Forward Momentum -- Chapter 16 (b)

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The experience of arriving in full fig aboard the Lady Alys Vorpatril next morning reduced everyone except Miles and ImpSec to wondering observation.

Even those familiar with the Princess Kareen class were dumbstruck. One hold had been converted into a VIP docking-chamber, so they left the shuttle not through the usual freefall tube but down an elegantly curved ramp in full gravity and pleasantly fresh atmosphere. They were met by Lady Alys herself, an epitome of graciousness to all with warm smiles for those in need of one and special words for Taura and Harra, who won an enquiry after the portrait of Gregor. Alys shook hands with Bel and Nicol without so much as blinking, and merely raised an eyebrow when Miles explained that a hammered dulcimer of unusual design was being toted behind them. Only ImpSec produced any visible pause, but a polite mmrt and inclination of his head was accepted with a quirk of her lips. While Miles introduced everyone more official ImpSec guards ran scanners over them all from top to toe, or in Nicol’s case top to finger as well as carefully inspecting the insides of her float-chair while she was held by Taura. Then Alys led them along a wide, carpeted corridor to a large lift, and they rose for several minutes through the height of the ship to emerge in what was clearly an ante­chamber featuring more carpet, wallpaper, ovolo mouldings softening angles, a selection of antique furnishings and art from the Residence, and half-a-dozen lethally armed ImpSec guards and marines at parade rest. On one side double-doors were closed; on the other a matching pair gave onto an enormous, elegant space dominated by an equally enormous dining-table already half-filled with people tucking into what looked like every food-group in existence. Gregor rose to meet them, waving his other guests to keep eating.

“Miles, Ekaterin. You’re well? Have you had a good trip? Little Aral and Kareen are thriving.” He was relaxed and cheerful. “The Betans have been screaming blue murder almost as loudly as Kareen since you gave them the ultimatum. I hope you enjoyed it. I’m letting Cordelia compose a variety of polite replies, which may be why she isn’t here yet.”

Miles grinned. “We are, we did, that’s excellent, I did-though that President of theirs is as pointless a creature as I’ve ever met-and that’s good of you. Before you ask, yes, that is indeed ImpSec making a beeline for your kippers. Mark claims he found him on the bridge of their corvette an hour after breaking orbit.” Gregor laughed. “And I have, quite by chance, brought you someone who can give us some music to invade things to. Let me introduce those you haven’t met.”

He did so while Gregor as much as Alys exerted himself to put people at ease. Branson was formally greeted and subtly assured of personal welcome; the deliberate grace was a form of imperial carrot to Miles’s diplomatic stick. There was a fascinating moment when Gregor took Ky Tung’s hand, murmuring that it was a pleasure to meet him again and be able to express his thanks properly. As he turned to Esmerelda Tung’s eye’s raced with calculation, then popped as wide as Miles had ever seen them when he remembered his brief encounter at the Hegen Hub with ‘Greg Bleakman’. Miles saw Ekaterin’s eyes also snap to attention, and reflected that one more secret of Gregor’s was blown. Elena alone received, against all protocol, a brief hug, but the meeting that truly gripped Miles was Gregor’s grave handshakes with Harra and Lem Csurik.

“It is my honour to meet you both at last. I know how much you and poor Raina mean to Lord Vorkosigan, and I have greatly admired your work in Silvy Vale. Is all well with your child-to-be?”

Their faces were a picture Miles would long remember, which gave him an idea, but the practical question helped Harra to an answer in which Lem joined. Gregor saw both to places at the table before returning to greet Bel Thorne with Hegen Hub warmth and Nicol with open curiosity, steering them back to sit beside him and introducing an equally fascinated Laisa while a steward hastily cleared room for Nicol’s float-chair. Meanwhile Miles and Ekaterin smiled and waved at people round the table, including Laisa’s nervous-looking parents, Georg and Helen with a passel of Lords Auditor, Counts Vorvolk and Vorrutyer with their wives, and Delia and Duv Galeni, before slipping into seats next to a smiling Kou and Drou, and opposite Alys, Simon Illyan, and a glowering figure in dress greens.

“Hello, Ivan. How are you?”

“I am not talking to you.”

“You just did.” Ivan was not appeased by this logic. “Um, what exactly are you cross about?”

“Everything.” The glower continued. “Absoutely everything. Including freak accidents happening right now a thousand light-years away.”

Miles sighed and began to eat. Ivan would come round. Or be brought round. Opposite him Ekaterin looked at Ivan consideringly.

“Including the bits that are about to happen?”

Ivan smiled sourly. “Knocking that place off is, I grant, an outrageous act of virtue. Everything else is simply outrageous. I am still officially seconded to my mother’s command, and in practice my boss for the last year has been a drop-dead gorgeous lunatic who cannot decide if she is more obsessed with genes or gadgets, and is in either case even more dangerous than my dearest mama. To whom Miles persuaded Gregor to give a battleship as a toy. I shall never forgive him.”

“Yes he will.” Illyan was straight-faced but his eyes were alight. “Ivan is merely put out because he has discovered that in ghem culture women may propose as well as men”-Ekaterin received a broad smile-“and he is finding that in one case at least he is not entirely sure he wants to say ‘no’. Or perhaps two-the ghem, of course, also practice polygamy.”

