Kelric sat in his living room with no lights except the gold designs on the walls. No sunlight slanted through the open windows, but the bright day diffused into his home. He had settled on the couch, almost the only furniture in the huge room.
He sat and he thought.
Coba. It had taken eighteen years of his life. What would it do to Jeremiah Coltman? Would the young man's unwilling presence stir that world as Kelric's had done, until its culture erupted into war? Compared to the Radiance War that had raged between the mammoth Eubian and Skolian empires, Coba's war had been tiny. But it ravaged its people. And he, Kelric, had caused it. Coltman was a scholar, not a warrior, but the youth's presence would still exert an influence.
Kelric spoke to the Evolving Intelligence, or EI, that ran his house. He had named it after an ancient physicist who had illuminated mysteries of relativistic quantum mechanics.
"Dirac?" he asked.
A man answered in a deep baritone. "Attending."
"Find me everything you can about Jeremiah Coltman."
Dirac paused. "He was born in Wyoming."
"What's a wyoming?"
"A place on Earth."
"Oh." That didn't help. "What about his graduate school?"
"He earned a doctorate from Harvard for his study of human settlement on the planet Coba. He spent three years working on a construction crew there while he wrote his dissertation. One year ago, a Coban queen selected him for a Calani. I have no definition of Calani."
"I know what it means." Kelric leaned back and closed his eyes. Queen was the wrong word for the women who ruled the Coban city- estates. They called themselves Managers. In Coba's Old Age they had been warriors who battled constantly, but in these modern times they considered themselves civilized. Never mind this atavistic penchant of theirs for kidnapping male geniuses.
Dirac continued. "Coltman's family and members of the Allied diplomatic corps have tried to free him."
"Any success?" Kelric asked.
"So far, none. He agreed to abide by Coban law when they let him live on their world."
"What about this award he won?"
"Apparently the Coban queen relented enough to send his doctoral thesis to his advisor at Harvard. The advisor submitted it to the awards committee. At twenty-four, Coltman is the youngest person ever to win the Goldstone Prize."
Kelric was grateful the fellow had received the honor, not because he knew anything about anthropology, but because it had caught Dehya's attention, which meant Kelric had found out about Coltman. It also gave him a reason to ask about the planet.
"What do you have on Coba?" Kelric asked. His outward calm didn't match his inner turmoil. He had avoided directly speaking that question for ten years, lest someone notice and want to know why he asked. As long as he seemed to ignore Coba, no one had reason to suspect its people had imprisoned a Ruby heir for eighteen years.
"Coba is a Skolian world," Dirac said. "Restricted Status. No native may leave the planet. They are denied contact with the Imperialate. The world has one automated starport, a military refueling post that's rarely used. Skolians who voluntarily enter the Restricted zone forfeit their citizenship."
Kelric waited. "That's it?"
"Yes." The EI sounded apologetic.
Relief washed over him. It was even less than he expected. Restricted Status usually went to worlds inimical to human life or otherwise so dangerous they required quarantine. The Cobans had asked for the status, and ISC had granted it because Coba was so inconsequential that no one cared.
Kelric's Jag starfighter had crashed on Coba after he escaped a Eubian ambush. The Cobans should have taken him to the starport. He would have died before they reached it, but the Restriction required they do it. Instead they saved his life. His legs had been pulverized by the crash, and the Cobans had healed him the best they could. But their medicine had limitations; even with additional work done by his people two decades later, his legs would always bear the internal scars of those injuries.
On Coba, by the time he recovered, they had decided never to let him go. They feared he would bring ISC to investigate the Restriction. They had been right. That had been before he understood how the Imperialate could destroy their unique, maddening, and wondrous culture.
Kelric couldn't fathom why they let Coltman study them. He rose to his feet, and his steps echoed as he walked through the stone halls of his house, under high, unadorned ceilings.
His office had a warmer touch. Jeejon had put down rugs, dark gold with tassels. Panels softened the stark walls with scenes of his home world, plains of silvery-green reeds and spheres adrift in the air. In some images, the spindled peaks of the Backbone Mountains speared a darkening sky.
