Forward Momentum -- Chapter 15 (c)

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The real astonishment, though, was entirely unexpected and resonant with deeper meanings. Sitting out a number too fast for her liking, she found herself talking to haut Paramel, in this relaxed mode an engaging, lively man, who told her with a smile and eyes intent on moving couples that he had requested posting to Gregor’s court because he had a life­long interest in Barrayaran dancing.


        “It was thought a frivolous hobby by my parents, but my Imperial Master wanted someone younger than usual for the assignment, who could be in post a long time, so it proved a boon-much to their surprise.”

“Forgive me, but how old were you when you came here?”

“Fifty-six.”

He didn’t look forty now but must be in his late sixties. “And what appeals to you in our dancing?”

“Oh, it’s a form of politics, really. The mirror-dance especially is a wonderful invention-easy yet demanding, simple but capable of infinite nuance. One of those a minute to learn and a lifetime to master ideas. And who would have thought it?” He gestured elegantly to the curious pairings of Simon Illyan and Mia Maz Vorob’yev next to Countess Olivia and Vassily Vorsoisson. “You can see the dance doing its work even as we watch and enjoy. I believe it a high art, like your gardens.”

Conversation drifted pleasantly on but she slowly realised his attention was on Taura, paired with Uncle Georg and absorbed out of self-consciousness in exercise of her speed and tremendous physical control. Once or twice as dances wore on Ekaterin saw Taura and Paramel pair one another, murmurs of appreciation sounding around them at the fluid control both showed. The explanation had begun to push into Ekaterin’s mind, but she was still taken aback to see them eagerly seek one another as partners when the last, traditionally slow-starting but constantly accelerating mirror-dance was announced. Even in the first tempos there was an intensity about them as a pair, exactitude of movement and balance that caught the eye, and as the orchestra moved into middle tempos more and more couples dropped out to watch. At first both their moves were drawn from traditional repertoires, embellished with flourishes and variations of hand and fingers or combining several elements into a new whole, but as the tempo climbed and the floor cleared to allow Taura and Paramel space expansiveness entered their exchanges, then duelling inventive­ness. For one long sequence Paramel generated moves Ekaterin recognised as alluding to gardening, that began to form a narrative of sowing and reaping, cooking and serving. Taura’s concentration was intense, and though not habituated to the uses of spade or spatula she was able to duplicate Paramel’s precision and, increasingly, his haut grace. Eyes gleamed around the room as it sank in that what they saw was not simply talent, but the call-and-answer of deliberate genetic modification, enhanced muscular reflex and control with acuity of vision.

In the final, racing section, Taura took the lead and with a wicked look began a swift sequence of sharply functional movements using both hands. Beside her Miles hummed appreciation and at Ekaterin’s touch on his shoulder murmured from the side of his mouth “She’s stripping down a plasma rifle,” and then, as the sequence ended and began to repeat at the next, almost impossible tempo, “for decomissioning”. Whether such a task had ever fallen to Paramel Ekaterin had no idea, but the haut ambassador must have learned immediately from the duplicating set and rhythm of his hands what the motions meant, and entered into their speeding repetitions with a will and a smile of his own. In the end it was the perspiring Colonel-conductor who took pity on his musicians and topped out, generating from his brass section a rising note that signalled a final repetition abruptly reverting to the first and slowest tempo. With extraordinary grace and an overwhelming sense of contained power two more plasma rifles were stripped and stored with exquisite, slow precision, and as the last note died away both dancers simultaneously made identical gestures of coding a lock shut, dusted off their hands, and came to rest. The day’s final outburst of applause, in which Ekaterin saw Armsmen and guards joining, rocked the ballroom.

Dag Benin, standing beyond Miles, whistled softly to himself. “Well, well. That was a thing to see.” He turned to them. “The sergeant is a most intriguing woman. I was struck this afternoon by her whistle, and delighted by her, um, swift solution to getting Ekaterin and her uncle down from the platform, but this was … another grace to the day.”

“It may also have been a swansong.” Miles’s voice was laced with pain. “If she chooses time she will lose the speed.”

“But not the grace, love.” Ekaterin rested a hand on his shoulder. “In any sense.”

Dag nodded. “That is correct, I think. But I am sorry for the inevitable melancholy. The dance was joyous.”

As the noise died away the party began to break up, Gregor and Laisa taking their leave closely followed en masse by the Koudelkas, saving Kareen, and all who were not being accommodated at Vorkosigan House. Perhaps because of the dance two things that actually happened next day were in Ekaterin’s mind always associated with the party, shuffled among other vignettes. After seeing her blood-kin depart in the morning she had walked in the garden a while, and returning to the house been caught by Nikki’s voice coming from the library. Standing quietly just inside the doorway she listened for a moment to her son’s conversation with Dag and Miles in one of the bays. The subject, of course, was the Occupation as seen by Lord Vortalon, and Ekaterin could hear in Dag’s measured replies to Nikki’s questions his underlying opinion of the ghem-generals’ tactics on Barrayar, but he clearly understood both why they had thought and done as they did and the place the less-than-accurate holovid series claimed in Nikki’s imagination. Uninterested herself in the military detail that beguiled her son, she was filled with admiration and yet another little bubble of astonishment for Miles’s capacities: teachers like Madame Csarna might discuss Lord Vortalon intelligently with children, and some parents too, but there could be no other who in response to his son’s interest procured as interlocutors first the Emperor, to discuss emperors, then the chief of Cetagandan Imperial Security, to discuss Cetagandans. Smiling, she joined them.

