Lois Bujold - Captain Vorpatril's alliance

“No, listen…” Ivan described his excursion yesterday to the park in front of ImpSec, the dance practice, Simon’s security street theater, and what seemed the pertinent bits of his strange conversation this morning with the Baron and the Baronne. By sat up and clasped his hands between his knees, listening hard.

“Simon and Shiv have some deal going on, I’d swear it,” said Ivan. “Or something. Going back to that first night in Simon’s study.”

“And they think there’s something buried, where, under ImpSec HQ? What, for God’s sake?”

“I don’t know. Something big enough to fund a small war. And old enough…I hesitate to guess how old, but what say a hundred years? Occupation, maybe? Or should I say Ninth Satrapy?”

“That’s before ImpSec was built .”

“Simon ought to know.” But did he remember?

“If Simon Illyan is up to something, we shouldn’t bump his elbow,” By declared firmly.

“I’m…not so sure.”

By’s eyes narrowed. “I thought he was just playing befuddled.”

So, By had spotted that. Good on By. “He does do that. He’s got half of Vorbarr Sultana believing he’s as addled as an egg, and my mother his caretaker. And the people they report to.”

“Right…”

“But sometimes he…shorts out, just a little. You can tell when it’s real, because it’s the only time he tries to hide it.”

“Oh.” By frowned. “I suppose you would know. Seeing him close up and all.”

“Mostly it’s seeing my mother. She gets this kind of brittle look around her eyes, when she’s covering for him.”

“But that’s just little memory lapses, right?”

“It’s Illyan. You want to try to guess what goes on in his head?” Ivan gave it a beat. “Or do you want to go ask?” That’s what Simon had once told Ivan to do, after all, in so many words. If Barrayar’s Foremost Former Authority gave you advice…

“No,” said By frankly. He hesitated. “But I’ll go if you’ll go with me.”

“What are we, a couple of women getting up a posse to go to the lav?”

“Why do women travel in herds like that, anyway?”

Ivan said glumly, “Delia Galeni, back when she was Delia Koudelka, once told me they go together to critique their dates.”

“Really?” By blinked.

“Not sure. She might have just been trying to wind me up, at the time.”

“Ah. Sounds like Delia.” Byerly waved a limp hand. “All right. Lead on.”

Ivan sighed, and pulled him up.

Then made him help eat the dehydrated dinner first, because Ivan had cooked it himself, dammit. But definitely without the seducing part. He left the dishes in the sink.

Ivan drove By to his mother’s building in his two-seater; despite, or perhaps because of, the heavy rain, the city traffic was relatively light. To Ivan’s secret relief, they found Simon alone for the evening. Mamere had gone off to the Imperial Residence to help coordinate some sort of feed, hosted by Gregor and Laisa, for those galactic diplomats By had complained of—a crowd guaranteed to clear a buffet table much the way Time of Isolation cavalry charges had cleared street riots. Ivan was only surprised neither of them had been roped in as native Barrayaran décor, as Mamere frequently did unto them for these things.

“Huh,” said Simon, looking them both over when they were guided into his study by the maidservant playing porter tonight. “You two again.” He set aside his reader, and took his slippered feet down from the hassock that had supported them in extended comfort. He was dressed in shirtsleeves and a sleeveless sweater, making him look in the lamplight like someone’s retired schoolteacher-uncle. “Close the door, would you please, Marie?”

“Yes, sir. Should I bring drinks?”

By looked briefly hopeful, but Ivan said firmly, “No, thank you, Marie.”

“Very good, Lord Ivan.” She withdrew, and the door shut rather more than firmly. It was extraordinarily quiet in this chamber, once that lock clicked. Byerly swallowed, and Ivan thought irritably, Welcome to Chez Vorpatril. Please, take a seat. I will be your spine for this evening… Not his favorite role under any circumstances.

“Well, gentlemen.” Simon waved genially to chairs, and tented his hands above his lap. “What brings you to me this rainy night? Why aren’t you out squiring your young ladies?”

By grimaced and barely shifted the comfy chairs; Ivan dragged them closer to their host, on whom he felt an unwanted responsibility to keep an eye. By sat on the edge of his.

“Sir,” By began, atop Ivan’s, “Simon…” They both stopped and waved each other on.

Ivan began again, since By seemed determined to outwait him. “Simon. What do you know that we don’t about what the Arqua clan is up to in front of ImpSec? Or under ImpSec, as it may be?”

Simon’s eyes crinkled, just slightly. “I can’t guess, Ivan. What do you two know?”

“That they think there’s something under there, probably Cetagandan and probably dating back to the Occupation, and Shiv and Udine Arqua think it’s valuable enough to fund their attempt to retake their House, which has got to be a high-end hobby. How the hell they think they can extract whatever it is right under ImpSec’s collective nose, not to mention get it out of the Empire, defeats me. But I think not you. Want to give me a clue?”

Simon murmured something under his breath that might have been, But you’re so much more amusing without one ; Ivan didn’t ask him to repeat it. Simon went on, “Well, that’s proving more interesting than I thought at first glance. How do we know what we know? It’s really a very philosophical question.”

“Yeah, but I’m a practical kind of guy,” said Ivan, recognizing Simon-diversion. The man could keep interrogators going in circles for hours , at parties. All that practice, Ivan supposed. On both sides of the table. “And I’m tired and my wife’s stopped talking to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Was it something you said?”

“ Simon .”

Byerly mustered his nerve and got out, “Sir, did you make some kind of deal with Shiv Arqua? Or does he just think you did?”

“Mm…” said Simon, in a judicious tone. “I believe it was more in the nature of a bet.”

Ivan rubbed his face. “Just how drunk were you two, the other night?”

Simon…smirked. “Perhaps a little. But it was my favorite sort of bet, very rare in my experience—one I can’t lose.”

It was By’s turn to wail: “ Sir. ”

Simon held up a hand, abandoning, thank God, his sport upon his juniors. “To answer your first question first, Ivan, what the Arquas appear to be after is a Cetagandan bunker, built during the Occupation under the mansion that formerly stood on ImpSec HQ’s site. It was first mapped and marked cleared at the time the foundation for the headquarters was excavated. Under Mad Yuri’s and Increasingly Disturbed Dono’s civil engineering aegis, you know.”

“You mean I’ve been running in circles for a week chasing nothing ?” said By indignantly.

“Not quite that,” said Simon.

“But ImpSec knew it was there, all this time?” said Ivan.

“Once again we return to the subtleties of the term, know . Or perhaps— remember . ImpSec’s records have been damaged many times, in the intervening decades. And even without that, people who know things transfer or retire or die, to be replaced with…people who know different things, let’s say. A kind of cumulative organizational amnesia. It’s possible there might be some half-a-dozen men in ImpSec now alive who have personally examined those original historical documents, but that’s likely a generous estimate.”