Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Just as Ivan had hoped, his arresting lure drew Desplains’s attention entirely off of the erratic personal affairs of his high Vor aide‑de‑camp for the next several hours, especially after the first cargo pod was found in the process of being stashed under a fake antenna. There followed a fire drill of the most chaotic, Service Security everywhere, surprised perpetrators playing hide and seek all over the ship, the Kanzian ’s captain out for blood, livid with outrage and chagrin to discover that he’d missed the criminal scheme taking place under his nose. Ivan faded into the background, documenting and taking notes on the whole circus like the excellent admiral’s assistant he was. At the end of the long day, Admiral Desplains and the Horsemen were being regarded by the Kanzian ’s entire crew and most of the orbital station’s personnel as possessing supernatural powers granted by some dark god, and they wouldn’t have been human if they hadn’t enjoyed the effect, at least a little bit.

Desplains was almost mellow as he settled into his shuttle seat for the trip back to downside HQ. His gesture this time for Ivan to take the seat across from him was more of a wave of friendly invitation. The admiral leaned his head back against the seat in a moment of well‑earned weariness, but opened his eyes again and regarded his subordinate in some bemusement.

“Good work today, Ivan. You do have your uses.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And here I thought‑never mind. I owe you one.”

Ivan was good. Ivan was Ivan when the admiral was pleased with him, Vorpatril when the mood was neutral, and Captain when Desplains was irritated. This was probably the best opportunity Ivan would get to broach the next subject. Also, given the short duration of the flight, the only opportunity, so. Go. He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you think so, sir. As it happens, I am in need of a somewhat personal favor just at the moment. Not unrelated to this.” His wave around reminded his listener of the Kanzian coup, just bagged.

“Oh?” Desplains knew better than to offer a free pass in advance, but his benign tone and nod invited Ivan to go on.

“I need a permission to get married, and approval for two passages from Komarr to Barrayar for Service dependents.”

Desplains’s eyes flew wide. “Ivan! This is sudden. You never breathed a word‑is it some Komarran girl? Nothing wrong with that, of course, quite the fashion these days, but‑does your mother know about this?”

“Backdated to yesterday,” Ivan forged on, before the admiral could build up any more elaborate fantasies of secret interplanetary romances in his mind.

Desplains went still. Sat back. Continued in a much cooler tone, “I see. When did these nuptials actually take place, Vorpatril?”

Not Captain yet; Ivan still had turning room. “At dawn this morning, sir. So I suppose a permission dated to today would also do, but there will hardly be time before we land downside.”

“I think you had better begin at the beginning.”

“I intend to, sir.” Ivan marshaled his thoughts, trying to figure out how to put as much of the culpability on Byerly as possible. Traditionally, Ops had no objection to criticizing ImpSec for any screw‑up, from minor to monumental. Yes, blame the absent, always a good plan. “The beginning would be three nights ago, when the ImpSec deep cover agent came to my flat and asked for my help‑”

It was almost Komarran midnight when Ivan at last made it back to the ImpSec Galactic Affairs building where, the night clerk assured him, Morozov was still in his office, very late, isn’t it, sir? Ivan declined to respond to this invitation to drop tidbits, which disappointed the clerk but did not surprise him.

The door to Morozov’s cubicle was open, spilling light into the corridor and, Ivan was heartened to hear, rather cheerful‑sounding voices. He arrived to discover Morozov and his two guests perched variously in the debris, disemboweled food cartons spread all over and deflated soda bulbs piled up, deeply engaged in some sort of game‑a brightly colored, if rather tattered, box lay open on the floor, and each player manned a vid board, balanced on their laps. As Ivan walked, or rather, picked his way inside, something beeped and twinkled, Tej hooted, Morozov groaned, and Rish grinned like an evil blue elf.

Tej was the first to look up. She cast him an oddly penetrating glance. “Ivan Xav! You’re back!”

“Sorry it took me so long. I have some guest quarters arranged for us tonight here in the HQ compound, so it’s only a step over to bed. Nothing fancy, but safe. Looks like you got dinner. Uh…” Have you been all right here? seemed to be a question already answered. “What’s the game?”

“ Great House,” said Tej. “It’s an old Jacksonian children’s game. I used to play it when I was girl, with my sibs and the Jewels, but they always beat the pants off me, unless I cheated. Though you’re allowed to cheat.”