Forward Momentum -- Chapter 7

[bracketyjack]

Chapter Seven

Armsman Jankowski had warned Ekaterin not to try eating outside after dark without finely tuned force-screens, and she had felt for her­self flying insects appear in the lakeside twilight, so dinner was served in the main dining-room.

In her forced absence Pym and Ma Kosti had laboured through the afternoon with drafted help to conjure a vision of white linen, glass­ware, and candle-light, centred on an ancient silver candelabrum whose arms surrounded miniature Dendarii mountains sporting the maple-trees symbolised on the Vorkosigan family crest. Around its base, a twining monogram was repeated between each lofting arm, the clasping V with flanking B and K of Princess-and-Countess Olivia Vorbarra Vorkosigan, Miles’s paternal grandmother and Gregor’s cousin-once-removed. Ekaterin had found it in the household’s capacious store-cupboards and admired it, hesitating to use it in case one of Mad Yuri’s victims was not a spectre Miles wanted at his weekend feast. But he had dismissed her fears, smiling distractedly.

“No, no, use what you will, milady. It’s a very fine piece. I remember it from childhood, and so will Gregor. Da likes it too. He showed me the maker’s mark once, when it was being cleaned, on the rear of one of the tree-trunks. And demonstrated how accurate the mountains were topographically, despite the oversize trees.”

Even with this encomium Ekaterin had her doubts, but looking at the old piece now, silver maple-trunks and palmate leaves aflame with mellow light and mountain-flanks gleaming beneath them, she knew Miles had been right. One of her long afternoons with Alys at Estelle’s had refined a seating plan, and she sat at her end of the table between Alys and Illyan with her uncle and aunt beyond them. Gregor and Laisa had the middle seats. Miles was fielding Chandler, Allegre, and Vorlynkin at the other end, with Nikki, back from whatever he’d spent the afternoon up to with Arthur Pym, to balance the sides and inhibit untoward officers’ shop or attempts to debrief Chandler further.

Her fast-growing son looked excited but at ease, despite keeping such adult hours and exalted company after a long day, and her heart melted a little while an affectless, encapsulated memory floated in her mind, of the rage at Tien and terror for Nikki she had felt watching birthday by birthday, then day by day, for tremors announcing the onset of their shared Vorzohn’s Dystrophy. Even if that poor excuse for a Vor man had left her some spark, even an ember, of the love and respect she once felt for him, she would have been well shot of Etienne Vorsoisson and knew it, body and soul. The love Miles roused in her was such a potent combination of exploratory desire and intense urge to respond she did not think she could have stood up against it for long in any case. But he was proving a wonderful stepfather, and to the marrow of her bones she felt an ease and security she had not known since the genetic revelation of Tien’s mutancy soon after Nikki had been born.

Despite his heartfelt words she had noted Gregor had not waited for wine to be served, instead wandering with Laisa over to the stables, trailing Vorbarra Armsmen and members of his security team. Miles had discreetly signalled Pym to join the trailers, in case Gregor should want anything the house could supply, but told her to let her imperial guests go as they willed. Now, however, Gregor was gently turning his glass in the candlelight, and raised it to Miles.

“Ivan once told me the cellars at Vorkosigan House contained bottles with more dust on them than an old Vor. Would this be an example, Miles?”

Her husband blinked. “Of a sort. Does that mean you let Ivan into the Residence wine-cellars, Gregor? That was foolhardy.”

At her side Alys grimaced. Lord Ivan, Ekaterin knew, resolutely single despite his mother’s best and worst efforts, had been rewarded for long-suffering official secondment to her during preparations for Gregor’s and Laisa’s wedding with a year’s posting to the rapidly expand­ing Imperial Counsellor’s office on Komarr. Communication with his mother in the months since his Winterfair leave to attend Miles’s and Ekaterin’s wedding had not been frequent. Gregor grinned. Miles swirled his own wine in its finely blown glass, admiring the ruby colour.

“How they got the crop in is anyone’s guess, but this is one of the last bottles of a great war vintage. 2720. So it’s a little older than my Da. And about the same age as Fletchir Giaja, so far as anyone knows.” Pym circled with the bottle, and seemed to have several more on hand; a full one, still corked and sealed, was set before Gregor. Ekaterin held her breath but Miles was genuinely reminiscing, not trying to talk to the elephant in the corner of the conversation. “If it wasn’t a District wine to begin with I’d suspect it was part of Olivia’s dowry from old Xav. He’s the one who built our cellars. Gran’da learned from him and passed it on, but I don’t think he ever cared that much so long as it tasted good and packed a punch.”

The Professora was still thinking of her promising graduate student. As Professoras should, Ekaterin thought. “That sort of bluffness wasn’t an act Count Piotr put on, then, Miles? I remember you arguing he was mislabelled as a Vor conservative, and supported change despite himself.” She sipped her wine. “Oh my. It tastes different now you’ve told me it’s older than I am. But I was wondering in that case how conscious his … mantling in Vor tradition had been.”

