Captain Vorpatril's alliance

“Mail call!” he told Tej. She looked up with a wide smile and set aside her earbug. Tightbeam messages from home were erratic at best, what with all the jumps through which they had to be carried; they could arrive out of order, spread out, or all in a wodge. Today’s delivery had been a wodge. He handed her a data disc to plug into her own reader, set on the table along with a promising pitcher and a couple of glasses, one half‑full, the other upside down and waiting just for him. “Is that iced tea, or fruity girly drinks?”

“Fruity girly drinks. Want some?”

“Actually, yes.” He kicked off his sandals, climbed into the other end of the hammock, arranged the big cushions behind his back, took up his own reader, and laced his bare legs with hers. She was acquiring an almost Shiv‑colored tan, which looked worlds better on her than on her Dada, making her sherry‑colored eyes shine out like the gold coins on her favorite ankle bracelet‑which, along with a skimpy swimsuit, she was currently wearing. The Ninth‑Satrapy‑coin anklet, and a few more stunning baubles, had been a birthday present sent by her fond Dada a few months back. Ivan had plans for that suit, later in the afternoon; the chiming anklet could stay.

“Busy morning?” she inquired, as the hammock settled.

“Eh, not really. I spent most of it editing my first annual performance review.”

Her brows rose in surprise. “I shouldn’t think you’d need to‑the consul loves your work.”

“Oh, sure. I was just toning down the ecstasy a bit, before letting it loose in the tightbeam to home. Wouldn’t want to give people ideas. Like, for transfers. To anywhere but back home, that is.”

“When do you suppose they’ll let us come back to Barrayar?”

“Gregor guessed two years, a year ago; haven’t heard anything to change that, yet.” What Gregor had actually said was, Dammit, Ivan, you do realize it’s likely going to take two bloody years for this mess to blow over! At least! What were you thinking? Which Ivan had thought a trifle unfair, but that hadn’t seemed the moment to say so. And then Ivan, too, had gotten to discover how much packing for galactic exile on 26.7 hours’ notice was like grabbing your life from a burning building.

A little silence fell, as they both began reading.

“So what did you get?” Tej inquired, when his first Huh! invited interruption.

“Birthday greeting from Admiral Desplains.” Ivan’s thirty‑sixth birthday had passed very pleasantly, two weeks ago. They’d stayed home. “He tells me that my replacement is a very efficient young man, but lacks my political nous. And is less entertaining, thank‑you‑I‑think, Admiral.” Ivan read on. “I gather that he misses me. But that he doesn’t encourage me to think of coming back to Ops, because by that time I should be moving up and on, if I’m interpreting this correctly.”

“You probably are,” said Tej, with touching faith in his ability to decipher elliptical hints from senior officers. Likely justified, in this case.

“You had something from the Whole…?”

“Letter from Rish.” She tapped her reader. “So frustrating. She hates writing, so she never puts in enough detail, but she’s too cheap to send a recording.” Written messages were, indeed, the least expensive tightbeam communication to send by the long and winding wormhole routes, which was why almost everything that made it as far as Ylla was in this form. “Repairs on Cordonah Station are almost complete, she says. The reunited Jewels have danced their first public performance again, now that Topaz’s replacement legs have taken. I hope the Baronne tracked down whatever nasty Prestene head‑meat came up with that idea.” She scowled. “ In person.”

Ivan had never met Topaz, but he hoped so, too. Far more cruel than shaved hair, that amputation had sounded; it had allegedly been ordered in revenge for Topaz helping the Baron and Baronne to escape their Prestene captivity, all those months ago. A loyalty now redeemed; good. The revenge cycle…he declined to touch.

“And your brother Eric? Did they finally decide if he was cryo‑revivable?”

“Mm, yes, but…huh.” Her brows rose. “They’re still keeping him on ice for a while. You know that Prestene capturing the station was in‑part an inside job? Appears Eric was the in‑part part. Tired of waiting for his inheritance? And so he received the reward from Prestene that anyone with a clue might have guessed was coming…unless he saw which way things were going and turned to fight them at the end. Give him credit, Rish says, he does seem to have been thinking of forcible retirement for Dada, not patricide, but apparently someone figured out how to cut those costs. Dada and the Baronne must have known this, but back on Barrayar they didn’t give me the least hint…Oh, my, that boy is so grounded! I expect my parents’ll keep him as a threat in reserve for a while, in case Star and Pidge aren’t able to work out their little differences as to who should be heiress. That’s one way to keep them yoked together…”