Sense of Wonder: A Century of Science Fiction (587 page)

“Oh, well. You know. I had them all dazzled.” He had to laugh. “They never even knew I
existed.”

“You are modest. I like that.” She brushed her lips across his cheek.

He pulled her closer, pressing his cheek against hers in a gesture his one and only girlfriend on Earth had called “too tender,” as if that somehow made it wrong. Khal seemed to like it, though, which pleased him.

Had her clothes been made with the same complicated flaps and fastenings as his, he doubted he could have figured them out in his inebriated state. But it was simple to pull the braided cord of her robe and slip the velvet off her body. She wore a silk shift underneath that rippled over her toned curves. He watched with appreciation when she sat up and pulled the shift over her head, her breasts lifting as she raised her arms. The silk trailed over her nipples. He wondered if all Coban women were so well-formed, or if she took unusually good care of herself.

She settled alongside him and touched her lips to his, but she resisted when he tried to pull her into a kiss. He hesitated, unsure if Cobans had the custom. He had never seen two Cobans kiss, and his questions had always been met with embarrassed silence or smirks. If they did kiss here, they considered it far more private than in the Wyoming culture on Earth that had produced him. Uncertain what Khal wanted, he stopped trying to push. It seemed the right response; she relaxed and brushed her mouth over his again, feather light. She slid down and touched her lips to his chest, her caress maddening in its “almost there” quality, as if she would stop teasing any moment and truly kiss him. He tried to reach for her, but she nudged him back in the pillows. Then she tickled his belly button with her tongue. Jeremiah laughed and stroked her hair, staring at the gold ceiling.

When she went lower still, he couldn’t take any more. Grasping her arms, he tugged her back up and rolled her over until he lay on top of her. She made a deep-throated sound, a blend of surprise, protest, and pleasure. Caressing her breasts, he tried to kiss her again. This time she turned her head.

“Come on, Khal,” he said against her ear.

She pressed her hands against his shoulders, pushing him over onto his back again. Disconcerted, he realized that with her muscled body and greater height, she was stronger than him. She didn’t want to fight, though. When he relaxed, she touched him all over with both her mouth and hands, taking her time, until he groaned. When he tried to return her caresses, she always nudged him back into the pillows.

Finally he grasped her shoulders and dragged her up on top of him. “Quit teasing me,” he said in a husky voice. “You’re making me crazy.”

Her eyes had glazed with desire. “I always wondered, when I saw you in Dahl, what passions lay under that ice prince exterior of yours. Rumor said no woman could melt the ice, but I knew they were wrong.”

The women in Dahl had talked about him? Then again, what did it matter now? He tried to kiss her again—and this time she responded, deep and full. As he stroked her, she moved her hands on him. Then she lifted her hips and slid down, filling herself with him. They made love buried in the pillows, slow and steady. When he finally climaxed, she let herself go as well.

Afterward they lay quiet, side by side, their breath slowing to normal. Eventually Khal pushed up on her elbow. When he smiled, she traced her finger over his lips. Then she reached for her robe.

He caught her around the waist. “Where are you going?”

“I… have, ah, Estate business.’’

His drowsy contentment began to fade. The histories he had read of the Twelve Estates treated love like a fine wine to savor. The idea of a Manager leaving her Akasi on their wedding night would have appalled the poets. Of course, those were all romanticized folktales, but even so, he found it hard to believe Khal’s behavior was normal.

He drew her down next to him. “Surely it can’t be so important that you have to go now.”

At first she lay stiff in his arms. After several moments, though, she relaxed. “Perhaps not.”

“Khal, what’s wrong?”

It was a moment before she answered. Finally she said, “You are a wonderful lover. But…” She touched the gold guard on his wrist. “It is unusual for an Akasi on his wedding night to show your, ah—expertise.”

Oh, Lord. She was upset because he wasn’t a virgin. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Even so, it threw him. “You knew I wasn’t Coban.”

Disappointment washed over her face. “I had hoped you would tell me that I erred. Your behavior in Dahl was said to be above reproach.”