Ekaterin covered her mouth with a hand as Miles swallowed laughter with his bacon. Ivan went back to glowering, not that he had stopped.

“You don’t say, Simon?”

“I do, Miles. I, on the other hand, am tolerably pleased with you. It had not occurred to me to try my hand at redesigning battleships for diplomatic purposes, but I have found the process absorbing.”

“Heh. I live to serve. It’s a limited market, alas. But I suppose Ma and Da might need one.”

“You’ve certainly done a wonderful job between you.” Ekaterin’s voice was teasing. “What do you think of your portait, Aunt Alys?”

“I am not altogether displeased.” Alys’s lips quirked. “Like Simon I found the business of naval redesign more interesting than expected, and the outcome very satisfactory. I almost incline to think, Miles dear, I have finally taught you something about doing things in a proper way.”

Miles had thought Ekaterin remarkably bold to tease Alys at break­fast, but at this sally he grinned at his aunt and conversation broadened to their trip and the most positive outcomes of yesterday’s state-visit to Escobar. Ivan removed himself, muttering, but Vorthyses, Koudelkas, Vorrutyers, and Galenis drifted down-table with Mark and Kareen to say proper hellos. Miles was deep in a witty account of Jankowski’s prowess at skiing when his Ma slipped in beside him.

“Hello son.” She gave him a maternal kiss, then a rarer hug. “Ekaterin, dear. Are you both well?”

“We are. How is Da?”

“Blooming.” She smiled radiantly. “The efficiency of haut gene-treat­ment astonishes me, and I’ve rarely seen him happier.” She looked round the table and laughed. “Miles dear, besides intimidating my home­world for me-and I am enjoying the undiplomatic correspondence-you appear to have brought along a harem who all seem happy with you and one another. I’m not at all sure how you manage it, nor how Ekaterin must feel.  And is that really a quaddie next to Gregor?”

Miles explained Nicol and after introducing her and Bel wandered round the table with his Ma, introducing her to the Tungs, Lem Csurik, and Rowan Durona-to his expected but nevertheless severe discomfort the recipient of most sincere and for his Ma distinctly emotional thanks for surgically rebuilding and reviving him from cryostasis. He watched her delight encompass everyone, as well as her real pleasure at seeing Elena and Baz, to whose daughter she stood as godmother, and Harra-last met in person when she had come barefoot to Vorkosigan Surleau to report Raina’s murder. His own heart was bursting with her happiness and his own, yet was eased and all its commotion in his chest somehow without effect on his calm demeanour. The work had been done, surprise was complete, technological and every other advantage overwhelming, the intent as moral as personal. It was enough. It was pretty good, actually. And his Ma and Da were well and happy, and like to remain so.

While they stood chatting to Rowan an officer entered and crossed to Gregor, who listened, stood and clapped his hands before smiling gravely at them all.

“It’s showtime, folks. If you’d all follow Laisa and I-”

He helped Laisa rise and led them across the antechamber and through the opposite set of double-doors into an even larger space, the main part of the additional volume. There were no windows, but across the curved further wall were an array of screens of all sizes surrounding a huge central frame; it was blank but various displays showed space and ships around them with the crescent of Escobar behind. The room itself could clearly be reconfigured but was presently a vast lounge, the rear wall lined on either side of the doors with alcoves and padded benches, and the floor space filled with small tables and comfortable chairs. Gregor and Laisa took a central place, and Vorbarra Armsmen guided the rest of them, the ranking Barrayaran observers and Commander Branson on one side, Vorkosigans, Laisa’s parents, and other personal friends around the centre, and the Dendarii with Miles’s miscellaneous guests on the other. He was happy enough with it as a first arrangement-the whole set-up was designed to be flexible-until Gregor commandeered him by one arm and turned them to face everyone, looking around the well-dressed but motley assembly.

“There are too many titles of honour to enumerate, so forgive me for omitting them all. What is about to happen will be self-explanatory, I think, but as this day is very much Lord Vorkosigan’s he will provide initial guidance and take questions that occur.” Gregor looked across to the doorway where an officer waited and nodded. Behind them the frame lit up and Gregor turned back to his seat beside Laisa, winking at Miles who sighed as he walked to one side out of people’s lines-of-sight. The frame-image split in three, still with a dark centre, and he let the noises subside before speaking.

“The left image, as some of you will have seen, is of the Barrayaran fleet in the small binary system one jump towards Beta. The right is of the Cetagandan fleet, in a corresponding position in the other direction. Military observers among you will note the unusual fleet-formations of unequal columns in relation to the freighters. You will also see both fleets have launched a drone-satellite, each of which is about to disappear, somewhat oddly. There. And now the middle image will shortly show you”-he waited a few seconds until the dark third of the frame abruptly filled with a starfield-“where the fleets are about to go.”

