Captain Vorpatril's Alliance

by Lois McMaster Bujold

  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.

  “This Vorpatril fellow turns out to be quite interesting, for a Barrayaran, I will allow that,” said the Baronne. “If I thought it was guile and not blind luck, I would be quite proud of you both. Or—did you know of his high-level connections before negotiating this strange oral contract?”

  “For free, no less,” said Star in an aggrieved undervoice. “Tej.”

  “No,” sighed Tej. “We only found out after.”

  “Figures,” murmured Pearl.

  “Did you look him up?” Tej asked the Baronne. “Back on Escobar?”

  “Of course. As soon as Lily passed us that—at the time, it seemed a very garbled rumor, but actually it seems correct in more details than I would have believed. Not that we weren’t overjoyed to have finally located you two. But how closely does that boy actually stand to the Barrayaran Imperial throne?”

  Oh, blast, the Baronne had already stumbled onto that angle. Well, of course she had. She was the Baronne. “Camp stool,” Tej corrected in a small voice. “When The Gregor has to sit in ceremony. On account of Vor being a military caste.” The Baronne waved away this distinction. Tej . . . remembered a plaque in a street that groundcars ran over.

  Rish put in, “There are quite a few more bodies between him and that position than when he was younger, apparently—plus he’d have to win a couple of civil wars with rival claimants, to hear him tell it. He was never the only potential heir.”

  Grandmama lifted a quelling finger. “I would advise against pursuing that direction, Udine, dear. There are many safer approaches you might work in aid of our aims here, and I promise you, you do not want to get bogged down in extended altercations with the locals.” She gave the impression of a delicate shudder without, actually, shuddering.

  Tej cast her a grateful glance. Dada grunted, not disagreeing.

  “Still, he’s in their military,” said Star. “He can’t be totally clueless, in a crunch. Maybe we could use him in our Security. Our new Security, when we set it up.”

  “Or in Administration,” said Pidge. “You say he’s a kind of secretary?”

  “Or in Hospitality,” said Jet, with a snigger. “How well does he strip?”

  Tej glowered at him.

  The Baronne waved this aside, pursing her lips. “But apparently, he’s been kept close confined here in the capital under the eyes of his handlers for nearly the whole of that career. Chained to a desk, which is, I suppose, kinder than chained in a cage. Keeps him out of trouble just the same, to be sure.”

  “He really works,” said Tej, not very loudly. “Admiral Desplains—that’s his Ops boss—values him.” What Desplains had actually told her was, Despite Ivan’s erratic personal life, he’s never once made an error in identifying hidden political stakes. Rare talent, that. Or had that been political snakes? Confusing.

  “So I should think,” said the Baronne. “This military chief must gain considerable cachet for harboring such a princeling on his staff. Almost a Jewel. I wonder what his deal was, behind the scenes, in return for taking on such a charge?”

  “He likes Ivan’s work,” said Tej, though completeness forced her to add, “mostly.”

  The Baronne sat back and tapped her fingers on the sofa arm. She said unhopefully, “I don’t suppose you’ve had any ideas how best to exploit him, have you, Tej? Having had—or is that enjoyed?—the closest observation.”

  Really, Baronne, do you have to point that out? Tej twitched uncomfortably. “The Greg—the Barrayarans were going to give us a ride in secret to Escobar. On a government courier ship. It would have given a clean break for Rish and me to lose the bounty hunters. I thought that was enough.”

  Star sniffed. “There are much more direct ways to dispose of bounty hunters, Tej.”

  Star had been the understudy of the House Cordonah security chief—a department that had failed signally to stave off the present debacle, Tej was reminded. With a pang of frustration, Tej restrained herself from escalating the critique. The most important part of the takeover had been in behind-the-scenes deals on financial and diplomatic levels anyway—yeah, Pidge’s department, wasn’t that? Star just liked lots of big guns.

  “So what did you do about Prestene’s hired meat? They must have followed you four, as well,” said Tej to Star.

  Star lifted her chin, proudly. “They met with fatal accidents, of course.”

  Dada, with a practiced finger-flicking gesture, suppressed this side-trail as well. “Tej’s turn to tell her tale.”

  Em said, “Still, such a ride—depending on what they wanted you to trade for it—would have saved this expensive side jaunt to collect you two. Too bad you couldn’t have brought it off two weeks back.”

  “Well, there was the divorce thing we were waiting for.”

  “The what?” said Dada.

  With a reluctant sigh, Tej plunged into an account of her and Ivan Xav’s trip to New Evias, and Count Falco’s strange, archaic court with its unexpected non-result.

  Dada rubbed his lips thoughtfully as she wound d
own, his dark eyes crinkling. “I expect we may simply ignore this local wrinkle when we leave. Alternatively, should you wish to become a widow, you have only to ask. It wouldn’t be a first. I’m sure something could be arranged.”

