Catherine Asaro - Roll Of The Dice

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First published in Analog, July 2000

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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 coulddeport 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 windows. 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.

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