"So Tonight I Turned Your Station On." (Vorkosigan Saga) G

[lannamichaels]

Title: So Tonight I Turned Your Station On. (On Archive Of Our Own)
Author:
lannamichaels
Fandom: Vorkosigan Saga
Pairing: Gregor Vorbarra/Duv Galeni
Rating: G
A/N: The title is from Are You Out There by Dar Williams. This fic owes a debt to [vid] Are You Out There? remaster by starlady, although it has nothing to do with it.

Summary: Duv Galeni has a radio show. Gregor Vorbarra has a radio.


1.

Duv gets recruited in the normal way, he supposes. He's avoiding the other Komarrans on campus but then one night, someone says to him, "aren't you that Galen from Equinox Road?" and Duv turns around so fast and retorts "Equinox Circle" that his neck hurts in the morning, and then that asshole Kurt Meeder from high school says, "oh wow, it is you, look everyone, it's Galen!"

'Everyone' turns out to be half the population of Solstice's mathlete society from the year Duv graduated, plus some people he recognizes from ImpSec centers back when Duv's father was still alive. "What are you all doing here?" Duv asks.

"Same thing you are," Diana Courtney -- mathlete, didn't speak to Duv for three years after his father and Nate died, until one day she'd sat next to him at a restaurant and stolen his onion rings -- pipes up from the corner, where she's smushed between Marvin and Lavinia Alliman, who lived five floors above him when Aunt Rebecca was still alive. "Getting an Imperial education!"

This is everyone and everything Duv went to Barrayar to get away from.

How many Komarran oligarchs did Imperial University recruit for this class? Duv starts counting heads and then gives up.

"What do they have you studying, Galen?" asks Doni Parreria, not a mathlete, not from ImpSec, where does Duv know him -- right, electronics club.

"Barrayaran history," Duv says. "And I'm going by Galeni these days."

Everyone looks at him pityingly. "Is that supposed to work?" Kurt asks.

"It's definitely not going to work," Lavinia tells him. "Sorry, Galen. Home followed you to Barrayar."

Duv grimaces.

"You know what, Galen?" Kurt asks. "I've always thought you had the face for radio." Duv flips him off, but there's a chorus of agreement. "Come with us, we're taking over the college radio station."

"No, you're not," Duv says.

"We are!" Diana insists. "We got them to give us the 2-4 in the morning slot for Komarran music. They said it was cultural, and also no one listens at that time anyway, so it's not subversive. We're going to play a lot of polka."

"Good luck," Duv says and tries to escape.

But like everything involving Komarr and Komarrans, Duv learns, there is no escape from his past.

2.

"Good evening, Barrayar," intones the voice on the radio. Gregor presses his headphones deeper into his ears and burrows under the covers. "My name isn't David."

"Hi, Not David," Gregor whispers along with the recorded chorus of voices. It's stupid; the armsmen are all outside his room and there are no pickups near his bed. They won't put them in until he starts bringing people back here for sex. Gregor thinks he's going to make a separate bedroom for that, once he can stomach the thought of someone seeing him like that. It's bad enough that he has to sleep among other cadets at school. The first few nights, he hadn't been able to sleep at all, too aware of everyone watching him. He'd eventually learned how to sleep anyway, but that doesn't mean it's easy.

"Tonight our selections are the best and the worst of Denny & Del. I don't want to hear any callers complaining about Lindsey again. I don't care that it has the geography of Solstice backwards, it's called artistic license. Is that clear?"

Gregor's hand goes lower.

"Here's Bethan Taller Tower, followed by Starlight, and then I'll take callers. Remember, our number is--"

Gregor recites it by heart by now, along with the reminder that all voices will be distorted, and then the man who isn't named David tells them all to listen hard to good music for once, and Gregor comes all over his hand much, much, much too soon.

3.

The first time Gregor calls in, it's from a payphone in the caravanserai. He's out carousing with his classmates, which means the other cadets invited him along to be polite, were shocked and horrified when he accepted, and then did their best to ditch him and his guards at the first bar they could. Since Gregor is happy to be ditched, he has no problem with that. He finds his way to a bar closer to the Imperial College campus, where the radio's already set to the station. If he hurries, he'll be able to hear which DJ it is before ImpSec sweeps in to try to clear the bar.