  “No!” said Tej indignantly, hoping he was joking. She was almost sure he was joking. Despite being a Barrayaran, Ivan Xav wasn’t disposable.

  “Don’t be so hotheaded, love,” said the Baronne to her mate with a fond smile. “We shouldn’t waste our opportunities before we’ve thoroughly explored them, after all.” The double meaning of waste might have been intended, because the corner of Dada’s mouth twitched up, as it always did when his half-haut queen indulged in Jacksonian gutter slang. The Baronne never could make it come out quite right. Dada could, authentically, when he got on a roll about his old times. But Tej wasn’t sure she liked this swing of the Ivan Xav pendulum any better.

  Star frowned in doubt. “If your Barrayaran husband wanted to get rid of you, why didn’t he just let the bounty hunters carry you off? Problem solved, from his point of view.”

  “Barrayar’s a more complicated place than I thought,” said Tej, in a possibly fruitless effort at warning. Was anyone listening to her?

  An unexpected murmur of support from, of all people, Grandmama: “Indeed, we should not go rushing in.”

  “I want some sleep first, before rushing anywhere,” said Dada, a yawn cracking his face. “What a dismal shuttleport. Bed next for everyone, I think. Nobody’s thinking straight.”

  “Should I go out and try to scrounge an arsenal, first?” said Star. “We’re horribly disarmed, here.”

  “You have to admit,” said Pidge, “Dada was right about not trying to carry ours along. It would never have survived that second search.”

  “Would’ve passed the first one, though,” grumbled Star. “Before Amiri insisted on bringing up that Vorpatril fellow’s name.”

  “No, don’t you dare!” said Tej, fairly sure that Star out cruising back alleys trying to deal for illegal weaponry fell under the heading of something awful. Especially while this short of sleep. And clues, for that matter.

  Rish came to Tej’s aid: “As far as any unwanted visitors from Prestene go, I think that Barrayaran Imperial Security has us covered for now. I know they’re watching out for them. And with more resources than we can command here, right now.”

  Dada nodded understanding and agreement. “My take as well. Bed, chicks and chicklets.” He stood and stretched, cracking joints. Grumbling, the Arquas trailed off to their respective roosts.

  Dada and the Baronne hugged Tej and Rish a temporary goodbye as they left for Ivan Xav’s flat. Their grips lingered, as if reassuring themselves by the most fundamental sensory means of the girls’ well-being, and, well, being. “Yes, call us at Ivan Xav’s number when you’re ready to go down to dinner,” said Tej.

  Pidge followed them into the hotel corridor.

  “We could be halfway through the Hegen Hub by now, if you two had stuck to your original plan,” she complained. “This detour is costing us critical resources, you know. Time as much as money. I don’t know why they didn’t just send Amiri to collect you.”

  “None of this is anything like the original plan.” Tej scowled. “Fortunately, if you want to be honest. If you do. Just for a change, you know.”

  With a short gesture, Pidge batted this shot away. “We’re going back to retake the House. Everyone is pitching in—even Amiri. Everyone’s expected to help. Even you.”

  Tej ran an aggravated hand through her hair, which snagged and pulled unhelpfully. “Doing what?”

  “Dada and the Baronne for overall strategy, of course. Star’s taking Security, I’m taking Negotiations, and the Jewels are doing everything they can. Which is quite a lot. You, well—the least you could do is cooperate in making yourself available for a genetic alliance. A bargaining chip—I’ll bet the Baronne can slot you in somewhere.”

  “Dada said I didn’t have to! And the Baronne didn’t argue with him!”

  “That was then, this is now. We don’t have the margin for personal indulgences anymore. None of us do.”

  “Dada wouldn’t ask me this.”

  “Dada shouldn’t have to ask you this! Isn’t it about time you stopped being such a maddening deadweight in the House? You had your choice of choices, you didn’t take any of them, you’ve lost your say, I’d say.”

  “I don’t see you offering up your body as a personal pledge in some side deal!”

  “Who says?” Pidge’s voice was grim.

  “. . . Oh.”

  “So.”

  “So, um . . . call us when you wake up, anyway.”

  “Right.” Pidge flung herself back into the suite.

  Tej and Rish continued toward the lift tubes. Rish watched her sideways, but for once, offered no comment. Tej loved her family, she really did. She didn’t doubt for an instant that they loved her, too, in their way. But she wondered how she’d plunged from soaring elation to glum depression in so few hours.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ivan, only slightly out of breath but considerably out of sleep, entered Admiral Desplains’s outer office to find one of the senior Ops clerks manning his desk. The morning’s first pot of coffee had been made and drunk long ago, he noted from the dark dregs in the bottom of the pot on the credenza and the faint tarry aroma in the air. He checked a desire to scrape out the bottom of the pot with a spoon and eat the residue.