After the sharp rustle of bodies sitting up and forward there was silence. In the frame a small planet was visible at some distance, bright ice-caps gleaming at each pole and only one continent showing, in the temperate zone. In geostationary orbits rode a small group of warships between two large weapons-platforms, and well separated from them four scattered freighters of different designs but considerable size. In slightly higher orbits were a few smaller merchant ships. Closer to their viewpoint a fifth large freighter was apparently drifting as if it had just halted after setting off for one of the jump-points; inset images showed all three, each with a small warship and jump-station guarding it, and a little way off, as if waiting to jump, another freighter. He saw pleased recognition slip into Rowan Durona’s eyes and fierce triumph in Taura’s, then Nicol’s, but Mark had gone white and was looking at his progenitor-brother with feral eyes. Miles wasn’t entirely sure how many sub-personalities Mark had these days, but he was willing to bet every last one was intent on him now. With what was clearly immense effort and a convulsive grab at Kareen’s hand Mark relaxed his jaw enough to speak, though his voice vibrated rustily.

“Miles, that is Jackson’s Whole.”

“Not for much longer.” Miles thought his own grin was probably feral too. “We’ve agreed to rename it Aralyar Ceta after the conquest.” He ignored the burst of noise from Barrayarans who hadn’t known, his gaze locked with Mark’s as he raised his voice to cut through the sound. “To honour whom there will, we hope, be not a single death. No Escobaran stupidity. No massacres. Just Vasa Luigi and every last baron on their knees, every gene-slave and techno-serf delivered, and the whole damned abattoir permanently out of every business except being Joint Fleet Headquarters.”

Abruptly he realised Mark probably couldn’t move, so amid continuing noise he walked toward his clone-brother, feeling his mother’s and Ekaterin’s concerned gazes. Reaching Mark he pulled him to his feet, but only so he could embrace him and rest his head on Mark’s shoulder.

“Cetaganda is the means,” he whispered. “You and Harra showed me the end. In an old, secret way it’s also for our Da. I’ll tell you when I can.”

Mark’s arms tightened hard around him for a second. “Thank you.” The voice was not quite Mark’s, colder and flatter even in its whisper and deeply chilling. As the hair stirred on his neck Miles thought it was probably the last voice Ry Ryoval ever heard, though not, he imagined, saying the same thing. Much more of Mark’s personality poured unevenly back into his voice as he added, “For another debt I can never repay.”

“Oh no.” Miles pulled back to arm’s length and stared into Mark’s clouded eyes. “This makes us all square, for the first time. We can move on, with Ekaterin and Kareen, and all the children-to-be. We don’t have to take that place with us anymore. You taught me that, too, defeating Ryoval.” Mark’s eyes were clearing, pleasure dominant, and Miles risked a grin, squeezing his brother’s shoulders. “Mess with the Chance Brothers at your peril, eh? Luigi will bend the knee, all will be well, and everyone will see it.”

He walked back past Ekaterin and his Ma, who met his eyes with benison, and turned to face everyone again.  “Incidentally, these images are now being transmitted to all polities in frame-contact, where they are by formal Alliance request being put on planetary holovid nets. We estimate the audience at 500 billion and rising.” He smiled cheerfully at Nicol. “If you felt like, um, expressing your feelings about, say, Baron Bharaputra on the dulcimer we can plug you in Nexus-wide as a soundtrack, including, I believe, Graf Station.” Nicol was wide-eyed, Bel snorting laughter, and Gregor gazing at him with a strange expression, but then he hadn’t yet heard Nicol play. Tung, however, like Elli and the military minds, was intent on the screens, his voice deadly dry.

“Miles, the audience thing will be interesting when I have time and spare capacity to think about it, as will Nicol’s astounding music. But humour me, and tell me why all those warships are lined up as if to use jump-points that are not there?”

“Because they will be. The jump-points, I mean, not the ships. Though of course the ships will be too.” He smiled and Tung took a deep breath.

“Are you telling us, Admiral”-Barrayaran eyebrows scooted upwards at Tung’s slip, though most probably didn’t understand it-“that Barrayar can create wormholes at will?”

“I am, Commodore. It is the third arm of frame and nanoforge technology. As you can see, just now.”

On left and right screens columns of ships began to accelerate in a hypnotic display of precision command and manoeuvring, but that was nothing to the fact that they also began to vanish at about twenty-second intervals as the lead ships in each column reached a point close to one of the freighters, and reappeared after a few seconds equally close to one of the freighters in the middle images of the screen. Sprinting out of eight new wormhole-throats Barrayaran and Cetagandan capital vessels spilled into the Jacksonian system to surround the jump-stations and small fleet-Baron Fell’s ships-clustered between the weapon-platforms. From first and second ships through each wormhole, Princess Kareen class and their nearest Cetagandan equivalents, came scores of rocket-driven satellites wrapped in protective force-bubbles that accelerated at immense speed towards Jacksonian facilities. The third ships through were freighters, and as soon as they were clear of the wormholes enormous stasis-fields snapped out of the satellites closing on Jacksonian targets, glowing in overlaid tac-display; all were already near enough for fields to reach and immobilise Jacksonian ships, weapons, and personnel. It was less than seventy seconds since the first warship had emerged in-system. Miles heard Tung swearing in his familiar, inventive way, damping his voice in strangled deference to company while Gregor and many others strained to hear him.

