Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Mororsov rubbed his chin. “I’m afraid even ImpSec has no explanation for women’s tastes in men.” He bent forward again and called up another scan. “The official portrait, when Arqua took the Baron’s seat, twenty years back. He’d be grayer and stouter now, if that helps.”

A man and a woman appeared standing side by side, staring into the pick‑up with grave, closed expressions. Both were dressed in red, her gown deep carmine, his jacket and trousers almost black. The woman drew Ivan’s eye first. Oh, yeah, she had the height, the luminous eyes and skin, the superb sculpted bone structure, the marrow‑deep confidence that marked a liberal serving of haut genes. A thick, black hank of shining hair bound with jeweled ribbons was drawn over her shoulder, to hang, visibly, past her knees, very much harking to the haut style.

The top of her husband’s head was barely level with her chin, though Arqua was by no means unusually short. Middle height, stocky build, the remains of a muscular youth softening in middle age; black hair of unknown length, but drawn back, probably, into some knot at his nape. Maybe some faint streaks of silver, in there? Rich, deep mahogany skin. A heavy, rather squashed face that looked as if it would be more at home running a gang of enforcers, but featuring liquid black eyes that would, Ivan suspected, be dangerously penetrating if turned on you in person.

Ivan wasn’t sure, but by the angle of their arms, he thought the two might be holding hands behind that velvety fold of skirt.

“Impressive,” said Ivan, sincerely.

“Yes,” Morozov agreed. “I was actually rather sorry to lose them. Arqua and his wife were pretty even‑handed in their dealings. Arqua got out of the hijacking trade and into the middleman, ah, recovery business quite a while back. House Cordonah had the best record for getting hostages back alive of any of the Houses that dabble in that commerce. Reliable, in their own special way. They were just as happy to sell Barrayaran information to Cetaganda as Cetagandan information to ImpSec, but if the data the Cetas received was as solid as what we did, they should have been satisfied customers. And the Cordonahs were willing to return favors, both above and below the table.”

“You keep using the past tense. So what’s Barrayar’s current relationship with House Cordonah, then?”

“It’s in disarray, I’m afraid. About seven months ago, House Cordonah suffered an especially hostile takeover by one of their rival jump‑point control cartels, House Prestene. With this much time gone by without an attempt at a countercoup, it’s almost certain that both the Baron and the Baronne are dead. A real loss. They had such style.” He sighed.

“Are, uh, the House’s new masters less helpful to us, then?”

“Say rather, untested. And uncommunicative. Several data lines were lost during the shifts, which have not yet been replaced.”

Ivan squinted, trying to imagine what that last sentence would translate to if it weren’t in ImpSec Passive Voice. Trail of bodies was a phrase that rose to mind.

“It was not known if the late Baronne’s Jewels were captured, killed, or scattered in the takeover,” Morozov went on. “So I have a keen interest in any sightings, if perhaps academic at this late date. Just where did you see Lapis Lazuli?”

“We need to talk about that,” Ivan evaded, “but I’m out of time.” He glanced at his wristcom; it wasn’t a lie, oops. He scrambled up. “Thank you, Captain Morozov, you’ve been very helpful.”

“When can we continue?” said Morozov.

“Not this afternoon, I’m afraid; I’m bespoke.” Ivan picked his way over cartons to the cubicle door. “I’ll see what I can fit in.”

“Stop by any time,” Morozov invited. “Oh, and please convey my personal best wishes to your, er, stepfather, which I trust will find him much recovered.”

“Virtual stepfather, at most,” Ivan corrected hastily. “M’mother and Illyan haven’t bothered to get married yet, y’know.” He managed a somewhat wooden smile.

As he fled in disorder down the dingy corridor, it occurred to him that there could be another reason he was getting such an unusual degree of cooperation from the ImpSec old guard these days, and it had nothing to do with his association with Admiral Desplains. He shuddered and ran on.

Ivan headed for the door at day’s end with his brain jammed with everything from personnel promotion debates to surprise inspection schemes to the lurid history of House Cordonah, but mostly with urgent mulling of just where to stop for a take‑away dinner that would most please Tej. If she’s still there. He was anxious to get home and find out. It was, therefore, no joy to see, out of the corner of his eye, a lieutenant from the front security desk waving frantically and hurrying to catch him. “Sirs! Wait!”

Too late to speed up and pretend not to have seen the fellow. Ivan and Admiral Desplains both paused to allow him to come up, slightly out of breath.