Captain Vorpatril's Alliance (17 page)

Perhaps more than names out of history texts for the Baronne or Grandmama, but mere distant tales to Tej. Yuri had led the brutal and bloody rebellion against the Occupation on the ground, while his brother Xav had run all over the Nexus gathering off-world support for his forces, not so much for Barrayar, as against Cetaganda. And—um, yes—that was the whole sum of Tej’s knowledge of them. “So…Ivan Xav’s great-grandfather was this really important prince. And his great-great-grandfather was this really important emperor?” She looked suspiciously at Morozov, who had his hand pressed to his mouth, his eyes alight with annoying amusement. “Or is that another charming understatement?”

“It will do for now. To bring it back to the present, Ivan Xav Vorpatril from the hour of his birth has been high on the list of potential heirs-presumptive to the throne of Barrayar should anything untoward, God forbid, happen to Emperor Gregor. Or he was, till Gregor married Laisa Toscane and the boys came along, to many people’s relief.”

“A list? Is it a long list?”

“Not especially, though it still contains several latent opportunities for civil conflict. First on the list has always been—ah, you see, Sonia’s elder sister Olivia married Count Piotr Vorkosigan. Who thus became the sire in turn of Count Aral Vorkosigan, who is the father of Miles Vorkosigan, Ivan’s notable cousin. Lord Auditor Miles Vorkosigan, now. If you linger in Vorbarr Sultana for longer than ten minutes, I can almost guarantee you will meet him. But it’s always been realized by anyone with even half a wit that none of the Vorkosigans would have touched the throne, seeing as how Lord Miles was born so damaged, should it have fallen vacant before Gregor had sired his own heirs. Instead, they would doubtless have swung their considerable weight behind Ivan Vorpatril. And pushed.”

Rish was listening to all this like a blue marble stature. Tej hoped she was tracking the complications better than Tej was. Tej had a hot date with a comconsole soon, there could be no doubt.
Homework
. Tej hated homework.
No choice now
.

“The upshot of it all is that Vorpatril has been a potential plot magnet for disaffected political parties all his life, partially shielded by his cousin’s clan, partially protected by his own…I suppose I could describe it as
notoriously nonferrous
lifestyle. Pressures have eased off for him lately, to a degree.”

“Wouldn’t Ivan Xav’s mother have been anxious to promote him?” asked Rish, clearly puzzled by this maternal lapse. “Or see him promoted, anyway?”

“I gather that Lady Alys has always been much more anxious to protect him from risk. Her only child, you see. Though she is a formidable woman.
Had
anything untoward ever happened to Gregor, I am sure that—after first seeing those responsible properly hanged with all due ceremony—she would undoubtedly have been drawn into guiding her son in his new duties.”

“I thought she was a secretary,” said Tej faintly. “The database called her some kind of secretary.” She looked at Morozov, looking back at her in wonder. “Charming understatement…?”

“Social Secretary to the Imperial Residence. Official hostess for Emperor Gregor for decades, now first assistant to Empress Laisa. One of the most powerful women in the capital, in her own quiet way. I know Chief Illyan never underestimated her.”

Would Ivan Xav take her to meet his mother, when they arrived in Vorbarr Sultana? And if so, should they perhaps tell her about the divorce before they mentioned the wedding?

While Tej digested the implications, Morozov gathered up the lunch debris and set the tray in the corridor. When he returned, his thoughts had plainly shifted back to his own more immediate duties, for he opened with a chatty, “And how ever did the Baronne come to create you Jewels, Rish? It must have been a fascinating project for her…”

And then it was time to gather what was left of her wits and evade, again, and push Ivan Xav to the back of her mind. Where he loomed like a very indigestible lump indeed.

*
 
*
 
*

Just as Ivan had hoped, his arresting lure drew Desplains’s attention entirely off of the erratic personal affairs of his high Vor aide-de-camp for the next several hours, especially after the first cargo pod was found in the process of being stashed under a fake antenna. There followed a fire drill of the most chaotic, Service Security everywhere, surprised perpetrators playing hide and seek all over the ship, the
Kanzian
’s captain out for blood, livid with outrage and chagrin to discover that he’d missed the criminal scheme taking place under his nose. Ivan faded into the background, documenting and taking notes on the whole circus like the excellent admiral’s assistant he was. At the end of the long day, Admiral Desplains and the Horsemen were being regarded by the
Kanzian
’s entire crew and most of the orbital station’s personnel as possessing supernatural powers granted by some dark god, and they wouldn’t have been human if they hadn’t enjoyed the effect, at least a little bit.

