Lois Bujold - Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Tej swallowed and looked away, as if the far end of the room had suddenly grown riveting. She answered in a would-be-pedantic quaver, “The geographical origin was supposed to be South Asian. Star’s was South European, or South American, or south something, anyway. Or maybe it was the other way around. We never spent much time on Old Earth history.”

“So what kind of a name is Vorrutyer ?” Rish asked Byerly, possibly to give Tej a moment to regain her composure.

He sat back looking surprised at the question, or maybe just at its coming from her, but answered readily: “The origin of the prefix Vor is much debated, except that it arose during the Time of Isolation and came to refer exclusively to members of the then-warrior caste. We are fairly certain that the Rutyer was a mishearing or misspelling of the Old Earth German Rutger .”

Tej, back in control of her voice, asked, “So what about Vorpatril?”

Ivan cleared his throat. “Not sure. Some say it’s British, some claim it came from the Greek or French, maybe as a corruption of patros or some word like it. A lot of Barrayaran names got twisted around during the centuries after the Firsters were cut off. Or shortened—Serg from Sergei, Padma from Padmakar, and Xav’s a contraction of Xavier.”

“Mutated over time, makes sense,” said Tej, then paused to take in matching glares from both By and Ivan. “Why do you look like you just swallowed a bug? The usage is precise. A mutation is a copying error. Everyone knows that.”

“Do not ,” said Ivan firmly, “use that term to a Barrayaran. It’s a pretty deadly insult to imply that someone’s a mutant. Even if you’re just spelling their names.”

“Oh.” Tej looked baffled, but said amiably, “All right. If you say so.”

By glanced at the time on his wristcom and muttered a curse. “I have to be somewhere else. Several minutes ago.” He dragged his hands through his hair and stood up. His gaze swept Ivan, Tej, and Rish, all three. “I guess this is as good a bolt-hole for you as any other, for now.”

“For how much longer?” asked Ivan.

“I don’t know. A day, two days, three? I meant to play this out as long as I could, in hopes of getting in beyond Theo’s contact. I’m making progress, but we’re close to pulling the plug. At which point I’ll need to vanish, if I want to maintain my cover and my livelihood. And my skin. So until we meet again, dear friends, adieu.”

With a wave that did not quite mimic an ImpSec salute, By made for the door; Ivan accompanied him out.

In the corridor, By lowered his voice. “If things go sideways, Ivan, you should probably take those women to Morozov.”

“They won’t want to go. They don’t trust ImpSec.”

By shrugged. “Morozov could cut them a deal, I’ll bet. ImpSec Galactic Affairs would be happy to lap up whatever they wanted to spill about this syndicate of theirs.”

“Or maybe more than they wanted.”

“We can discuss that. Later.” By strode off, a tired man hurrying.

Ivan sealed the door, made sure it was locked, and returned to his living room to find Tej and Rish deciding who was to have the first turn in the bathroom before bed. Ivan glanced at his wristcom and cringed to count the scant hours till Komarran dawn. I hate this strangled day length .

“That is a strange man,” commented Rish, looking toward the door after Byerly.

“You’re not the first to note that,” said Ivan ruefully.

“How did he get into his line of work?”

Ivan squinted, wondering why that question had never before occurred to him. “I have no idea. It’s not the sort of thing you ask these ImpSec fellows. I think he was around twenty-standard when he moved to Vorbarr Sultana—his parents lived out on the west coast, t’other side of the continent, see. He hung around on the edges of things for years before I ever found out about his ImpSec moonlighting. The fact that he was estranged from his family never seemed to need an explanation—that is, if you knew many Vorrutyers. The whole clan is, um…either on the vivid side, or downright antisocial.”

“Ah,” said Rish elliptically, and went off to claim the bath.

Ivan sat back down, watching Tej watch her friend pad silently away. This couch would do for his bed, if only people would let him lie here in peace for enough hours…“Babysitter?”

Tej’s laugh was no more than a puff of air through her nose. “I don’t know that she exactly volunteered for the job. I used to follow her around like a kitten chasing a string. I was just fascinated by all the Jewels, when I was younger. I would watch them at their dance practice, and make them try to teach me, too.”

“What kind of dance?”

“Oh, every kind. They collected skills and styles from all over, and were always trying to put them together in new combinations. I wanted to be one of them, to be allowed to really dance—you know, in their performances. But puberty was cruel to me.”

On the contrary, Ivan thought puberty had been very generous to her. He just managed to stop himself from saying so out loud, converting it to, “How so?”

“The best dancers are all thin and small and strong, very whippy. Like Rish. By age fourteen, it was plain I was going to be built more like my Dada—my other sisters all took after my mother, willowy. I just grew too tall, too big, too heavy. Too top-heavy.” She sniffed as if in some weird—in Ivan’s view, anyway—female self-disapproval. “By age fifteen it was obvious that no matter how hard I worked, I could never be as good as the Jewels. So I stopped.”

“Gave it up?” said Ivan. “That’s no good. Just because someone else is some sort of natural flaming genius, doesn’t mean that you’re an idi…um.” Um . “Doesn’t mean that you should…” He tried rushing the notion. “Should hide your light under the covers.”

Her smile grew wan. “My sister Star said the only reason I wanted to perform with the Jewels was to make myself the center of attention. I expect she was right.” She hoisted herself wearily to her feet and went off to change places with Rish.

She’d forgotten to demand a trade. Watching her vanish into the shadows of the next room, all Ivan could think was: Actually, y’know…I expect you wanted to dance because you wanted to dance.

Tej dreamed.

She was running through writhing space station corridors, pursued by a nameless menace. Ahead of her, the Jewels scattered right and left, leaping in grand jetés down cross-corridors, flashes of red and green, blue and obsidian, gold and pearl-white somersaulting in fantastical triple turns in the air, but by the time she caught up, the corridors were silent and echoing, empty. She ran on.

A side door slid open; a voice hissed, “Quick! Hide in here!”

It was Captain Vorpatril. He was wearing his green military officer’s uniform over a bear suit. His chest was crisscrossed with bandoliers of power charge packs, and he held a very large weapon, perhaps a plasma rifle. Or was that a water gun? He grinned at her from the round, furry frame of the bear hood. The gun went away, and then they were kissing, and for a moment or two, the dream went good. His kisses were expert: neither too shy, tickling annoyingly, nor too invasive, like someone trying to shove a slug down her throat, but just right, firm and exploratory. Tej noted this, thinking, I’ll have to try very hard to remember this part when I wake up…

“I want to touch your skin,” she told him, when they broke for breath. “It’s very pale, isn’t it? Is it smooth, or hairy? Are you that pale all over? Do you have silver veins like Pearl?” Where was Pearl…?