He sat at his desk, and it lit up with icons, awaiting his commands. He turned off every panel. Then he opened a drawer and removed his pouch, a bag old and worn, bulging with its contents. Often he wore it on his belt, but other times he left it here, in the seclusion of his private office. He undid its drawstring—
And rolled out his Quis dice.
The pieces came in many forms: squares, disks, balls, cubes, rods, polyhedrons, and more. Not only did he have the full set carried by most Cobans, his also included unusual shapes such as stars, eggs, even small boxes with lids.
Dice and Coba. They were inextricably blended. All Cobans played Quis, from the moment they were old enough to hold the dice until the day they died. It was one giant game, the life's blood of a world. They gambled with Quis, educated with it, gossiped through the dice, built philosophies. The powers of Coba used it to gain political influence. For a Manager to prosper, she had to master Quis at its topmost levels.
Then there were Calani.
The few men honored as Calani were extraordinarily gifted at Quis. They spent their lives playing dice. They provided strategy for the Manager, a weapon she wielded in the flow of power among the Estates. Managers had ten to twenty Calani; together, they formed her Calanya. The stronger a Calanya, the more a Manager could influence Coban culture. Quis meant power, and a Manager's Calanya was her most valuable asset.
Only Calani owned jeweled dice. The white pieces were diamond; the blue, sapphire; the red, ruby. But Calani paid a steep price for the spectacular luxury of their lives. They remained secluded. They saw no one but the Manager and the few visitors she allowed. They swore never to read, write, or speak to anyone Outside the Calanya. Nothing was allowed to contaminate their Quis, for anyone who succeeded in manipulating their game could damage the Estate, even topple the Manager from power. Managers shielded their scholarly Calani from Outside influences with the single-minded resolve of their warrior queen ancestors.
To symbolize Jeremiah, Kelric chose a silver ball. He built structures around it and let them develop according to complex and fluid rules. His skill molded the structures, but the complexity of the game and its often unexpected evolution informed their design just as much. Calani and Quis: they created each other.
He had intended to model Coban politics and examine what they revealed about Jeremiah. Instead, the dice patterns mirrored the history of his own people. He wasn't certain what his subconscious was up to, but he let the structures evolve.
Six millennia ago, an unknown race had taken humans from Earth and moved them to the world Raylicon. Then they vanished, leaving nothing but dead starships. Over the centuries, using libraries on those ships, the humans had developed star travel. They built the Ruby Empire and established many colonies, including Coba. But the empire soon collapsed, stranding the colonies. Four millennia of Dark Ages followed.
When the Raylicans finally regained star travel, they split into two opposed empires: the Eubian Concord, and Kelric's people, the Skolian Imperialate. Skolians referred to Eubians as "Traders" because they based a substantial portion of their economy on the sale and trade of human beings.
Since that time, Skolia had been rediscovering the ancient colonies like Coba. The people of Earth had a real shock when they reached the stars: their siblings were already there, two huge and bitterly opposed civilizations. The Allied Worlds of Earth became a third, but unlike their bellicose neighbors, they had no interest in conquering anyone. They just sold things. In his more philosophical moments, Kelric thought neither his people nor the Traders would inherit the stars. While they were throwing world-slagging armies at each other, the Allieds would quietly take over by convincing humanity they couldn't survive without Allied goods. Imperial Space Command had an incredible ability to expand to new frontiers, but it paled in comparison to Starbytes Coffee.
Earth's success in the interstellar marketplace, however, depended on maintaining civil relations with Skolia and Eube. They obviously had no intention of upsetting their relations with the Imperialate over one graduate student. The moment Jeremiah had set foot on Coba, he had forfeited his rights as an Allied citizen and become subject to the Restriction.
Kelric blew out a gust of air. He had to get Jeremiah out of there, and do it without alerting anyone. The Restriction protected Coba's extraordinary culture.
And it protected Kelric's children.
He sat back, staring at the Quis structures that covered his desk. "Dirac."
The EI's voice floated into the air. "Attending."
