Captain Vorpatril's Alliance

by Lois McMaster Bujold

  “Eleven,” said Ivan Xav, a bit glumly.

  “My word.” The crow’s-feet at the corners of Galeni’s eyes crinkled.

  As the first course arrived, Galeni and Delia took it in turns to draw Tej and Rish out about their own travels. Rish was describing their time on Pol when Tej, overcome with a sense of Morozovian déjà vu, turned to Galeni and said suspiciously, “Wait. Are you another ImpSec man?”

  “Well, yes, but I promise you I am off-duty, tonight,” he assured her.

  His wife put in proudly, “Duv’s been head of ImpSec’s Komarran Affairs department for the past four years. He was one of the first Komarrans to enter the Imperial Service, as soon as it was opened to them.”

  Commodore Galeni, it soon transpired. And another of the Legendary-Illyan’s old trainees. But he and Ivan Xav did appear to be friends in their own right, not watcher and watchee. Or not just watcher—as the conversation wended over a surprisingly wide range of topics, Tej had the distinct impression that both members of the couple were testing for the answer to the unspoken question Is she good enough for Our Ivan?

  That was . . . kind of nice, actually, that Ivan Xav had such friends. Growing up, Tej had enjoyed a string of carefully vetted playmates from among the children of her parents’ higher-level employees, but all were scattered now. Or worse, suborned to the new regime. When she tried to come up with a list of intimate friends, the sort who might ask, Is he good enough for Our Tej?, they all came out family, or at least some of the survivors—Jet, Rish, maybe Amiri. Also all scattered. She hoped Jet was still safe with Amiri.

  Galeni’s presence did account for the absence of Byerly, she realized a bit belatedly; it would not do By’s town-clown cover good to be seen dining out with one of the senior officers of ImpSec.

  When they arrived, roundaboutly, at the account of how Tej had met and married Ivan Xav, she was afraid it was going to be The Coz and The Gregor all over again, or at least, Galeni wheezed red-faced into his napkin to the point where his wife stopped giggling long enough to look at him in concern.

  Galeni straightened up and caught his breath at last. “At least it sounds better than your last kidnapping.”

  “I thought so,” Ivan Xav agreed ruefully.

  “What?” said Tej.

  Galeni hesitated, then said, “One of the more traumatic incidents of my till-then remarkably trauma-free sojourn on Earth. Ivan spent a very unpleasant afternoon kidnapped by, ah, a group of conspirators, who hid him in the pumping chamber of a tidal dam.”

  “An afternoon?” muttered Ivan Xav. “Try a subjective year. Pitch-dark, y’know? I couldn’t have read a clock if I’d had one. Also cold, wet, cramped, and underground. Listening the whole time for the damned pump to start, and drown me, when the tide turned.”

  Tej, picturing this, felt her throat tighten. “Sounds nasty.”

  “Yeah,” said Ivan Xav.

  “Among the several pressing reasons I was kissing my career goodbye about then, that came high on the list,” sighed Galeni. “To be handed Lieutenant Lord Vorpatril to look after, and then lose him . . . not good on my résumé, I assure you.”

  “But he was rescued,” said Rish. “Obviously. By you, Commodore?”

  “Captain, back then. Let’s say I helped. Fortunately for my résumé.”

  “Is your claustrophobia better now?” Delia asked Ivan Xav, more in a tone of curiosity than concern.

  Ivan Xav gritted his teeth. “I do not have claustrophobia. Thank you very much, Delia. There’s nothing irrational about it. . . . About me.”

  “But Miles said—”

  “I have an allergy to total strangers trying to kill me, is all. One that Miles shares, I might point out.”

  Delia’s lips twisted. “I don’t know, Ivan. I think Miles actually gets rather excited by that.”

  “You may be right,” agreed Galeni.

  “Do you suppose it’s the attention?” said Delia. “He does like to be at the center.”

  Ivan Xav choked into his own napkin at this one, and was drawn away from his little moment of irate by uniting with this old friend in trading scurrilous observations about The Coz, none of which, Tej noticed, Galeni tried to gainsay.

  At dessert, the commodore pulled a small, flat case from his jacket pocket and pushed it rather shyly toward her and Ivan Xav. It contained a book-disc, she saw. Ivan Xav eyed it warily. “What’s this, Duv?”

