Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Some were now filled with turbid water, slowly settling. One was set up in a corner behind a stall made of yet more priceless boxes, adequate camp toilet and with a tightly fitting lid that they might have cause to be grateful for later. A drip‑filter was measuring out drinks, rather slowly for the crowd, but sips were shared around in fine antique glassware, its gold leaf showing sigils suggesting the‑alas, incomplete‑set had been the personal property of the infamous Count Pierre “Le Sanguinaire” Vorruyter, that Ivan didn’t even attempt to mentally appraise.

Imola had returned, trousers soaked to his thighs; he sat back in his surly huddle and didn’t say much. The water was now lapping the outer wall of the bunker.

Shiv, Amiri, and Ivan then combined to switch the vacuum‑handle to the other side of the door slab, and heave it back up into place, just beating the rising tide. The jagged seam around the slab grew dark and wet at a steady pace, creeping upward, but only a small dribble leaked through, to be captured by some mats found downstairs.

Ivan was impressed by Shiv’s level‑headedness in this emergency, which set the tone and the example for his whole family, bluntly curbing the potential chaos. But then, anyone who had once suffered defeat by Admiral Aral Vorkosigan in a pitched space battle likely had much higher standards for emergencies than most mortals.

The thought of his uncle caused stern lectures on prisoner‑of‑war regulations to rise to Ivan’s mind, so he supervised the waking of Goons One and Two to allow them to piss and drink. He didn’t argue, though, when Shiv put the woozy men back to sleep with another stun shot, along with Imola, who had started to restively complain again, for good measure. Unconsciousness would slow their metabolisms and breathing, right? It was all for the common good.

The younger women in the crowd, including Tej, then began to sort through the piles of clothing that had given up their containers to the drinking water reserves. No new lethality sprang from the benign diversion, and Ivan slowly relaxed. It was almost all fine court wear, in both Cetagandan and Barrayaran styles, including some old military dress uniforms that Amiri, and in a bit Ivan, were compelled to somewhat sheepishly model, ghem and Vor respectively. The Cetagandan garb was challengingly complex, with a non‑obvious fastening etiquette that Lady ghem Estif was drawn into advising upon.

It was while they were engaged upon this enterprise that Pearl picked up and shook out a long outer‑coat, and something fell out of the folds to the floor with a clink. Ivan controlled his flinch.

“Oh!” said Lady ghem Estif. She bent and swept it up into her palm, and stared avidly. “I certainly didn’t expect to find this there!”

“What is it, Grandmama?” Tej inquired; the females gathered around to look.

“My old brooch.” The old haut woman smiled. “I thought it was lost.”

Ivan, stiff in some dead Barrayaran prince’s uniform that was a trifle too small for him, wandered over to see. It was not a very pretty piece of jewelry; an array of beads that looked more like ball bearings, set in a symmetrical array. Cetagandan then‑modern art? But it seemed to mean a lot to the old lady, for she instantly fastened it to the inmost layer of her clothing.

“Very good, Pearl!”

The fashion show was brought to a close by the gradual fading of the cold lights. Ivan skinned out of the scratchy wool and heavy, rather greenish gold braid, roused to a new and unexpected pity for his military ancestors, and gratefully redonned his weekend civvies, manky as they now were with the night’s exertions. The Baronne cracked a new light and set it up on a central box. People drifted away in small groups to the edges of the chamber, to make bedrolls of sorts out of the fine fabrics. Sleeping was encouraged, on the basis of slowed breathing all around.

The confiscated but otherwise useless wristcoms of Imola and his minions at least allowed them to track the time; about three hours before the late winter dawn, Ivan judged. If it had been a work day, he’d be getting up in about an hour. He and Tej cuddled in by one wall; Shiv and Udine by another. The remaining Jewels, Pearl and Emerald, made themselves a bedroll, and Pidge and Amiri anchored close by, not quite intruding on their space. Lady ghem Estif alone sat up, her eyes gleaming in the shadows, watching who‑knew‑what parade of memories pass before her mind’s eye.

Ivan snuffled up around Tej, using her as a comfy body pillow, and let his face hide itself in her hair. The scent of it was soothing. He had an edgy relationship with darkness, just at the moment, but maybe letting his eyes close would make it seem more natural. He was certainly too keyed up to sleep…

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