It isn't David. Gregor grins.

While ImpSec and his armsmen are infiltrating the crowd, Gregor slips to the back and calls from the second payphone he sees. It rings. It rings. It rings.

It connects.

"This isn't Radio Komarr," says the unfamiliar voice screening the callers. "Give your name."

"I'm not Greg Bleakman," Gregor says.

There's a hum. "First time caller?"

"Yes," Gregor says confidently.

"Which Dome?" the voice asks.

Gregor blanks. "I'm not from any Dome."

A huff of a laugh. "All right, you'll fit right in. What do you want to talk about, not Greg Bleakman?"

Gregor twirls the cord of the phone receiver around his finger. Miles had told him once confidently that it disrupted a lot of amateur listening devices. Gregor doesn't believe that but he does like the feel of it. "I missed the show about Solstice Jazz. I was wondering if it's going to be repeated in a month or two when I'll have more time to listen."

"I'll put you through, you and that asshole can decide which one he liked best and he'll play it for you as a special request," says the voice. "Remember, your voice will be distorted, for your privacy and ours, et cetera et cetera et cetera. Thank you for calling in, Mr. Bleakman of Solstice."

"I didn't say Solstice," Gregor says and then there's the click of a connection.

"Hello, you're on the air," says the man who isn't David and Gregor breathes out hard through his nose and tightens his grip on the phone. "And you're not Greg Bleakman."

"No, I'm not," Gregor agrees, suddenly grinning wide. "Long time listener, first time caller. But I missed the jazz show."

"I'm very disappointed in you, not Greg," comes the response. "What selection would you like to hear from it?"

"Last summer, you played a short series from a house band from a club that I don't remember the name of," Gregor lies. He'd written it in his journal and thought about asking someone to get official copies for the Imperial archives, but thought better of it when he considered the kinds of questions he would get. "It had an extended violin riff that I'd never thought was even possible. I'd love to hear it again."

"That would be Metal Grain by the Beyond Hours house band," Not David says confidently. "This one is for you, and for my uncle who took me there when I was six and scarred me for life."

The phone call cuts off abruptly and Gregor looks up to see Major Charbonneau of his detail.

"I'll get one drink and go," Gregor tells him.

The bar's mostly cleaned out, but the radio's still on in the corner. Gregor sits down and drinks terrible beer, listening to the sounds of home to Komarrans and the sounds of freedom to him.

4.

"Guess the frequent caller," Kurt mouths at Duv through the glass. Duv flicks four fingers at him. Kurt shakes his head. "Greg?" Duv mouths back. Kurt nods. Duv sighs.

Greg is-- Greg is not a problem, in so far as he doesn't make problems. But after the third time Greg called, everyone agreed that he wasn't actually Komarran. Someone had valiantly suggested he might be a transplanted galactic, but Lavinia only had to say "did you hear his vowels" before it was generally agreed that Gregor was Barrayaran. Worse, he was probably Vor.

When they had set up this radio program, it wasn't supposed to be subverting the Vor via the glorious nature of Komarran music. They've already got so many eyes on them, they don't need this attention, too.

Greg is probably Vor, Greg is definitely young, and Greg only calls during Duv's show. He's certainly listening to other shows, because he mentions them all the time, but Duv is the only one he wants to talk to.

"Hello to the man who isn't Greg Bleakman," Duv says. "What are your concerns tonight?"

"I didn't like what you played before the break," Greg says.

"Oh?" Duv asks. "What was wrong with it?"

"It's just a bad version of Jean's Goodbye," Greg says, which isn't wrong. "Why not play Jean's Goodbye instead?"

"We've already played Jean's Goodbye tonight and we don't do any repeats," Duv says.

"Isn't there anything better by Domeome? Everything you've played by them just makes me think of better songs by someone else," Greg says.

"I'm terribly sorry you don't have any taste," Duv says. "For our friend Greg, here is Experimental Dream Space by Domeome."