  “Something of a combination birthday and wedding present. Well, perhaps more for Lady Tej than you. A new history of Barrayar since the Time of Isolation. Just released from the Imperial University Press this week, after some years in the preparation. Professora Vorthys is going to teach her modern history class with it, starting next fall.”

  “How long is it?”

  “Ninety chapters, roughly.”

  “And how many did you write?”

  Galeni cleared his throat. “About ten.”

  “I didn’t know ImpSec gave homework,” said Tej faintly.

  Galeni smiled wryly. “More of a hobby, in my case. But I do like to keep my hand in, when I can. As much as I can. I have several interesting papers written, waiting for their references to age out of their classified status.”

  “I should explain,” said Ivan Xav, “when Duv said he quit school to go to the Imperial Military Academy, back when the Service was opened to Komarrans, he was a professor, not a student. History. He’s mostly over it, but sometimes he reverts. Is this thing”—he touched the case with a cautious finger—“written in high academic?”

  “I can only speak for my own chapters, but Illyan beat the scholastic prolixity out of me back when I was first writing ImpSec analysis reports for him,” said Galeni. “Taught me the ImpSec ABC’s—accuracy, brevity, and clarity. Although he did say he was glad to get reports where he didn’t have to correct the grammar and spelling.”

  Ivan Xav laughed. “I’ll just bet.”

  Tej had just enough wits to accept the book-disc with suitable appreciation. This did not seem the time to explain that she wasn’t going to need to study Barrayaran anything, because she was skiving off to Escobar at the first opportunity. Ditto Delia’s offer to hook her up with the array of sisters, when the chances arose. She managed noncommittal thanks.

  The Galenis excused themselves soon after dessert—a toddler and an infant evidently waited at home. A vid-cube of the absent offspring was shown about; Tej made suitable complimentary noises. As the couple passed out of the restaurant, Ivan Xav remarked, “No night life for him anymore, poor sod.” But undercut this by adding, “I expect that suits him to the ground.”

  Ivan Xav didn’t have brothers, but at least it seemed he had brother-officers, Tej reflected. It was something.

  * * *

  It wasn’t till bedtime, when Ivan Xav was taking his turn in the bathroom and she and Rish were making up the couch, that Tej was able to snatch a private moment to decant the Byerly Report.

  “So? Last night. How was it?”

  Rish flicked over a sheet and smiled a maddeningly secret smile. “Interesting.”

  Tej tossed her head. “That’s what people say about some dodgy dish that doesn’t quite work. Whitefish and raspberries.”

  “Oh, this combination worked. Delectably.”

  “So?”

  Rish touched her lips, though whether to check her words or draw them out, Tej could not guess. “Byerly . . . I’ve never encountered anyone whose mouth and whose hands seemed to be telling two such different stories.”

  “Do I have to shake you?”

  Rish grinned, and made a rather Byerly-like wrist-flutter. “The mouth ripples on amusingly enough, though most of what comes out is camouflage and the rest is lies—not so much to me, though. But the hands . . .”

  “Mm?”

  “The hands are strangely shy, until suddenly they turn eloquent. And then their candor could make you weep. A woman might fall in love with the hands. Though only if the woman were nearly as foolish as my litt
le even-sister—which, luckily, doesn’t seem to be possible.”

  Tej threw a pillow at her.

  * * *

  The next day, the last of Ivan Xav’s leave, he spent ferrying them around to see a few locally famous tourist sites, including a military history museum at Vorhartung Castle, the most looming of the old fortresses above the river that were, indeed, lit up colorfully at night. During this outing, he discovered that Tej and Rish not only didn’t drive ground vehicles, they couldn’t.

  “We had sport grav-sleds, at this downside country villa my parents kept, but my older sibs usually hogged them,” Tej explained. “And in congested places, towns and cities like this”—she waved around—“even Dada used an armored groundcar with a dedicated driver and bodyguards. Outside the cities it’s all toll roads built and operated by assorted Houses, so you need a lot of money to get around.”

  “Huh,” said Ivan Xav. “I bet I can fix that.”

