Universe Vol1Num2

by Jim Baen's Universe

  "I'd forgotten how beautiful it is here," he said.

  Ixpar was leaning against the wall across the window from him. "I never did."

  He turned to find her looking at him, not the city. She had that quality he remembered well, a serenity that came when she wasn't preoccupied with politics or war. Soon she would be pacing and planning again, her agile mind occupied with affairs of state. But she let him see this side she showed so few people, indeed that few knew existed. She had always been compelling, but the years had added a maturity that made it difficult to stop gazing at her face.

  "You look good," Kelric said.

  "To see you again is a miracle. But I fear your reasons for coming." She shook her head. "What happens now? Will Skolia retaliate against Coba?"

  "I won't allow it."

  "You can't stop the Imperator."

  Softly he said, "Yes, I can."

  Her voice tightened. "You said otherwise ten years ago."

  It was hard to tell her. Once she knew what he had become, this bubble that held them would burst. So he said only, "The Imperator has changed the status of Coba."

  Her face paled. "We no longer have the Restriction?"

  "As of this morning, no. Coba is Protected."

  She clenched the window frame. "What does it mean?"

  He had meant to reassure, not alarm her. He tried again. "In some ways it's like Restriction. A Protected world is even harder to visit. But you decide who comes here. You control what happens. And your people now have Skolian citizenship."

  She stared at him. "Why would your brother do this thing?"

  "He didn't."

  "Then who did?"

  The world was too quiet. Muffled. His voice seemed far away. "Me."

  For a long time she looked at him. Finally she spoke in a low voice. "Winds above."

  "Ixpar, don't."

  "Do I say Your Majesty? Or Imperator Skolia?"

  Heat spread in his face. "Call me Kelric. Hell, even Sevtar."

  She started to answer, then stopped as if she had glimpsed something strange. "Am I your wife by Skolian law?"

  He thought of the Closure he had cancelled. "Yes."

  "Doesn't that make me the Imperator's consort?"

  He regarded her steadily. "Yes."

  "Gods," she murmured. "I am honored. But Kelric, that changes nothing. Your empire can still destroy us."

  He knew she would never have allowed Jeremiah Coltman to study them if she had felt all offworld influence would bring harm. "Change will come. You can't hide forever. Must it be for the worse?"

  Her gaze never wavered. "We would be just as wrong to deny the danger now as we were when we took you into the Calanya."

  He knew her fear. He shared it. Then he thought of the Assembly vote that had strengthened his position. "I control ISC. My influence becomes more established every year. I can set it up so no Skolian ever sets foot here." Kelric struggled for the right words. "But a parent has to let a child become an adult. Coba can't live protected all its life."

  She regarded him dourly. "We are not children."

  He suspected he would make it worse if he continued these inarticulate attempts to express himself. So he said, "Play Quis with me."

  ****

  Ixpar placed the first die.

  They sat at a table by the window and played dice at its highest level. Ixpar had always been brilliant, and the years had added even greater depth to her Quis. She wove patterns of other Managers into her structures, other Calani, other Estates. She synthesized a world into her Quis with a virtuosity that took his breath. Her patterns spoke of how the war had drenched Coba in violence and ruin. The recovery had taken years, but they were healing. He would destroy their hard-won stability.

  Kelric remolded the structures to portray positive offworld effects. New technologies. Better educations. Health care. The mothers of his children had received nanomeds from him and passed them to his son and daughter; they would all live longer, healthier lives as a result. All Cobans could have those advantages. He wove patterns of Jeremiah; in allowing an offworlder here, Ixpar had dared to take a chance. He had expected Jeremiah to create turmoil, but the youth's Quis told another story, how he had benefited Coba.

  Ixpar turned his patterns into comparisons of Skolia and Earth, symbolized by Kelric and Jeremiah. One aggressive and large; the other gentle and scholarly. One overwhelming; the other seeking friendship. Jeremiah would never hurt anyone; Kelric was the military commander of an empire.

