Lois Bujold - Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Ivan admitted reluctantly, “Tej drives everyone everywhere.”

“And isn’t talking to you, you said. That’s actually rather convenient, right now. At least you know it’s not personal.”

Ivan wasn’t so sure.

“Which means the Arquas are under the gun to solve their visa extension problem, or they’ll never make it to the engineering ones. I am so tempted to help with that…”

Afraid your game will be over too soon, Simon?

In any case, Simon had apparently decided that it was time for this chat to be over, for he slid the conversation into amenities, and then somehow, a few minutes later, Ivan found himself and By being amiably escorted to the door. Ivan, calculating how soon his mother was likely to be back, allowed the eviction without protest.

“That was reassuring,” said Byerly, as they settled themselves in Ivan’s two-seater once more. “Illyan is on top of it. Might have known.”

Ivan’s lips twisted. “Eh…”

By glanced aside at him. “I didn’t notice anything addled about any of that. Did you?”

“No,” Ivan admitted. Addled isn’t exactly the problem, here. Where would Tej fall, if things played out the way Simon pictured—or if they didn’t, for that matter, but in any case, if she was forced to take sides? If she and Ivan each were?

By buckled up in a pointed manner; Ivan aimed his car out of the garage and turned into the street, and said, “Where do you want me to drop you? Your flat? Or back to the hotel?”

“No, I shan’t put any more Arquas to the trouble of finding new circles to lead me in tonight.” By sighed. “My flat, I suppose.”

Ivan took the turn that would lead on to the shabby-trendy parts of Old Town Vorbarr Sultana. By put his head back and closed his eyes, although, given the lack of any white-knuckled grips anywhere, presumably not at Ivan’s driving, which was if not sedate was at least equally fatigued. After a few minutes, apropos some unguessable chain of thought, By remarked, “I don’t usually get attached to my surveillance subjects.”

“Considering your usual crowd, I can see why,” said Ivan.

“Mm,” said By, not disagreeing. And after another minute, “Ivan, you’ve had a lot of girlfriends—”

Byerly Vorrutyer is about to ask me for relationship advice? Ivan didn’t know whether to be flattered or appalled. Or to distract his passenger with a few evasive lightflyer moves, somewhat impeded by being in a ground vehicle.

“—seems like every time I saw you, you had a different one hanging on your arm.”

“They weren’t all girlfriends. Mamere always made me do a lot of diplomatic and social escort duty.” Actual real take-to-bed girlfriends had been less abundant, though Ivan wasn’t about to explain this to By.

“You made them all look like girlfriends.”

“Well, sure.”

“How did you keep them all happy?”

The light-spangled night rain flickered by outside the canopy. The wet streets wanted background music, some soulful lament to urban loneliness…“You know,” and somehow, probably because of the damned rain, Ivan’s mouth went off on its own: “I’ve always wondered why nobody ever notices that lots and lots of girlfriends entail lots and lots of breakups.” Enough to learn all the road signs by heart, yeah.

By’s eyes opened; his brows climbed. “Huh. You never seemed to point up that part.”

“No.”

A lot of his troubles had seemed to start, come to think, with oblique or not-so-oblique pressure for a high Vor wedding, even from a couple of the women who were already married, which Ivan had naively thought would put a sock in the issue. He’d never had those troubles with Tej , hah. If he’d known how relaxing being married—as opposed to getting married—could be, he might have done this years ago, except then it wouldn’t have been with Tej, so it wouldn’t have been like this, now would it? He contemplated this paradox glumly.

By leaned back in his seat with a tired sigh. “Well, at least parting with Tej should be no challenge for you.”

Ivan could not, he supposed, stop his car in the middle of traffic and strangle an ImpSec agent, no matter how personally annoying the man was. Fortunately, By’s block came up before temptation overcame prudence. By bade him thanks and farewell with his usual boneless wave.

Ivan wondered whether Tej would be home yet. Or not. And then couldn’t decide whether to speed up or slow down, an irresolution that kept him tepidly at the speed limit all the way back to his building’s garage.

Ivan spent the next two days chasing Tej around the clock. She returned from the hotel very late, Rishless, when Ivan was already half comatose and shrinking from the thought of tomorrow morning’s alarm. The workweek resumed; Ivan’s shift ran over due to what seemed an unending stream of minor Ops cockups and stupidities eliciting a return of memos running a short range from the tart to the sarcastic, and had Ivan mentally composing a whole new level of the latter, searing . In any case, he missed dinner, and Tej, who was out doing more driving .

Ivan’s preemptive strike for the next evening—dinner reservations at a restaurant for Tej and her family, for which she’d have to show up if only because she’d have to ferry the rest of them—resulted in less than a quorum of Arquas, but still more than enough to prevent any serious personal discussions. Vapid tourist talk dominated the table. The public venue had been a bad idea. Ivan should invite them to his flat for the sort of intimate conclave he wanted—preferably with fast-penta served with the soup. Or maybe the predinner drinks. Alas that the truth drug could not be administered orally.

No private talk with Tej that night, either, nor even sex as a substitute, an evasion for which Ivan was beginning to think he might be willing to settle. Since the evening ended with Rish back on Ivan’s couch, presumably By’s bed-luck was equally dire, but it seemed an insufficient consolation. And in the morning, Tej let him oversleep too much—deliberately?—so that he had to rush off for his day of arm-wrestling with Ops’s finest idiots without talk, kisses, breakfast, or coffee.

This can’t go on.

The Mycoborer was misbehaving.

Tej adjusted her mask—a simple hospital filter mask, without electronic components, acquired by Amiri from who-knew-where—yanked on her plastic gloves, and prepared to follow Amiri, Grandmama, and Jet on the none-too-solid flex-ladder down the meter-wide black shaft. The chemical cold lights hooked to everyone’s belts bobbed as they descended, making a bright but unsteady illumination.

She had to admit, the results of the first three days of Mycoborer penetration were impressive. After that initial visit, Amiri and Jet had found their way to the garage on their own, by different routes each time, for once-a-day checks and repositionings of new myco-sticks as the old ones successively pooped out. But Tej was afraid Grandmama was going to have to report to her Earth friend that his straight route and uniform diameter goals were still a hope for the future. The black walls of the shaft wavered—and not just from her wobbling light—widened and constricted irregularly, and bent away. Tej arrived at a kind of foyer Amiri had made at the bottom of the shaft to store the bulk of their supplies, straightened, and caught her breath.

Amiri held a finger to his mask. “As little talking as possible, from here on,” he whispered. Jet and Tej nodded dutifully. They’d left their wristcoms in the locked utility room, and traded shoes for soft, muffling slippers. Tej’s had bunny faces on the toes, and Grandmama’s had kittens, which was what they got for letting Em do the shopping, she supposed. The floor felt odd, through them—rubbery, not solid.