Kelric knew if he continued to ask about Coba, someone might notice. His interactions with Dirac were shielded by the best security ISC had to offer. But he knew Dehya. If she became curious, she could break even his security. He was taking a risk. But it had been so long, and he had so little time left.
"I need you to find a Closure document," he said. "It was written ten years ago, just after the Radiance War." He leaned his head back until he was gazing at the stone ceiling. Outside his window, wind rustled in the dapple-trees like children whispering together.
"Did you arrange it?" Dirac asked.
"That's right," Kelric said. "I was serving on a merchant ship. The Corona." He had escaped Coba in a dilapidated shuttle that had barely managed to reach another port. He hadn't had credits enough even to buy food, let alone repair the aging shuttle. The job on the Corona had offered a way out.
"I have records of a vessel fitting that description," Dirac said. "Jaffe Maccar is its captain."
"That's it. I filed a Closure document with the ship's legal EI."
A long silence followed. Finally Dirac said, "I find no record of this document."
Maybe he had hidden it better than he thought. Either that, or it was lost. "It's encrypted," he said, and gave Dirac a key.
After a moment, Dirac spoke crisply. "File six-eight-three. Marriage to Ixpar Karn Closed. If Closure isn't reversed in ten years, Kelric Garlin Valdoria Skolia will be declared dead, and his assets will revert to his heirs. Ixpar Karn and two children are named as beneficiaries." The EI paused. "Your listed assets are extensive."
"I suppose."
"In one hundred eleven days," Dirac said, "Ixpar Karn will become one of the wealthiest human beings alive."
Even though Kelric had known this was coming, it rattled him. "Ixpar doesn't know."
"Do you wish me to cancel the document?"
"I'm not sure."
"You aren't dead," Dirac pointed out.
"If you cancel it, I'll be married to Ixpar again." It was a dream he desired, but it meant too much danger to her and his family. The Closure didn't become permanent until the end of ten years. It was usually done when someone's spouse vanished, to declare that person legally dead. Generally, the abandoned spouse invoked the Closure, not the person who had disappeared.
"Is marriage to Ixpar Karn a problem?" Dirac asked.
He thought of Jeejon. His marriage to her been valid because of the Closure. She had been dead a year, but grief didn't end on a schedule. It receded, yes, but it crept up on you like a mouse under the table, until one day you looked down and saw it crouched in your home, watching you with pale eyes, still there after all this time. It was true, he had married Jeejon in gratitude. Maybe he had never felt the soul- deep passion for her that he had with Ixpar, but he had loved Jeejon in a quieter way. She had given up everything she owned to save his life, even believing he was deluded to think he was the Imperator. She had never expected anything in return, but he had sworn to stand by her.
Dirac spoke. "Sir, the three people named as your heirs live on Coba. I don't think it's legal for inhabitants of a Restricted world to inherit from a Skolian citizen."
"I'm the Imperator," Kelric growled. "If I say it's legal, it's legal."
"According to Imperialate law, that isn't true."
Kelric scowled at the ceiling. Unlike his officers, his EI had no qualms about contradicting him.
"Who is going to tell me no?" Kelric asked.
"That would be complicated," Dirac acknowledged. "May I ask a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Why set up the Closure?" The EI sounded genuinely puzzled, as opposed to an AI, which only simulated the emotion. "You aren't the deserted spouse."
"I was unprotected, in a volatile situation." Painful memories rose within him. "I left my children on Coba so they would be safe and taken care of in case anything happened to me. If I died, I wanted to make sure they and Ixpar inherited."
"Yet nothing happened to you."
He grimaced. "I was kidnapped and sold as a slave."
"Oh." Another pause. "Are you saying you became a Trader slave after you signed this document?"
"That's right."
"But the document is only ten years old. Less, in fact."
"Yes."
"It was my understanding the Traders captured you twenty-eight years ago. Not ten."
Kelric didn't answer.
"When you die," Dirac added, "this document becomes public."
"My heirs could hardly inherit otherwise." He had wrestled with that decision, knowing it would draw attention to Coba. As long as he could shield both Coba and his family, he would do so. But if he ever had to choose, his wife and children came first. While he lived, the Closure document would remain secret even if it defined him as officially dead. When he actually died and could no longer look after Coba, the will within the document would become public, ensuring his heirs had his name and the multitude of protections that came with it.
