Captain Vorpatril's alliance mv-14

by Lois McMaster Bujold

  The assorted Jewels were, thank God, color-coded, and much easier to sort out. Ivan barely blinked at Emerald’s green and glittering skin and sunlight-on-leaves colored hair, or the slim woman with pointed ears and white skin laced with silver, her snow-white hair clipped in a similar short pelt—Pearl, obviously. Their pantsuits would probably be travel-rumpled if they dared.

  The two young male figures were less instantly recognizable, although Ivan managed to arrive at them by process of elimination. They lacked the Arqua height of their elder sisters, being barely as tall as Byerly. The one had crisp black hair and dark olive skin—he likely could pass for an Escobaran. The second, more thickset fellow had mahogany skin like the Baron’s, but weirdly patchy; flecks of onyx-black and silver peeked through here and there. His ears, alone among the Jewels, were round—another change from that old group portrait of Morozov’s. Both men were dressed in Escobaran-style street clothes, short-sleeved hemmed shirts worn un-tucked over trousers. Onyx, presumably, and—

  “Amiri!” cried Tej, flinging herself on him in turn. “You look so different! Jet!”

  The olive-skinned man embraced her, his eyes closing briefly as if in prayer. “You’re alive. You’re both alive, but oh—” His eyes snapped open again in anger shot with joy, crackling with both. “We’ve been waiting for months! Never heard a word, until—we didn’t know if you were alive or dead!”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tej laugh-cried back, “we ran out of money, we ran out of luck, we ran out of, of nearly everything…”

  Rish held out one of the other man’s muscular arms, and reached to touch the outer curve of an ear. “You’re so big! And your beautiful skin—what’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing permanent,” he assured her, folding her in a fresh hug. “Just a treatment to blend in on Escobar, wearing off. The extra fifteen kilos is mostly muscle, but I needed some fat to change the shape of my face. The Duronas supplied.”

  Tej danced in a circle, arms outspread as if to take in everyone. “Oh, how did you find me, how did you get away, why are you all here…? And you brought Grandmama, too?”

  Standing a little aside from the whole show, watching with cool approval, was the tallest woman of all, taller than Ivan. She wore loose silky trousers, shirt, and a light, knee-length coat in an indeterminate planetary style. She was very straight-backed, yet thin and faintly frail. Age-softened skin clad bones of timeless elegance. Her bright silver hair was cut in short wisps around her perfectly-shaped head.

  Tej bowed before her, hands held palm-to-palm in a respect only enhanced by the pleasure overflowing from her face. A pale hand as delicate as an ice sculpture moved to rest palm-down among her wild curls in a gesture of benediction. “Indeed,” the woman murmured.

  The customs officer, with another chary look around at all the wildly gesticulating and madly babbling Arquas, edged closer to Ivan. Better the Vor lord that you knew than the Jacksonians that you didn’t? He said, not quite out of the corner of his mouth, “Are these really relatives of yours, Captain Lord Vorpatril?”

  About to hotly deny any such absurdity, Ivan’s mouth opened and hung at half-cock. “Well, er…in a sense. That is, that would be my father-in-law, my mother-in-law”—he nodded variously—“and my, um, siblings-in-law.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. I know they don’t look alike. It’s kind of hard to explain…” He took a breath. “Yes.” He added after a vaguely shattered pause, “And my—uh—that lady over there would be my grandmother-in-law. My wife’s mother’s mother. Widowed.” Ivan was suddenly profoundly grateful for that. A wizened ghem-general would surely tip this barrel right over.

  Wait, no, this wasn’t the whole set after all. It seemed the eldest brother Eric was still missing, and a couple of the Jewels—Ruby, and, what was the other one? Topaz, that was it. Maybe it wasn’t just jump-lag and umpteen hours in Barrayaran detention that gave the Arqua crew that edgy, exhausted air.

  The customs officer looked as if he was thinking hard and fast. Ivan eyed him uneasily.

  Tej grabbed Ivan by the arm and towed him over to face the Baron, the Baronne, and Lady ghem Estif. Ivan was sorry now he wasn’t shaved and in uniform, instead of stubbled and in wrinkled civvies grabbed off his bedroom floor. Though he supposed it made him even-all with the travel-worn Arquas.