After everything else that had happened in the past few days, he didn’t think he could face a rejection now. He was tempted to tell her what she wanted to hear. But to hide the truth would be a tacit agreement that he had done something wrong. He had never dated much, but the one woman who had loved him had meant a great deal to him, despite everything, and he didn’t intend to diminish that by lying.

“I was a guest at Dahl,” he said. “I respected the customs of my hosts. But my life was formed by a different culture. I’m not ashamed of that.”

“In this culture of yours—were you—” She spoke with difficulty. “Free with yourself?”

He thought of all the times he had sat around with his friend Wayland, a grad student in computer science, the two of them grumbling about their lack of a love life. Dryly he said, “No. Not at all.”

“You bring such skill to your lovemak-ing.” A hint of mischief touched her smile. “It must be natural talent.”

Or loneliness, he thought. He understood the question behind her compliment, though. “I was engaged years ago.”

“Engaged?”

“It’s an English word. It means spoken for. I suppose you could say betrothed, though that’s more formal.”

She tensed. “A woman waits for you on Earth?”

“No.” Even after so long it hurt to remember. Miranda had ended the engagement months before he left for Coba. She had no interest in following him to exotic places, and he had never fit in with the influential circles she traveled. What had hurt most was knowing she believed he wasn’t good enough for her crowd. He wondered what she would think when she learned that instead of her, he had married one of the most powerful women on an entire world. Let her chew on that.

Khal was watching him again. “This woman who stole your virtue—she also broke your heart.”

He wished his face didn’t show his emotions so clearly. “Something like that.”

Gently she said, “Then let us make an agreement.”

“An agreement?”

“I will try to accept your past.”

“And in return?”

“You will try to accept being my Calani.”

He exhaled. “I can’t.”

“Try, Jeremiah. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

After a moment he said, “I’ll see.” He could never stop trying to return home. But while he was here, he could try to make the best of this. It was better than staring out the window all day without eating.

That night he slept among silk pillows in the arms of his wife—a world leader, kidnapper, and enigma.

* * * *

The main common room in the Calanya was large and airy, with many arched windows that let in streaming sunlight. The furniture and floor were polished snowfir wood. The walls started as a rich gold near the bottom, blended into lighter hues higher up, and turned white at the top, with a ceiling as blue as Coba’s sky, a deeper shade than on Earth.

Several men sat at a table playing Quis. Kev avoided them and led Jeremiah to an alcove. It had no benches, but the plush rug provided plenty of comfort. When Jeremiah sat among a scatter of cushions, his toes sunk in the pile.

Kev sat across from him and untied the dice pouch on his belt. “We will start with a simple round.”

“All right.” Jeremiah couldn’t figure out Kev. The man didn’t appear to enjoy his company at all, yet he had offered to introduce Jeremiah to the other Calani. Now he wanted to play Quis instead.

So play Quis,
he thought. Until he understood the dynamics of the Calanya, it seemed best to follow Kev’s lead.

He untied his own pouch and poured out a colorful set of balls, cubes, rods, cones, bars, polyhedrons, disks, and other shapes. The older pieces were glass or painted wood. In contrast, the Calanya dice Khal had given him were all gems or precious metals, a full set and more, including unusual shapes he had never seen Outside. He still kept the older dice, though. He had grown attached to them.

“What do we bet with?” he asked. As far as he had seen, Calani had no money.

Kev spoke coolly. “We have no need of bets. It is a device created by Outsiders to hold their attention.”

A boy of about fourteen came into the alcove and dropped onto the carpet by Kev. He spoke to Jeremiah in the rich cadences of the Viasa highborn. “Why would you want to bet?”

Kev turned to him. “One should not interrupt a teaching session, Hevtar.” When the boy flushed, looking for all the world like a skittish colt, Kev smiled. “Perhaps you might join us?”

Hevtar’s embarrassment vanished. “I would like that.”

Kev glanced at Jeremiah. “My son.”

Jeremiah nodded to the boy. Hevtar resembled his father, with the same dark hair and even features, though his eyes were gray instead of black. Apparently he also shared Kev’s talent for Quis. Jeremiah hadn’t realized a father and son might end up in a Calanya together.