And yet . . . he could protect Coba now in ways he couldn't have imagined ten years ago when, as a desperate refugee, he had written that will.
Dirac suddenly said, "This Closure document gives a new twist to the Hinterland defenses."
Kelric stiffened. "I have no idea what you mean."
"The Hinterland Deployment. One of your first acts as Imperator ten years ago. The military presence you established in sector twenty- seven of the Imperialate hinterlands."
"It was vital," Kelric said. "We needed to stop Traders from using that region of space."
"No indications existed that they were using it," Dirac said.
Kelric's advisors had told him the same. He gave Dirac the same answer he had given them. "That was the problem. No one paid attention to that sector. Had ESComm set up covert operations there, we might never have known."
"This is true." Dirac waited a beat. "How interesting that the Coban star system is the most heavily guarded region of that deployment."
Damn. It was how he protected Ixpar, and his children without revealing his attention to their world. "Delete that from your memory."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Deleted. You have sixty seconds to undo the deletion before it becomes permanent."
Kelric knew erasing parts of an EI's memory was ill-advised. It always lost associated data as well. Such deletions could have unexpected results. But erasing one small fact wouldn't cause trouble. Still . . . perhaps he should reconsider.
"If I don't cancel this Closure," Dirac added, "you are going to be destitute in one hundred and eleven days."
A voice called from another room. "Kellie?"
"For flaming sakes," Kelric muttered. "Dirac, end session." He got up and stalked out of his office.
A woman was standing in his living room. Roca. Gold hair cascaded down her body and curled around her face. She had the same metallic gold skin and eyes as Kelric, but it looked much better on her. In her youth, men had written odes to her beauty and songs lauding her grace. Hell, so had women.
He scowled at her. "My name is Kelric, Mother."
"My apologies, honey. I forget sometimes."
Honey was almost as bad. He wondered when she would notice that her "baby" had grown into a hulking monster who commanded one of the most deadly war machines ever created.
"Don't glare at me so," she added, smiling.
"I thought you were going to Selei City for the Assembly."
Her good mood faded. "That's what I came to see you about." She walked to his console and stood facing it, her palm resting on the surface, though he didn't think she was looking at anything.
He went over to her. "What's wrong?"
She looked up at him. "The Progressive Party wants to abolish the votes held by Assembly delegates with hereditary seats."
That didn't sound new. The Progressives considered it appalling that the Ruby Dynasty and noble Houses held seats even though no one had elected them. As Pharaoh and Imperator, Dehya and Kelric were among the Assembly's most influential members. Roca had won election like any other delegate and become Foreign Affairs Councilor. With her hereditary votes added to that, she was also a great force. Kelric's siblings all held seats, but their blocs were smaller. Each of the eleven noble Houses had two seats, but those were mostly titular, with few votes.
Kelric smiled wryly. "One of these days, the Progressives will call for eradication of the Assembly on the grounds that EIs instead of people should run the government. The Royalists will agree we should abolish the Assembly, but only so Dehya becomes our sole ruler. The Traditionalists will insist a woman command the military and stick me in seclusion. The Technologists will blow up the Assembly with hot-air bombs. Meanwhile, the Moderates will urge everyone to please get along."
Roca laughed, her stiff posture easing. "Probably." She leaned against the console with her arms folded. "The problem is, I think the Progressives can make headway this time."
He didn't see how. "Every time they introduce one of those brain- rattled amendments, the Royalists vote them down. Usually the Traditionalists do, too. Your Moderates don't care, and they're the biggest party. Given that Dehya and I are both Technologists, I doubt our own party would vote to weaken our influence."
She stared across the room. "It seems the deaths in our family offer them a political opportunity."
