Captain Vorpatril's Alliance (61 page)

Well,
that
wouldn’t do. Hitting the consulate with what he would have considered average effort for a slow day at Imperial Headquarters, Ivan began ruthlessly applying Ops-style efficiencies to his duties, and when he ran out of those, to the consul’s. It didn’t take long to figure out that ninety-five percent of the consulate’s business came in over the perfectly adequate planetary comconsole net, and that the consulate, therefore, could be sited anywhere with a shuttleport. Shopping for a more salubrious climate didn’t take much longer. He had the whole place—lock, stock, comconsoles and consul—moved to a large, delightful island near the equator by the end of his third week, with money left over in the new budget to hire a clerk. Tej responded to the tropical light like a flower. By the end of his first month, Ivan had his duties pared down to a neat three mornings a week with the occasional odd hour, or pop-up trip to the orbital stations, and after that, it was all clear sailing.

Not that people did much sailing on Ylla’s extensive oceans, nor swimming either—Yllan seawater tended to give humans strange rashes, and while humans were highly toxic morsels in the diet of the native sea monsters, the monsters were extremely stupid and kept not figuring this out. But the view, out over the swimming pool from their house’s verandah, was luminous and beautiful—he waved at Tej, over there in the big hammock—and the sea wasn’t bad to look at, either. A person of simple tastes could live really well, really cheaply on Ylla, with the application of a little application. And with a more generous budget, even better.

“Mail call!” he told Tej. She looked up with a wide smile and set aside her earbug. Tightbeam messages from home were erratic at best, what with all the jumps through which they had to be carried; they could arrive out of order, spread out, or all in a wodge. Today’s delivery had been a wodge. He handed her a data disc to plug into her own reader, set on the table along with a promising pitcher and a couple of glasses, one half-full, the other upside down and waiting just for him. “Is that iced tea, or fruity girly drinks?”

“Fruity girly drinks. Want some?”

“Actually, yes.” He kicked off his sandals, climbed into the other end of the hammock, arranged the big cushions behind his back, took up his own reader, and laced his bare legs with hers. She was acquiring an almost Shiv-colored tan, which looked
worlds
better on her than on her Dada, making her sherry-colored eyes shine out like the gold coins on her favorite ankle bracelet—which, along with a skimpy swimsuit, she was currently wearing. The Ninth-Satrapy-coin anklet, and a few more stunning baubles, had been a birthday present sent by her fond Dada a few months back. Ivan had plans for that suit, later in the afternoon; the chiming anklet could stay.

“Busy morning?” she inquired, as the hammock settled.

“Eh, not really. I spent most of it editing my first annual performance review.”

Her brows rose in surprise. “I shouldn’t think you’d need to—the consul loves your work.”

“Oh, sure. I was just toning down the ecstasy a bit, before letting it loose in the tightbeam to home. Wouldn’t want to give people ideas. Like, for transfers. To anywhere but back home, that is.”

“When do you suppose they’ll let us come back to Barrayar?”

“Gregor guessed two years, a year ago; haven’t heard anything to change that, yet.” What Gregor had actually said was,
Dammit, Ivan, you do realize it’s likely going to take two bloody
years
for this mess to blow over! At least! What were you
thinking
?
Which Ivan had thought a trifle unfair, but that hadn’t seemed the moment to say so. And then Ivan, too, had gotten to discover how much packing for galactic exile on 26.7 hours’ notice was like grabbing your life from a burning building.

A little silence fell, as they both began reading.

“So what did you get?” Tej inquired, when his first
Huh!
invited interruption.

“Birthday greeting from Admiral Desplains.” Ivan’s thirty-sixth birthday had passed very pleasantly, two weeks ago. They’d stayed home. “He tells me that my replacement is a very efficient young man, but lacks my political
nous
. And is less entertaining, thank-you-I-think, Admiral.” Ivan read on. “I gather that he misses me. But that he doesn’t encourage me to think of coming back to Ops, because by that time I should be moving up and on, if I’m interpreting this correctly.”

“You probably are,” said Tej, with touching faith in his ability to decipher elliptical hints from senior officers. Likely justified, in this case.

“You had something from the Whole…?”

