Captain Vorpatril's Alliance (12 page)

“Princess Radiant Flame,” Ivan tested this on his tongue. He’d attempt the other pronunciation later. Or Princess Bright Light, whichever.
Princess
, in either case. “Sounds like your da thought the world of you, huh?”

Tej swallowed and looked away, as if the far end of the room had suddenly grown riveting. She answered in a would-be-pedantic quaver, “The geographical origin was supposed to be South Asian. Star’s was South European, or South American, or south something, anyway. Or maybe it was the other way around. We never spent much time on Old Earth history.”

“So what kind of a name is
Vorrutyer
?” Rish asked Byerly, possibly to give Tej a moment to regain her composure.

He sat back looking surprised at the question, or maybe just at its coming from her, but answered readily: “The origin of the prefix
Vor
is much debated, except that it arose during the Time of Isolation and came to refer exclusively to members of the then-warrior caste. We are fairly certain that the
Rutyer
was a mishearing or misspelling of the Old Earth German
Rutger
.”

Tej, back in control of her voice, asked, “So what about Vorpatril?”

Ivan cleared his throat. “Not sure. Some say it’s British, some claim it came from the Greek or French, maybe as a corruption of
patros
or some word like it. A lot of Barrayaran names got twisted around during the centuries after the Firsters were cut off. Or shortened—Serg from Sergei, Padma from Padmakar, and Xav’s a contraction of Xavier.”

“Mutated over time, makes sense,” said Tej, then paused to take in matching glares from both By and Ivan. “Why do you look like you just swallowed a bug? The usage is precise. A mutation is a copying error. Everyone knows that.”

“Do
not
,” said Ivan firmly, “use that term to a Barrayaran. It’s a pretty deadly insult to imply that someone’s a mutant. Even if you’re just spelling their names.”

“Oh.” Tej looked baffled, but said amiably, “All right. If you say so.”

By glanced at the time on his wristcom and muttered a curse. “I have to be somewhere else. Several minutes ago.” He dragged his hands through his hair and stood up. His gaze swept Ivan, Tej, and Rish, all three. “I guess this is as good a bolt-hole for you as any other, for now.”

“For how much longer?” asked Ivan.

“I don’t know. A day, two days, three? I meant to play this out as long as I could, in hopes of getting in beyond Theo’s contact. I’m making progress, but we’re close to pulling the plug. At which point I’ll need to vanish, if I want to maintain my cover and my livelihood. And my skin. So until we meet again, dear friends, adieu.”

With a wave that did not quite mimic an ImpSec salute, By made for the door; Ivan accompanied him out.

In the corridor, By lowered his voice. “If things go sideways, Ivan, you should probably take those women to Morozov.”

“They won’t want to go. They don’t trust ImpSec.”

By shrugged. “Morozov could cut them a deal, I’ll bet. ImpSec Galactic Affairs would be happy to lap up whatever they wanted to spill about this syndicate of theirs.”

“Or maybe more than they wanted.”

“We can discuss that. Later.” By strode off, a tired man hurrying.

Ivan sealed the door, made sure it was locked, and returned to his living room to find Tej and Rish deciding who was to have the first turn in the bathroom before bed. Ivan glanced at his wristcom and cringed to count the scant hours till Komarran dawn.
I hate this strangled day length
.

“That is a strange man,” commented Rish, looking toward the door after Byerly.

“You’re not the first to note that,” said Ivan ruefully.

“How did he get into his line of work?”

Ivan squinted, wondering why that question had never before occurred to him. “I have no idea. It’s not the sort of thing you ask these ImpSec fellows. I think he was around twenty-standard when he moved to Vorbarr Sultana—his parents lived out on the west coast, t’other side of the continent, see. He hung around on the edges of things for years before I ever found out about his ImpSec moonlighting. The fact that he was estranged from his family never seemed to need an explanation—that is, if you knew many Vorrutyers. The whole clan is, um…either on the vivid side, or downright antisocial.”

“Ah,” said Rish elliptically, and went off to claim the bath.

Ivan sat back down, watching Tej watch her friend pad silently away. This couch would do for his bed, if only people would let him lie here in peace for enough hours…“Babysitter?”