Desplains was almost mellow as he settled into his shuttle seat for the trip back to downside HQ. His gesture this time for Ivan to take the seat across from him was more of a wave of friendly invitation. The admiral leaned his head back against the seat in a moment of well-earned weariness, but opened his eyes again and regarded his subordinate in some bemusement.

“Good work today, Ivan. You do have your uses.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And here I thought—never mind. I owe you one.”

Ivan
was good. Ivan was
Ivan
when the admiral was pleased with him,
Vorpatril
when the mood was neutral, and
Captain
when Desplains was irritated. This was probably the best opportunity Ivan would get to broach the next subject. Also, given the short duration of the flight, the only opportunity, so.
Go
. He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you think so, sir. As it happens, I am in need of a somewhat personal favor just at the moment. Not unrelated to this.” His wave around reminded his listener of the
Kanzian
coup, just bagged.

“Oh?” Desplains knew better than to offer a free pass in advance, but his benign tone and nod invited Ivan to go on.

“I need a permission to get married, and approval for two passages from Komarr to Barrayar for Service dependents.”

Desplains’s eyes flew wide. “Ivan! This is sudden. You never breathed a word—is it some Komarran girl? Nothing wrong with that, of course, quite the fashion these days, but—does your mother know about this?”

“Backdated to yesterday,” Ivan forged on, before the admiral could build up any more elaborate fantasies of secret interplanetary romances in his mind.

Desplains went still. Sat back. Continued in a much cooler tone, “I see. When did these nuptials actually take place, Vorpatril?”

Not
Captain
yet; Ivan still had turning room. “At dawn this morning, sir. So I suppose a permission dated to today would also do, but there will hardly be time before we land downside.”

“I think you had better begin at the beginning.”

“I intend to, sir.” Ivan marshaled his thoughts, trying to figure out how to put as much of the culpability on Byerly as possible. Traditionally, Ops had no objection to criticizing ImpSec for any screw-up, from minor to monumental.
Yes, blame the absent, always a good plan
. “The beginning would be three nights ago, when the ImpSec deep cover agent came to my flat and asked for my help—”

*
 
*
 
*

It was almost Komarran midnight when Ivan at last made it back to the ImpSec Galactic Affairs building where, the night clerk assured him, Morozov was still in his office, very late, isn’t it, sir? Ivan declined to respond to this invitation to drop tidbits, which disappointed the clerk but did not surprise him.

The door to Morozov’s cubicle was open, spilling light into the corridor and, Ivan was heartened to hear, rather cheerful-sounding voices. He arrived to discover Morozov and his two guests perched variously in the debris, disemboweled food cartons spread all over and deflated soda bulbs piled up, deeply engaged in some sort of game—a brightly colored, if rather tattered, box lay open on the floor, and each player manned a vid board, balanced on their laps. As Ivan walked, or rather, picked his way inside, something beeped and twinkled, Tej hooted, Morozov groaned, and Rish grinned like an evil blue elf.

Tej was the first to look up. She cast him an oddly penetrating glance. “Ivan Xav! You’re back!”

“Sorry it took me so long. I have some guest quarters arranged for us tonight here in the HQ compound, so it’s only a step over to bed. Nothing fancy, but safe. Looks like you got dinner. Uh…”
Have you been all right here?
seemed to be a question already answered. “What’s the game?”

“
Great House
,” said Tej. “It’s an old Jacksonian children’s game. I used to play it when I was girl, with my sibs and the Jewels, but they always beat the pants off me, unless I cheated. Though you’re allowed to cheat.”

“Each player starts with a small stake,” Morozov explained, “and the object is to deal with and against each other, till the winner ends up owning the virtual world. It can be played with only two people, barely, but it’s far more interesting with three or more. It’s not often that I get a chance to play it with actual Jacksonians.” He added after a moment, “I’ve lost five rounds straight. I suspect collusion.”