Rotating and braking as fast as they had accelerated ships took positions that built into formations covering all Jacksonian facilities with bristling, unfired weapons. Hold-hatches opened and shuttles swept out towards immobilised stations and ships, cutting through the stasis-fields with impunity to shoot armoured grapnel-clamps into their targets and haul themselves in to complete forced dockings. A soundtrack inter­mittently cut in as anonymous Barrayaran and ghem voices began reporting ships, installations, and prisoners secured, after which the stasis fields snapped off and freighters manoeuvred into positions above the dense cluster of warships, great and small, beginning to mass in arrayed geosynchronous orbits over the visible continent. Once local-space control was fully established-it had taken all of twenty-three minutes-troopships and the liners carrying the counts, haut- and ghem-lords, and ambassadors began to jump in, moving slowly to high orbit but using side-thrusters to maintain positions above the fleet; they too carried extra generators that could be tapped.

Tearing his eyes away from the show Miles swept attention over the audience. Everyone with military and space experience was rigidly intent on unfolding events, even Ivan, as were those with personal reasons to curse Jacksonian barons-Elli, Elena, Bel, Nicol, Mark, and Taura; even his Ma. But in one case explanation was needed, and he slipped between tables to crouch by Lem and Harra, sitting with Taura and a wide-eyed Roic.

“The Jacksonians are gene whores, and worse. They made Taura and Mark and a hundred thousand others as disposable weapons, uncaring of their lives. They sell genetic services up to clone-transplant and murder to the highest bidder, as well as arms and tailored bioweapons. They tried to murder Ekaterin, and they did kill me, for a while. But it is they, as much as your Ma, Harra, who will be buried without remembrance.” He gripped her hand. “I invited you because I wanted you to know in more than words that your fight in Silvy Vale is not isolated, it’s one end of a big battle.” Harra and Lem were staring, and the sound of her name had brought Taura’s and Roic’s gazes round to him. “This is the other, to cleanse the wider Nexus as you have cleansed the Vale. We can’t end the evil, but we can by God take a big bite from its head today.”

Harra stared at him in silence, but Taura reached a long arm to touch his cheek gently, then Harra’s. He left them to digest his words, checked the screens, where deployment continued but the next phase had not yet been reached, and looked around again. From this angle he could see ImpSec crouched behind Gregor’s chair finishing a stolen kipper, laughed to himself, and found his eye caught by Vorkalloner among his auditorial colleagues. Nodding, he detoured to the door to ask Pym to notify the comm section Nicol might need a sound-pickup to patch into the frame-broadcast, and to see her dulcimer brought to her, adding careful instructions. Then he went to the block of Lords Auditor, not only Georg with Helen and Vorkalloner, but Vorhovis, Vorlaisner, and Vorgustafson-wiith himself a full house since the deaths of General Vorparadijs and Admiral Valentine.

“Miles.” Vorkalloner was trying for dryness without much success. “I confess I had doubts when I found out about all this, but that was a beautiful surprise-strike, and as you said bloodless. It would serve emphatic notice as stale news, and as a live broadcast … well, perhaps Commodore Tung’s ‘Admiral’ was not so misplaced.”

“A bit outside the usual Auditorial brief, though.” Vorhovis kept a straight face. “Treaties, invasions …”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Miles kept a straight face too. “I’m just finishing off the Vorbataille case. My report did say there were several loose ends as the neurotoxin was not manufactured on Barrayar. I take my job very seriously, you know, and as the penalty for attacking a Lord Auditor or his kin has always been death on a generous scale I’ve been rather restrained, I think.” Five Lords Auditor stared at him, Georg and Helen with fey smiles. “I imagine we shall soon be able to mark some other Auditorial reports properly closed, as well. At least a dozen criminal ones, for starters; the ground administration people in the second wave have a long list of names on our wanted list with biometrical data, though we’ll have to share the ones we get with the Cetagandans. Then there’s the nastily angled report some years ago into ImpSec finances that questioned the value of Dendarii raids on Jackson’s Whole and Dagoola, which could bear a coda, I fancy, and of course my own as Ninth Auditor into Illyan’s para-assassination. There’s also the ImpSec reports on my clone-brother’s manufacture and Ser Galen’s other plots, though those of course are extraneous, Auditorially speaking. On the other hand there’s going to be a lot more for us all to do for some while, so I think we must urge Gregor to appoint Auditors to the vacant posts, even a ninth if we see a job for one, which I imagine means our offering him a shortlist. Or three. But if you’ll excuse me-”

From the corner of his eye he had seen the last ships of the joint-fleet moving into orbital position, and leaving his pleasingly wide-eyed fellow Auditors and Helen to what he hoped would be a productive bit of brainstorming-a Lady and a non-Vor auditor would be popular-he went back to his spot. ImpSec was on Gregor’s lap, washing with a satisfied look, and Miles shook his head before speaking.

“What you are about to see are frames within force-bubbles, through which we will effect initial ground control. This phase will take longer, and I see stewards are available to take requests for refresh­ments.” Nicol’s dulcimer was being brought to her in its case. “I might add that if Jacksonian reactions seem a trifle uncoordinated and inept, you should consider the presence on-planet of substantial Barrayaran and Cetagandan assets who will be seeing to it that com-links go down, armouries won’t unlock, aircars are immobilised and so on. They’re also relaying a great deal of realtime targeting intelligence.”