“Letter from Rish.” She tapped her reader. “So frustrating. She hates writing, so she never puts in enough detail, but she’s too cheap to send a recording.” Written messages were, indeed, the least expensive tightbeam communication to send by the long and winding wormhole routes, which was why almost everything that made it as far as Ylla was in this form. “Repairs on Cordonah Station are almost complete, she says. The reunited Jewels have danced their first public performance again, now that Topaz’s replacement legs have taken. I hope the Baronne tracked down whatever nasty Prestene head-meat came up with
that
idea.” She scowled. “
In
person.”

Ivan had never met Topaz, but he hoped so, too. Far more cruel than shaved hair, that amputation had sounded; it had allegedly been ordered in revenge for Topaz helping the Baron and Baronne to escape their Prestene captivity, all those months ago. A loyalty now redeemed; good. The revenge cycle…he declined to touch.

“And your brother Eric? Did they finally decide if he was cryo-revivable?”

“Mm, yes, but…huh.” Her brows rose. “They’re still keeping him on ice for a while. You know that Prestene capturing the station was in-part an inside job? Appears Eric was the in-part part. Tired of waiting for his inheritance? And so he received the reward from Prestene that anyone with a clue might have guessed was coming…unless he saw which way things were going and turned to fight them at the end. Give him credit, Rish says, he does seem to have been thinking of forcible retirement for Dada, not patricide, but apparently someone figured out how to cut those costs. Dada and the Baronne must have
known
this, but back on Barrayar they didn’t give me the least hint…Oh, my, that boy is
so
grounded! I expect my parents’ll keep him as a threat in reserve for a while, in case Star and Pidge aren’t able to work out their little differences as to who should be heiress. That’s one way to keep them yoked together…”

Ivan tried not to picture Eric Arqua’s cryochamber being used as a coffee table, but who knew? “So…will they ever revive him?”

“In a few years, I expect. When Star and Pidge are firmly in place. And then he’ll get to be
their
little brother.” Ivan wasn’t sure he wanted to know what family memories fueled her evil chuckle. “In other words, House Cordonah’s internal politics are nearly back to normal.
So
glad I’m here and not there…” Her ankle-coins chimed, as her foot rubbed Ivan’s calf.

“I am, too,” he declared, without reservation. “Does she write anything about Byerly?”

She scrolled on a short way. “No, not really. But if anything dire had happened to him she would have said—I think—so I suppose all is well.”

“I have one from him. What’s the date on yours…?” A quick cross-check assured Ivan that By’s letter had followed almost a week after Rish’s, so that was all right. So far. “At least I can’t accuse Byerly of writing, or talking, too little. Though finding the message in the missive is a bit like looking for the meat in those meatballs they sell off the carts in the Great Square…Holy crap.” Ivan’s lurch nearly tipped the hammock.

Tej’s bright eyes widened in inquiry.

“You know that brooch-thing that your Grandmama picked up off the floor in the bunker…?’

“Yes?”

“By finally found out what the hell it was.”

“I was thinking haut-lady bio-weapons, myself, but I didn’t like to say anything at the time. I didn’t think we needed
more
complications to getting everyone on their way home without being jailed, and if she wanted to use them on Prestene, that was between her and the Baron and Baronne. Nothing to do with Barrayar, right?”

“Weirder than that. Even.” Ivan blinked. “And a whole lot to do with Barrayar. Seems the beads on the brooch contained something like a hundred thousand sporulated genetic samples from Barrayarans born in the Vorbarra District before the end of the Time of Isolation. It was the bloody gene-survey library!”

“Oh. My.” Tej hesitated. “Will the Barrayarans be mad?”

“I’m…not sure. I mean, we never
knew
.”

“I suppose you do now. Byerly will have reported, right?”

“Yeah.” Ivan read on. “You could—well, not you, but someone crazy could—
clone
all our ancestors from those samples, you realize? I wonder if there was anyone famous in there?”

Tej tilted her head, considering this. “That might actually be made lucrative.”

“Buy your own clone of Prince Xav? Or worse, Mad Emperor Yuri…? Ye gods. No…!” His speeding eyes widened. “Lady ghem Estif offered to sell them back to the Star Crèche!”

“That’s terrible!” said Tej, but went on in earnest critique, “She should have set up a bidding war between the Star Crèche and Barrayar, at the very least! The Baronne could have advised her. What’s the point of having an auction with only one bidder?”

