Lois Bujold: Komarr

“We haven’t much space,” she apologized. “I’m afraid even Barrayaran administrators here must accept what’s assigned to them. I’ll order in a grav-bed for you, I’m sure they’ll have it delivered before dinner’s over. But at least the room’s private. My uncle snores so magnificently… The bath’s just down the hall to the right.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her. He stepped to the window and stared out over the domed park. The lights in the encircling buildings gleamed warmly in the luminous twilight of the half-eclipsed mirror.

“I know it’s not what you’re used to.”

One corner of his mouth twitched up. “I once slept for six weeks on bare dirt. With ten thousand extremely grubby Marilacans, many of whom snored. I assure you, it’s just fine.”

She smiled in return, not at all certain what to make of this joke, if it was a joke. She left him to arrange his things as he saw fit, and scurried to call the rental company and finish setting up dinner.

They all rendezvoused, despite her best intentions for a more formal service, in her kitchen, where the little Auditor foiled her expectations again by only allowing her to pour him half a glass of wine. “I started today with seven hours in a pressure suit. I’d be asleep with my face in my plate before dessert.” His gray eyes glinted.

She herded them all out to the table on the balcony and presented the mildly spicy stew based oh vat-protein that she’d correctly guessed her uncle would like. By the time she handed round the bread and wine, she’d at last caught up enough to finally have a word with her uncle herself.

“What’s happening now with your investigation? How long can you stay?”

“Not much more than what you’ve heard on the news, I’m afraid,” he replied. “We can only take this downside break while the probable-cause crews finish collecting the pieces. We’re still missing some fairly important ones. The freighter’s tow was fully loaded, and had a tremendous mass. When the engines blew, bits of all sizes vectored off in every possible direction and speed. We desperately want any parts of its control systems we can find. They should have most of it retrieved in three more days, if we’re lucky.” “So was it deliberate sabotage?” Tien asked.

Uncle Vorthys shrugged. “With the pilot dead, it’s going to be very hard to prove. It might have been a suicide mission. The crews have found no sign yet of military or chemical explosives.”

“Explosives would have been redundant,” murmured Vorkosigan.

“The spinning freighter hit the mirror array at the worst possible angle, edge-on,” Uncle Vorthys continued. “Half the damage was done by parts of the mirror itself. With that much momentum imparted to it by the assorted collisions, it just ripped itself apart.”

“If all that result was planned, it had to have been a truly amazing calculation,” Vorkosigan said dryly. “It’s the one thing which inclines me to the belief it might have been a true accident.”

Ekaterin watched her husband, watching the little Auditor covertly, and read the silent disturbed judgment, Mutant! in his eyes. What was Tien going to make of the man, who openly bore, without apparent apology or even self-consciousness, such stigmata of abnormality?

Tien turned to Vorkosigan, his gaze curious. “I can see why Emperor Gregor dispatched the Professor, the Empire’s foremost authority on failure analysis and all that. What’s, um, your part in this, Lord Auditor Vorkosigan?”

Vorkosigan’s smile twisted. “I have some experience with space installations.” He leaned back, and jerked up his chin, and smoothed the odd flash of irony from his face. “In fact, as far as the probable-cause investigation goes, I’m merely along for the ride. This is the first really interesting problem to come along since I took oath as an Auditor three months ago. I wanted to watch how it was done. With his Komarran marriage coming up, Gregor is vitally interested in any possible political repercussions from this accident. Now would be a very awkward time for a serious downturn in Barrayar-Komarr relations. But whether accident or sabotage, the damage to the mirror impinges quite directly on the Terraforming Project. I understand your Serifosa Sector is fairly representative?”

“Indeed. I’ll take you both on a tour tomorrow,” Tien promised. “I’m having a full technical report prepared for you by my Komarran assistants, with all the numbers. But the most important number is still pure speculation. How fast is the mirror going to be repaired?”

Vorkosigan grimaced and held out a small hand, palm-up. “How fast depends in part on how much money the Imperium is willing to spend. And that’s where things become very political indeed. With parts of Barrayar itself still undergoing active terraforming, and with the planet of Sergyar drawing off immigrants from both the worlds damned near as fast as they can board ship, some members of the government are wondering openly why we are spending so much Imperial treasure dinking with such a marginal world as Komarr.”

Ekaterin could not tell from his measured tone whether he agreed with those members or not. Startled, she said, “The terraforming of Komarr was going on for three centuries before we conquered it. We can hardly stop now.”

“So are we throwing good money after bad?” Vorkosigan shrugged, declining to answer his own question. “There’s a second layer of thinking, a purely military one. Restricting the population to the domes makes Komarr more militarily vulnerable. Why give the citizenry of a conquered world extra territory in which to fall back and regroup? This line of thought makes the interesting assumption that three hundred or so years from now, when the terraforming is at last complete, the populations of Komarr and Barrayar will still not have assimilated each other. If they did, then they would be our domes, and we certainly wouldn’t want them to be vulnerable, eh?”

He paused for a bite of bread and stew, washed down by wine, then went on, “Since assimilation is Gregor’s avowed policy, and he’s putting his Imperial person where his policy is… the question of motivation for sabotage becomes, er, complex. Could the saboteurs have been isolationist Barrayarans? Komarran extremists? Either, hoping to publicly throw the blame on the other? How emotionally attached is the average Komarran-in-the-dome to a goal whom none now living will ever survive to see realized, or would they rather save the money today? Sabotage versus accident makes no engineering difference, but does make a profound political one.” He and Uncle Vorthys exchanged a wry look.

“So I watch, and listen, and wait,” Vorkosigan concluded. He turned to Tien. “And how do you like Komarr, Administrator Vorsoisson?”

Tien grinned, and shrugged. “It’s all right except for the Komarrans. I’ve found them a damned touchy bunch.”

Vorkosigan’s brows twitched up. “Have they no sense of humor?”

Ekaterin glanced up warily, wincing at that dry edge in his drawling voice, but apparently it slipped past Tien, who only snorted. “They’re divided about equally between the greedy and the surly. Cheating Barrayarans is considered a patriotic duty.”

Vorkosigan raised his empty wineglass to Ekaterin. “And you, Madame Vorsoisson?”

She refilled it to the top before he could stop her, cautious of her reply. If her uncle was the technical expert in this Auditorial duo, did that leave Vorkosigan as the… political one? Who was really the senior member of the team? Had Tien caught any of the subtle flashing implications in the little lord’s speech? “It hasn’t been easy to make Komarran friends. Nikolai goes to a Barrayaran school. And I have no work as such.”