"No, I don't like that one, either!" Greg objects, laughing, before Duv sends him back to Kurt. Behind the screen, Kurt gives Duv a thumbs-up.

5.

Gregor calls and he must sound awful because the screener passes him through to Not David, who leads off with "you're not on the air and I've got three songs queued up already." He doesn't sound softer, but he sounds like this isn't the first time this kind of thing has happened. Which. It's comforting. "What's wrong, Greg?"

"I don't know what to do," Gregor says.

"Are you in a safe place?" Not David asks.

Gregor looks around at the interior of the Imperial Suite, the most secure location in the Imperium. "Yes," Gregor says.

"Did you eat today?" Not David asks.

"Yes." The state dinner is still sitting uneasily in his stomach.

"Do you have enough food for tomorrow?" Not David asks.

Gregor doesn't want to think about tomorrow. His Birthday. "Yes."

"I'm very glad to hear that," Not David says. "Can you tell me about what's keeping you awake tonight?"

"I've got some big decisions coming up," Gregor says. "I don't know if I'm going to make the right ones."

"That does sound hard," Not David commiserates. "Do you have anyone in your life you can talk to about it?"

Gregor laughs. "No. They're all the problem." He should be able to talk about this to Aral or to Cordelia. But if he could talk about this to Aral and Cordelia, he wouldn't have any problems to begin with. "I don't know if I can trust them to make decisions in my best interest. And I don't know if I trust myself to make decisions in my own best interest either."

"Did something happen to bring this up now?" Not David asks.

"Yeah," Gregor says, thinking about Count Vordrozda. Thinking about how right Count Vordrozda sounded. "It's my birthday soon."

"Happy birthday," Not David says. "Sounds like you don't think it's going to be a good one, though?"

"No, it's going to be horrible," Gregor says. "I'd rather not celebrate it, but my family won't let me."

"Do you have anything coming up that you do think is going to be good?" Not David asks. "You don't have to tell me, but I want you to focus on that."

"I'm going to be going to Komarr," Gregor says, then remembers he's supposed to be Komarran. "Er, going back," he amends badly. Ever since they started planning the state visit, Gregor's been dreaming up hopelessly impossible plans about going out to a show. He knows he won't be allowed. He knows it's never going to happen. But at least on Komarr, there'll be Komarran radio and for more than two hours every night. That's something to look forward to, even if everything else about the visit is boring and pointless.

"To stay or just a trip?" Not David asks.

"Just a trip," Gregor says. "I wish I could stay longer."

"Greg, I'm going to give you the only piece of advice I know, and it's not worth much, but give it a shot, okay?" Not David says. "Here it goes. You have no idea what's going to happen. Look at me, my dad and brother were killed in the Revolt, my mom died, I came to Barrayar and changed my name, and now I'm hosting a late night radio show because every Komarran I grew up with showed up one day and dragooned me into it. I'm getting my PhD soon and I have no idea what's going to happen after that. You've got your own future to look to, but you can't control the future. But where I am now? Not only didn't my parents see it coming, neither did I. And now we're going to get Komarrans in the Imperial service in a couple years, aren't we? Did you see that coming?"

"No," Gregor admits.

"I've half a mind to apply myself, but there are too many marks on my record, they'd never let me in. But could you imagine me going from a radio host to a cadet? The future's got more in it than just your family ignoring what you want and pushing you around. So, you've got enough food for tomorrow, that's good. Keep having food for tomorrow, make sure you get enough sleep, and remember that, if nothing else, you'll always have the music. I'm not going to tell you to stop listening for tonight, but can you listen in bed and try to fall asleep?"

"I can do that," Gregor says.

"Thank you," Not David says. "I won't tell you everything's going to be easier in the morning. But I'll tell you that even if tomorrow is the worst day of your life, there's still going to be fireworks over the river for the Emperor's Birthday, and there'll be free beer all over campus, and the weather will make you happy you can breathe the air. I hope you get some rest, Greg. I'll play you a lullaby after this set but after that, you better be sleeping."