  In a voice gone breathless and shy, Tej said, “Dada, Baronne, Grandmother—this is my Barrayaran husband, Lord Ivan Xav Vorpatril.” As if she had several other husbands of various planetary origins tucked away somewhere…? “He’s not a lord of anything, though.”

  The three elders swung piercing gazes upon Ivan. Their smiles chilled right down.

  “Lily Durona had said as much,” said the Baron.

  “It all sounded very odd,” said the Baronne.

  “Not at all illuminating,” said Lady ghem Estif.

  “The wedding was a bit impromptu,” said Tej, “but at the time it saved me and Rish from a world of trouble. I’ll explain later.”

  The Baron’s heavy features lightened only marginally. It was the man’s height and broad build, Ivan decided, that reminded him subliminally and uncomfortably of Count Falco. And his edginess that recalled, even more uncomfortably, Uncle Aral in a mood. Yikes.

  “How do you do, sir, ma’am, haut,” Ivan managed, belatedly grateful for every lesson in diplomacy his mother had ever tried to inflict on him. The last being the proper form of address to a haut lady, if a touch flattering to one culled and demoted to ghem. Lady ghem Estif’s silver brows rose in surprise. In any case, she did not offer to correct it. God, what next? I am pleased to meet you was a diplomatic lie of the first order, beyond his scope right now. His mouth moved on automatically to, “How may I help you?” Wait, no…

  The Baron brightened a touch more, with a surprised glance under those heavy lids at his daughter. Right answer? “By all means, let’s find out. Pidge, come here.”

  The woman in the flowing blue-green trouser outfit stepped up alertly. “Baron?”

  The Baron waved the customs officer forward. “Officer Mahon, I think the time has come for you to talk with our lawyer, the Baronette Sophia Arqua.” Pidge’s formal name and courtesy title, Ivan dimly recalled. “She will speak for our group.”

  “Are you oath-bound to practice law on Barrayar, ma’am?” asked Mahon stiffly.

  Pidge smiled warmly across at him, eye-to-eye. “I am primarily trained in galactic law and trade law, with some experience in criminal law. I have made a special intense study of Barrayaran law in the past two weeks, however.”

  Ivan wondered—on Jackson’s Whole, how literally did she mean criminal law?

  “The conundrum would seem to be whether we are still House Cordonah”—she cast a nod at her father, who nodded back—“and so due all appropriate diplomatic protocol, or whether we are Houseless persons, seeking asylum under the aegis of a Barrayaran Vor relative, and due all assistance as such.”

  “That’s not nearly the only two questions…” Mahon, swinging toward the ImpSec lieutenant, held out a hand in either direction or plea, Ivan wasn’t sure.

  Zumboti took a neutral pose, not quite parade rest, and observed to the air, “It is ImpSec’s mandate to secure the Imperium against threats of violence. I’ve seen none on offer here, so far. Strictly bureaucratic issues are not normally our department.”

  What, was ImpSec giving its officers a short course in disingenuity, now? Probably.

  Mahon rubbed his forehead, and muttered, “Two hours…” It took Ivan a moment to realize he was likely referring to his end-of-shift, when the day officers would be coming on. And, Ivan was reminded with a glance at his wristcom, when he was due at Ops. So would Mahon play this out till then, in order to dump it on his senior colleagues and escape? In any case, he looked marginally happier to be presented with a single Arqua to argue with, rather than all of them at once. And a gorgeous female, at that. A little weakly, he allowed Pidge to glow at him, take
him by the arm, and lead him aside, bending her head to murmur at him in an intimate tone.

  Shiv Arqua’s gaze shifted around to at last snag on Byerly, standing behind Rish. A brow cocked. “And who is this?”

  By, with covert reluctance, stepped forward. Rish cleared her throat. “Baron, Baronne, haut, may I present my, um, friend, Byerly Vorrutyer.”

  Byerly managed a tolerably non-croggled bow. “My pleasure, to be sure.” Aye, By was the trained professional liar.

  Star, strolling up, sniffed. “Um-friend? So it would appear. Really, Rish, your taste in men. He has to be a natural.”

  “Barrayaran Vor, certainly,” said Lady ghem Estif, with the air of an entomologist observing a familiar species of beetle.

  “Though not a lord,” By put in, with a specious helpfulness.

  “But a friend?” said the Baron to Rish. That edge was back. “Truly?”

  Rish, put on the spot, shrugged. “Well…friendly. I’ll explain later, all right?”

