Captain Vorpatril's alliance

“But the Mycoborer was from Earth,” Tej offered hesitantly. “Not Cetagandan at all. Old Earth is practically the definition of not alien. And Grandmama said it was safe.”

“Big, big heaving mobs,” said Ivan Xav. “As far as the eye can see.”

Simon Illyan nodded in reluctant agreement.

The Arqua clan was released from ImpMil that evening with clean bills of health, and returned not to their hotel but to an empty apartment a few floors down from Lady Alys’s penthouse. Uniformed ImpSec guards stood at the foyer doors, with more patrolling downstairs. The Arquas’ things, minus all communications devices, arrived much later, transported from their hotel after a detour for close examination by whatever high‑clearance security people could be spared at present. Ivan Xav wondered aloud just how many Winterfair leaves had been summarily cancelled over this, and indicated that this grudge, too, would be added on the debit side of the House Cordonah ledger, at least in the dark matter column.

They were not yet officially arrested, though Tej heard that Ser Imola had been, satisfactorily. The legal phrase for their own state was detained at the Emperor’s pleasure, a term that had Pidge wrinkling her nose and, conducted by an impassive sentry, ascending to Lady Alys’s flat to look it up. Ivan Xav explained, morosely, that it would more accurately be described as detained at the Emperor’s displeasure. But it seemed it trumped, at least temporarily, their visa termination, though Tej gathered that deportation on that point could be brought back into play at any time.

Requests for media interviews penetrated despite all the sequestration.

Pidge said hesitantly, “It might be a way to start to put a good spin on all this. Pave the way for our defense.”

“I,” said Lady ghem Estif austerely, “would be more than happy to give this benighted world a piece of my mind.”

Baron and Baronne Cordonah looked at each other.

“No interviews,” said the Baronne. “Not one word.”

“Right,” sighed Dada.

Evacuation of critical equipment and files continued out the roof of ImpSec HQ, under tight military escort, to be temporarily relocated in an assortment of nearby government buildings appropriated for this emergency. Illyan, wincing at the pictures in passing, muttered only, “God, but the evidence rooms are going to be a bitch. When they get down to them.”

The edifice’s on‑going descent, it was said, had slowed to an almost imperceptible rate. But by midnight, Lord Dono the Architect’s masterpiece had sunk to the fourth floor.

Simon kept his appointment the next day with Emperor Gregor. He returned over an hour late.

“It is not often,” he remarked, either to Lady Alys or the air generally, it was hard to tell, “that Gregor permits himself the self‑indulgence of sarcasm. I could see that it was very relieving for him.” With an added mutter of, “We live to serve,” he disappeared alone into his study and did not come out till dinner.

When the Imperial Accounting Office auditors inventorying the old Cetagandan bunker‑under the general direction and command of Commodore Duv Galeni, pulled off his departmental duties for the special assignment‑reached an estimate of eleven hundred million marks, they stopped publicly reporting.

“What,” said Pidge, peering over Ivan Xav’s shoulder, “is an Imperial Court of Inquiry ”‑she squinted‑“ most secret?”

“You could think of it as a subpoena,” said Ivan Xav. “With fangs. But it would be…be…”

“A charming understatement?” suggested Tej, peering over his other shoulder.

“No,” said Ivan Xav, in a distant tone, “not charming…”

Ivan had looked forward to escorting Tej on her first trip to the Imperial Residence, but not under these circumstances. She stared up apprehensively at the sprawling pile, a great irregular rectangle of four‑to‑six‑story‑high wings with odd inner links, in style a bit like Vorkosigan House bloated by a factor of four but with modern additions dating back to one post‑war rebuild or another. The East Portico was one of the older, more ornate and impressive entrances. Mamere’s groundcar was just finishing disgorging her and Simon and the senior Arquas (and one ghem Estif) as Ivan pulled up behind it in his two‑seater; they caught up with the group at the double doors, to be herded through by Gregor’s own majordomo. The man’s expression this morning was grim and suspicious, though as he caught sight of Simon it took refuge in very, very blank. Ivan won grim and annoyed.