“I’m not sure.” Miles gathered another forkful of a spiced and fruited rice that was one of Gregor’s favourites; he had helped himself generously. “The Cetagandan occupation was a stern lesson in Vor tradition. I remember once having to explain to some Marilacans that its quickest effect was rapidly to clear our chain of command of deadwood and heroes. But with that Auditorial case I was arguing, as I recall, that what the Cetagandans really taught Gran’da was that Barrayar had to look to the stars. To Komarr. And beyond.” He chewed thoughtfully for a minute. “All that Oldest Living Vor stuff just accumulated around Gran’da because he-forgive this language, Nikki, but it’s a quotation-outlived all the other bastards. What confused him, I think, was that he found he cared passionately about some of it and didn’t give a hoot for the rest, but couldn’t quite keep straight in his mind which bits were in which category.” Miles drank more of the wine as old as Fletchir Giaja, bottled, Ekaterin calculated, when the newly married Piotr Vorkosigan was all of twenty-seven. “And of course I confused him horribly, so I’m still not sure. You knew him longer than I, Gregor. And we both inherit his political legacy. Helen must correct me, but I think the question is about Piotr’s bottom line-which I cannot impartially judge. Can you?”

The table, Ekaterin sensed, was holding its collective breath. No shop rule be damned. “Ignore his catechisms if you like.” She tried to offer Gregor an escape. “I do.” But Miles and Gregor both grinned at her.

“I don’t mind, Ekaterin. Truly. And the answer’s not far to seek, Miles, Helen.” Ekaterin was secretly thrilled to hear Gregor call her aunt by name; Barrayar did not encourage informality. “I told Laisa earlier in the week, when we were talking about this house. The first time I was brought here was at the outbreak of the War of Vordarian’s Pretender­ship. Captain Negri, who was dying of plasma burns, poor sod, crashed us on the lawn. Then Aral and Cordelia were there, but Aral gave me over to Piotr and I was smuggled up into the mountains on horseback with hardly a word said.” Candlelight flickered on his face. “Piotr left us after a while. Cordelia, Sergeant Bothari, and I went higher into the mountains.” Bothari? Ekaterin hadn’t known of the dead Armsman’s involvement with Gregor as well as the Vorkosigans. “Looking back, I think even at the time I knew that while Cordelia and others were caring for me, it was Piotr’s power that kept me safe. I never doubted it.” Gregor gestured at the candelabrum. “These mountains are Vorkosigan to the bone. And Piotr’s bottom line was loyalty. He would not break faith. For the rest, necessity spoke as it might.”

“Yes. I’ll buy that.” Miles’s eyes glinted as he turned to the Professora. “People miss it, Helen, because Gran’da’s famous for switch­ing sides on Mad Yuri. But the Massacre was Yuri’s breach of the oath between them. Even setting aside his rage and grief, by his lights Gran’da had to react, or all oaths became meaningless. But he would never have broken his oath to the emperor himself. Nor his later oath to the Lord Regent, which I suggest proves my point about his character.”

He looked round the table, and let his gaze come to rest on Nikki. Ekaterin’s breath tightened. Was Miles really going to … ? He was.

“You know, Nikki, this would be the moment, I fancy.” Miles took in the listening company again. “Nikki and his friend Arthur Pym have a dispute in hand, and he put to me the other day a most interesting question. It arises from a holovid series about a certain Captain Lord Vortalon, who was a jump-pilot smuggling arms for Prince Xav during the Occupation, and unhappily lost his da to an assassination.”

At Miles’s nod, Nikki set out the puzzle of Emperor Dorca’s mysterious but punitive principle with admirable clarity-and, Ekaterin noticed, much more disciplined pronouns. When had Miles found the time to talk Lord Vortalon’s problems through with him? That he had she did not doubt. Nikki had also somehow mastered Miles’s trick of addressing Gregor directly while talking to everyone round the table.

“So you see, sir, the script never revealed the principle. Arthur and I could not decide if it would just have been revenge, blood for blood, or if the Emperor wouldn’t have thought that important, but couldn’t overlook the treason involved, because it was a Count.” He looked round at Miles. “But I’m not sure how your grandfather’s character fits in, sir.”

“Because it’s really the same question, Nikki. I think you are right about Dorca’s scrupulous distinction of principles. And whereas people often say Gran’da took his revenge on Mad Yuri, what he really did was respect both his oaths, the one Mad Yuri broke and the one he then swore to Ezar. It was bad news for Yuri either way, just as Xav saw that Lord Vortalon didn’t really have a choice about what to do-but he did have a choice about why he did it.”

Nikki frowned as he processed this, and Gregor leaned forward. “Between acting in revenge or in fealty, you mean? Huh.” He sat back again slowly. “Simon, Alys, you knew Piotr for longer than either of us, if not as intimately. Does that ring true to you?”

