Forward Momentum -- Chapter 16 (c)
Chairs shirred on the carpeting as people rose. While they formed up an alarmed Elli circled swiftly to Miles’s side.
“Should I drop out, Miles? If I’m seen it’ll blow the Dendarii connection with Barrayar. The others are retired and have known connections with you already, but it’ll brand me.”
“Up to you, Elli. There are advantages as well.”
“Not for someone with my face and life, Miles.”
“I said your call and meant it, Elli. No broken words today. And no-one will take offence in any event.” He considered a moment. “Guy would agree with you about your life, or rather, your job, which need not be one and the same, even for you. As far as your beauty goes, I plead personal incapacity.”
Her very lovely, rebuilt face screwed up in concentration. “I’ll come to the downside ball, if I’m invited, but I’ll pass on this. I think I’ll regret either decision, but I also think I’ll need a ‘no’ now in negotiations to come, of which there’ll be a lot.”
Miles nodded and hastened to his place in the crocodile behind Gregor, muttering an explanation as they crossed the antechamber. Gregor shrugged. In the further room tables and chairs had been moved to leave a space before the frame. With Gregor and Laisa in the middle they flowed into a double-line, Vorkosigans, Counts, and Lords Auditor closely flanking the Emperor and Empress, others arrayed to either side with expressions ranging from Mark’s and Taura’s deep satisfaction to Lem’s and Harra’s shock at what they had become part of. As soon as all were still the frames’ images shifted from a mosaic of groundside events to a new configuration. A band of mosaic continued at the foot, but the triple division returned, the left third showing themselves, the right third the equivalent Cetagandan scene, with a sumptuously dressed Emperor the haut Fletchir Giaja standing amid an array of haut lady-bubbles, haut lords, and ghem-officers. Lady d’Lhosh was present. The middle third showed his Da in a new uniform, glittering imperial green flecked with red-and-blues to match Gregor’s but piped in iridescent whites to match Giaja, and clearly cut by Celestial Cetagandan tailors in a style that lent beauty to power and motion. Command blazed in him.
He stood on the bridge of the Princess-and-Countess Olivia, his Barrayaran second, Admiral Vorlightly, to one side, Lhosh and Arvin in the Imperial Array to the other. Gravely all bowed twice, first to their own emperor, then identically to the other, at an angle making clear they looked at the same triple image. As they did so they must have noticed ImpSec at Gregor’s side, intent on them with tail neatly curled around him, and on either side of Giaja the most superior cats Miles had ever seen, jet-black and snow-white longhairs with the longest legs and most banner-like tales, even furled. Had more than one mouth quirked?
“Your Imperial Majesties.” His Da sounded wonderful as he rasped Barrayaran gutturals. “I beg leave to report local space and all major installations secured. May I proceed to land ground troops?”
“Please do, my Lord Viceroy.” Giaja’s baritone was melodious as ever, free of obvious irony in Cetagandan. “The curule chair is yours today.” Seamlessly the Viceroy switched languages, though Cetagandan was not a tongue nor its highest form a grammatical mode to reward rumbling.
“Thank you, Celestial Lord.” Aral nodded aside, and after a few seconds another mosaic band appeared across the lower screen, showing drop-shuttles beginning to fall by dozens from warships and in scores from the orbiting troopships. “The first quarter-million troops are on their way. One hundred and thirty-one Barons and two hundred and sixty-four Baronnes are in custody, as well as some two thousand baronial blood-kin and about fifteen thousand senior personnel. We estimate four million persons and an unknown number of genetic creations remain subject to blanket stasis, but this number will fall rapidly as troops land. No fatalities have been observed or reported. There are some minor injuries and medical conditions.” His eyes moved briefly to Nicol, then back through Gregor to Giaja. “It was a surprisingly melodic and picturesque event.”
“We thank you, Admiral Count Vorkosigan.” Giaja sounded deadly serious and spoke Barrayaran. “As We thank Madame Nicol. Our economy of elegance in this is a lesson for all.”
As he named her Giaja nodded in Nicol’s direction, but the last word hummed out to the wider audience of billions. Aral inclined his head, and Gregor made a curious, effective gesture evoking both blessing and caress before speaking in Barrayaran.