Tung and Elli were softly applauding the plan and its execution so far, but fell silent as the screens changed, all three sections joining to show a panorama from below the massed ships, whose bellies were visible, still well above atmosphere. The sky was clear, the grey-black blur of the sprawling Jacksonian conurbation visible under the carpet of ships. The fleet was too distant for detail to show, but twinkling clouds began to fall. Some passed close enough to the trans­mitting frame for the forms of bubbles and hints of colour to appear, but the greater impression was of numbers, bubbles in tens of thousands moving steadily down to pass into upper atmosphere and sink towards the ground. After a while the display shifted, the image of the ships moving to the left-image while the middle and right began to show a mosaic of lower views from just behind some large bubbles leading the descent. As they neared the ground they swerved towards specific targets, larger facilities with gun-emplace­ments and hangar-doors, baronial palaces, and shuttleports, and from kilometres up stasis-fields again slapped out, mapped in the images by tac-displays as they grasped buildings and personnel in a vice of immobility that strengthened as the large bubbles came to rest just above rooves and towers. Smaller bubbles in vast numbers flowed past them, untroubled by their fields, entering doors and windows that were pulled open or exploded outwards to let them pass.

“Those are tractor-beams clearing them in, Miles?” Tung’s voice was soft, delighted.

“Yes. The small ones will take control of individual stations and people.”

He would have continued, but from across the room came a triumph­ant ripple of sound as Nicol hammered joy on her dulcimer with all four arms, and Miles whipped his head around to catch the eye of a comm-tech standing behind her, who nodded hastily at him. Other heads were turning as the music continued, settling after that first undisciplined blast into an improvisation that strode and danced. One of Nicol’s lower hands struck a rolling, bassy ostinato that Miles took as corresponding to the capital ships in orbit, while the other lower hand played tumbling arpeggios to the bubbles and their fall. Her upper hands played dancing melodramatic accompaniments to unfolding action, becoming more melod­ically and rhythmically complex as what was visible evolved and individual squads of Jacksonian security-men, then groups of employees, were seen immobilised and shunted together. Echoes of the triumphant opening chords resonated and grew as stationary bubbles holding people began to glow in luminous and delicate shades of all the colours of the Celestial Garden, a rainbow spreading with all the bright promise of the original. Shaking his head and pinching himself to lessen the spell, Gregor caught Miles’s eye and crooked a finger; on his lap ImpSec was bolt upright, head cocked attentively to the music as he stared at the frames. Miles slid silently into a crouch between Gregor’s and Laisa’s chairs.

“Music to invade things to, eh?” Gregor’s whisper was almost inaudible. “Miles, you never cease to amaze. Is this going out live?”

“Oh yes,” he breathed back, “or I’ll have that comm tech’s guts for garters. The pickup’ll only take music, not voices. And I told ’em to pipe the Cetagandans a private feed.”

“Ah, good. If he hears this Fletchir will want to meet Nicol. And-” He was interrupted by the sharpest ripple of triumph in the music yet, and as their eyes quartered the screens Miles gave a hiss.

“It’s Vasa Luigi and Lotus.” One of the techs running the broadcast must have known too, for the small image in the mosaic of scenes blossomed to fill the middle third of the screen with Baron and Baronne Bharaputra, held fast by a royal blue bubble behind them, being slowly marched down a grand staircase, presumably in their palace. The stasis-field left their faces free and both were shouting, but no sound was relayed, and there was in any case no-one free or willing to do whatever they were trying to order. Though a Durona, Lotus’s contorted face bore little resemblance to Rowan. Miles’s hands clenched with satisfaction. Sell me to Ryoval, would you, Vasa Luigi? His only regret was that he couldn’t stand before the Baron right now to laugh in his face, but as the struggling couple reached the foot of the staircase and began to shuffle forwards across a wide hall one of the high windows exploded outwards and a middle-sized bubble in the soft rose-pink haut Pel favoured spun lazily down to drift backwards in front of the Bhara­putras. Once it had positioned itself pink faded from the bottom up to be replaced by the brown and silver of a Vorkosigan House uniform, and atop it the image of his own, evilly grinning face. The Baron’s sculpted features creased in rage and the stasis-field slapped up a foot, freezing his muscles in their rictus as he and Lotus continued to be walked forward by the blue bubble behind them, and the Miles-bubble swayed and spun before them. Nicol’s dizzying music inhibited vocal noise but Miles saw Gregor and Laisa were transfixed, and felt his own richly amused contentment reflected by almost all present. Commander Branson still looked too appalled by the whole thing to worry about refinements and Henry Vorvolk wore the stunned look he favoured but there was an implacability in the satisfied joy filling the room.