The other thing was altogether tenser, and came late in the day when Pym sought her out to ask her to join his lordship with Roic and Taura in the study. By the time she got there her stomach was knotting, and seeing Miles she knew he was as taut inside as she, wondering what had been decided. To her surprise Pym came in with her, and at Miles’s questioning look Taura spoke.

“I asked him to stay, Miles. I think he should.”

Miles nodded. “As you will.”

“Thank you.” Taura too was tense but more with determination than nerves. “I find the price high, in a strange way, which seems ungrateful, but I want the life you offer me, Miles. But I can’t be your Armswoman. Roic and I, well”-she smiled at him, sitting beside her-“we’d like to try to be together, but who knows? Perhaps we’ll drive one another crazy in a year. And we can’t know how I’ll be, or even who I’ll be. But if it worked for us and we were both your guards …”

She looked at Pym, who seemed unhappy but determined. “When you asked if I would mind an Armswoman, m;’lord, I said I wouldn’t and I meant it. I strongly support it, and unless I miss my guess recruitment to the imperial forces will be opened to women very soon. But I can’t support a husband and wife in the same Score. If they were on duty together and something happened there’d be a clear conflict of interest. One of my nightmares has always been a situation that simultaneously threatened one of you and my wife, or Arthur. Would I do the right thing? And if I made sure a husband and wife didn’t share duty they’d not see much of one another, and rarely see their children together. I’m sorry, m’lord, but it’s not right.”

At his mention of children Taura and Roic blushed, but nodded firmly. After a moment Miles nodded too, wearily. “Right you are, Pym. I should have seen it myself. Taura, what do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure.” Her frown was impressive above her fangs. “I think I want to study a bit. I only really know weapons and soldiers. But if I’m going to have to exercise as much as you said the haut Palma thought I will, just to maintain muscle-tone, I think I have to find a really active job. Something strenuous and stretching, outside, to cut down the gym hours.” Her practicality made the problem appealing, and she looked around at them all, smiling fondly at Roic. “I don’t really know what there is here, and we’ve both been at a loss trying to think of something.”

Miles drummed his fingers on his chair-arm. “Alright. You should go to Rho Ceta as soon as possible, then we’ll see. Helen can sort out the university end, if that’s what you’d like, though come to think of it you’d readily command a teaching position at Gregor’s institute-there’s few who know as much as you do about what’s been happening at the sharp end galactically for the last decade. I bet ImpSec and the forces would welcome combat instruction too.”

Taura looked alarmed at the idea of lecturing but pleased by training classes. “Some sergeanting would be nice. I know I can do that.” She gave them her alarmingly fangy ‘hello-small-recruit’ smile, making Ekaterin grin and Miles laugh. “But it’s the exercise problem that concerns me. I know I have to lose my speed but I don’t think I could bear to lose my fitness.”

Pym coughed gently, wearing a bland look, and everyone regarded him, Miles’s eyes narrowing as he took in the excess of loyal-retainer mode.

“Do you perchance have a cunning plan, Pym?”

“Not in the least, m’lord. I was going to ask leave for Armsman Roic to accompany Sergeant Taura to Rho Ceta.”

Did Miles blush? He certainly looked guilty as he waved permission. “Of course. Though I must warn you both that treatments and any hospitalisation are likely to be in Star Créche facilities, and they won’t let Roic into those, so you may be separated for more of the time than you’d like. You should be prepared to explain that you have something quiet to do, Roic, as well as sightseeing-it’ll make their security happier, as will a word with Dag Benin. ”

“Thank you, m’lord. I’m right grateful to you.”

Both Roic and Taura seemed content, but Pym wasn’t done and he did have a cunning plan. “It occurs to me, m’lord, that Jacques Parandre, who flies the high vales postal route out of Hassadar, is nearing retirement. I’ve heard him complain there’s quite a few dwellings with nowhere he can land, so he does a central drop and people come to collect. But if the sergeant were to do those deliveries by hand I think the climbs would offer a fair workout.”

Taura perked up. “Running up mountains sounds nice.” Her face fell. “But would they accept me? I’ve thought about having my fangs removed but I’m used to them. And my claws.”

“It’ll be alright, Taura, with care.” Miles’s lips compressed a little as he thought of a Dendarii schoolroom where Taura’s portrait accidentally hung. “And I know just the woman to introduce you.”

Ekaterin laughed. “Miles, dear, you sounded exactly like Aunt Alys.” He stared at her in consternation.