  By’s stance eased. The Baron’s suspicious glower seemed to slot him into a class by himself, provisionally. Very provisionally. Which wasn’t wrong.

  “So were the news vids all lies?” said Tej. “There were pictures of your bodies.”

  “Yes, that made it rather awkward for Prestene to report our escape, when we followed Star and the girls to Earth,” said the Baronne dryly.

  “Ruby, Topaz—Eric?” said Rish. “Is everything horrible made not so?”

  “Yes and no,” the Baronne told her. “Ruby made it to Fell Station, we believe, and is under the protection of Baron Fell for the moment. Seppe is apparently with her, though fallen into contract-debt to House Fell for his medical treatment.”

  Ivan watched a tremble run through Tej’s body. She exhaled and ran the back of her wrist over her eyes.

  “That was the yes,” said Rish. Her voice was growing quieter.

  The Baronne nodded. “Topaz…did not get off the Station when we did. As far as we presently know, she remains hostage.”

  “Eric—?” said Tej. Her voice, too, had fallen low.

  Shiv Arqua grew grim. “It’s hard to say. Prestene claims to have his body cryo-preserved. How revivable he may be, we do not know.”

  Tej swallowed. So did Ivan. Almost worse than death, that boundless uncertainty. In his experience.

  Arqua grimaced. “Fool boy—nothing he defended was worth his life, once you girls were away. He should have surrendered!”

  “Perhaps he did,” murmured the Baronne, and her husband pressed his teeth together.

  “Did you get out right after Star’s group, then?” asked Rish. Oddly wary, that question. Oddly hopeful.

  The Baronne ran a hand through her short hair, almost dislodging the defiantly bright band across her forehead. “No. Not for some weeks. They shaved my head when they took me, among the other things they tried—for all the good it did them.” Her eyes flashed in some dark triumph. “It will grow back. We will grow everything back, now we’ve rescued the pair of you.”

  “Uh, we sort of rescued ourselves…” Tej pointed out tentatively. When no one responded to this, she turned and added, “But Grandmama, what happened to your hair, then?”

  A muscle jumped in Lady ghem Estif’s fine jaw. “I sold it. Back on Earth.”

  “All three meters of it,” confirmed Star. “At auction. It went for a fabulous sum, which we needed at that point. Far more money than I would have believed possible—there are collectors, it turns out. And absolute provenance, since we allowed the winner to cut it himself.”

  Emerald, at her shoulder, muttered, “I still think he had a fetish.” Pearl nodded ruefully.

  The Baronne, her own dark hair regrown barely finger-length beneath the red band, said nothing at all. The story under that silence…well, Ivan would doubtless get it later, too. No visible damage marred her skin, but it was not nearly so luminous as in the younger scans. Pallid, almost. These people are really tired.

  “That was a pretty amazing sacrifice, for a haut woman,” Ivan offered, this seeming a less fraught topic. “I once met some of the ladies of the Star Crèche itself, on Eta Ceta, some years ago. Their never-cut hair was a major status-marker.”

  Lady ghem Estif’s expression went rather opaque. “It is long,” she stated, “since I left the Star Crèche.” She hesitated, looking at Ivan more sharply. “Do the Consorts speak with Outlanders, now?”

  “It was a special, um, event. What was your clan, that is, your haut constellation of origin, before you married the ghem general?”

  “Rond.” Lady ghem Estif delivered the flat monosyllable without emotion. The Rond were one of the mid-grade Cetagandan Constellations, though that was like saying ‘one of the mid-grade billionaires.’ But she regarded Ivan with the faintest new spark of…less disapproval. As though he might be trainable, with the right program of exercises and rewards.

  Byerly sucked on his lower lip, his expression baffled.

  Officer Mahon and Pidge returned from the corner where they’d been talking in rapid under-voices. Mahon’s lips were screwed up in something less than joy, but better than hostility. Pidge looked unsettlingly serene.

  Mahon blew out his breath. “This is what I can offer tonight, to get you people out of here and into some more comfortable location. If Captain Vorpatril, here, will speak for you as the Barrayaran subject to whom you are related, pledging his word and posting a bond, I can release you into his temporary custody as applicants for asylum. This allows you a two-week limited visa while waiting for judicial review. With an opportunity for extensions should the review take longer.”