  His fix proved to be a private driver’s education service specializing in off-world tourists, whose personable instructor picked them up at the front of Ivan Xav’s building the next morning, after Ivan Xav went off to Ops for his day’s work.

  “It’s an excellent choice to learn to drive in our beautiful Vorbarr Sultana,” the instructor informed them cheerfully. “After this, no other city on the planet will daunt you.”

  Tej jumped into the challenge; Rish, claiming distressing sensory overload, opted out after a short trial that left her green, figuratively. In far fewer hours than Tej thought possible or even sane, she was issued a permit that allowed her to practice-drive under Ivan Xav’s supervision.

  She only froze once, on their first evening’s outing, when trying to back the groundcar out of its parking space beneath the building. The pillar made such an ugly crunching noise . . .

  “Don’t worry,” Ivan Xav told her jovially. “These groundcars are so crammed with safety features, you can hardly kill yourself even if you try. Why, I’ve had half-a-dozen crack-ups with barely a scratch. On me, that is. Harder on the groundcars, naturally. Except for that one time, but I was much younger then, so we don’t need to go into it.” He added after a moment, “Besides, this is the rental.”

  Encouraged, Tej set her jaw and soldiered on. They arrived back an hour later without having cracked anything; not even, in her case, a smile, but that changed when she successfully piloted the beast back into its stall and powered down at last. “That wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be!”

  “Oh, hey, you want scary—the best day I ever had with my Uncle Aral, who usually doesn’t have time for me in both senses of that phrase, but anyway, it was the first summer I had my lightflyer permit, and had gone down with Miles to their country place. Uncle Aral took me out, just me for a change, over the unpopulated hills and taught me what all you could really do with a lightflyer. He said it was in case I ever had to evade pursuit, but I think he was testing his new security fellows, who were along in the back seat. If he could make them scream, cry, or throw up, he won.”

  “Er . . . did they? Did he?”

  “Naw, they trusted him too much. I got a couple of the veterans to yelp, though.” He went on with unabated enthusiasm, “After you’re comfortable with groundcars, we’ll have to move you on into lightflyers. You need them to get around out in the more remote parts of the Districts, where the roads can get pretty rough. Too bad Uncle Aral is too old now to give you his special advanced course”—he pursed his lips—“probably. Anyway, he’s stuck on Sergyar viceroy-ing, which has disappointingly little to do with vice, he claims.”

  The That Uncle Aral, Tej translated this. It was almost harder to imagine than The Gregor. “And your mother encouraged this . . . coaching?”

  “Oh, sure. Of course, neither of us told her what we really did. Uncle Aral is nobody’s fool.”

  Ivan Xav next discovered that neither Tej nor Rish, despite their sensory discrimination training, was more than a rudimentary cook. He claimed he was no master, but could survive in a kitchen, cooking a dinner at home for a change to prove it. He then hit on the bright idea of sending them both off to Ma Kosti for formal lessons, on the theory that she was underemployed and bored this week with most of the Vorkosigan household gone to Sergyar.

  In appearance, Ma Kosti proved very much their first sample prole, short and dumpy and with a notably different accent and syntax than her employers, and she was at first visibly leery of Rish. This changed when Rish demonstrated her fine discriminatory abilities in taste and smell, plus less of a tendency than Tej to cut herself instead of the vegetables, and Rish was promptly adopted as a promising apprentice. Rish in turn recognized a fellow master-artist, if in a different medium. The days filled swiftly.

  Two evenings out of three, Rish went off with Byerly, often not returning till the next day. “By’s place,” she remarked, “is surprisingly austere. He doesn’t bring his business back there much, as far as I can tell. Something of a refuge for him.” Tej handed her a pillow, and she punched it to fluff it up. “Not as austere as this couch, though. When am I going to get off this thing?”

  Ivan Xav, passing by with a toothbrush in his mouth, removed it to say, “You know, I bet we could get you your own efficiency flat, right here in the building, if I try. Might have to wait for an opening. Or I could put myself on the waiting list for the next two- or three-bedroom unit that comes up. Call the moving service, we could shift digs in a day, no problem. Unless Byerly takes you off my hands.” Ivan Xav fluttered his fingers, to demonstrate their potential Rish-free state.

