?"
"I put my stories into my Quis when I sit in sessions with other people. Then they play with others. The better designed my strategies, the more it affects their Quis, and the more they pass on my intentions."
"So your effect spreads."
"Yes."
"And if, say, Vaz Majda played Quis, you might affect her opinions with your influence."
Good! She understood. "But other people also input stories. Ragnar might build patterns of war. Councilor Tikal would focus on politics. Naaj would bring in heredity. Their input goes to the public, who all play Quis. Everyone affects the game, but most people don't play well enough to do much beyond accepting, refusing, or transmitting ideas."
Her voice took on a careful quality. "And when everyone is playing Quis this way, what do you call your world?"
He knew what she was asking: where had he spent all those years? He gathered his dice and put them in his pouch. "Thank you for the game."
She started to speak, but whatever she was going to say, she let it go. Instead she asked, "Who won?"
"Both of us."
"So you and I, we don't gamble."
Calani and Managers never do. But he kept that thought shielded from her. "With you, I would rather work together."
She met his gaze. "So would I."
He stood and bowed. "We will play again."
Dehya rose to her feet. "I hope so." Her thoughts swirled with unasked questions, and he knew if he let down his barriers, they would flood his mind. But she didn't speak. Perhaps she knew he couldn't bring himself to answer.
Not yet.
IX
Plaza Of Memories
Jaibriol unexpectedly found Sunrise.
He went to the opulent wing of the palace where Corbal lived. His cousin stayed there when he wasn't seeing to his business affairs or meddling in Jaibriol's life. Hidaka came with Jaibriol, along with three Razers who were like extensions of the captain's biomech- enhanced mind.
His unannounced visit shook up the taskmaker who looked after Corbal's suite. She and her husband had served the Xir Lord for decades. She was trembling as she knelt to Jaibriol, and tendrils of her auburn hair wisped around her face.
"Please rise," Jaibriol said, far more gently than Hightons were supposed to speak to taskmakers.
She rose to her feet, her gaze downcast. "My honor us with Your Most Glorious Presence, Your Highness."
Jaibriol winced. He had managed to wean his staff from talking that way, but everyone else did it regardless of what he said. He just nodded and walked into the living room of Corbal's suite. Plush cushions were scattered across a carpeted floor that sparkled with holographic tips on the pile. Blue-lacquer tables gleamed and the walls gleamed blue. The room glistened.
With a start, Jaibriol realized someone was sleeping on a large pillow in one corner. It was Sunrise, Corbal's provider. She lay curled on her side with her eyes closed in her angel's face. Her hair fell across her body in glossy waves, as bright as a yellow sun. She wore nothing more than a scant halter of gold chains, with sapphires that barely covered her enlarged nipples. A gold chain around her hips held the gold triangle of her G-string. She was lushly, voluptuously desirable, full and round where Hightons were lean.
Jaibriol stopped, his face heating. Even while she slept, her contentment soothed. He blocked her, not because he didn't appreciate the healing balm of her mind, but because if she awoke, she might suspect him. Sunrise was a powerful empath, able to detect far more than most Aristos realized.
Jaibriol never knew how to act around her. He had spent the first fourteen years of his life with only his family. On Earth, he had been shy around girls, unsure how to behave. As emperor, he had slept with a provider once, a sweet, silver girl who had taken his virginity and left him with a treasured memory. Then he had married Tarquine, and he hadn't touched any other woman since.
He spoke self-consciously to Hidaka. "I'll come back later. Lord Xir doesn't seem to be here." Corbal obviously had been, though, given Sunrise's state of dress, or lack thereof. He felt like an intruder.
A deep voice came from behind him. "Your Highness?"
Jaibriol turned with a start. Corbal's son Azile was walking through the archway and unfastening a long coat, which he wore over a silk shirt and elegant slacks. His cheeks were red from the wind, which probably meant his flyer had just landed on the roof of the palace.
Jaibriol inclined his head to his Intelligence Minister, his closest kin after Corbal and Calope Muze. "Azile." He used the minimalist Highton greeting appropriate for family.
Azile bowed from the waist. "You honor my father's home."
"I came to talk to him." Jaibriol indicated where Sunrise slept. "But I didn't want to wake her."
Azile glanced idly toward the corner, then did a double take. His startled, instinctual response was so intense, Jaibriol felt it despite the muting effects of his shields. Azile sensed Sunrise's unprotected mind, but in a far different manner than Jaibriol. In that instant, the desire to transcend hit Azile so hard, an image jumped into his thoughts of Sunrise crying in pain.
Bile rose in Jaibriol's throat. How the blazes could Azile desire to hurt her that way? He wanted to throw his Intelligence Minister across the room.
The blood drained from Azile's face. Shock surged from his mind, and a deep loathing for himself. He spun around and strode from the room through a smaller archway. Jaibriol watched in amazement, not because it offended him to have his cousin walk out, not even because it was a crime to leave the emperor's presence in such a manner, but because he had never felt such remorse from an Aristo capable of transcending. Azile was only in his fifties, much younger than Corbal or Tarquine had been when they changed.
When Hidaka motioned for two of the Razers to go after Azile, Jaibriol held up his hand, stopping them. Then he followed his cousin into a small alcove stocked with liqueurs. Azile was leaning on a counter, his face ashen. As Jaibriol entered, the Intelligence Minister jerked up his head and comprehension of his trespass against the emperor flooded across his face.
"Your Highness!" Azile straightened up abruptly. "Please accept my most humble apology."
"Accepted," Jaibriol said, sparing Azile an arrest. He had never seen his cousin disturbed this way. Sweat sheened Azile's forehead. Could he be more like his father than Jaibriol had realized? He knew Azile transcended; even now, with his shields full strength, he sensed the crushing pressure of Azile's mind.
"One might be distracted by many things," Jaibriol said, probing. "It is always my hope that my kin are well and serene."
Azile inclined his head to the right, indicating gratitude at Jaibriol's response. "Most serene, Your Highness."
"I'm pleased to hear it." Jaibriol studied him. "Tell your father I visited."
"Certainly. It will be my pleasure to serve the throne."
Jaibriol doubted it; he knew Azile disliked him. But maybe this was a start toward better relations between the two of them.
Jaibriol found Tarquine at a crystal table in the Atrium, surrounded by lush trees, with sunlight filtering over her from the polarized glass of the ceiling and walls.
"My greetings, husband." She was spearing sea delicacies in a porcelain dish using a sharpened ivory prong.
"Tarquine." He sat down, preoccupied with his thoughts.
She studied him for a moment. "Distraction becomes you."
Jaibriol had no idea how to take that. "I would never say incomprehensibility becomes you, my lovely wife, since you are always comprehensible, but should that ever chan
ge, I'm sure it would reflect just as well."
Tarquine smiled, a slow curve of her lips. "I do believe I've just been insulted."
Jaibriol grinned at her. "Never."
She blinked, staring at him.
"Astonishment also becomes you," he added amiably.
"'They say his smile is like the sun that rarely rises,'" she murmured. "Carzalan Kri wrote that in one of his poems."
"You think my sun doesn't rise enough?" Jaibriol supposed it was true. He rarely felt like grinning at anyone.
"It's another sign of your distraction," Tarquine decided.