Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Except that Ivan was getting used to Illyan, in some strange domestic way. All those little tricks of expression, inflection, reminder, that he used to defend his dignity. It had been a horrifically beleaguered dignity, during the chip breakdown, in some ways Ivan had witnessed and didn’t wish to dwell on. Still‑the Spook’s Spook had also been the Weasel’s Weasel. For all that Simon had forgotten, Ivan didn’t think he’d forgotten all of that.

Ivan scrambled back up the conversational diversion to the last knot. “Mapping. Underground mapping. What the hell, Simon? I would think you fellows would have had every cubic centimeter of underground Vorbarr Sultana mapped to the limit. Especially right around this place.” Underground, ugh.

“Indeed, one would think that. I certainly did.” Simon scratched his neck. “Although most people don’t realize how incredibly complicated and ill‑documented it can get, under the Old Town. Old sewers. Abandoned utility tunnels. Freight access. Built‑over foundations. A couple of outdated, bankrupted attempts at public transport, before the bubble‑tube system was planned or even thought of. Streambeds, drainage. Assorted Vor mansions’ personal bolt‑holes and escape hatches‑and the same for some less savory prole venues. And a rat warren of other covert passages dating back mostly to the Occupation, but some to other wars. Several centuries of forgotten secrets, down there, dying with their possessors.”

Ivan glanced again at the six skewed floors and several subbasements of paranoia piled across the street. “Why aren’t they picking anything up? Of this, over there?”

“What would you guess?”

“I dunno…” He considered the odd stage‑mark stick that he’d held in his hand. “Passive analog data collectors, I suppose, with nothing electronic about them?”

“I understand the color‑gradient has a biological base that sensitively responds to vibrations, yes. Dancing microbes of some sort.”

Ivan wiped his hand on his trousers, nervously. “Oh. You’re in on this, then.” Whatever this is.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

“What would you say, exactly?”

“At this juncture, not much.”

“Simon.” It took a bit of effort to make the name come out low and commanding, and not a reproachful wail.

It was effort wasted; Simon just twitched the damned deadly eyebrows at him, as if he’d heard the wail in his possibly‑telepathic mind anyway and don’t even think about that, boy. “There is nothing illegal or even immoral about looking, Ivan. I’m sure I’ve even seen those old gentlemen with the metal detectors right here in this park, searching for ancient coins and the like. Retirement hobby or destitution, I was never quite sure.”

“Your guards ran them off, surely.”

“Not always. They might, after all, have found something interesting.”

“And have the Arquas found something interesting?

“We don’t, of course, know yet. Till Shiv and Udine analyze their measurements.”

“And what will you do then?”

“Flow‑charts, Ivan. I’m sure I’ve heard you go on at length over some meal or another with your lady mother about the warm, fuzzy feelings you get from flow‑charts. This is only the first bifurcation in the decision‑tree, not the last.”

Whatever Ivan was feeling right now, warm and fuzzy wasn’t in it.

The sun was climbing toward noon, though not overhead, as high as it got this time of year. From the ImpSec gates there issued a gaggle of pallid men, officers and enlisted both, clutching lunch sacks and drinks of various sorts. They split up and spread out to take over the benches in a practiced‑seeming way, with some of the enlisted ending up sharing their lunch picnics on rolled‑out ground sheets. They all gazed in suspicion at the Jewels; some gazed in suspicion at the two civilian‑clothed men on the last bench, especially the group displaced from their usual perch, till apprised by some of their older colleagues. Then they just stared.

Tej grinned across at Simon and at Ivan, almost the first his wife had acknowledged his existence since he’d sat down, and went into a brief huddle with the Jewels. Star opted out, looking mildly bored; she had collected all the stage markers back into a bundle, and seemed to be loading things up.

The group of Jewels split up again and took positions in a circle, or square, or imaginary four‑pointed star. Tej bent and started the music once more, louder than heretofore; a very traditional Barrayaran mazurka, if with a livelier, updated beat and flourishes. The Jewels began to move, grandly leaping and kicking, in a version that recalled traditional Barrayaran men’s dances without in any way being one. It was by far the most athletic performance yet. Even Jet, usually the thrower, took his turn being thrown into the air‑if by two of his sister‑Jewels in cooperation‑and somersaulting to daring landings. All the men around the perimeter of the park stopped eating to goggle. Tej watched as if hypnotized with pleasure.