  He saw himself through her Quis and wasn't sure he knew that man, one with great strength of character, but also one who wielded a power so immense, he could crush them without realizing it. He built structures showing her how he would work in cooperation with the Managers of Coba. He would sit at Quis with them. Ixpar's eyes blazed, and she played fire opals, garnets, rubies. Angry dice. She would never agree to have her Calani play Quis with other Managers. That he sat in the Assembly as Imperator—that she could deal with. But for him to enter the Quis Council went against every principle she held true.

  So he showed her harsher reality: someday the Imperialate would find Coba. Without his intervention, it could be in vengeance. Or perhaps, despite his best attempts to prevent it, the Traders would come. Her people should join the interstellar community on their terms. They should open or close their world according to their choice. They needed a gatekeeper. Him.

  Ixpar countered with jagged patterns of destruction, of his life on Coba and the upheavals that followed. Her dice never accused, never damned. She blamed Coba. But he knew the truth. He had left deep, terrible wounds on this world.

  Kelric paused, subdued. This intense session, with someone he hadn't seen for ten years, drained him. She believed that to protect Coba, they should strengthen its isolation until they could survive even if he died. With care, he offered her a new conclusion. All the finesse he lacked in the blunt power of his mind and body, he put into his dice. He had been a prisoner before, on Coba, with neither the understanding nor opportunity to control his effect on the Quis. Now he and Ixpar had the knowledge. Together they could make a better world.

  Her Quis called him idealistic. Her patterns revealed the deep differences between his people and hers, his way of life and that of Coba. Skolia would saturate the Quis until it swamped Coba's unique, irreplaceable culture.

  It doesn't have to be that way, he answered. He sifted a new idea into his dice: Quis was like the Kyle web. His people had created a web in Kyle space, a place humans entered only in thought. To open a gate to the Kyle required a telop. The most gifted telops created the star-spanning system that joined the Imperialate into a coherent whole.

  Quis was a web. It, too, linked a civilization. Cobans communicated and took information from the world-spanning game; more adept players acted as operators; the rare geniuses who dedicated their lives to Quis defined its highest levels. The best players read moods, even thoughts, from the dice. With both Quis and the Kyle, it became hard to tell where the web left off and the mind began. Intellect and emotion; technology and art; communication and intuition: it all blended. Coba and Skolia could achieve marvels. At their best, they could produce a civilization greater than the sum of the two alone.

  And at their worst? Ixpar asked.

  He made no false promises; she could pick up nuances in his Quis he never meant to reveal. She knew his doubts, which had never left him, only receded. But she would also recognize his belief that he could protect Coba. She would have to choose what to trust.

  Their session lasted hours. He had to return to Parthonia, yet long after he should have left for the starport, they continued to play. Their guards kept anyone from disturbing them. The people of Karn surely knew by now that their Minister was sitting at Quis with a Calani returned from the dead. Windriders would carry the news to other cities. Within days, all Coba would know: The Minister had sat at Quis with the Imperator.

  ****

  Afternoon had melted into evening by the ti
me Kelric and Ixpar pushed back from the table. Kelric stood up, his joints creaking. Age was creeping up on him even with the benefits of life extension.

  "A good session," he said. More than good. It was worth ten years of solitaire.

  "So it was," Ixpar murmured. She rose to her feet, and they stood together at the window above Karn. Long shadows from the mountains stretched across the city.

  Leaning against the wall, Kelric gazed across the window at his wife. She looked as fit today as ten years ago. And as erotic. Quis had always had a sensual undercurrent for him with her.

  "It's been a long time," he said.

  She regarded him with smoky eyes. "Too long."

  Kelric heard the invitation in her voice. He grasped her arm and drew her forward, into his embrace. But she resisted, her palms against his shoulders.

  "I have a thing to say," she told him. "You should know."

  That didn't sound auspicious. "Know what?"

  "I remarried."

  Kelric stiffened. Had he misinterpreted her mood? "You said you had no Akasi."

  "I don't." Sadness touched her voice. "He passed away."

  "Oh." Idiot, he told himself. "I'm sorry."