  Rish sat up in her sheets and stared at him. “But we’re leaving.”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “When are we leaving?” she asked.

  “That’s kind of up to ImpSec. They haven’t called.”

  “But they could. At any time.”

  “Well . . . yeah . . .”

  “So what about this divorce ceremony you two have to go through before we can lift off?”

  Tej perched on the couch’s padded arm, and said, “Ivan Xav said it would only take ten minutes.”

  “Yeah, but how long do you have to stand in line to get the ten minutes? Is there a waiting list for that, too?”

  “And how does it really work?” said Tej, unwillingly prodded into wondering. “I mean, in detail?” He’d never said. But then, she hadn’t thought to ask. They’d been busy.

  “Hm,” said Ivan Xav, sticking his toothbrush into his T-shirt pocket and sinking down into a chair. “The thing we have to do is fly up to the Vorpatril’s District on one of the days Falco is holding Count’s Court in person. He does that at least once a week, when he’s in the District, more if he has time. That’ll save a world of explanation. We go in, say Please, Falco, grant us a divorce, he says Right, you’re divorced. Done!, bangs his courtly spear butt, and we skitter out.”

  “Don’t you need lawyers and things?” said Rish.

  “Shouldn’t think so. You’re not suing me for support, are you?” Ivan Xav asked Tej.

  She shook her head. “No, just for a ride to Escobar, which The Gregor is giving us anyway.”

  “If it’s something this Count Falco only does once a week, for a whole District—how many people are in the Vorpatril’s District, anyway?” said Rish.

  “I dunno. Millions?”

  “How does one man play judge to millions of people?” asked Rish, astonished.

  “He doesn’t, of course. He’s got a whole District justice department, with all kinds of sub-territorial divisions for cities and towns and right on down to the Village Speaker level. But he keeps a hand in for the political symbolism of it, and to sample what his people really have to say. Most counts do, even Uncle Aral when he’s home. Which isn’t very often, true.”

  “Hadn’t you better check his schedule?” asked Rish, sounding a trifle exasperated. “In case ImpSec calls with our ride, oh, say, tomorrow morning?”

  “Um. Yeah, maybe . . .” said Ivan Xav, and lumbered off reluctantly
to his comconsole. He was gone for a long time.

  When he came back, he looked sheepish. “In fact, Falco’s Count’s Court docket is packed for months out. If that fast courier opening comes up sooner, I’ll have to pull personal strings. Which I can do, but would rather avoid if I can. Because the thing about me owing a big favor to Falco is, he’ll collect. And grin while he’s doing it. But I put us on the court’s waiting list—they say they sometimes get last-minute openings, which they fill first-come, first-served.” He took a breath. “Your protection won’t be withdrawn till you’re safe on Escobar, anyway, regardless of when we do this divorce deal.”

  Rish nodded. Tej felt . . . odd.

  They were going to Escobar, in theory, to take up a new life under new identities. Lady Vorpatril was certainly a new identity, enjoying a safety that didn’t rely on obscurity . . . No. Stick to the plan. Without the plan, they had no anchor at all; it was the last lifeline her parents had thrown to her, as they went down with their House.

  * * *

  Worried that Tej might be a little homesick, Ivan stopped on the way back to his flat one afternoon and found a brand-new Great House set, with six player panels. If he’d had any doubt that Rish was Byerly’s assignment as well as his hobby, it was put to rest by By’s apparent willingness to devote several evenings in a row to a children’s game, if, admittedly, a fast-moving, complex, and strangely addictive one. It didn’t help that By took to it so well that he was soon giving the born Jacksonians real competition, leaving Ivan to bring up the rear time and time again.

  But Ivan found Morozov’s other way of winning at Great House to carry over, too. As one friendly anecdote followed another, in the relaxation and triggering reminders of the old game, Ivan learned a great deal about Tej’s upbringing as a real Jacksonian Great House baron’s daughter, apparently much doted-upon by her powerful Dada. Ivan traded with a few tales out of school, himself. Only Byerly did not contribute to the exchange, although Ivan was sure he was sucking it all in. But they were in the middle of a round of Great House when Ivan finally learned the real relationship of the late Baronne, her children, and her Jewels.