“We thank you also, my Lord Viceroy-and-Admiral, as all should.” He switched to Cetagandan. “Please keep Us closely informed of any difficulties with your deployment. Contrary to myth, today’s bloodlessness has been most refreshing.”
“Indeed, We join with Our Imperial Cousin in commending your exact obedience to Our command. We also congratulate Admiral Vorlightly.”
“As We commend Admirals Lhosh and Arvin. Please carry on, my Lord Viceroy.”
Emperors nodded, admirals bowed, and cats smiled at one another before the frames reverted to showing multiple images of drop-shuttles arcing downwards and, after a few moments, coming in to shuttleports, whatever roads or squares were wide enough, and any other convenient open space. Within seconds hatches popped, ramps extended, and columns of troops began to emerge in double-time, form into squads, and radiate outwards while shuttles took off to allow the next landing. From Barrayaran warships came Marine and Ranger battalions, from Cetgandan ones Imperial Guards and ghem-marines, and from troopships regular Imperial and ghem-forces in tens of thousands. Shuttles in the second wave carried tech-groups and engineers, and in the third cargo, becoming hives of activity as field-equipment was unloaded and lightflyers began to provide air cover for disseminating troops. Everyone was caught for a while by the hypnotic precision and repetition, but as ground-scurry spread and smooth operational success was clear Gregor took himself back to his meal, Laisa followed, and the party broke into individual gatherings. Still thinking of food himself, Miles began to head that way but found himself steered by a determined Kareen Koudelka to an alcove where Mark sat with Taura and the Csuriks.
“Miles.” Mark was back to his usual sardonic look. “We are forming a Bewildered Appreciation Committee for Lord Auditor Vorkosigan’s Activities. The acronym is in your honour.”
Miles thought about this. “Baclava?”
“Yes. Too many layers, lots of honey, and altogether nuts.” Miles grinned; Mark didn’t. “More to the point we each have a question for you. I get to go first. What is going to happen to the slaves and serfs?”
“Ah, that.” Miles lowered his voice and they drew round, Taura’s eyes as concerned as Mark’s. He should have foreseen this and made a swift decision. “You mustn’t tell anyone until the Imperial broadcasts, but they’ll all be freed, of course, and will have choice of full subject rights in either imperium, or delivery with family, personal goods, and some cash anywhere they want to go that’ll take them. It’s hard to be precise without numbers, but no-one will be made or left to suffer alone save those convicted under Barrayaran or Cetagandan law-Barons and Baronnes mostly, but some among their blood-kin, security forces, and contract employees.”
Mark visibly relaxed as Miles spoke, Kareen with him. “Thank you, brother. That is generous. My supplementary question is where the devil those picture-bubbles came from.”
“Haut Pel, whom Gregor will at our Ma’s demand ask for souvenirs.”
“Very good.” Mark grimaced. “And I can hardly deny this is a better raid on the clone-crèche than I managed. If I weren’t so pleased I would be galled.”
Miles appreciated that but Kareen poked Mark in remonstrance and glanced at Taura, then spoke herself. “My question doesn’t matter as much, Miles, though I shall be delighted to have one of those bubbles. They were fun. But I was wondering if you knew why Ivan is being so sour. He positively hissed at Mark and I for no reason at all.”
“Were you discussing wedding-plans, by chance?” Mark and Kareen stared and nodded. “You should ask Simon, but as well as blaming me for, um, disrupting his life with all this, I understand he has received several proposals of marriage from ghem-women on Eta Ceta, and is endeavouring to choose between his happy bachelor state and interplanetary polygamy. Next?”
Lem and Harra looked puzzled, not knowing Ivan, but both Mark and Kareen went an interesting colour with strangled looks, and Taura, who had met Ivan, grinned. Then her smile faded.
“My question was the same as Mark’s, really. I just want to go help with the gene-lab crèches. I remember how scared I was most of the time, and how little I understood about anything when you rescued me.”