Alys’s voice was clear and calm. “Yes, I think it does. Piotr often drove Aral to distraction, but it was always on personal issues they clashed most unforgivingly. Their political harmony underneath took time to perceive, but it was there. And clarity of motive was a conscious habit of them both, of course.” She hesitated, and smiled ruefully at Miles. “I’m sorry to mention it, Miles dear, but you said you confused him. It was only where you were concerned that Piotr lost all clarity. And your father did not.”

“I know, Aunt Alys. Did Gran’da ever become your problem too, Simon?”

Illyan grunted. “Not really. At one stage your father had to cancel his blanket security classification, I seem to recall, to keep him away from you. But I was more aware of that as a conflict between him and your mother. To which she ultimately put an end by bowling Vordarian’s head down the table at him, and warning him his own would be next unless he-forgive me Nikki, and this isn’t a quotation-took it out of his ass.”

Gregor and Miles were smiling at this old family history. Ekaterin had been privileged to hear Cordelia’s own, much more rarely told version, which was considerably more emotive but still featured Vordarian’s rolling head. Sergeant Bothari had been in that story too. Somewhere inside herself Ekaterin was glad times had moved on, and the head had not become a traditional Vorkosigan bride-price as well as a family joke. So what did you do to those Komarran terrorists, eh girl? That internal voice was not one she wanted to listen to now. Lady Alys, she saw, was not smiling at Illyan’s barracks’ language, but the military men were grinning, with her uncle and Nikki, while Aunt Helen looked drunk on the undiluted history being offered her with such a liberal hand.

“Simon, dear.” Alys’s frown deepened. “Crudities aside, and I concede Piotr’s behaviour at that time did provoke them, I distinctly recall you fulminating about Piotr more than once.” She gave her partner -lover; protector?-a look that in another woman Ekaterin would call arch. “Not that you were up to noticing me at the time, save as an adjunct to Ivan.”

Did Illyan blush? He undoubtedly took Alys’s hand. “I’m sure I fulminated, dear. I was certainly preoccupied.” He turned to Gregor. “You were still in the mountains, not that I knew that then, and we were playing the long game. Not just for Vordarian’s hostages, but for the army. Aral wanted to save all the officers he could.” Vorlynkin looked struck by this. Illyan’s free hand found his glass. “After Piotr came to Tanery Base he did some very useful political stuff, mostly seeing those of his fellow-Counts who were still free. But in-between-times, and once he’d seen them all, he hung round ops command and made Aral’s life a misery.” Illyan’s eyes glowed with remembered frustration. “It wasn’t the big strategy. They agreed on that before I ever got there, and Kanzian only confirmed for them Vordarian had never understood the nature of his own war. Idiot.” He paused reflectively. “I didn’t under­stand it at all at first. Continual sniping from Piotr, unwavering courtesy from Aral, always spurned. But spurned with the greatest imaginable pain. It was palpable. Then Cordelia explained it to me.”

Pym drifted around, refilling glasses. Gregor refused, Ekaterin saw, but Illyan did not. He drank and looked at Miles.

“No way round it, son. You were between them. But today you put yourself back together with the best of what they shared.” The ruby-red glass was lifted in toast. “If you hadn’t swizzed it out of Gregor with your gold chain, Miles, I’d be recommending your captaincy tonight.”

The tone was light but Ekaterin saw Miles freeze. Cautiously she looked around. Vorlynkin and her aunt, as well as Nikki, Laisa, and Alys were frowning in puzzlement, but her uncle, Allegre, and Gregor all seemed to swallow startled laughter and look at Miles with concern. Another story I haven’t caught up with yet. But Miles was giving Illyan the strangest smile. Did it matter that Illyan, as Negri before him, had never taken army rank higher than captain, or needed one?

“D’you know, Simon, once that would have meant the world to me. And it still means a great deal. But”-he turned his level gaze on Ekaterin, who smiled warmly if uncertainly back-“because I no longer take physical risks to prove myself, having no such need, and have reclaimed my natal rank, I’d rather take that in its true spirit and pass your best wishes along in due course to our children.”

This was too much for Alys, who began to draw herself up for formal enquiry, but Nikki beat her to it. “Mama, you decided! How many?”

Miles winked at her, and Ekaterin faced her son. “Two, Nikki dear. A boy and a girl, to gestate while we’re away, next year, and be born when we’re back.”

Alys sat back with a look of immense satisfaction, qualified only, Ekaterin thought, by continuing frustration with Ivan. She saw the older woman cast several sharp glances at Gregor and Laisa while they and others exclaimed congratulations and toasted the future. With Laisa’s smile and kind words there was an edge of calculation, either at her own situation or the extent to which Miles might have co-opted Ekaterin’s privacy in making his week-end work. His intergalactic treaty. But Ekaterin found she didn’t much care: she wanted children with Miles, sooner rather than later, and wanted her friends to know; bone-deep, she also agreed with Miles’s remorseless logic of hope.

