Lois Bujold: Komarr

“I hope so,” she said. “I think it’s a lovely idea.”

He grinned, clearly gratified. He looked over at the Professora, and away, shifted around, and drew a small packet from his trouser pocket. “I don’t know, Madame Vorsoisson, whether Gregor will give you a medal or not, for your quick thinking and cool response in the Southport bay-”

She shook her head. “I don’t need-”

“But I thought you should have something to remember it all by. This.” He stuck out his hand.

She took the packet and laughed. “Do I recognize this?”

“Probably.”

She unfolded the familiar wrapping and opened the box to reveal the little model Barrayar from the jeweler’s shop in Serifosa, now on a slender chain of braided gold. She held it up; it spun in the light. “Look, Aunt Vorthys,” she said shyly, and handed it across for inspection and approval.

The Professora examined it with interest, squinting a trifle. “Very fine, dear. Very fine indeed.”

“Call it the Lord Auditor Vorkosigan Award for Making His Job Easier,” said Vorkosigan. “You really did, you know. If the Komarrans hadn’t already lost their infernal device, they would never have surrendered, even if I’d talked myself blue. In fact, Soudha said something to that effect during our preliminary interrogations last night, so you may consider it confirmed. If not for you, this station would be in a million hurtling pieces by now.”

She hesitated. Should she accept-? She glanced at her aunt, who was smiling at her benignly and without apparent misgivings about the propriety of it. Not that Aunt Vorthys was particularly passionate about propriety-that indifference was, in fact, one of the qualities which made her Ekaterin’s favorite female relative. Think on that. “Thank you,” she said sincerely to Lord Vorkosigan. “I will remember. And I do remember,” she added.

“Um, you’re supposed to forget the unfortunate part about the pond.”

“Never.” Her lips curved up. “It was the highlight of the day. Was it some sort of psychic precognition that you laid this by?”

“I don’t think so. Chance favors the prepared and all that. Fortunately for my credit, from the outside most people can’t tell the rapid exploitation of a belatedly recognized opportunity from deep-laid planning.” He positively smirked as she slid the chain over her head. “You know, you’re the first girlfr— female friend I’ve had I’ve ever succeeded in giving Barrayar to. Not for lack of trying.”

Her eyes crinkled. “Have you had a great many girlfriends?” If he hadn’t, she’d have to dismiss her whole gender as congenital idiots. The man could charm snakes from their holes, nine-year-olds from locked bathrooms, and Komarran terrorists from their bunkers. Why weren’t females following him around in herds? Could no Barrayaran woman see past his surface, or their own cocked-up noses?

“Mmm…”A rather long hesitation. “The usual progression, I suppose. Hopeless first love, this and that over the years, unrequited mad crushes.”

“Who was the hopeless first love?” she asked, fascinated.

“Elena. The daughter of one of my father’s Armsmen, who was my bodyguard when I was young.”

“Is she still on Barrayar?”

“No, she emigrated years ago. Had a galactic military career and retired with the rank of captain. She’s a commercial shipmaster now.”

“Jumpships?”

“Yes.”

“Nikki would be so envious. Um… what exactly is this and that? If I may ask.” Would he answer?

“Er. Well. Yes, I think you should, all things considered. Better sooner than later, belike.”

He was growing terribly Barrayaran, she thought; that use of belike was pure Dendarii mountain dialect. This outburst of confidences was at least as entertaining as putting him on fast-penta might be. Better, given what he’d said about his weird reaction to the drug.

“There was Elli. She was a free mercenary trainee when I first met her.”

“What is she now?”

“Fleet Admiral. Actually.”

“So she was this. Who was that?”

“There was Taura.”

“What was she, when you first met her?”

“A Jacksonian body-slave. Of House Ryoval-very bad news, House Ryoval used to be.”

“I must ask more about those covert ops missions of yours sometime… So what is she now?”

“Master Sergeant in a mercenary fleet.”

“The same fleet as, um, the this?”

“Yes.”

Her brows rose, helplessly. Her Aunt Vorthys was leaning back with her finger over her lips again, her eyes alight with laughter; no, the Professora clearly wasn’t going to interfere with this. “And…?” she led him on, beginning to be immensely curious as to how long he’d keep going. Why in the world did he think all this romantic history was something she ought to know? Not that she would stop him… nor would Aunt Vorthys, apparently, not for a bribe of five kilos of chocolates. But her secret opinion of her gender began to rise.

“Mm… there was Rowan. That was… that was brief.”

“And she was…?”

“A technical serf of House Fell. She’s a cryo-revival surgeon in an independent clinic on Escobar, now, though, I’m happy to say. Very pleased with her new citizenship.”

Tien had protected her proudly, she reflected, in the little Vor-lady fortress of her household. Tien had spent a decade protecting her so hard, especially from anything that resembled growth, she’d felt scarcely larger at thirty than she’d been at twenty. Whatever it was Vorkosigan had offered to this extraordinary list of lovers, it hadn’t been protection.

“Do you begin to notice a trend in all this, Lord Vorkosigan?”

“Yes,” he replied glumly. “None of them would marry me and come live on Barrayar.”

“So… what about the unrequited mad crush?”

“Ah. That was Rian. I was young, just a new lieutenant on a diplomatic mission.”

“And what does she do, now?”

He cleared his throat. “Now? She’s an empress.” He added, under the pressure of Ekaterin’s wide stare, “Of Cetaganda. They have several, you see.”

A silence fell, and stretched. He shifted uneasily in his chair, and his smile flicked on and off.

She rested her chin in her hand, and regarded him; her brows quirked in quizzical delight. “Lord Vorkosigan. Can I take a number and get in line?”

Whatever it was he’d been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that; he was so taken aback he nearly fell off his chair. Wait, she hadn’t meant it to come out sounding quite like— His smile stuck in the on position, but decidedly sideways.

“The next number up,” he breathed, “is ‘one.’ ”

It was her turn to be taken aback; her eyes fell, scorched by the blaze in his. He had lured her into levity. His fault, for being so… luring. She stared wildly around the room, groping for some suitably neutral remark with which to retrieve her reserve. It was a space station: there was no weather. My, the vacuum is hard out today… Not that, either. She gazed beseechingly at Aunt Vorthys. Vorkosigan observed her involuntary recoil, and his smile acquired a sort of stuffed apologetic quality; he too looked cautiously to the Professora.

The Professora rubbed one finger thoughtfully over her chin. “And are you traveling back to Barrayar on a commercial liner, Lord Vorkosigan?” she asked him affably. The mutually alarmed parties blinked at her in suffused gratitude.

“No,” said Vorkosigan. “Fast courier. In fact, it’s waiting for me right now.” He cleared his throat, jumped to his feet, and made a show of checking his chrono. “Yes, right now. Professora, Madame Vorsoisson, I trust I shall see you both back in Vorbarr Sultana?”