He wished he could write about the Calanya. After giving him their vow of illiteracy, the Cobans had taken all his notes and the final draft of his dissertation. When he realized they never meant to return any of it, he had gone into one of the few rages he had ever experienced in his life. To have labored for so long, with such love for his work, and then have it taken away just when he finished—it had devastated him.

Kev was watching his face. “If you object to Hevtar joining our session, he can observe.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Jeremiah nodded to Hevtar. “Join us, please.”

Hevtar took out his dice, then pushed his Calanya bands higher up on his biceps. He wore one on each arm. His were thinner than Jeremiah’s, with less engraving. Kev wore both types, one like Jeremiah’s on each arm and two of the simpler style. Jeremiah wanted to ask them about it, but something stopped him. Hevtar gave him an odd sense, as if he simmered with distrust.

Kev placed a ruby ball on the carpet. “Let us make a simple start.” He tapped the die. “Viasa.”

Hevtar set a darkwood arch beside the ball. “Dahl.”

Jeremiah had never played Quis this way. “We name our pieces?”

Hevtar answered with disdain. “Of course not.”

Kev glanced at his son with a hint of rebuke. To Jeremiah, he said, “In a sense you probably already have,” He indicated Jeremiah’s dice. “How long have you had these?”

“Some for years.” He picked up a wooden rod. “Manager Dahl gave me a set when I arrived in Dahl.” He touched a sapphire ring. “Some are gifts from the crew I worked on, presents to…congratulate me.” It had been hard to deal with the admiration and joy his friends expressed for his “good fortune,” when for him it was a disaster.

“They must have liked you very much,” Kev said. An undertone pulled at his voice, as if he resisted believing his own words. “Tell me about your dice. Do you associate them with people, places, objects? Thoughts? Concepts?”

“In a way.” Jeremiah’s mind had always given color, texture, even personality traits to everything from simple mental images to abstract math concepts. With Quis, his associations became so vivid, the dice almost seemed alive.

Kev indicated the playing area. “Let yours interact with ours.”

Jeremiah set a silver octagon by Kev’s ruby. “Manager Dahl.”

An amused voice sounded behind them. “Is this basic Quis?” A man with gray hair stepped past Jeremiah and knelt on the rug. He balanced an opal disk on Hevtar’s arch so it shadowed the other dice. “Minister Karn.”

A sandy-haired man a few years older than Jeremiah sat next to Hevtar. He placed a black sphere outside the opal’s shadow. “Manager Varz.”

Jeremiah wondered if they always barged into a game this way. Then it occurred to him that this might be what Kev had meant by introducing him to the others. With Quis.

The older man was elegantly thin, with the tall stature common among Cobans. Meeting Jeremiah’s curious gaze, he said, “I am Savan.” Although he too had the Viasa reserve, he gave off none of the dislike the boy Hevtar emanated.

The younger man smiled. “I am Niev.” He actually looked friendly. “Welcome to Viasa, Jeremiah.” “Thanks,” Jeremiah said. “So.” Savan surveyed the dice. “Shall we continue?”

Kev snorted. “Only one outcome exists.” He dropped an obsidian block on the structure and it collapsed. “Varz.”

It was an odd “move,” but Jeremiah understood what Kev meant. Karn and Varz, the two most powerful Estates, had gone to war ten years ago. To say it had disrupted the Twelve Estates was an understatement.

Intrigued, he considered the dice. Could they tell history with the game? He set a bridge into the toppled structure so it linked the Karn and Varz cubes. Then he said, “The Karn and Varz negotiations after the war.”

Savan nodded to him. Then they all resumed play. They soon stopped describing their dice, as the interactions among the pieces became more complex. Jeremiah had never played such Quis. They weren’t trying to beat one another with competing structures. Instead, they all worked on the same pattern, using it to describe the war.

He already knew most of the history. However, the Viasa dice players had a different view of the war’s most famous casualty, a Calani named Sevtar. Jeremiah knew Sevtar had died in the final battle, when Varz attacked Karn, but he had never realized the war
began
over Sevtar. Karn and Varz went to battle for a Calani—and both ended up losing him.

As the Quis session ended, Jeremiah sat back, enjoying a satisfaction similar to what he felt after he read a well-written history for his research.