“I’ll tell them to let you onto the comm deck to see what’s happening there, and if there’s anything you don’t like, buzz them. A suggestion from anyone aboard this ship will carry weight, and you can call me if there’s need.” Her fangs flashed relief and pleasure. “Did you also have questions, Harra, Lem?”
Both Csuriks were contemplating him with small smiles and reserved looks. Harra’s smile widened at his enquiry. “Only a million, my Lord. Sergeant Taura and Lord Mark have been telling us about these Jacksonians and what they do. Or did. I don’t understand how it all connects with Silvy Vale but I don’t have to.” She laughed to herself. “You know, when I came to Vorkosigan Surleau it was the farthest I’d ever been from Silvy Vale. Then when I got back from Hassadar I thought myself very well-travelled. Lem had his trip to Vorbarr Sultana last year for the treaty signing, and I’d hoped to see the capital one day, and that beautiful garden.” She gestured around. “And here we are among the stars as the Emperor’s own guests. It’s amazing, but it’s not like home.”
For Harra only the whole truth would do. Always. Miles leaned forward to take her hands. “That first morning at Vorkosigan Surleau, Harra, I didn’t want to be troubled with you. I was twenty, a new-fledged Ensign, and my head was in the stars. There’s no excuse, but I think you’ll understand a lot of my teenage dreams were about getting away from Barrayaran attitudes to my deformities.” She blinked at his rare self-description. “And I’d already seen the star-lanes, so I knew what was out here. I remember I was thinking about a red lightflyer I wanted as a graduation present. You know you and Raina changed all that for me.” Her hands tightened on his and he squeezed back. “You made me focus on my true responsibilities to you and Raina, and to my Da and the District. To Barrayar and Barrayarans.” He took a deep breath. “But for me the life that was stolen from Raina, the possibilities she should have enjoyed, wasn’t just a life in Silvy Vale. It was a destiny that might have taken her to the stars. That’s what your Ma denied her, with everything else. And here on Jackson’s Whole many have been similarly denied their futures-human children and creations who are born and die as disposable slaves, made for spare parts or sold at whim, or just flushed away as errors. Now all that stops, and among your children’s possible destinies are postings here, with the Joint Fleet serving a better Nexus, just as much as good lives in a better Silvy Vale.”
Had he helped? She was shaking her head, not, he thought, in denial or refutation. “How can you see so much? I can’t take in the scale. Or the reality of this invasion with joyful music and those pictures of you.”
“Well, I’ve never been on an invasion before,” he said cautiously, “but I don’t think they’re usually like this. And you and Lem, as much as the observers from every District, witness for all Barrayar that we behave with grace and honour before a Nexus that respects as well as fears us.” He risked a smile. “If Taura does decide to be our postwoman I hope your task of introducing her to the mountains has just become rather easier. Pretty much everyone will have seen you both with Gregor.” Her smile turned wryer at that thought. “Your pupils will be thrilled.”
“I’m sure they will, my Lord. I’ll try to take the rest in, but you’re making my head burst.”
“That happens with Miles.” Taura was smiling at them both. “But it’s always better afterwards.”
The jump-klaxon sounded, and Miles let go of Harra’s hands and sat back until the wave of disorientation had come and gone. Screens cleared to show the fleet assembled below them, and gliding into pair-position with them a slightly smaller but astonishing ship that flared golden wherever sunlight glanced from it and had an unusual, swept-back look and fiercely elegant design. Giaja’s yacht drew whistles from those still watching, as around both imperial ships support vessels slid into a double-globe of protective formations.
“I must go.” He stood. “But please, don’t forget to enjoy yourselves, and ask stewards for anything you want. It’s now officially imperial reception time until the landing’s complete. Oh, and Lady Alys has assigned you all cabins, where you’ll find, um, additional wardrobe items for the big bashes.” He pointed to Giaja’s golden ship. “He’ll come here first, then we go there, assuming there’s room, then we all go downside. In two rather nice drop-shuttles, much quieter and far better appointed than the ones soldiers are used to, which Gregor, incidentally, has named the Sergeant Taura and Lord Mark Vorkosigan.” Appreciating his own incidentally, for once actually meaning something, he grinned at three gaping faces, bowed to Lem and Harra, and went in search of Ekaterin.