* * * * *

Winterfair was over, 2805 had started with a great blaze of fireworks, and everyone departed on various duties. Roic and Taura accompanied Dag Benin as far as Komarr, next stop on his Barrayaran tour, then went with the Viceroy and Vicereine to Sergyar, where a Rho Cetan courier would meet them. Mark and Kareen moved together to Hassadar to see to MPVK Enterprises and meet the ghem-geneticist Palma sent to assist Enrique with betaradio­phagic bacteria. A week later Gregor and Laisa left for a second official visit to Komarr, advanced in their schedule because of the economic impact the treaty and new techno­logies were already having. Nikki restarted school and came under the familiar care of Ma Pym, with whom he would stay at Vorkosigan House in his parents’ absence. After making arrange­ments with the medteam who would soon start Aral Alexander and Helen Natalia in their replicators, Miles and Ekaterin planned to slip away quietly on their long-delayed galactic honeymoon, but the day before he and Laisa left Gregor summoned Miles to the Residence and put the kybosh on that plan.

“Two things, Miles. The first is that, however discreetly, you are being an envoy plenipotentiary, certainly on Marilac and I suspect else­where before you’re done. So I don’t think arriving by liner is on. The second is security. You know Guy has picked up at least a dozen Jacksonian intelligencers already, trying to get in through Komarr. Dag said Ferrant’s nabbed a few as well.” He frowned. “I don’t think they’ll get anywhere near the truth, but on a public ship they could certainly get near you. And Ekaterin.”

Miles winced. “Point taken. What do you want us to do?”

“Borrow the General Vorkraft.” Gregor looked at his raised eyebrows and grinned. “Well, you’ve only yourself to blame if I’ve started thinking of battlecruisers as yachts, Miles. Besides, it solves the communciation problem, because they’ve equipped her with frames, and a select crew will gain a great deal of experience following your itinerary.  As you won’t need assault troops you’ll also have room for the many passengers you intend to collect on your way back from Terra, though I’ve left a small detachment of Marines on board for guard duties and the like. I might add Cordelia is greatly relieved and Aral amused that you will de facto command one of his old ships. It’s the one with the infamous engine-room, of course.”

“Heh.” The story of Cordelia’s first exercise in ending mutinous conflict had taken a while to prise from her, but Ekaterin eventually succeeded and Miles had been able to dig out his Da’s less than complete report on the event. “Alright, Sire, and thank you. How is the Lady Alys Vorpatril coming along?”

“Very nicely, I believe. I’m only sorry I can’t use her tomorrow. Laisa’s da has a very well appointed yacht, aboard which we shall doubt­less dine and about which he can be … a trifle annoying, I find.”

“What are you taking?”

“The Princess-and-Countess Olivia  with her support group.”

Miles considered the Princess Kareen class of battle­ship, still faster and heavier than anything else in the Nexus though that would be changing as Chandler’s technology developed. The Terran was still out in very uninhabited deep space with the wormhole-research group, and according to Allegre reporting very good results indeed. When the Toscanes learned Gregor controlled a wormhole-generating technology they’d want to give him the yacht and whatever else they could think of for a slice of the pie. Meantime … “Is Vorpelletier still in command?”

“Yes.”

“Good, he’ll play ball. Get yourself and your in-laws invited to dinner in the gunroom, with Vorpelletier and his second. They won’t have enough room, so give gracious permission for tables to be set up in the forward weapons-sphere.” It was impossible to shield the force-coils of gravitic lances when they discharged, and a very bad idea to stand beside a working x-ray or maser cannon, so all were operated remotely, and the walls of the sphere that contained them and their dedicated secondary power-units bore the necessary cladding. But lances and ground-strike weapons had to be fully retractable for jumping and maintenance that required heavy lifting, so when all weapons were extended in normal space and the cranes above them recessed into their housings, a large area could be cleared. “You’ll have to warn Komarr control lances and cannon will be run out or they’ll have a fit, but your guests will be able to see them on approach and you’ll get a venue no Toscane ship can match. The power-housings are very impressive and the cascabells look pretty good-they’ve always made me think of those way-old sailing ships that had gunpowder cannon, even in the captain’s cabin as I recall, so you can pass off using the sphere historically as well.”

“It’s definitely an idea.” Gregor grinned. “I’ll bear it in mind if I feel too put upon by Michael. In any case, have a good honeymoon. The Vorkraft is ready whenever you are. And I’ll see you both … there, I expect, not too long after my Birthday.”

The General Vorkraft was indeed waiting on Miles and Ekaterin in Barrayar orbit, and had had all its wardrooms shifted down, displacing the ensigns and freeing what had been the officers’ mess as a suite for Miles and Ekaterin. It also had a set of security codes provided by Dag Benin that would allow them, after Komarr, to take the hitherto closed trans-Cetagandan route first to Eta Ceta, then via Xi Ceta to Marilac. A few days after Gregor they made their farewells and with Pym and Jankowski in tow headed to the spaceport, and then out of Barrayar’s system to the chirp of good luck messages from busy orbital shipyards and patrol cruisers.