  Kicking the problem upstairs—much the best choice. Ivan would sympathize, except…

  “Given the numerous irregularities, not to mention outright falsifications, in your travel documentation, for which you can, yes, plead mitigating circumstances”—a fending gesture at Pidge—“you should not count on your application being finally approved. But at least,” his voice dropped, as if talking to himself, possibly as the one sane person here, “I have forms to cover it all.”

  Tej turned to Ivan, her bright eyes thrilled. “Oh, yes! I knew you could do it, Ivan Xav!”

  Ivan tried to point out that he hadn’t done anything, yet, but the words stuck in his throat, especially when Tej spared a hug for him. This is not my fault. Right? Right? He glanced at By, who blinked back palpably unhelpfully.

  “Bond,” Ivan said to Mahon. “Is that, like, a pledge of credit, or do you need cash down?”

  “Cash, I’m afraid, Captain. Times nine, although I may be able to arrange a group discount. And a spoken oath, given your rank.”

  “Ah.” How many forms? Multiplied by nine? No, he wasn’t going to make it to Ops on time today, was he. Ivan drew a deep inhalation. “In that case, Officer Mahon, I need to make some calls.”

  Mahon was efficient; documentation hell only ran an hour and a half past the end of his shift. Either conscientious or curious, he stayed to see things through. Ivan read aloud off Mahon’s cheat sheet a number of promises to take responsibility for a number of things over which, as far as he could see, he had no control whatsoever, making it official; the Arquas watched this Barrayaran step with the inquisitiveness of metropolitans come down to take in a backcountry show at a District fair.

  This dumped Ivan, Tej, the nine new Arquas, and their small mountain of luggage into a rented ground-van headed for downtown Vorbarr Sultana at the peak of morning traffic. By and Rish, who’d come out to the shuttleport by the new bubble tube—in service this week for a change, however temporarily—drove Ivan’s two-seater on ahead. Ivan wondered what they were saying to each other.

  * * *

  Conversation in the van had drifted off to a sleep-deprived muttering by the time they arrived at the hotel, just down the block from Ivan Xav’s flat. It seemed a middling sort of place, built in a functional mode during the reign of Emperor Ezar with patchy upgrades since, but the location could scarcely be bettered. Ivan
Xav saw them all registered, which seemed to involve displays of both his credit and military IDs, then drew Tej aside.

  “Now I really have to run to Ops. Don’t let them do anything awful till I get back, right? In fact, don’t let them do anything.”

  “I think everyone wants to sleep, first.”

  “That’d be all right. Yeah, do that.” He kissed her and fled.

  Surprisingly, Rish managed to scrape By off at the lobby lift tubes; he bade her a fond farewell. Exiting at the seventh-floor lift-tube foyer, Rish paused and picked what seemed to be a piece of metallic lint from under her collar, murmured, “Nice try, By. Love and kisses,” and made smacking noises into it, and deposited it in the waste chute. At Tej’s sideways look, she merely shrugged.

  Ivan Xav had somehow managed to secure rooms all in a row for them. A two-bedroom suite for the seniors with a central lounge connected on either side to bedrooms that absorbed Amiri and Jet, and Star, Pidge, Pearl and Emerald, plus their luggage. They all returned as swiftly as they could to the sitting room, where Tej and Rish were recounting, once more, the tale of their long flight, and took up perches to listen. And, inevitably, to critique.

  When Tej came to the part about Ivan Xav’s clever marital rescue on Komarr, she glanced at Amiri and Jet and left out the bit about the balcony, saying only, “We weren’t thinking too straight by then, I guess. We were both so tired.”

  “You weren’t thinking at all, as far as I can see,” said Pidge tartly. “Good grief, Tej, you’re as scatterbrained as ever.”

  Pearl turned to Rish. “And you let her?”

  “It worked out,” said Rish defensively.

  Dada held up a thick hand to stem an incipient and well-worn digression into personalities, if adding mildly, “Though really, Tej-love, we could have negotiated you a favorable deal for a House heir anytime these past five years. All those wasted opportunities, just to end up with a Barrayaran?”

  This was tolerable only because he had accepted Tej’s every No—well, No, thank you, Dada—on said deals for five years straight with no more demur than an occasional wince and grunt. At least Dada wouldn’t complain that Ivan Xav was a natural, being one himself. Nor could the Baronne, without blatant hypocrisy. Not that she couldn’t find other grounds.