Coffee was served with yet more delectable pastries, and Gregor turned with his usual memory and care to Nikki, almost successfully concealing a yawn after the burst of excitement. “I don’t think your question about Emperor Dorca was properly answered, Nikki. Of course in one sense there is no answer. I never knew him, so I have no private source to draw on. But for all he is called Dorca the Just you are right to think he would as emperor have preferred a twisty principle to a simple one.” An emperor grinned. “Whether that will suffice Master Pym I cannot guess.” Gregor looked around. “What does his father say?”

“Pym! Front and centre.” Miles’s voice was cheerful. Pym’s slow step forward into general visibility was not.

“My Lord?”

“You heard your emperor.”

Pym swallowed. “I did, my Lord.” Not waiting for further prompts, he turned to Gregor. “In the matter of the dispute concerning your collateral ancestor, Sire, between Master Vorkosigan and my son, I have been extremely careful to take no side. I have however pointed out to both gentlemen”-Ekaterin, pondering that ‘collateral’, could have kissed him for omitting ‘young’; so she thought could Nikki-“that in a harder time men and women thought less of shedding blood, and that whatever Emperor Dorca’s principles may have been, times change.”

Nikki was squinting across the table. “You have, sir. And I think I understand what you meant. But if I have understood the talk this evening, people stay the same, really.”

“Not quite, Nikki.” Miles’s voice was intimate, not pretending he and Nikki were alone but addressed only to the boy. “They change more slowly, always a generation behind.” And sometimes two. Or eleven. He smoothly included them all again. “That, if you like, has been our reality disadvantage. And that’s what I think we have a shot at changing. For a while.” He switched back to the intimate mode again for Nikki. Why was it not embarrassing? “It’s your bedtime shortly.”

Ekaterin saw no obvious acknowledgement from Nikki but as coffee made a second round, with Pym in most invisible mode, her son-their son--gracefully made goodnights, including smiles for Gregor and Laisa, came to kiss her and his aunt and uncle, and vanished through the door. Gregor looked after him approvingly, then at Miles thoughtfully.

“Did you have a thought you weren’t saying?”

“About old Vortalon, you mean? Not really. Nikki initially connected the nasty-cousin problem with Richars Vorrutyer.” He grinned at Gregor. “Dono and Olivia like Nikki too, you know. I hear he got most of the story out of them, one way or another, and he’s got to know Armsman Szabo’s son as well. What I liked was that he pushed through all Vortalon’s shoot-’em-up adventures to the genuine question about Dorca. And he was trying to think about Xav as my not-so-distant ancestor, a real person not a holovid shadow. He’s been studying the Vor genealogy ever since he twigged Da really was a living person who’d actually done all that stuff in his Barrayaran history syllabus.”

“You’re right about that, Miles dear.” Aunt Helen was laughing in recollection. “Ekaterin, I recall your telling me on Komarr you’d realised Nikki hadn’t understood who Miles was because of something he’d asked about Cordelia. When he saw Vorkosigan House and met Arthur he picked up on the idea of the Vorkosigans pretty quickly, and asked me for some help looking things up.” Ekaterin had thought Nikki unusually well-prepared for his first class in ‘The Modern Imperium’ the previous autumn. “But what with, um, one thing and another, he didn’t actually meet Aral or Cordelia until that day at Vorhartung Castle.”

Grins showed around the table at this reference to the appallingly public climax of Miles’s and Ekaterin’s tumultuous courtship. But Miles didn’t care and for Ekaterin the absolute, known rightness of what she had done made her impervious to embarrassment, now as then. Her aunt continued, eyes twinkling.

“On the way back to Vorkosigan House he asked me about Aral. What really impressed him, I think, besides his Ma’s exquisite timing”-and Ekaterin did blush a little-“was the way Aral and Cordelia cleared a path into the council-chamber afterwards by sheer force of personality. And I have to agree, you know. It was remarkable. They were buoyed by happiness and the occasion, of course, but I have no doubt they could have done it anyway. The Counts just melted away in front of them.”

Gregor was smiling. “An effect I’ve seen, though I regret to say I missed that particular display, being surrounded myself by whatever Counts weren’t mobbing Miles. It is formidable.”

Miles looked at Ekaterin, smiling almost shyly. “I saw them as your outriders, you know.” She swallowed at the implication, but Miles’s gaze moved on to her aunt. “What did Nikki ask, Helen?”

“Oh, he’d spent several very exciting hours seeing history made, and he’d seen the force the Council of Counts represents. It made it concrete for him. And he’d seen a particular, um, enemy very neatly skewered by his Ma and swept away by that force. But then-and incidentally, dear, I do see what you mean about your father’s way with children-he saw this charming, impressive old man to whom he’d just been introduced as your Da simply blow those Counts aside to clear his Ma’s path to you.” Aunt Helen laughed again, and everyone seemed to be smiling at her. “It was wonderful. The session had finished of course, and all the hostility went with Lord Richars. But I think the image of the Viceroy and Vicereine striding through a babble of Counts on the course they chose clicked in Nikki’s head somewhere, and the history he’d read came alive for him. So when he was with me he took the chance to check some facts.” Helen gave Ekaterin her mischievous look. “You know, dear, if commercial jump-piloting doesn’t last I have hopes of him for history.”