A few moments later the Bharaputras shrank to the lower half of the middle third, and above them another couple in duress appeared-Baron and Baronne Dine, Miles recognised, a minor but still very nasty gene-house-then others, Hartman, Cosano, Alsuda, Bushry, Holding, and dozens more, eventually including a baronne-less Georish Stauber, Baron Fell, an arms-dealer better than most and Rowan’s half-uncle. Miles glanced at her in momentary concern, but her face bore only a serene smile of pleasure in Nicol’s music, and his attention returned with delight to the screens. Before each baron and baronne a picture-bubble danced, not always showing Miles. His father’s face was there, Mark’s, and Taura’s, complete with shining fangs; on one bubble Miles saw, doubtless to some baron’s complete puzzlement, an image of Harra. Ghem faces he didn’t know also occurred-that would be an interesting analysts’ job-but most bubbles were white, spun with slow dignity, and bore stern-faced double-images of Gregor and Fletchir Giaja. He must think of a really good present for Pel, whose fun this was. As the number of captive barons passed a hundred, individual images dwindling in a mosaic of complete Alliance victory, strands of Nicol’s music came together in a finale filled with tonal resolutions and full major chords that melded into one, sustained for a long moment before quieting away.

Standing in the momentary hush Miles again caught the eye of the comm tech behind Nicol, at whom Bel was grinning, and the young woman nodded at him as she cut the feed and took a pace back. Then cheers and applause broke out all round him, and he could make his way past Ekaterin and his Ma, both with tears in their eyes, to a blushing, beaming Nicol. He flapped a hand for silence.

“Thank you, Nicol. That was wonderful.”

“Thank you, Miles.” She was still blushing. “I don’t know about playing to the Nexus, but this was very satisfactory for me. I have dreamed of ends for that place, but I never expected to see it happen.”

“Your pleasure was ours. And you have just played to the Nexus. That all went out live.” He grinned at her confusion and Bel’s cackle. “I’ll ask Gregor to instruct our ambassadors to file for property rights on your behalf in their polities. You should do rather well out of it.”

Gregor spoke over his shoulder. “I’ll certainly do that. You have my astonished thanks and congratulations, Nicol. And I’m sure Fletchir will want to meet you.” He broke off and Miles twisted to see Armsman Gerard whispering in his ear. “In fact he’s calling now. Miles, this will still take a while, yes?”

“Oh yes. Hours before they’ll call it fully secured. But Da’ll report before he sends ground-troops-another hour or two for that.”

“Very well.” Gregor turned and raised his voice. “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, guests, I must ask you to excuse me while I speak to my Celestial Cousin. Things will continue much as they are for some hours.” He turned back to Miles. “Will you and Ekaterin please help Laisa steer folk to lunch by and by? And deal with Branson and Commodore Tung in their official capacities? I’ll be an hour or so, I think.”

“Of course.”

Trailed by Gerard and collecting guards at the door Gregor went, and the room dissolved into quiet conversations. Laisa went with her parents, Ekaterin, his Ma, and Aunt Alys to offer a flustered Nicol thanks and congratulations. He stood with them a while, then began to drift round, checking all was well. When he reached Tung, whom Elli and Vorkalloner-an Admiral before he became a Lord Auditor-had joined in a high-command knot of professional analysis, the old Eurasian looked up at him and gave a lazy salute.

“Once again, Miles, I must thank you sincerely for press-ganging me into this. How do you do it? That was strategic and tactical poetry in motion, not that the Alliance wasn’t given every single card to play. The report will be a gem. I take it your Da is on one of those gentle giants now in orbit?”

“He is.” Miles glanced over at Commander Branson, and waved him to join them. “As official observers for Terra and Beta, let me inform you of the agenda. We’re expecting a preliminary report of local space and all major ground-facilities bubble-secured before troops begin landing in an hour or two. Then we’ll jump ourselves, as will the Cetagandan imperial party, but I’m betting at least a day, probably two, before Viceroy Count Vorkosigan, who commands the Joint Fleet, is willing to call the place secured on the ground, and another to set up an audience square, after which Their Imperial Majesties will go downside to receive the planet from him and address the Nexus. The interim will be filled with imperial receptions given by Their Majesties for one another, and who knows what diplomatic dancing. Your duties end with the imperial broadcasts.” Signalling Tung for silence in the old Dendarii way, he raised eyebrows at Branson. “Any comment on events to date, Commander?”

The Betan smiled cautiously. “None negative, Lord Auditor Vor­kosigan. This invasion is of course illegal under Betan and most galactic law, but I imagine with the two emperors involved it cannot be so in Barrayaran or Cetagandan law, and Jacksonians have none. Nor many to mourn them I think; I know I shall not. Have casualties been reported?”

“None I know of, and we expect none-though heart-attacks may claim one or two more obese and physically frail barons, of course. Or seizures of indignation.” Branson smiled wryly. “You will grant us civilised aggressors, then? And careful ones?”

“Certainly, on this evidence. Jovial ones, too, with that extraordinary music and those taunting … face-bubbles.” Branson’s eyes tightened. “But my government will not be the only ones deeply concerned. This bubble-technology threatens all, and as for the wormhole technique …” His voice trailed away as he tried to encompass what that was going to do to ruling sensibilities.