"Yes, sir," Gregor says. He's always liked Not David best when he's hard and harsh, when he has no patience for any of his listeners or half the songs he plays. It's comforting. Gregor knows where he stands with Not David: Gregor's just another listener, just another person to be educated in the ways of Komarran music and the right opinions to have about it.

"Good night, Greg," Not David says.

"Good night, David," Gregor says.

Not David passes him back to the screener, who asks him if he needs anything more. Gregor exhales. Inhales. Exhales. "No," he says. "I think I'm okay."

"Be safe out there tomorrow," the screener says. "You never know what's going to happen on the Emperor's Birthday."

Yeah. Gregor knows.

6.

It seems the entire Komarran expat community breathes easier once the Emperor and his retinue lift off to Komarr. They also go four weeks without hearing from Greg. They've only heard from him once since the night they routed him right to Duv, and if it gets to be five weeks, they're going to start asking around on campus. He's Barrayaran, but he's one of theirs by now. If he needs a place to stay or someone to talk to, there are enough of them to handle it.

Greg calls again on a night when Duv is supporting Kieran on her show. Duv's sorting out the upcoming tracks and Patrick waves at him and then holds up the handwritten note that says 'Greg'. Duv raises his eyebrows. Patrick gives a thumbs-up and then makes the sign that he's not sending the call on.

After the show, they huddle in the tiny break room for debriefing. "Greg finally called and I missed him?" Kieran asks. She's pretty new, but she'll probably take over Duv's slot once Duv finishes his dissertation.

"He just wanted to leave a message for Duv," Patrick says. "He says thanks for the recommendation and he was able to see a flash session when he was on Komarr and he liked it more than he thought."

"He was just on Komarr?" Duv asks. There are six people in the room and suddenly everyone's looking at the walls and not catching anyone's eye.

"We did know he was Vor," Molly the tech says. "If he got dragged along with the entire Imperial panoply... I mean, that's not a shock. Half the Vor in the capital went with the Emperor, to hear them tell it."

"Yeah," Patrick says. "He definitely got dragged along with the Emperor, and he didn't mention to Duv that his birthday was coming up."

"Circumstantial," Molly dismisses.

"He's been calling for years," Duv says. "So either the Emperor of Barrayar is a big fan of obscure Komarran bands no one back home has ever heard of, or he's not the Emperor. I know which one I'll pick."

"But just hear me out," Patrick says. "What if the Emperor of Barrayar is a big fan of obscure Komarran bands and went to an underground club during a state visit -- no, you're right. You have to be right."

"You know what I think of when I think of the Imperial Service Academy?" Molly asks no one in particular. "How happy they are for cadets to listen to Komarran radio after lights-out. I bet they block all college radio signals on principle."

"They do have their own station," Jackson puts in. "I got a tour of it last year. They do a lot of pre-recorded shows and morale-boosting interviews with the brass."

"Well, there you go," Molly says. "The Emperor of Barrayar was only listening to wholesome, Imperially-approved music during his academic career, not some subversive Komarran crap. Our friend Greg, on the other hand, has never listened to anything wholesome or Imperially-approved in his whole life, and only listens to subversive Komarran crap. I'm glad we cleared this up."

"Same here," Kieran says. "Duv?"

"Half his requests are bands that were banned during the Revolt," Duv says. "He's definitely not the Emperor of Barrayar. The Emperor of Barrayar would know what those songs are about."

7.

For months, Gregor coasts on his victory in getting his armsmen to sneak him out in the middle of the night. There'd been ten guards on him at all time, one of them constantly a step behind him, but he'd gone. He'd been able to go to a gig, he'd been able to be Greg Bleakman, just another body in a crowd. Every time he has to sit through a meeting where no one cares what he thinks or what he says, he can half close his eyes and remember the crush of the crowd, the music so loud he'd felt it as a physical force, the beat going down into his blood. It didn't matter that the music wasn't exactly his taste. It was amazing.

And then it wears off. Slowly, but it does. He wants it again, he needs it again.

Radio Komarr does show promos for all visiting bands and Gregor's always paid attention to them, but never in the way he does now. Now he listens to it with one eye on his official calendar.

Now his fights with Illyan are about irresponsibility, not just paranoia.