  "It's been several years." Her face was pensive. "After the war, the Council felt I should remarry. As expected."

  As expected. By law, the Minister had to wed a Calani, preferably the man with the highest level among the suitable candidates. "You mean Mentar?"

  She nodded. "Together, he and I knew more of the Quis than anyone else alive. We had much in common."

  He heard what she didn't say. "Did you love him?"

  "I always had great affection for him."

  "More as a father figure, I thought."

  "I loved him." She paused. "In a quiet sort of way."

  Kelric told her about Jeejon then. When he finished, Ixpar spoke with pain. "We each do as we should. But sometimes, I wish . . . we hadn't lost so much."

  "I, too," he said.

  Ixpar took his hand. Then she led him to a private inner door of the Rosewood Suite.

  That evening, in the last rays of gilded sunlight slanting through the windows, they lay in the rosewood bed where they had loved each other so many years ago. Outside, in the city below and the world beyond, life continued, people working, bargaining, playing Quis. Beyond Coba, stars radiated, worlds turned in their celestial dance, and ships streaked among the settlements of thriving humanity, all oblivious to two people, neither of them young, who had lost so much in their lives, but for a brief time, found a bittersweet happiness.

  XII

  Cathedral

  On the world of Parthonia, Kelric waited in the Cathedral of Memories. Its sweeping wings graced Selei City, where elegant towers rose into the lavender sky. Standing within a chamber, he gazed out a one-way panel of glass. The Royal Concourse, a wide path of white stone, led from the cathedral steps outside to an open-air coliseum. Metallic dust sparkled in the walkway, tiny nano-systems that monitored pedestrians, just as security systems monitored every micron of the city.

  People lined the concourse and filled the coliseum. Sunlight streamed, vendors sold food, and military officers paced among the crowds. Breezes stirred flags with the Imperialate insignia on tall poles in front of the coliseum.

  The Promenade was among the most popular Skolian festivals. Obtaining passes to attend required stratospheric connections. But the spectacle would be broadcast throughout the Imperialate, and people everywhere would celebrate. Kelric hoped they enjoyed themselves. It might be fun for the rest of the universe, but he and his security teams found it excruciating.

  A door swooshed behind him, and he turned to see Najo. His bodyguard crossed the chamber and saluted, arms out, wrists crossed, fists clenched.

  Kelric returned the salute. "Any news from the port?"

  "Nothing, sir." Sympathy showed in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

  Kelric felt heavy. He wanted to withdraw from the too-bright day and sit in private. He couldn't, so he just said, "Thank you."

  "They still might come."

  "Perhaps." But Kelric knew it was too late for Ixpar to change her mind. He had failed to convince her.

  Ten days had passed since his trip to Coba. Ixpar had declined to return with him. He hadn't even met his children yet. He wanted them by his side so much it hurt, but the day he had sworn his Calanya Oath to Ixpar, he had vowed to protect her Estate with his life. He would keep his Oath. Just as he had spent all those years secluded in a Calanya, so now he would do the same for Coba, secluding a world.

  Music filled the chamber from outside, the Skolian anthem, "The Lost Desert." Its exquisite melody could lift the spirit, but its bittersweet quality often brought people to tears.

  The House of Jizarian began the Promenade. A man announced them, his voice coming out of orbs that floated above the concourse and coliseum. As the music shifted into the brighter theme of their House, the Jizarians poured out of the cathedral. Children ran down the steps and onto the Concourse. The adults followed in traditional costume, the women in silken tunics and trousers, the men in shirts and trousers with glinting threads. Their hair gleamed, mostly dark, but a few with lighter coloring. Kelric even saw a redhead.

  The Matriarch came last, normally with dignity and age, but this one was barely twenty-four, having inherited her title when her mother passed away several years ago. Her hair tousled about her shoulders as she waved to the crowd. The spectators cheered and threw flowers as the Jizarians walked the Concourse.

  "An attractive House," Najo said. "Vibrant."