“Ah.” Miles moved his hands placatingly. “I must not anticipate my Imperial Master, nor His Imperial Cousin, but I am permitted to assure you that bubble-technology will not be being licensed to anyone, though planetary-governmental applications to borrow Joint-Fleet detachments for highly specific and occasional civil purposes will be considered. The wormhole-technology, however, which for permanent use needs power-plants at least as large as those freighters at both ends, will  be licensed to all, as will vastly improved grav-detectors. And though you must of course await my Imperial Master’s Word, you have mine as Vorkosigan that this is strictly a one-off operation. Both imperia have particular reasons to want Jacksonians permanently out of their criminal businesses, not to mention our hair. Most polities will appreciate our motives, especially as there will be a promise in the broadcasts that no further act of annexation is contemplated.” Branson stared at him as if he had turned into a spitting cobra though his face registered relief. Miles smiled enigmatically. “We have become a force majeure you must live with, and serve notice that conspiracy to murder any of us will attract a permanent and comprehensive response, but short of that we shall be frighteningly well behaved, as forces majeures go.”

“Thank you, Lord Auditor.” What was that in Branson’s eyes? “I think I will accept your Word now, and advise my government as strongly as I can to accept it also in every relevant matter. Would it be possible for me to contact the office of my President now?”

“It would.” Miles regretted not being able to eavesdrop on that exchange. “Other observers and diplomats who will also receive discreet reassurances over the next few hours will ask the same question and get the same answer. But your government is not to make any public state­ment or permit any leaks whatever concerning the content of the broad­casts ahead of time, or things will go very much the worse for it. Do you accept my word on that also?” Branson nodded, as did Tung with an amused look. “Then ask one of the stewards to guide you to the comm deck, and they will put you in frame-contact with Beta via the Imperial Residence on Barrayar.”

Branson nodded, rose, remembered to bow, and left. Tung looked after him and laughed softly.

“You’ve got slicker at that. My politicos can wait. It’ll do ’em good. What I’m really beginning to want though, Miles, is a political briefing for myself about this show. From the way they’re using them I can militarily put together wormholes and bubbles, but the good Commander reminds me of the political supernova you have just set off. Everywhere at once. Your reassurances are a good start, but what are you going to do with the Jacksonian population, and how are you going to manage the shock-waves in the Nexus?”

“Can’t tell you yet, Ky, but it’s a good deal for everyone. The imperial broadcasts will not lack content. And my Da may have something to say, as well, in a broadcast afterwards.”

“Nexus-wide?” Tung’s eyebrows were up again, as were Elli’s.

“Yes. I’ve been trying to persuade him to be less shy, you know? Oh, and I should tell you, Elli, that while the Dendarii will be losing that chunk of operations that have been anti-Cetagandan in one or another way, you will be gaining permission to transit Cetagandan space. No shore leave, I’m afraid, but I thought right-of-passage would be useful, if only to visit Marilac more easily when you want to be fêted.”

“Whoosh!” She grinned at him. “I confess I hadn’t really got round to implications, Miles, because I’ve been making up limericks, but that sounds good news. The Jacksonian Barons were sure / they could show Admiral Naismith the door / but the supersize titch ’s / made ’em bubble their breeches / and buggered ’em blind by the score.” She smiled with salacious enthusiasm, Tung coughed, Vorkalloner struggled not to laugh. “When Lord Miles was determined to save / all his exes from boredom, he gave / them a hareem invasion / as the ultimate suasion / and the fuck’ry revenges they crave.” Vorkalloner surrendered against odds. “And I’ve been meaning to ask you for your list of words that rhyme with ‘Ekaterin’. I bet you have one.”

“Elli, dear, as and when you have invaded”-Miles hurriedly added a number-“three planetary systems yourself, I will consider giving you that list. Maybe. If it exists. In the medium term I believe I shall introduce you to Dr Enrique Burgos, another promising rhymer. In the short term, I am surprisingly glad to say that unless Armsman Gerard has developed a strange new tic, lunch is served. Shall we?”

He swept them to Laisa and led them through with her while Elli fell in beside Ekaterin with a grin. The food was splendid but practical in a lunchly way, so progress could be rapid, but before they were half-way through Gregor returned in glittering parade red-and-blues with the imperial seal round his neck, and took his seat beside Laisa at the head of the table. Cordelia, Alys, and Simon were beyond Miles and Ekaterin, and the quietness of Gregor’s voice drew them into a private knot.

“Fletchir does indeed want to meet Nicol, and was like a cat on hot bricks about it. I think we can safely call her performance today aesthetic bullseye number three. Pel was in raptures, his word, and I’m not sure she wasn’t controlling some of those picture-bubbles herself. The ghem, Fletchir says, were also transfixed. They’re already making copies of the feed, ’vid and soundtrack, and he immediately promised proper payment for Nicol.” He looked at Miles consideringly. “Just how spontaneous was this, Miles?”

“As it gets, truly. Bel never answered its wedding invitation, and I had no idea it’d hooked up with Nicol, though that isn’t a surprise. Bel chose to bring her, on Mark’s say-so, and Nicol chose to bring her dulcimer. But I know what she escaped on Jackson’s Whole and so does she, so I played a long shot and put the techs in place in case.”

