Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Dada added, “I’m not keen on bringing in an outsider, but we’re now expecting and in fact counting on our visa not being extended. Time grows tight. A reliable contact said she’d used him as a carrier, not long back, and found the results satisfactory. He’ll be open to our business. And, if he has his wits about him, future business.”

They walked two blocks and crossed over to another utilitarian building, and through a door with a sign over it reading Imola amp; Kovaks, Storage and Transshipping. A harried‑looking human receptionist presiding over a cluttered counter, which gave Tej a small, unwanted flashback to her days at Swift Shipping, looked up and said, “May I help you, sir, ma’am?”

“Would you please tell Ser Imola that an old friend is here to see him.”

“He’s very busy this morning, but I’ll ask.” Standard clerk‑speak prep, Tej recognized from experience, for greasing an unwanted visitor back out the door. “What name should I say?”

“Selby.”

A brief intercom exchange, and the clerk was escorting them upstairs to another office, also cluttered. A man on the high side of middle age, dressed in relatively unmilitary Barrayaran casual business garb, looked up over his comconsole desk, frowning; his frown changed to an expression of astonishment. A touch of his hand extinguished the current display. “Thank you Jon,” he said. “Please close the door.” The clerk, disappointed in his curiosity, did so. Only then did the man surge up and around his desk to grasp both of Dada’s hands and say, “Shiv Arqua, you old pirate! I heard you were dead!”

“An exaggeration. Again. Though not by much, this time.” Dad smiled without showing his teeth, and turned to Tej, but then turned back. “And what name are you going by, these days?”

“Vigo Imola.”

“Vigo, meet my daughter, Baronette Tejaswini Arqua.”

Tej shook hands, wondering. Formerly, on these business stops with her sisters or mother, she had been named our driver, or not introduced at all, or left with the car. “People usually call me Tej.” Or Lady Vorpatril, but none of her family had used her new name yet. She stifled an unruly urge to trot it out here; Dada was plainly going into dealing‑mode.

“Delightful! I would guess she gets her looks from her mother?” Imola’s gaze swept her up and down; he scored a point, or two, by not lingering on her chest. “Mostly.”

“Fortunately,” said Dada, with his low laugh. Their host pulled up a pair of serviceable chairs, and gestured them both to sit.

“Where do you two know each other from?” asked Tej. Sometimes she got an answer, after all.

“In a former life, Vigo was my planetary liaison officer when I was a captain in the Selby Fleet,” said Dada. “Just before I met your mother.”

“And weren’t those the days,” said Imola, planting himself comfortably behind his desk once more. “Was old Selby insane, to take that defense contract with Komarr?”

“We were young. And probably thought we were immortal,” said Dada.

“Yeah, I got over that about then,” said Imola. Imola’s underlying accent was Komarran, Tej judged, overlain by a long residence on Barrayar; in this urban environment, very blended. “Who would’ve thought that a backward planet like this could field such an aggressive fleet?”

“Not your Komarran comrades, it seems.”

“Huh.” Imola shook his head at some old military memory. “So what the devil are you doing on Barrayar? I thought House Cordonah had suffered an extremely hostile takeover. Prestene, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, the bastards.” At the name, Dada bit his thumb and made a spitting gesture. “It’s a long story, very roundabout. I’ll tell you the whole tale at some more leisured moment. So, you ended up in the transshipping business.”

“As you see.” Imola waved around at his unpretentious company offices.

“Ah… all of it?”

Ser Imola smiled, reached under his desk, and turned something off. Or on. “Sometimes. If the price is right. And the risks are low. The second being more important than the first, these days.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m not as ambitious as when we were younger. Nor as energetic. Nor as crazy.”

“Your end should be low risk. The price…we’ll need to discuss.”

“So what do you have for me?” Imola inquired. “Weight and volume? Perishability? Live or inert? Live costs more.”

“Inert, as it happens. Weight and volume to be determined, though it won’t be high bulk. But you ship live cargo? How does that jibe with low risk?”

Imola smiled in satisfaction. “We solve the perishability problem by shipping all such consignments cryo‑frozen. The new generation of portable cryochambers being much more reliable, with longer service cycles. Shipping deceased expats or ill‑fated tourists who want to be treated or buried back home is a legitimate part of the business, see. I have a contact on the medical side who sends clients my way, or sometimes helps prep them, and if we occasionally slip in a few extras on the manifest, the documentation is all in order.”

Dada’s brows twitched up. “The cargo takes a risk.”