Rish smirked.

“Thank you for staying so late,” Ivan began, but Morozov waved this away.

“It’s been a very enjoyable day, quite a nice break in my routine.” The ImpSec analyst rose with a groan, and stretched. “I concede. You two can wrestle it out for second and first.”

The two women eyed each other, bared teeth, and bent to a flurry of beeps and twinkles. Morozov jerked his head at the doorway, and followed Ivan out. They moved a few steps down the corridor beyond earshot of the cubicle.

“I like your new wife, Captain Vorpatril,” said Morozov.

“Uh, thanks. Only temporary though, you know.”

“So she explained.” Morozov smiled at his shoes.

“Did you get anything useful out of the day? From ImpSec’s viewpoint, that is. From your interrogation.”

“Interrogation? Oh, nothing so crude among friends. Or cultural relatives-in-law. We just had one delightful, riveting conversation after another. You must get her to tell you the full tale of her flight from the Whole—it sounds to have been a ghastly adventure, in all. I quite hope it may have a happier ending than beginning.”

“Er,” said Ivan. “We really haven’t had much chance to talk yet.”

“So I gathered.” Morozov rubbed his neck; his voice took on a more serious tone. “Everything the pair of them told me that I already knew about, checked out well, allowing for point of view and so on. So I have a high degree of confidence in the new information they purveyed. As far as it went.”

Ivan waited for it. Then grew impatient—he was exhausted—and prodded, “But…?”

“Tej began by withholding details about her family, reasonably enough, but just about everything I could want to know and more about the Arqua clan has come out in the last three hours of
Great House
—
very
valuable game. Lively, too.”

Who won?
Ivan suddenly realized, could be a question with more than one answer.

Morozov slipped from serious to grim. “My considered professional analysis is that the syndicate that seized House Cordonah is going to keep on coming. It’s plain they still fear a counter-coup. They want these women—alive, probably; dead, in a pinch. Each Arqua they can obtain gives them a stronger handle on the out-of-reach remainder. You’d best be prepared.”

“Ah.” Ivan swallowed. He tried to figure out what that meant, then realized he had a top figurer-outer standing right in front of him.
Use your resources
. “For what, exactly?”

“Small-scale kidnapping teams, most likely. Deploying all sorts of tactics, including deception. Import teams have greater logistical challenges, but are known quantities to their handlers. Local hirelings blend better, and know the ground. Any successful abduction must fall into two halves, seizing the victims—which actually may be the easier part—and their removal beyond the Imperium’s boundaries.”

Somebody kidnaps
my
wife, and they’ll find the Imperium’s boundaries can stretch a hell of a long way
, Ivan found himself thinking with unexpected fierceness. Wait, no. This thing with Tej was only a temporary ploy, not a real marriage. Well, no, it
was
a real marriage, that is, a legal marriage, that was the whole reason why it had worked. But not permanent. Nothing to be alarmed about there.

Anyway, it was surely allowable to shoot kidnappers regardless of who they were trying to carry off, right?

“I’ll be escorting them both on to Barrayar in little more than a day’s time,” said Ivan. “They should be safe out here at Komarr HQ till then—don’t you think?”

“Commercial or military ship?”

“Admiral Desplains’s jump-pinnace, actually. He was kind enough to assign me some spare berths. Wedding present, he said.”

“That should be exceptionally safe. I imagine it will take their pursuers some time to regroup after the, ah, curve ball you threw this morning. I don’t think that could have been anticipated in anyone’s schemes.”

Including mine
.

“Meanwhile,” said Morozov, “I’d think you, as the lady’s new husband, would be as closely placed as humanly possible to find out more, eh?”

Puzzles.
I hate puzzles
. Ivan liked flow-charts—nice and clear and you could always tell just where you were and what you should do next, everything laid out neatly. No ambiguities. No traps. Why couldn’t life be more like flow charts?

Morozov went on jovially, “After all, a man who can’t persuade his own wife to trust him is a man in trouble in many ways.”

So
many ways. Ivan could only nod.

Chapter Eight