“You can try, Aunt Helen. I thought Uncle Georg has a better chance for engineering.” And a more liberal hand with pastries. “Nikki’s always off down to the basement lab.”

“And welcome,” Georg put in. “I don’t know engineering is his passion, but he’s curious and helpful. I always enjoy his company.” He reached to nab some leftover cheese from his wife’s plate, adding it to a biscuit on his own. “And of course the field, all fields I suppose, is about to undergo considerable upheaval.” Georg gave Gregor an apologetic glance. “I don’t want to set us off again. Enough is enough for one day, and this meal was a greater relief than I thought possible after lunch. But I’ve had a chance to look at Jack’s math, and even skimming the surface I’ve been thinking new planets are all very well but the real challenge for us will be re-tooling industry and upgrading infrastructure without bringing the Imperium to a standstill. Just about every form of manufacturing except the agricultural sector will be directly affected, and even there all peripherals will be. Then transport, the power-grid and comnet …”

Gregor was nodding. “Yes, I am beginning to absorb that.”

Chandler, Ekaterin saw, had caught Miles’s eye, quirking his eyebrows, and Miles, after a second, nodded. The Terran sat forward. “Sire.” He was still tasting the word when he said it, Ekaterin thought. “I too have no wish to inaugurate another session now, but I wondered if my, um, misconceived bribes might serve you here.”

“Please go on, Doctor.”

“Well, when I supposed I would have to sell myself more … selfishly, I thought to offer the Counts a preferential aspect of the hypothesis. Frames for themselves and their District offices, perhaps. And with the nanoforges”-Miles’s term had clearly stuck-“I wanted something that would steer them away from the idea of weapons.” Barrayaran heads nodded around the table. Vorloupulous’s Law worked well, but no-one wanted to overburden the Counts with temptation. “So most design-work I’ve done concentrates on programming a nanoforge with upgrading rather than creation in mind.” His hands gestured. “Without circum­venting major safeguards I’ve designed, such a device could not be used to manufacture a large item from scratch. What it could do is turn an old engine into a better model, or effect repairs to machinery that would presently require a forge or expensive replacement parts. I am no economist, but I was trying as best a scientist might to provide the hypothesis with buffers. And it occurs to me, listening to Georg, that something similar might allow piecemeal introduction of nanoforges that didn’t disrupt your Imperium more than its sinews could stand.”

The last sentence had Gregor and Miles looking at Chandler with quizzical intensity. In the legal rhetoric of Barrayaran power Counts were the ‘sinews of the imperium’-a phrase Miles was given to quoting when the Council did something especially foolish or unwelcome.

“You have a most interesting political as well as scientific mind, Doctor.”

Chandler shrugged. “You’d need a central authority of some kind to, um, educate your sinews in your largesse, Sire.”

Miles almost clapped, Ekaterin thought. Gregor’s eyebrows quirked again. “Most interesting.” He turned to her uncle. “Sounds like just the thing for you to look after, my Lord Auditor.” Georg growled with dismay. “You see what you get for starting us off again.”

Miles twitched satisfaction. “Heh. Thank you, Georg, for getting me off two hooks at once.” He fed Chandler a cue, nodding to Vorlynkin. “So what did you plan for our military, Doctor?”

“Faster spaceship construction. Field repairs. My services for a period to develop military applications I cannot myself imagine.”

“But might thereby keep a close eye on. Quite so.” Gregor was smiling. “And enough ships, perhaps, to ensure no Barrayaran embarrass­ment at Jackson’s Whole as and whenever, while not enough to inflame wilder ideas?” Vorlynkin snorted, but Gregor waved him silent, eyes on Chandler, who returned the stare.

“I think I am going to enjoy life as your subject, Sire.”

Gregor’s smile grew warm. “I hope so, Doctor.” He looked around, nodding fractionally to Miles, who rose to speak to all.

“The ladies are, I believe, well taken-care of in this respect, as are you and Laisa, Sire, but I regret, gentlemen, I could find no way of observing security while warning you all to bring full-dress red-and-blues. By way of compensation, if you give Pym your codes he will arrange overnight for ImpSec to collect whatever you will require tomorrow for an imperial audience.”

There was a collective Gak. Ekaterin grinned to herself. Most of her guests might have been well-prepared for Gregor and Laisa, but to judge from startled express­ions their thinking hadn’t encompass­ed a second emperor and empress in one weekend, nor the concomitant return of doubled protocol.

“Captain Khourakis should be waiting in the hall if you wish to check in with him, Guy. My parents, as you know, will be arriving at some point, so we shall not gather too early in the morning. Breakfast will be available, however, at any time-ask the nearest Armsman.” An easy smile found Vorlynkin. “You will have time to ride if you wish, Yuri. As will anyone who cares to do so. For now, there are liqueurs in the library. Otherwise, I must ask you to forgive me while I apprise the Duty Officer at the landing port of the identities of his imminent arrivals.”

