Captain Vorpatril's alliance

“I know,” Ivan whispered back. “So does Gregor. Don’t tell anyone else.”

Gregor eyed Weddell. “Would you, personally, today, drink water taken from the river downstream of Vorbarr Sultana?” In his present mood Gregor was not above personally testing that very question, Ivan suspected. On Weddell, that was. Did he have a liter bottle tucked away behind the podium?

“Yes,” said Weddell, steadily, “if it was first boiled to destroy all the eighteen other potentially lethal pathogens usually present. Normal local water treatment should protect your subjects.” And anyone stupid enough to drink untreated water on this planet deserved their removal from the gene pool? Weddell, in Ivan’s prior experience of the man, was perfectly capable of thinking just that, but also smart enough not to say so. Here, at any rate.

Gregor turned his head. “Dr. Allegre, has that assertion about the water treatment been tested?”

She sat up and responded, “It…could easily be done. It sounds plausible.”

“In other words, no. Please have your people conduct appropriate tests immediately, and report back as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sire.” She bent her head to her wristcom.

“Very well, Dr. Weddell. Continue to monitor closely, yes.” Gregor waved him back to his seat by the administrator; some heads‑together conversation seemed to go, Good, you didn’t screw up, and So how about our funding? Otto looked as if he didn’t believe a word of it; Dr. Allegre would presumably pacify the equally dubious General Allegre, later.

Gregor stared at the rows of Arquas; the Arquas stared back. Shiv did impassive very well indeed. Udine threaded her fingers through her short hair. Lady ghem Estif looked willing to match her one‑hundred‑and‑thirty years against anything Barrayar could throw at her.

“Now‑in my third hat‑”

But not talking through it, no, not Gregor…

“‑we come to larger Imperial concerns.”

Shiv’s dark eyes narrowed in a sudden intensity to nearly match Gregor’s.

“As you should realize, Barrayar has no practical interest in aggressive ventures in Jacksonian local space. But as you should be even more keenly aware, all bets are off if the Cetagandan Empire makes such a move, directly or through puppets, to gain control of your wormhole exits. My analysts posit that House Prestene is currently such a puppet, contemplating an attempt on a wormhole monopoly.”

Shiv rumbled, “Other House alliances, however temporary, have traditionally resisted such attempts. Repeatedly.”

Gregor returned, levelly, “Two down, three to go.”

Shiv shrugged. “Fell is a tough nut to crack.”

“Baron Fell is still very aged. At last report.”

Udine murmured, “True.”

Gregor didn’t blink. “As it happens, Barrayar could use an ally in the Whole. One ally would in fact be better than five, due to, ah, reciprocal destabilization issues viz Cetaganda. For which a covert ally would be even more use.”

“For that ten‑percent finder’s fee,” mused Shiv, “you might find more than one House for sale.”

“Yes, but no amount of money can make one stay bought. Who does not freely choose to.”

“Hm.”

Gregor held up a finger. “Ten percent‑less expenses.”

Shiv’s brows rose in inquiry.

“By some miracle,” Gregor continued, “there was no loss of life in last weekend’s disasters.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t trade in lives?”

Gregor gave him a cool look. “On the contrary. I trade in lives every day. They are the coin in which Barrayar has paid for my mistakes since I was twenty years old. But it does mean that the first item on the deductions list will not be generous survivors’ pensions.”

“I see,” said Shiv, and “Do go on,” said Udine.

“So instead, I would begin with all the operational expenses of the last week, and onwards, that this emergency has entailed.”

Shiv was drawn into a seems fair kind of nod; a frugal wifely hand on his arm restrained further premature expression, and he settled back.

“We also, it would seem, require a new ImpSec building.”

Shiv’s teeth set slightly; Simon, by his widening eyes, looked as if he were stifling a cry of vicarious joy. Guy Allegre, who had shifted to the edge of his seat at the new, wider turn in the conversation, sat back in his own Do go on mode.

“The old building is…extremely hard to value, in its current location. Some would consider it a priceless historical relic.”

“Betan dollar?” came a low, imploring mutter from the other end of the row.

Gregor managed to ignore the interjection. “In any case, it certainly seems wise to escrow some amount of funding for its eventual cleanup or disposal.”

“Mm,” said Shiv.

“Much more critical is the need to escrow an appropriate amount for any cleanup of Mycoborer contamination that may yet be found. That will not be underfunded.”

Both I.S.I. people perked up.

This won a pained grunt from Shiv. But‑apparently he’d learned something about Barrayar, in this visit‑no argument. Because of all the choices of points to dig in his heels about, that would have been the most disastrous. Even more offensive than quibbling over the survivors’ pensions.