Kelric stiffened. He hated that he had gained his title through the deaths of his siblings. "It may offend them that I inherited Soz's votes when she died, and that she inherited them from Kurj, but they can't deny the law. The Imperator holds a primary Assembly seat." Although technically the military answered to the Assembly, the loyalty of ISC to their Imperator was legendary. He doubted the Assembly wanted to push the issue of whom the military would obey. The last time they had faced that question, ISC had thrown its might behind the Ruby Dynasty and put Dehya back on the throne. In the end, she had chosen to split her rule with the Assembly because she genuinely believed it was best for the Imperialate. But few people doubted that, if put to the test, ISC would follow the Imperator.
"They won't touch your votes," Roca said. "They aren't stupid." Her voice quieted. "It's your father's bloc. No one objected to my inheriting it after he died because they knew how it would look. But it's been ten years." She sounded tired. "Before he became Web Key, we had only two Keys, the positions you and Dehya now hold. Those two Keys powered the Kyle web. It was a fluke that your father's mind differed enough from theirs to add a third mind without killing them. Many people don't believe we can duplicate that achievement. They say those votes should cease to exist unless we find another Web Key."
Kelric swore under his breath. The Progressives had grounds for their objection. He had expected them to raise it years ago, and when they hadn't, he had grown complacent. They had bided their time until they could no longer be accused of traumatizing the widow or her grieving family. They had even waited a year after Jeejon's death, though Kelric had no direct connection with his mother's votes. Yes, they had been careful. He could see why Roca was worried. They might win.
He didn't want her to lose those votes. She was one of the Assembly's greatest moderating forces. Many citizens felt the Imperialate subjugated its people with militaristic occupations and harsh laws. Facing the relentless threat of the Traders, Kelric understood all too well the draconian measures instituted by previous Imperators. He had enough objectivity to admit that in defending the Imperialate, he was capable of acts many would consider oppressive. They needed temperate voices. Roca offered a counterbalance. The day he rejected that balance was the day he became a tyrant.
"You have a plan?" he asked.
"I'm going early to the session," she said. "See if I can sway votes. It would help if you attended in person. Spend time softening up delegates with me."
"I couldn't soften a pod fruit."
"You're damned effective when you want to be."
He glowered at her. "Doing what? I hate public speaking."
"I'm not asking you to speak in the Assembly." She smiled with that too-reasonable expression that always meant trouble. "I just plan to give some dinners. Small, elegant, elite. People consider it a coup to be invited. They will think it even more so if the Imperator attends. We wine them, dine them, and convince them to support us."
Kelric stared at her. "You want me to attend dinner parties with the Imperial court?"
"Yes, actually."
"I would rather die."
Exasperation leaked into her voice. "It's not a form of torture, you know."
"It's not?"
"Do you want to win the vote or not?"
I'm going to regret this, he thought to her. "Fine," he growled. "I'll do it."
"Good." Then she thought, The dinners will be fun.
Gods forbid. He had never understood how she thrived in the universe of politics and the Imperial court, but it gratified him that she did it so well. Someone in his family had to deal with the politicians.
Her sudden smile dazzled. Which ones would forbid it?
Kelric glared at her. He had grown up on the world Lyshriol, steeped in its mythology of deities for the moons, suns, and mountains. He was named after Kelricson, the god of youth, though he hardly felt young anymore. He had become more pragmatic after he left home, but deep inside, a part of him still remembered when he believed those luminous stories.
All of them. He let his thought grumble. Especially Youth.
Roca laughed good-naturedly. Maybe even he will enjoy himself.
He had never understood how she thrived in the universe of politics and the Imperial court, but it gratified him that she did it so well. Someone in his family had to deal with the politicians.
After Roca left, Kelric returned to his office and gazed at the dice on his desk. He thought of his children on Coba, the only he had ever fathered. In standard years, his son would be twenty-six now and his daughter sixteen. Ixpar was forty-two. She wasn't the mother of either child; she had only been fourteen when Kelric met her, and twice that age when she married him. He had never been allowed to see his son, and he had known his daughter only a few months after her birth. The ache of that lack in his life had never stopped, even after all this time.
Kelric often wanted to go to them. Then he would remember the devastation he had wrought on Coba, how cities had roared in flames while windriders battled in the skies. He had brought death and ruin to their world.
He would die before he let that happen to his children.