Gregor had caught Laisa’s eye during this, and they stood in unison as Miles ended, somehow drawing everyone to their feet. “Of course, Miles. And we will say goodnight, I think, my lords, ladies, gentlemen.”

Pym materialised to draw back Laisa’s chair as Jankowski did Gregor’s. The emperor turned to the door, but Laisa came to give Ekaterin an affectionate kiss; her whisper, on the side away from the table, was audible only to her. “Please come to our rooms when you can, with Miles.” Swallowing startlement, Ekaterin completed the goodnight ritual and as all the guests offered her and Miles salutations took the easy route of accompanying him out of the room. Gregor and Laisa had already disappeared upstairs. Miles was looking at her in surprise.

“I thought you would stay a little, love, with your aunt and uncle if not Simon and Alys. I really do have to call the ImpSec DO.”

“I had thought to, but Laisa whispered to me to come with you to their rooms.”

“Oh.” Miles’s brow furrowed. “At once?”

“When we can, she said.”

“Ah.” He seemed to find this reassuring. “Well, come on then” He paused in the hall for a word with the hovering Khourakis, then towed her into the deserted library and fired up the secured comsonsole. The Duty Officer at ImpSec’s nearest spaceport knew a courier was due in shortly but was surprised to learn whom it carried and what arrange­ments he was to make. Armed with the ID codes of the lightflyer that would quietly convey his parents to Vorkosigan Surleau and its escorts, he delivered them politely to Khourakis, now talking to Allegre, nodded renewed goodnights to Guy, and steered them both up the stairs. At the top, he turned to her for a long moment but said nothing, then with a small shrug started forward again. “Let’s see what Gregor wants.”

* * * * *

Still alert with adrenaline and private relief but exhausted by his claustrophobic night in ImpSec’s care, what felt like a very long day, and the astonishing food that flowed unstoppably from Vor­kosigan’s kitchen, Jack Chandler was taken aback by the speed with which the dinner-party broke up and the apparent lack of concern about what he did himself, even from Allegre. The ImpSec chief, having talked to Pym, left shortly after the Vorbarras and Vorkosigans. The navy man, Vorlynkin, concluding his own business with Pym, went off with a gleam in his eye to inspect horses for the morning. Even the Vorthyses pleaded tiredness, though Chandler was willing to bet-what was it Vorkosigan always said?-Betan dollars to sand that the handwritten maths flimsies with which he had supplied the impressive Barrayaran engineer would be looking a good deal more crumpled by the morning.

Only the astonishingly elegant Lady Alys Vorpatril and her improbable partner, former ImpSec chief Illyan, remained. Somewhat cautiously he accepted an invitation to shift chairs to their end of the table, and silently endured some thoughtful regard. He had known the military men would have to be present, and Vorthys made sense as a Lord Auditor and engineer. The interesting Professora, beyond her crisp, historical mind and evident support for the fascinating Lady Vorkosigan, seemed part of the Vorthys package. But why these two had been included he was still unsure, though Lady Alys clearly commanded Gregor’s deepest respect, and Illyan’s few remarks during the day had impressed and intrigued him, as best he had been able to follow words often plainly carrying individual payloads. Now the dapper, snub-nosed, somehow unremarkable man, an unexpected quality given his fearsome galactic reputation over three decades, raised his glass, smiling ironically.

“Congratulations, Doctor. I am, or was once, used to Miles changing worlds to suit himself, but you have, seemingly on his behalf, changed the laws of physics and the rules of”-he counted on his fingers, as Vorkosigan often did-“economics, politics, society, security, warfare, and diplomacy. What shall you do for an encore?”

Chandler laughed. “Why, live a quiet Barrayaran life, of course.” Lie in the bed I have now made and pray it doesn’t catch fire. “As I understand you do now.”

Alys sighed. “Even when Miles isn’t stirring us all up there seems no time to sit still.” She gave Chandler a look. “My own complaint would be that I hoped, after Gregor’s wedding, to retire a little myself. Not that Laisa doesn’t do wonderfully, but with increased activity driven by joint-ventures with Komarr the Residence is busier than ever. Now we shall have Cetagandans in and out all day, I suppose. No south coast this winter, Simon .”

Illyan’s face fell. “Perhaps not.”

Chandler smiled at the formidable High Vor woman, who seemed instinctively to understand that few things could have reassured him more than the proffered intimacy of such complaints. “Have you thought, Lady Alys, to take a frame with you? Of course comlinks are almost as fast over small distances, but frames do give a certain vividness to a person’s presence. It might lend itself to your needs.” He paused, thinking. “There would, of course, be matters of protocol to resolve, but I have wondered if the possibility of such visual presence, in realtime, might make physical absences easier to arrange.”

“That’s a thought.” Lady Alys spoke but both Barrayarans looked struck. “When this goes public Gregor will be inundated with requests to be present by frame, and we won’t be able to plead double-bookings half so easily.”