  "So they are," Kelric said, intent on his console. Everything was secure. He had an odd feeling, though, like a pressure on his mind. He checked the room where his family waited: Dehya, Roca, his siblings, and their families, including spouses and children. It hurt to see them. He would never know what it was like to share his life with his children and wife.

  Najo spoke quietly. "They are happy and well. Safe."

  Kelric couldn't answer. He knew Najo didn't mean his brothers and sisters. His guard was too perceptive, and Kelric didn't want to talk about it, not now, maybe never.

  Outside, the Jizarians were entering the coliseum. The House of Nariz was leaving the cathedral, a small family of moderate lineage. The Akarads came next, a line of merchants with thriving fleets. The men wore robes over their clothes, but in a casual manner, letting them billow behind them in the breezes. The Shazarindas followed, less strict in their demeanor.

  Kelric shifted his weight, restless and unsettled. He cycled through views of the city and countryside on his console. Then he paged his intelligence chief in the orbital defense system.

  The chief's voice came over the comm. "Major Qahot here."

  "Any problems?" Kelric asked.

  "None, sir. Is anything wrong?"

  "No. Nothing." Kelric wished he knew what bothered him.

  Outside, the women in the House of Kaaj were descending the cathedral steps. Just the women: they secluded their men. In their traditional garb, they resembled ancient Ruby warriors, with leather and metal armor, curved swords at their hips, and glinting spears. In real life they ran robotics corporations, but right now they reminded Kelric of paintings he had seen of Old Age queens on Coba.

  He spoke into the comm. "Qahot, let me know if you notice anything strange."

  "Aye, sir." Qahot paused as voices spoke in the background. Then he said, "We had an unauthorized ship request to land about an hour ago."

  Kelric tensed, afraid to hope. "Who? And why?" He had left authorization for Ixpar, but the Coban port was decades out of date. Perhaps security here hadn't recognized the codes. Perhaps Ixpar hadn't realized that. Or perhaps he was raising futile hopes within himself.

  "They're tourists," Qahot said. "They didn't realize the festival is off-limits. We have them in custody, five men and six women, name of Turning. We're running checks."

  "Did any of the women give her name as Ixpar Karn or ask for me?"

 
"No, sir," Qahot said. "Are you expecting someone?"

  "No, not really." Kelric pushed down his disappointment. "Keep checking them out. Let me know if anything comes up."

  "Yes, sir."

  Outside, the Vibarrs were striding toward the coliseum. Their late Matriarch, an aggressive powerhouse, had broken with tradition and named her son as her heir. Now he led the House, all bankers and lawyers and wildcatters, secure in their power and wealth. The Rajindias came next, the House that provided ISC with the neurological specialists who treated psions. Despite their restraint, they were more relaxed than the hawklike Kaajs.

  Hawk.

  Insight came to Kelric like a rush of heat, as a fire might flare at a campsite. Turning. Tern. A bird, yes, but they had the wrong one, probably because of language differences. Not tern. Hawk.

  He spoke into his comm. "Qahot?"

  "Here, sir," the major said.

  "The leader of that group you picked up—is it a woman?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "With red hair?"

  "No, sir."

  Kelric frowned. Was he wrong?

  Then Qahot added, "Her hair is orange. Like copper."

  Kelric exhaled, long and slow. "I want to talk to her."

  ****

  When the Majdas walked the concourse, they left no doubt who dominated the noble Houses. With their black hair, high cheekbones, and great height, they embodied the quintessential Skolian aristocrat. Most of the women wore uniforms, primarily the green of the Pharaoh's Army, but also the blue of the Imperial Fleet. Vazar strode along in her Jagernaut leathers, skin-tight black with glinting silver studs.

  The Majdas also secluded their princes. But the same indomitable will that infused their women manifested in the men. More than a few of their brothers and sons had defied tradition. They walked with the House now, professors, architects, scientists, artists, and military officers, tall and imposing. Naaj came last. Queen of Majda. She neither waved nor smiled. She simply walked. It was enough.

  Najo stood with Kelric at the window. "Impressive."