Captain Vorpatril's alliance

At least something in Old Vorbarr Sultana architecture had finally riveted their attention, even if it was one of the most notoriously awful buildings in town. Ivan explained cheerfully, “It’s one of the works of Emperor Yuri Vorbarra’s megalomanic architect, the infamous Lord Dono Vorrutyer. He got up five major structures before he was stopped, they say. Not to be confused with the current count of the same name, by the way. Dono‑the‑architect was a relative of Byerly’s, too, though not a direct ancestor, no doubt to By’s relief. By can tell you more tales of him over dinner later. That gigantic eyesore is Cockroach Central itself‑and it’s called that by people who work there‑ImpSec HQ. Barrayaran Imperial Security Headquarters.”

A long silence fell in the back of the groundcar.

“I don’t suppose it’s for sale,” said Tej, in a strange, small voice. “Or rent.”

Ivan laughed. “Back when Simon Illyan ran it, he said he’d sell it for a Betan dollar, if only he could find a Betan with a dollar, and no taste. And if only the Council of Counts would build him a new building, which they wouldn’t. Mamere says he kept a holo of the Investigatif Federale building on Escobar‑tall thing, all glass‑on the wall of his inner office for a while, the way some men would keep pinups.”

“My, my, my,” said Shiv Arqua.

He kept staring back over his shoulder for a long time, as the groundcar eased into the traffic and pulled away.

Chapter Sixteen

It wasn’t till the whole party was rising in the lift tube to Lady Vorpatril’s penthouse that Tej whispered to Ivan, “Um, I didn’t get a chance to explain about Simon yet.”

“You haven’t…?” Ivan twitched. “What were you talking about all that time?”

“Not that.”

Ivan stepped out into the lift‑tube foyer, trailing senior Arquas like ducklings. “Well, too late.” Simon would just have to explain himself, this round. Or not, as he chose. The marquetry doors slid open before them‑someone had been on the watch. Mamere and Simon were both standing together waiting in her spacious hallway. From the wide living room beyond, a clink of glassware and murmur of voices assured Ivan that Rish and Byerly had managed to shepherd the rest of the family safely here.

Tej stepped bravely forward. “Dada, Baronne, Grandmama, I would like to introduce you to Ivan Xav’s mother, Lady Alys Vorpatril, and my stepfather‑in‑law, Captain Simon Illyan, Imperial Service, retired. Lady Alys, Simon: Lady Moira ghem Estif, Shiv and Udine ghem Estif Arqua‑Baron and Baronne Cordonah.” A slightly defiant tone to that last claim; retired was not quite the word for their current status.

Simon cast Tej a strange surprised smile, as he stepped forward alongside Lady Alys to murmur suitable greetings after her to the offworlder guests. The Baronne didn’t turn a hair as he bowed over her fingers, nor did Lady ghem Estif, but the Baron, after a surprised glance aside at Tej, advanced to shake Simon’s proffered hand heartily.

“Ah, that Simon Illyan, I do believe‑the ImpSec chief with the cyborg brain?” said Arqua, in his deep, carrying voice. “Your fame has reached even to the Whole. Ivan and Tej were just now showing us your ImpSec building. Very, ah, large, isn’t it. One of the sights of Vorbarr Sultana, they tell me.”

“Not my building anymore, nor my brain either, I’m afraid. My memory chip was removed four years ago,” said Illyan. “Upon the occasion of my retirement.”

Well, that left out a few details. Ivan took note.

“Ah,” said Arqua. “Sounds a bit drastic, as exit interviews go. My condolences.”

“Hardly that. I was ecstatic, personally.”

“Were you.” The grip finally loosened, and Ivan wondered if they’d been doing that who‑can‑break‑whose‑bones‑first thing. Seeing the two men‑the two aging fathers‑in‑law? – face‑to‑face for the first time was a trifle alarming. Arqua was stout, dark, intense despite his fatigue, openly dangerous. Simon was slight, graying, self‑effacing…quietly dangerous. An effect not at all lessened‑the reverse, really‑by knowing that he wasn’t quite as mentally reliable as he’d used to be…Ivan was obscurely relieved when, greetings completed and their wraps removed by his mother’s efficient servants, they spilled into the living room and the family reunion.

Ivan dropped back to murmur to Simon, “Why did you grin like that at Tej, just now?”

A ghost of that pleased smile flitted over Simon’s face. “Because that was the first time I’d been introduced as anybody’s stepfather. Oddly flattering.”

“Was…that something you’d wanted, sir?” Ivan asked, taken aback. For all the other people who’d made assumptions about Ivan’s faux‑filial relationship with his mother’s partner, Ivan realized in sudden retrospect, Simon himself never had. Not once.

“As your lady mother would say, that would not be correct. Which is no one’s fault”‑ or business flitted past, implied‑“but our own. Although”‑a brief, sideways hesitation, surely not diffident? – “I could likely do without all the mumbled ums.”