Lois Bujold - Barrayar

“First try,” echoed Drou. Her lip curled in introspective dismay. “How did you know you’d … caught? The nausea?”

“Fatigue, before nausea. But it was the little blue dots …” Her voice faltered, as she studied the girl’s twisted-up features. “Drou, are all these questions academic, or do you have some more personal interest in the answers?”

Her face almost crumpled. “Personal,” she choked out.

“Oh.” Cordelia sat back. “D’you … want to talk about it?’

“No … I don’t know… .”

“I presume that means yes,” Cordelia sighed. Ah, yes. Just like playing Mama Captain to sixty Betan scientists back on Survey, though queries about pregnancy were perhaps the one interpersonal trouble they’d never laid in her lap. But given the Really Dumb Stuff that rational and select group had sprung on her from time to time, the feral Barrayaran version ought to be just … “You know I’ll be glad to help you any way I can.”

“It was the night of the soltoxin attack,” she sniffled. “I couldn’t sleep. I went down to the refectory kitchen to get something to eat. On the way back upstairs I noticed a light on in the library. Lieutenant Koudelka was in there. He couldn’t sleep either,”

Kou, eh? Oh, good, good. This might be all right after all. Cordelia smiled in genuine encouragement. “Yes?”

“We … I … he … kissed me.”

“I trust you kissed him back?”

“You sound like you approve.”

“I do. You are two of my favorite people, you and Kou. If only you’d get your heads straight … but go on, there has to be more.” Unless Drou was more ignorant than Cordelia believed possible.

“We … we … we …”

“Screwed?” Cordelia suggested hopefully.

“Yes, Milady.” Drou turned scarlet, and swallowed. “Kou seemed so happy … for a few minutes. I was so happy for him, so excited, I didn’t care how much it hurt.”

Ah, yes, the barbaric Barrayaran custom of introducing their women to sex with the pain of unanesthesized defloration. Though considering how much pain their reproductive methods later entailed, perhaps it constituted fair warning. But Kou, in the glimpses she’d had of him, hadn’t seemed as happy as a new lover ought to be either. What were these two doing to each other? “Go on.”

“I thought I saw a movement in the back garden, out the door from the library. Then came the crash upstairs—oh, Milady! I’m so sorry! If I’d been guarding you, instead of doing that—”

“Whoa, girl! You were off-duty. If you hadn’t been doing that, you’d have been in bed asleep. No way is the soltoxin attack your fault, yours or Kou’s. In fact, if you hadn’t been up and, and more or less dressed, the would-be assassin might have gotten away.” And we wouldn’t be anticipating yet another public beheading, or whatever, God help us. One part of Cordelia wished they’d gone for seconds, and never looked out the damned window. But Droushnakovi had enough consequences to deal with right now without those mortal complications.

“But if only—”

“If onlys have been thick in the air around here, these last weeks. I think it’s time to replace them with some Now-we-go-ons, frankly.” Cordelia’s mind caught up with herself at last. Drou was Barrayaran; Drou therefore didn’t have a contraceptive implant. It didn’t sound like that idiot Kou had offered an alternative, either. Drou had therefore spent the last three weeks wondering … “Would you like to try one of my little blue dots? I have lots left.”

“Blue dots?”

“Yes, I started to tell you. I have a packet of these little diagnostic strips. Bought them in Vorbarr Sultana last summer at an import shop. You pee on one, and if the dot turns blue, you’re in. I only used up three, last summer.” Cordelia went to her dresser drawer, and rooted through it. for the obsolete supplies. “Here.” She handed one to Drou. “Go relieve yourself. And your mind.”

“Do they work so soon?”

“After five days.” Cordelia held up her hand. “Promise.”

Staring worriedly at the little strip of paper, Droushnakovi vanished into Cordelia and Aral’s bathroom, off the bedroom. She emerged in a few minutes. Her face was glum, her shoulders slumped.

What does this mean? Cordelia wondered in exasperation. “Well?”

“It stayed white.”

“Then you aren’t pregnant.”

“Guess not.”

“I can’t tell if you’re glad or sorry. Believe me, if you want to have a baby, you’d do much better to wait a couple years till they get a bit more medical technology on-line around here.” Though the organic method had been fascinating, for a time… .

“I don’t want … I want … I don’t know … Kou’s hardly spoken to me since that night. I didn’t want to be pregnant, it would destroy me, and yet I thought maybe he would, would … be as excited and happy about it as he was about the sex, maybe. Maybe he’d come back and—oh, things were going so well, and now they’re so spoiled!” Her hands were clenched, face white, teeth gritted.

Cry, so I can breathe, girl. But Droushnakovi regained her self-control. “I’m sorry, Milady. I didn’t mean to spill all this stupidity on you.”

Stupidity, yes, but not unilateral stupidity. Something this screwed up had to have taken a committee. “So what is the matter with Kou? I thought he was just suffering from soltoxin-guilt, like everyone else in the household.” From Aral and myself on down.

“I don’t know, Milady.”

“Have you tried something really radical, like asking him?”

“He hides, when he sees me coming.”

Cordelia sighed, and turned her attention to getting dressed. Real clothes, not patient robes, today. There in the back of Aral’s closet were her tan trousers from her old Survey uniform, hung up. Curiously, she tried them on. Not only did they fasten, they were loose. She had been sick.

Rather aggressively, she left them on, and chose a long-sleeved flowered smock-top to go with them. Very comfortable. She smiled at her slim, if pale, profile in the mirror.

“Ah, dear Captain.” Aral stuck his head in the bedroom door. “You’re up.” He glanced at Droushnakovi. “You’re both here. Better still. I think I need your help, Cordelia. In fact, I’m certain of it.” Aral’s eyes were alight with the strangest expression. Amazement, bemusement, worry? He let himself in. He was wearing his standard gear for off-duty time at Vorkosigan Surleau, old uniform trousers and a civilian shirt. He was trailed by a tense and miserable Koudelka, dressed in neat black fatigues with his red lieutenant’s tabs bright on the collar. He clutched his swordstick. Drou backed to the wall, and crossed her arms.

“Lieutenant Koudelka—he tells me—wishes to make a confession. He is also, I suspect, hoping for absolution,” said Aral.

“I don’t deserve that, sir,” Koudelka muttered. “But I couldn’t live with myself anymore. This has to come out.” He stared at the floor, meeting no one’s eyes. Droushnakovi watched him breathlessly. Aral eased over and sat on the edge of the bed beside Cordelia.

“Hold on to your hat,” he murmured to her out of the corner of his mouth. “This one took me by surprise.”

“I think I may be way ahead of you.”

“That wouldn’t be a first.” He raised his voice. “Go ahead, Lieutenant. This won’t be any easier for being dragged out.”

“Drou—Miss Droushnakovi—I came to turn myself “in. And to apologize. No, that sounds trivial, and believe me, I don’t think it trivial. You deserve more than apology, I owe you expiation. Whatever you want. But I’m sorry, so sorry I raped you.”

Droushnakovi’s mouth fell open for a full three seconds, then shut so hard Cordelia could hear her teeth snap. “What?!”