Illyan grinned.  “Guy will try to lock him in the Residence and avoid the risks of travel altogether.”

Chandler looked ruefully at them. “Alas, more problems that may be laid at my feet. I’m sorry, my Lady.”

“Oh, please don’t be.” His punctilio drew a surprisingly gamine smile in which the wilful girl Alys must once have been flickered, while long experience showed in her eyes. “Cordelia says great gifts are great tests. Simon says the upheaval will do us all a lot of good if only we survive it. And I think”-she raised her glass-“that quite unknown to yourself, Dr Chandler, you made possible something else today. I’m not sure how to describe it even were I at liberty to try, but … an old wrong is being righted amid our confusion.” She drank, and looked at her smiling Barrayaran partner with an emotion Chandler couldn’t identify. “I saw a look in Aral’s eyes today I haven’t seen in decades.”

“Yes.” Illyan looked curiously at Chandler. “Do you mind if I ask, Doctor, when you knew what Miles had planned for Jackson’s Whole?”

“Only a few days ago.” He hesitated, then shrugged; as an old friend and seemingly a former commander Illyan of all people must understand how it had been. “Once Lord Vorkosigan learned I had a frame-link to Sergyar, he deduced I would also have maintained one with Eta Ceta and insisted we use it to speak to General Benin. I took some persuading, because of the risk to my contact from Cetagandan security.” Both Illyan and, interestingly, Lady Alys nodded sharply. “Lord Vorkosigan argued persuasively it had to be all or nothing, that a step-by-step deal wouldn’t work because delays would give too many people a chance to interfere. But I insisted in that case he tell me what his all was.”

“And you actually got him to? Congratulations again.” Illyan clearly spoke from experience. “The argument about interference is familiar to me. Miles has always thought of his superiors in just that light, though on this occasion …hmm, he really does have a point. Did he offer any other rationale that wasn’t expounded today?”

“No. He talked a little about his dislike of the place. I knew from research about his clone-brother, who could only have come from there. And though I could find little hard information, Lord Vorkosigan too has clearly been involved with various Jacksonian houses. So I required assurance that vengeance was not being … indulged.”

“I imagine you did. As I would. You were satisfied it was not?” Illyan was oddly intent.

“I was. Lord Vorkosigan in fact seemed to regard, ah, conquest of the planet as entirely a means, not an end. He spent much of the time we were discussing it outlining what he today called a hook, and gave me on oath, though not in detail, his understanding of the Cetagandans’ bio-arsenal and the need to use the hypothesis to offset it. He may have had further ideas, but I accepted his primary case.”

“Ah. Miles often does have more ideas than he can say.” Illyan seemed to relax again.  “In any case, thank you for that account.”

As smoothly as the whole table earlier, again taking Chandler almost by surprise save that his knees seemed to have learned better than his head what was expected here, both Barrayarans rose and made good­nights, leaving him to the last of his wine and the sudden quietness of the old house. Even the amazing Pym had vanished, though for a moment Chandler heard him talking softly to Illyan and Lady Alys outside the door. What extraordinary people they all are. And with more subtexts between them than he could count, never mind track. But he did not feel as he had long feared, imagining a time when he might put down the burden of his terrible hypothesis, that he had made a basic error. The Barrayarans in their bizarre, seemingly so unwieldy imperium actually had a cohesion of policy he’d never found among Terra’s fractious governments or even techno­cratic Betans, let alone the discontented ghem-lords whom the Barrayarans under their warrior-aristocrats had twice so severely defeated. I have surrendered realtime communications to the Gregorian calendar, and it is good. Bemused but smiling, he took his tiredness, wine-glass with a half-full bottle of the ancient vintage Pym had thoughtfully left, and a small, oddly coloured kitten that trotted in to investigate the silent room, and went in search of the terrace to drink the health of brightly unfamiliar Barrayaran stars.

* * * * *

Laisa went to answer the crisp Vorbarra Armsman’s knock, and let Miles and Ekaterin into the sitting-room of their guest-suite. Gregor was in an armchair, superficially relaxed but to Laisa’s concerned eyes, and she feared Miles’s knowing ones, tenser than he had been all day. He murmured greetings as she seated herself, waving to the other chairs, and the Vorkosigans cautiously eyed both of them with uneasy speculation, declining refreshments.

Laisa had pushed Gregor to this, hoping to resolve doubts she knew were worrying him, but looking at her husband’s extraordinary foster-brother her heart sank. How much Ekaterin knew of the riddle she was unsure, but that could be finessed. And, she thought, looking at Ekaterin’s concealed alarm, some worries need not be over-respected.

“Before anything else, we wanted to thank you both for heroic efforts. And I wanted to thank you especially, Miles, on behalf of all Komarrans. Dr Chandler and Lord Auditor Vorthys assure me the soletta repairs and enlargement can be greatly speeded. I’ve never really had the chance to thank you for the enlargement itself since Gregor told me it was your idea to propose it as a giant wedding-present.”

