Lois Bujold - Barrayar

The woman snorted, hands on hips. “I do my bit of midwifery, Bothari. Two hours, more like.”

Bothari shot Cordelia an odd look, almost a flash of fear. The housewoman held up a hand to ward off his frown. “Whatever you say.”

“We should let her sleep,” said Bothari, “till we’re sure she isn’t going to bleed.”

“Yes, but not alone,” said Cordelia. “In case she wakes up disoriented in a strange place.” In the range of strange, Cordelia suspected, this place qualified as downright alien for the Vor woman.

“I’ll sit with her a while,” volunteered Droushnakovi. She glowered suspiciously at the housewoman, who was apparently leaning too near the baby for her taste. Cordelia didn’t think Drou was at all fooled by Koudelka’s pretense that they had stumbled into some sort of museum. Nor would Lady Vorpatril be, once she’d rested enough to regain her wits.

Droushnakovi plunked down in a shabby padded armchair, wrinkling her nose at its musty smell. The others withdrew from the room. Koudelka went off to find whatever this old building used for a lavatory, and to try and buy them some food. An underlying tang to the air suggested to Cordelia that nothing in the caravanserai was hooked up to the municipal sewerage. No central heating, either. At Bothari’s frown, the housewoman made herself scarce.

A sofa, a couple of chairs, and a low table occupied a space at the end of the hall, lit by a red-shaded battery-driven lamp. Wearily, Bothari and Cordelia sat there. With the pressure off for a moment, not fighting the strain, Bothari looked ragged. Cordelia had no idea what she looked like, but she was certain it wasn’t her best.

“Do they have whores on Beta Colony?” Bothari asked suddenly.

Cordelia fought mental whiplash. His voice was so tired the question sounded almost casual, except that Bothari never made casual conversation. How much had tonight’s violent events disturbed his precarious balance, stressed his peculiar fault lines? “Well … we have the L.P.S.T.s,” she answered cautiously. “I guess they fill some of the same social functions.”

“Ellpee Estees?”

“Licensed Practical Sexuality Therapists. You have to pass the government boards, and get a license. You’re required to have at least an associate degree in psychotherapy. Except that all three sexes take up the profession. The hermaphrodites make the most money, they’re very popular with the tourists. It’s not … not a high social status job, but neither are they dregs. I don’t think we have dregs on Beta Colony, we sort of stop at the lower middle class. It’s like …” she paused, struggling for a cultural translation, “sort of like being a hairdresser, on Barrayar. Delivering a personal service to professional standards, with a bit of art and craft.”

She’d actually managed to boggle Bothari, surely a first. His brow wrinkled. “Only Betans would think you needed a bleeding university degree… . Do women hire them?”

“Sure. Couples, too. The … the teaching element is rather more emphasized, there.”

He shook his head, and hesitated. He shot her a sidelong look. “My mother was a whore.” His tone was curiously distant. He waited.

“I’d … about figured that out.”

“Don’t know why she didn’t abort me. She could have, she did those as well as midwifery. Maybe she was looking to her old age. She used to sell me to her customers.”

Cordelia choked. “Now … now that would not have been allowed, on Beta Colony.”

“I can’t remember much about that time. I ran away when I was twelve, when I got big enough to beat up her damned customers. Ran with the gangs, till I was sixteen, passed for eighteen, and lied my way into the Service. Then I was out of here.” His palms slid across each other, indicating how slick and fast his escape.

“The Service must have seemed like heaven, in comparison.”

“Till I met Vorrutyer.” He stared around vaguely. “There were more people around here, back then. It’s almost dead here now.” His voice went meditative. “There’s a great deal of my life I can’t remember very well. It’s like I’m all … patchy. Yet there are some things I want to forget and can’t.”

She wasn’t about to ask, What? But she made an I-am-listening noise, down in her throat.

“Don’t know who my father was. Being a bastard here is damn near as bad as being a mutant.”

“ ’Bastard’ is used as a negative description of a personality, but it doesn’t really have an objective meaning, in the Betan context. Unlicensed children aren’t the same thing, and they’re so rare, they’re dealt with on a case-by-case basis.” Why is he telling me all this? What does he want of me? When he started, he seemed almost fearful; now he looks almost contented. What did I say right? She sighed.

To her secret relief, Koudelka returned about then, bearing actual fresh sandwiches of bread and cheese, and bottled beer. Cordelia was glad for the beer; she’d have been dubious of the water in this place. She chased her first bite with a grateful swallow, and said, “Kou, we have to re—arrange. our strategy.”

He settled awkwardly beside her, listening seriously. “Yes?”

“We obviously can’t take Lady Vorpatril and the baby with us. And we can’t leave her here. We left five corpses and a burning groundcar for Vordarian’s security. They’re going to be searching this area in earnest. But for just a little while longer, they will still be hunting for a very pregnant woman. It gives us a time window. We have to split up.”

He filled a hesitant moment with a bite of sandwich. “Will you go with her, then, Milady?”

She shook her head. “I must go with the Residence team. If only because I’m the only one who can say, This is impossible now, it’s time to quit. Drou is absolutely required, and I need Bothari.” And, in some strange way, Bothari needs me. “That leaves you.”

His lips compressed bitterly. “At least I won’t slow you down.”

“You’re not a default choice,” she said sharply. “Your ingenuity got us in to Vorbarr Sultana. I think it can get Lady Vorpatril out. You’re her best shot.”

“But it feels like you’re running into danger, and I’m running away.”

“A dangerous illusion. Kou, think. If Vordarian’s goons catch her again, they’ll show her no mercy. Nor you, nor especially the baby. There is no ’safer.’ Only mortal necessity, and logic, and the absolute need to keep your head.”

He sighed. “I’ll try, Milady.”

“ ’Try’ is not good enough. Padma Vorpatril ’tried.’ You bloody succeed, Kou.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, Milady.”

Bothari left to scrounge clothing for Kou’s new persona of poor-young-husband-and-father. “Customers are always leaving things,” he remarked. Cordelia wondered what he could collect here in the way of street clothes for Lady Vorpatril. Kou took food in to Lady Vorpatril and Drou. He returned with a very bleak expression on his face, and settled again beside Cordelia.

After a time he said, “I guess I understand now why Drou was so worried about being pregnant.”

“Do you?” said Cordelia.

“Lady Vorpatril’s troubles make mine look … pretty small. God, that looked painful.”

“Mm. But the pain only lasts a day.” She rubbed her scar. “Or a few weeks. I don’t think that’s it.”

“What is, then?”

“It’s … a transcendental act. Making life. I thought about that, when I was carrying Miles. ’By this act, I bring one death into the world.’ One birth, one death, and all the pain and acts of will between. I didn’t understand certain Oriental mystic symbols like the Death-mother, Kali, till I realized it wasn’t mystic at all, just plain fact. A Barrayaran-style sexual ’accident’ can start a chain of causality that doesn’t stop till the end of time. Our children change us … whether they live or not. Even though your child turned out to be chimerical this time, Drou was touched by that change. Weren’t you?”