Lois Bujold: Barrayar

The next sample was a plain dark wood, with a finish like satin. The clerk handed it to her unopened, with another little bow. “You press the handle there, Milady.” It was much heavier than the first swordstick. The sheathing sprang away at velocity, landing against the wall on the other side of the room with a satisfying thunk, almost a weapon in itself. Cordelia sighted down the blade again. A strange watermark pattern down its length shifted in the light. She saluted the wall once more, and caught the clerk’s eye. “Do these come out of your salary?”

“Go ahead, Milady.” There was a little gleam of satisfaction in his eye. “You can’t break that one.”

She gave it the same test as she had the other. The tip went much further into the wood, and leaning against it with all her strength, she could barely bend it. Even so, there was more bend left in it; she could feel she was nowhere near the limit of its tensile strength. She handed it to Droushnakovi, who examined it lovingly. “That’s fine, Milady. That’s worthy.”

“I’m sure it will be used more as a stick than as a sword. Nevertheless … it should indeed be worthy. We’ll take this one.”

As the clerk wrapped it, Cordelia lingered over a case of enamel-decorated stunners.

“Thinking of buying one for yourself, Milady?” asked Droushnakovi.

“I … don’t think so. Barrayar has enough soldiers, without importing them from Beta Colony. Whatever I’m here for, it isn’t soldiering. See anything you want?”

Droushnakovi looked wistful, but shook her head, her hand going to her bolero. “Captain Negri’s equipment is the best. Even Siegling’s doesn’t have anything better, just prettier.”

They sat down three to dinner that night, late, Vorkosigan, Cordelia, and Lieutenant Koudelka. Vorkosigan’s new personal secretary looked a little tired.

“What did you two do all day?” asked Cordelia.

“Herded men, mostly,” answered Vorkosigan. “Prime Minister Vortala had a few votes that weren’t as much in the bag as he claimed, and we worked them over, one or two at a time, behind closed doors. What you’ll see tomorrow in the Council chambers isn’t Barrayaran politics at work, just their result. Were you all right today?”

“Fine. Went shopping. Wait’ll you see.” She produced the swordstick, and stripped off the wrapping. “Just to help keep you from running Kou completely into the ground.”

Koudelka looked politely grateful, over a more fundamental irritation. His look changed to one of surprise as he took the stick and nearly dropped it from the unexpected weight. “Hey! This isn’t—”

“You press the handle there. Don’t point it—!”

Thwack!

“—at the window.” Fortunately, the sheath struck the frame, and bounced back with a clatter. Kou and Aral both jumped.

Koudelka’s eyes lit up as he examined the blade, while Cordelia retrieved the sheath. “Oh, Milady!” Then his face fell. He carefully resheathed it, and handed it back sadly. “I guess you didn’t realize. I’m not Vor. It’s not legal for me to own a private sword.”

“Oh.” Cordelia was crestfallen.

Vorkosigan raised an eyebrow. “May I see that, Cordelia?” He looked it over, unsheathing it more cautiously. “Hm. Am I right in guessing I paid for this?”

“Well, you will, I suppose, when the bill arrives. Although I don’t think you should pay for the one I broke. I might as well take it back, though.”

“I see.” He smiled a little. “Lieutenant Koudelka, as your commanding officer and a vassal secundus to Ezar Vorbarra, I am officially issuing you this weapon of mine, to carry in the service of the Emperor, long may he rule.” The unavoidable irony of the formal phrase tightened his mouth, but he shook off the blackness, and handed the stick back to Koudelka, who bloomed again. “Thank you, sir!”

Cordelia just shook her head. “I don’t believe I’ll ever understand this place.”

“I’ll have Kou find you some legal histories. Not tonight, though. He has barely time to put his notes from today in order before Vortala’s due here with a couple more of his strays. You can take over part of the Count my father’s library, Kou; we’ll meet in there.”

Dinner broke up. Koudelka retreated to the library to work, while Vorkosigan and Cordelia retired to the drawing room next to it to read, before Vorkosigan’s evening meeting. He had yet more reports, which he ran rapidly through a hand viewer. Cordelia divided her time between a Barrayaran Russian phrase earbug, and an even more intimidating disk on child care. The silence was broken by an occasional mutter from Vorkosigan, more to himself than her, of phrases like, “Ah ha! So that’s what the bastard was really up to,” or “Damn, those figures are strange. Got to check it out… .” Or from Cordelia, “Oh, my, I wonder if all babies do that,” and a periodic thwack! penetrating the wall from the library, which caused them to look up at each other and burst out laughing.

“Oh, dear,” said Cordelia, after the third or fourth of these. “I hope I haven’t distracted him unduly from his duties.”

“He’ll do all right, when he settles down. Vorbarra’s personal secretary has taken him in hand, and is showing him how to organize himself. After Kou follows him through the funeral protocol, he should be able to tackle anything. That swordstick was a stroke of genius, by the way; thank you.”

“Yes, I noticed he was pretty touchy about his handicaps. I thought it might unruffle his feathers a little.”

“It’s our society. It tends to be … rather hard on anyone who can’t keep up.”

“I see. Strange … now that you mention it, I don’t recall seeing any but healthy-looking people, on the streets and so on, except at the hospital. No float chairs, none of those vacuous faces in the tow of their parents …”

“Nor will you.” Vorkosigan looked grim. “Any problems that are detectable are eliminated before birth.”

“Well, we do that, too. Though usually before conception.”

“Also at birth. And after, in the backcountry.”

“Oh.”

“As for the maimed adults …”

“Good heavens, you don’t practice euthanasia on them, do you?”

“Your Ensign Dubauer would not have lived, here.”

Dubauer had taken disruptor fire to the head, and survived. Sort of.

“As for injuries like Koudelka’s, or worse … the social stigma is very great. Watch him in a larger group sometime, not his close friends. It’s no accident that the suicide rate among medically discharged soldiers is high.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I took it for granted, once. Now … not anymore. But many people still do.”

“What about problems like Bothari’s?”

“It depends. He was a usable madman. For the unusable …” he trailed off, staring at his boots.

Cordelia felt cold. “I keep thinking I’m beginning to adjust to this place. Then I go around another corner and run headlong into something like that.”

“It’s only been eighty years since Barrayar made contact with the wider galactic civilization again. It wasn’t just technology we lost, in the Time of Isolation. That we put back on again quickly, like a borrowed coat. But underneath it … we’re still pretty damned naked in places. In forty-four years, I’ve only begun to see how naked.”

Count Vortala and his “strays” came in soon after, and Vorkosigan vanished into the library. The old Count Piotr Vorkosigan, Aral’s father, arrived from his District later that evening, come up to attend the full Council vote. “Well, that’s one vote he’s assured of tomorrow,” Cordelia joked to her father-in-law, helping him get stiffly out of his jacket in the stone-paved foyer.