Tej’s laugh was no more than a puff of air through her nose. “I don’t know that she exactly volunteered for the job. I used to follow her around like a kitten chasing a string. I was just fascinated by all the Jewels, when I was younger. I would watch them at their dance practice, and make them try to teach me, too.”

“What kind of dance?”

“Oh, every kind. They collected skills and styles from all over, and were always trying to put them together in new combinations. I wanted to be one of them, to be allowed to
really
dance—you know, in their performances. But puberty was cruel to me.”

On the contrary, Ivan thought puberty had been very generous to her. He just managed to stop himself from saying so out loud, converting it to, “How so?”

“The best dancers are all thin and small and strong, very whippy. Like Rish. By age fourteen, it was plain I was going to be built more like my Dada—my other sisters all took after my mother, willowy. I just grew too tall, too big, too heavy. Too top-heavy.” She sniffed as if in some weird—in Ivan’s view, anyway—female self-disapproval. “By age fifteen it was obvious that no matter how hard I worked, I could never be as good as the Jewels. So I stopped.”

“Gave it up?” said Ivan. “That’s no good. Just because someone else is some sort of natural flaming genius, doesn’t mean that you’re an idi…um.”
Um
. “Doesn’t mean that you should…” He tried rushing the notion. “Should hide your light under the covers.”

Her smile grew wan. “My sister Star said the only reason I wanted to perform with the Jewels was to make myself the center of attention. I expect she was right.” She hoisted herself wearily to her feet and went off to change places with Rish.

She’d forgotten to demand a trade. Watching her vanish into the shadows of the next room, all Ivan could think was:
Actually, y’know…I expect you wanted to dance because you wanted to
dance.

*
 
*
 
*

Tej dreamed.

She was running through writhing space station corridors, pursued by a nameless menace. Ahead of her, the Jewels scattered right and left, leaping in grand jetés down cross-corridors, flashes of red and green, blue and obsidian, gold and pearl-white somersaulting in fantastical triple turns in the air, but by the time she caught up, the corridors were silent and echoing, empty. She ran on.

A side door slid open; a voice hissed, “Quick! Hide in here!”

It was Captain Vorpatril. He was wearing his green military officer’s uniform over a bear suit. His chest was crisscrossed with bandoliers of power charge packs, and he held a very large weapon, perhaps a plasma rifle. Or was that a water gun? He grinned at her from the round, furry frame of the bear hood. The gun went away, and then they were kissing, and for a moment or two, the dream went good. His kisses were expert: neither too shy, tickling annoyingly, nor too invasive, like someone trying to shove a slug down her throat, but just right, firm and exploratory. Tej noted this, thinking,
I’ll have to try very hard to remember this part when I wake up…

“I want to touch your skin,” she told him, when they broke for breath. “It’s very pale, isn’t it? Is it smooth, or hairy? Are you that pale all over? Do you have silver veins like Pearl?” Where
was
Pearl…?

“Here, let me show you.” He grinned again and zipped the bear suit down from neck to crotch. Both fur and skin peeled away, revealing glistening red muscle, white fascia, and the thin blue lines of veins.

“No, no, just the fur!” Tej cried in horror, backing up. “Not the skin too!”

“Oh, what?” said Vorpatril, in a tone of some bewilderment. He stared down, the bewilderment changing to dismay as the blackening crackle of a plasma arc burn spread out in a widening circle on his chest. Smoke and the smell of burning meat filled the air, and then it wasn’t Vorpatril anymore, but their ill-fated courier, Seppe, back on Fell Station….

Tej gasped and awoke. She was in bed in the dark of Vorpatril’s flat; Rish lay in silence beside her, unmoving, unaware, yet elegant even in sleep. Tej wanted to ask her where the Jewels had been flying to, but of course, people didn’t share each others’ dreams reciprocally. Tej wouldn’t wish hers on anyone else, certainly.

I’m glad to be out of
that
dream
…Most of it. The beginning and the end were just like most of her dreams lately, altogether too much like her real life. The kiss, though, had warmed her right down to her loins.
Hi there, loins. Haven’t heard from you for a while…

The strange rushing noise at the edge of her hearing resolved itself at last as the shower. It turned off, and then she could hear rustlings from the bathroom and its attendant dressing room/closet. In a while, a faint hiss sounded as the door slid aside, but the captain had evidently turned off the lights before he’d opened it. So as not to disturb his sleeping guests? Or, she wondered as his unshod footsteps wandered nearer to the bed, something more sinister?