Ivan swallowed this practical Jacksonian view without gulping, much. Or at least without comment.

Tej added, with keen interest, “What did they offer her? I can’t believe By didn’t find out
that
.”

“He did. Ten million Betan dollars. Here’s where it all goes sideways. She set up a hand-off in a neutral location—House Dyne?”

Tej nodded. “That makes sense.”

“While Byerly was knocking himself out trying to steal the thing—ah, there you go, evidently he did offer to buy it, first—but he couldn’t get past her. Rish…apparently refused to take sides. So anyway, they dragged this Star Crèche envoy, an actual haut lady, in her bubble and everything, though I’m not sure how you could tell—I wonder if it was Pel?—all the way out from Eta Ceta to the Whole, together with a suitcase full of bearer-credit—well not a suitcase, probably, doubtless an elegant little card, but anyway—and a platoon of really scary bodyguards. And the Dyne guy had the bond in hand, all cleared and ready to hand over. And Lady ghem Estif set the brooch down in a little force-bubble with, evidently, a hidden plasma charge, stood back, and set it off—blinding light, but no concussion—and turned it all to elemental gases. Right in front of them. By says he thought he was having a heart attack. And then he wished he’d had.”

“Wow!” said Tej.

“But
why?
Why would anyone, in effect, set fire to ten million Betan dollars?”

“Well, Grandmama…” Tej pursed her lips, then took a sip of fruity drink as she apparently thought this through. “Grandmama was really incensed at being culled from the haut, back when.”

“That was a hundred years ago! She’s held this grudge for over a century?”

Tej gave a nod. “It’s…it’s a girl thing,” she offered. “Ghem Estif-Arqua style.”

“Ye gods.”
Should I keep this in mind?

Tej smiled a sharp little smile, and for a moment, he could see Shiv in her face. “What did my parents think about it all?”

Ivan read on. By could stand to have one of those
accuracy-brevity-clarity
tutorials, but maybe Allegre favored a different style. And he did still seem to have been quite upset when he’d composed this.
Hysterical
was probably not too strong a term. “The Baronne seems to have thought it wasteful. The Baron just laughed.”

“Despite all the mother-in-law jokes everyone tells,” Tej said meditatively, “Grandmama always did get along very well with Dada. I think it was because she spent the whole of her life up until the Barrayaran annexation of Komarr following all the rules, no matter how stupid they were, and being screwed over for it, and Dada finally taught her how to break them. And break away from them.”

“By wants to know, did either of us—meaning, probably, you—know? About the brooch, I think he’s asking, though it’s hard to tell.”

“Nope,” said Tej. “Tell him, sorry.”

“I guess.”

Ivan finally started on his own frosty fruity drink—nice kick—as Tej scrolled down. “Here’s one to
me
from your mother,” she said. “She and Simon are back safely from their big galactic trip, during which nobody tried to kill, kidnap, or otherwise vex anybody after all. Though she says she was a little afraid for some Tau Cetan customs inspectors at one point, but she got Simon calmed down…”

Simon and Lady Alys’s exile had not been nearly so summarily ordered as Ivan and Tej’s, a mere suggestion conveyed through Empress Laisa to her social secretary that she was overdue for a nice, long holiday. Though Ivan doubted that any Imperial nuances had been lost
en route
. Ivan remembered
that
part of his last conversation with Gregor, too.

Gregor had been pacing, exasperated, when he’d wheeled and burst out: “And Simon—what the
hell
?”

Ivan hesitated, while his hope that this might be a rhetorical question died a lonely death, then ventured, “I think he was bored, Gregor.”

“Bored!” Gregor jerked to a halt, taken aback. “I thought he was exhausted.”

“Right after the chip breakdown, sure.”
Profoundly so
. “For a while, everyone—even Mamere and Simon himself—assumed he was some fragile convalescent. But…quietly—he does everything quietly—he’s grown better.”

“I thank your mother for that, yes.”

Yeah, really.
Ivan shied from trying to imagine the biography of a post-chip-Simon minus Alys, but it might have been a much shorter tale. “He’s fine when she’s with him. But she’s been going off to the Residence a lot, lately, leaving him to his own devices. And then Shiv came along and pushed all his old buttons, and, well, here we all are.”

Gregor contemplated the
hereness
of everyone, grimly. “I see.”