“Then the gods are smiling on you, and on this.” Gregor’s voice was less than solemn, but his Ma’s was sunny for all its quietness.

“Oh yes. Why this is grace, nor are we out of it.” Cordelia smiled. “Grace of a very unnerving kind, but isn’t it always? And thus far, at least, bloodless, very pretty grace, however muscular. Miles, dear, you have bettered me there, bless you.” She paused thoughtfully while Miles attended to his plate. “Gregor dear, would you ask Pel if I can have one each of the Miles, Mark, and Aral bubbles. Oh, and a Miles one for Nikki. I expect Harra and Taura would each like one of theirs, too.”

Huh? Miles stared. Gregor shook his head, not in refusal, and nodded with a strange look that Illyan shared before laughing softly.

“I heard you say years ago, Cordelia, that one great benefit of Kou’s and Drou’s nuptials was turning ImpSec into wedding caterers. Ekaterin tells me on Komarr Miles was in the habit of sending us to get carry-out. Now we have an accredited cat and facilitate provision of a superior soundtrack for planetary invasions, while taunting and superfluous war-bubbles are become trophy beach-balls. Despite the difficulties, and without denying you, I shall stick to calling it living with honour, which may also be redeemed.”

The Vicereine grinned at him. “You can argue the toss with Aral. Speaking of whom, Gregor …?”

“About fifteen minutes, he thinks.” Gregor was eating with neat speed. “The younger and frailer among the immobilised need relief soon, but there were a couple of uncharted warrens that have taken time to bring under control. The first wave of troops are embarked.” He spoke normally, and Alys and Simon made sure the datum passed down the table. Miles, though, leaned across and lowered his voice.

“Is the aesthetic thing a problem, Gregor?”

“No, not at all. But”-he was looking very thoughtful-“I think allowing our allies a free and, um, appreciated hand with the audience square groundside might be … graceful.” Miles saw, and nodded. “Tell me, do you know about Cetas and cats? My metaphor was not accidental. Guess who came to say hello to Fletchir while we were talking, passing unnoticed through several security layers in the process?” Miles rested his head in his hands. “No, no, it’s the gods again. Fletchir took one look, whistled, and summoned from somewhere not one but two … haut cats, whose names are Shuang-Mei and Don Pierrot de Navarre. There’s presumably a joke about Pel in there, but he didn’t explain and I haven’t had time to look it up because all three had a long conversation with ImpSec but found frames a frustrating medium given feline priorities. I told him ImpSec’s proper surname as a feudatory was Vorkosigan, and he seemed, what? unsurprised while amused. No, more than that. Charmed.”

Ekaterin and Laisa were looking gleeful, but Gregor seemed on more than one level perfectly serious.

“Ghem-Admiral Arvin told me,” Miles said carefully, “that Cetagandan warships carry mascot-animals of various kinds. Cats are common but didn’t seem dominant. He did, however, mention in pride of place a ship that has a tiger. I don’t think even ImpSec could compete.”

“Perhaps not. But he seemed to get on well enough with Shuang-Mei and Don Pierrot, not to mention Fletchir, and is sufficiently like you to have promoted himself straight to the top at an early age. I doubt we could keep him out of the reception here tomorrow, but I think he may have earned himself an invitation to events downside. Fletchir said he always travels with his pair.”

Miles stared, aghast. “Gregor, ImpSec is considerably less predict­able than Nicol, and infinitely more likely to, um, wash. Or worse, as I imagine Shuang-Mei to be a queen. You might well get a noisier version of Ivan’s ice-rabbits at our wedding. Live to 800 billion people, adult animals by frame.”

Laisa and Ekaterin had hands over mouths, but Gregor only smiled. “Alys would object, so there’s no danger of that. I think I shall go on trusting gratefully in small presumptions, Miles, and see what happens.” All three of them whisper-chorused the last words with him and his smile twitched. “Which I must apparently point out is not a license for lèse-majesté.”

“It’s definitely an encouragement, though, love.”

Laisa was somehow keeping a solemn face; Ekaterin wasn’t, and Miles decided he wouldn’t, especially as Elli’s anapaests were proving contagious. “When ImpSec intruded upon / the talk of two emperors, one / was entirely delighted, / and the other excited / to more feline, imperial fun. I promise to keep my limericks clean, but I’m not sure Elli is capable of that.”

Ekaterin seemed to be having difficulty breathing, Gregor’s fork had stopped en route to his mouth, and Laisa failed to stifle an unimperial hoot. Faces looked around and hurriedly away as Ekaterin was heard to say in an impressively severe tone ‘Miles, stop it’. “Too late now,” he murmured and turned again to his plate; seeing Gregor’s fork set to work again he relaxed until it stopped two forkfuls later, but a glance reassured him this was because Gerard had drifted in to murmur in Gregor’s ear. Suddenly all Emperor, Gregor rose as Gerard clapped his hands sharple twice and stood back.

“You will all be welcome to return shortly for whatever further refreshment you desire, but We have a report to receive. And though by grace this day has so far been bloodless, We have nevertheless exerted Our will by force, so sobriety becomes us.” Rather more dryly he added, “We shall all also be on live broadcast, so remember please who is witnessing the witnesses.”