Miles shrugged, half-eyeing the silent Gregor and clearly wondering why he let Laisa take the lead, but there was a glint in his look. “The Laisa Toscane Vorbarra Soletta Array, perhaps. I look forward to seeing you bang a bottle of wine on its nose, or wherever the engineers decide.” Ekaterin and Laisa laughed at his image; even Gregor grinned faintly.

“I, too. My poor parents will burst.”

“You said they were well. Are they adjusting to your, um, status?”

Ekaterin’s query was not, Laisa imagined, wholly disinterested. “I think so. It hasn’t been easy, I fear, but they seem to manage.” She smiled, thinking of her father’s enduring terror of the horse carrying her to her marriage-circle, which he had had to lead before more guests than he had ever expected. “And of course, petty as commerce can be, their experience in Komarran and galactic capital markets means they were used to keeping secrets and living with personal security.” She looked squarely at Ekaterin. “I have sometimes thought, you know, that the last year must have been harder on you than me.” Laisa glanced, smiling, at Miles and her husband. “Not that we haven’t both had the best help. But I’m not sure I didn’t find Vorkosigans a more intimidating bit of Barryaran history than even Gregor’s alarming forebears.”

Her tone was light, but she saw tension snap taut in Miles. Ekaterin’s hands also tightened-at the same moment, not in response to Miles. Good. She hated having to pussyfoot even in privacy with people who were in effect her brother and sister, but Gregor had been insistent some risks not be taken. Now she could relax, on one score at least. Sitting forward she looked at them both, but made the pitch to Miles.  “There is something Gregor wants to ask you, Miles, but he has an attack of what your mother calls Barrayaryngitis.” Ignoring sounds from both men as well as Ekaterin’s smile, Laisa forged on. “What we have here, you see, Miles, is like one of your perfect security paradoxes. Gregor thinks he knows something, and thinks you know it too. But if you don’t and he asks, he’ll reveal it, which he is desperate not to do. So I’m going to ask you something else instead.” For a moment both Vorkosigans and Gregor stared at her in consternation, but to her relief Miles’s face cleared and he took Ekaterin’s hand with a smile from which something drained, though his face seemed still to blaze.

“Yours to command, milady.”

Why that phrase would trigger an answering smile from Ekaterin Laisa wasn’t sure. A different question than the one she had intended to ask floated into her brain, and she went with intuition. “Miles, when your father asked you to summarise things, you said there were some details you left out. What were they?”

“Ah, those.” Miles looked at her guilelessly. “There are two. One will require some background, if you’ll bear with me.”

Laisa nodded, and Miles told them. Twice she heard Gregor splutter with amusement, a sound that warmed her, and when Miles was done they both stared at him, blank-eyed. Ekaterin had apparently known about this.

“Will Degtiar allow it, do you think?” Her own voice surprised her by its normality.

“I hope so. The, um, aesthetics of the symbolism should appeal on several levels.”

“We shall all hope so. But you said there were two things?”

“Yes.” Miles told them the other, in one sentence. A long silence followed, broken only, after a few minutes, by Ekaterin raising Miles’s hand and gently kissing his fingers. Laisa thought one stroked her lips, but Miles’s eyes were locked on Gregor’s. And slowly Gregor relaxed, not just in body but in spirit.

“He does not know you know?”

“No. But he will.”

“Will he acknowledge it?”

“Perhaps not. I am ready if he does.”

“I will not tell him I know, Miles.” Gregor’s low voice was clear. “But if you ever know it right to tell him, you have my blessing. As he has always done.” There was another long pause, while Laisa and Ekaterin, having stared briefly at one another and silently confirmed mutual knowledge, watched Miles also relax utterly in body, as he so rarely did.

“An unlikely if.”

“Perhaps.” In a shorter pause Gregor seemed to reflate. “Tell me, how ever did you get from Chandler’s hypothesis to this … inspiration?”

Miles shrugged. “The other way round. I couldn’t see what to do. Any answer that might do the slightest good was plainly off-the-wall impossible. Then the excellent Doctor came along with his little bag of tricks and it all …”

“Exploded?”

“No.” An injured mock-dignity resurfaced in Miles. “Fell gloriously into place.”

Gregor laughed with real amusement. “Miles, I do not fall anywhere any more, even gloriously. Except”-a very private smile for Laisa lit his eyes-“in love, and very shortly into my bed.” They all stood, and Gregor crossed to Ekaterin to hold her hands and kiss her softly on the cheek. Then he just looked at her for a moment, smiling almost to himself. “Thank you for everything you have done.” Laisa also leant to kiss her on the cheek, while Gregor turned to Miles. “Until tomorrow, then, brother of mine.”

Before Ekaterin could worry about this emotional form of address, heard for the second time that day, both Vorkosigans found themselves outside again, with the patient Vorbarra Armsman closing the door behind them and silently continuing his vigilant guard.