"I'm taking guards," Gregor says. "No one expects me to be there. No one recognizes me. I don't see what your problem is."

"It's not safe, sire," Illyan says and Gregor flashes back to Not David asking him, are you safe. But what Not David thought safe meant and what Illyan thinks safe means aren't even on the same planet.

"I'm hardly rushing off to war, Simon," Gregor says. "I'm not even going ten miles out of the way. It's a little late in my life to try to institute a curfew."

"At least summon them to give you a private performance," Illyan pleads.

Gregor laughs, then wonders if maybe Illyan doesn't have a point. "Good idea," Gregor says. "I'll talk to Lady Alys. I think an Imperial festival of Komarran music is exactly what we need."

Illyan looks momentarily relieved. Gregor won't break it to him yet that Gregor has no plans to stop going to gigs.

8.

Admittedly, the Emperor throwing a month-long fete of all kinds of Komarran music, from traditional ship tunes to the cutting edge so sharp it hasn't finished recording anything yet, makes Duv wonder if Greg -- while certainly not the Emperor himself -- didn't play a lot of Komarran music to the Emperor while on that trip to Komarr.

Radio Komarr even gets invited, along with the Komarran music radio programs at the College of Belgravia and the University of Longweight. They set up booths to broadcast live and they get enough band interviews recorded to last them months of technical difficulties.

They don't see the Emperor at all, which has Patrick elbowing Molly and Lavinia, insisting it has to do with how they'd all recognize Greg's voice immediately. Duv forbears from mentioning that the Emperor gives speeches multiple times a year. Duv's listened to them. The Emperor is stilted and scripted, harsh and perfectly accented. Greg has the same vowels, yes, but he's much more relaxed. He'll never pass as rural Vor, but he'd need more elocution classes to pass as the Emperor. Duv would also bet that Greg is younger than the Emperor by at least a year or two. It's impossible to tell over the phone, but Duv's never met anyone over the age of twenty who likes The Flying Modern Trebuchets so much.

Duv takes the opportunity to talk to the faculty sponsor from the College of Belgravia, since that's the best candidate for hiring him once he's finished with his PhD. She's very interested in his work on the Imperial Service and Duv considers the whole thing a success.

Greg calls in to the first show after the Imperial festival, complains about the subpar acoustics for SloLettuce during their set, and demands that Duv play a live demo they recorded in a defunct radio station in Serifosa instead to make it up to him. Duv plays him 10 Knights instead and tells him to go back to studying for exams.

9.

"Good evening, Barrayar," says the voice on the radio. "My name isn't David, but this is my last show on Radio Komarr at the Imperial University at Vorbarr Sultana. I won't say it's been a good time, but it's been an educational one." There is a long pause before the usual chaotic recording of "hi, Not David!"

"You'll be in good hands with Not Kieran and the rest of the crew here," Not David says. "For the next two hours, here are the best of the songs I got the most complaints about. I will not be taking your calls. Next time you see me, buy me a drink."

Gregor closes his eyes and imagines being able to do that. Imagines being able to go up to Duv Galeni -- yes, he abused Imperial authority and yes, Illyan was apoplectic that the son of a dead Komarran terrorist was regularly talking to Gregor -- and offering to buy him a drink. Imagines talking music with him for hours. Imagines every single thing he can only have across a telephone line, over radio waves.

Duv is right. Gregor doesn't know what the future holds. But tomorrow, there will be fireworks, and tonight, he has the quiet, the radio, and the most secure location in the Imperium.

Gregor stretches out. If this is going to be the last time, he's going to take his time and enjoy it.

10.

In Duv's first day as the faculty sponsor of Komarran Random Radio At Belgravia, he breaks up two fist-fights about the best bassist in Blue Cherries, referees a brutal thumb war over time slots, and gets told that the college radio station now has Imperial patronage.

"Why?" Duv asks.

The head of the college radio station shrugs. "Something about the Emperor encouraging music as a unifying force in the Imperium. He's doing it all over the place."

"Huh," Duv says and resolves to never think about it again.

This entry was originally posted at https://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/1236145.html.