  “Ah, Captain Vorpatril,” said the clerk, brightening. “The old man wanted to know as soon as you arrived.” He keyed his intercom. “Sir, Captain Vorpatril is here.”

  “Finally,” returned Desplains’s voice. Ivan tried to read the tone, but from three syllables could only ascertain not joyful. “Send him in.”

  Ivan trod into his boss’s inner sanctum, to find the admiral had a visitor—an ImpSec captain, Ivan saw by his collar pins and tabs, as the man twisted in his chair to observe him in turn, frowning. Lean but HQ-pale, salt-and-pepper hair that tried but failed to make him look older than the mid-grade middle-aged man he apparently was. Raudsepp, read his nametag. They exchanged the briefest of military courtesies.

  Desplains was looking faintly harassed. And, given that the harassment was apparently being delivered by a mere ImpSec captain—bringing the snakes in person?—decidedly irritated. The admiral did not invite Ivan to sit, so Ivan took up a prudent sort-of parade rest and waited. Someone would tell him what was going on shortly; they always did, however little he wanted to know.

  Desplains went on, dry-voiced, “Captain Raudsepp has just inquired if, at the time I signed off on your marriage on Komarr, I had known what a curious set of relations young Lady Vorpatril was apparently trailing after her.”

  “At the time of our marriage on Komarr, everyone thought Tej was an orphan,” said Ivan, “including Tej. And Rish. They seemed pretty happy to find out this was not the case, last night. And your interest in this is what, Captain Raudsepp?”

  “Until last night, I was the Galactic Affairs officer charged with riding herd on your new wife’s alleged bounty-hunter threat. A relatively routine physical security issue that has so far failed to provide much in the way of action, to everyone’s relief. I came in this morning to find my mandate had been unexpectedly upped by a renegade refugee Jacksonian baron and most of his extended family, about which the critical complaint is the unexpectedly part.”

  Ah, yes. ImpSec did not like surprises. Too bad; surprises were their job, in Ivan’s view. He wondered if he ought to argue with the renegade tag; how could you tell a renegade Jacksonian baron from any other sort? Refugee, though, yeah, sure. He did put in, “Immediate family, actually. In a sense.”

  Raudsepp’s brows tightened. “My heated memo to Galactic Affairs-Komarr crossed in the tightbeam stream with an urgent heads-up from Captain Morozov, warning us of the party’s impending arrival, so it’s good to know that they weren’t entirely asleep out there. If the alert had arrived six hours ahead of th
e event instead of six hours behind it, it might have helped. Somewhat. And so my routine physical security issue has turned into a completely unassessed political security issue. As I expect my assessment to be requested very soon, it behooves me to make one.”

  Ivan tilted his head in acknowledgement of the justice of this, but resisted being drawn into premature sympathy with a brother officer. After all, ImpSec.

  Raudsepp narrowed his eyes at Ivan. “Why did you sign them out of Customs & Security?”

  “Well, they looked tired,” Ivan offered. “Hours and hours of bureaucrats. On top of jump-lag, you know. The Komarr run is a bitch if you’re jump-sensitive.”

  “Have you managed to find out yet why they’re here?”

  “They came to pick up Tej and Rish.” Wait, what? Take them away? For the first time, this thought came clear in Ivan’s sleep-deprived mind, triggering an unpleasant flutter of panic in his stomach. Though he supposed he could part with Rish without much of a pang. But what if Tej wanted to go with her? “Check on them, anyway,” he corrected hastily. Dear God. We need to talk. “Parents, after all.”

  “Do you have any other observations to report? Anything of danger—or interest—to the Imperium?”

  “All they’ve done is land and go to bed.” Ivan stifled a yawn. “Well, and fill out a lot of forms. You have to have received copies of everything from Customs, and a report from your outer-perimeter night fellow—what the devil was his name—Zumboti, that was it. Which means you know about as much as I do, so far.”

  “Surely not. You have by far the closest view of the affair, going back the farthest.”

  I’m not the only one, Ivan wanted to snap back. In fact, he didn’t even go back the farthest. Talk to your own damn people. What, had By gone off to bed without filing a report, the rat? “In my, what, nine hours of observation, all I’ve seen is some very jump-lagged people glad to find their daughters alive”—that, without doubt, had not been some show for his benefit—“and grateful to be taken to a hotel.” Hang on . . . By was Domestic Affairs; Raudsepp had named himself Galactic Affairs. Was this another fricking ImpSec right hand not talking to the left screwup, again? Ivan was so used to Byerly by now, he perhaps forgot just how high and restricted a level By worked on, however erratically. Should he direct Raudsepp to Byerly, or not? Maybe it ought to be the other way around. Isn’t trying to cover for By how I got into all this trouble in the first place . . . ?