She opened her eyes, turned, and stared up at his shadowed shape. He seemed to be fully dressed in his uniform again. No bear suit. His skin was firmly in place, good. Masked by fresh soap and depilatory cream, his scent was mildly aroused; as was her own, she supposed, but fortunately Rish was not awake to razz her on it.

“What?” she breathed.

“Oh,” he whispered back, “sorry to wake you. I’m just on my way out to HQ.”

“But it’s still dark.”

“Yeah, I know. Damn nineteen-hour days. Anything special you’d like me to bring back tonight?”

“Whatever you pick will be fine,” she said, with some confidence.

“All right. I’ll try not to be so late this time, but I never know what’ll come up, so don’t panic if I’m delayed. I’ll lock up behind me.” He made to tiptoe away.

“Captain Vorpatril!” She hardly knew what she wanted to say to him, but the dream-scent of burning flesh still unnerved her. She settled on a vague, “Be careful.”

He returned a nonplussed, “Uh…sure.”

The bedroom door closed behind him; she heard him rattling in the kitchenette, and then the sigh of the outer door, and then…then the flat sounded very empty.

Tej rolled back over, hoping for a sleep without dreams.

*
 
*
 
*

Despite everything, Ivan managed to arrive at Komarr downside HQ right on time that morning, half an hour before his boss was due—though more often than not Desplains managed to bollix that schedule by arriving early. Ivan started the coffee, sat at his secured comconsole, grimaced, and fired it up to find out what all had arrived in the admiral’s inbox since last shift.

Ivan had developed a personal metaphor for this first task (after the coffee) of the day. It was like opening one’s door to find that an overnight delivery service had left a large pile of boxes on one’s porch, all marked “miscellaneous.” In reality, they were all marked “Urgent!” but if
everything
was urgent, in Ivan’s view they might as well all be labeled miscellaneous.

Each box contained one of the following: live, venomous, agitated snakes on the verge of escape; quiescent venomous snakes; non-venomous garden snakes; dead snakes; or things that looked like snakes but weren’t, such as large, sluggish worms. It was Ivan’s morning duty to open each box, identify the species, vigor, mood, and fang-count of the writhing things inside, and sort them by genuine urgency.

The venomous, agitated snakes went straight to Desplains. The garden snakes were arranged in an orderly manner for his later attention. The dead snakes and the sluggish worms were returned to their senders with a variety of canned notes attached, with the heading
From The Office of Admiral Desplains
, ranging from patiently explanatory to brief and bitter, depending on how long it seemed to be taking the sender in question to learn to deal with his own damned wildlife. Ivan had a menu of Desplains’s notes, and it was his responsibility—and occasionally pleasure, because every job should have a few perks—to match the note to the recipient.

As he had both expected and feared, an urgent—
of course
—note from ImpSec Komarr with his full police interview of yesterday attached was nestled among this morning’s boxes. And the supply of venomous, agitated snakes in today’s delivery was disappointingly low.

After a brief struggle with his conscience, Ivan set the note in the garden-snakes file, although he did put it at the very bottom of the list. Desplains was possibly the sanest boss Ivan had ever worked for, and the least given to dramatics, and Ivan wished to preserve those qualities for as long as he could. Forever, by preference. So every once in a while, Ivan let something trivial but amusing filter through to the admiral, just to keep up his morale, and today seemed a good day to stick in a couple of those, as well. Ivan was still looking for a few more things he could legitimately enter when Desplains blew in, collected his coffee, and murmured, “Ophidian census today, Ivan?”

“All garden variety, sir.”

“Wonderful.” Desplains took a revivifying sip of fresh-brewed. Ivan wished he could remember which famous officer had once said,
The Imperial Service
could
win a war without coffee, but would prefer not to have to
. “What ever came of your interview with the dome cops yesterday?”

“I put the ImpSec note in File Three, sir.” File Three was the official designation of the garden-snakes crate, because, after all, sometimes Desplains did suffer a substitute aide, if Ivan was on leave or out ill or requisitioned for other, less routine duties, and some shorthands took too long to explain. “I expect you will want to look at it eventually.” Ivan made his tone very unpressing.