Fic: Aral Vorkosigan's Dog 3/15
Title: Aral Vorkosigan's Dog 3/15
Rating/warnings: R, Shards-level sexual and physical violence (none in this chapter)
Length: 70k (this chapter 4400 words)
Summary: Illyan is assigned to watch Aral Vorkosigan during the Escobaran war. Soon he has to choose between his duty and his conscience, and the consequences rapidly get beyond him.
Index Post
Previous Chapter
Illyan awoke. Automatically, before even opening his eyes, he reviewed his memories. Judging by the gap in his chip memory, he'd been unconscious a little over three and a half hours. He looked around. He was in the ImpSec infirmary, alone. He went back to the last clear memories on his chip... the old sewers, Grishnov's men following, ImpSec arriving. His chip memory went on a little further than his organic one, showing him six ImpSec agents fanning out into the tunnel and a field medic stooping over him, but even those images came to an abrupt stop a few moments later.
A medtech came in. "Ah, good, you're awake. The Chief was asking after you." He began to fuss with his monitors, nodding and noting things on a data pad, then withdrew a drip and checked the bandaging on Illyan's arm. "He said he wants to see you as soon as you're up."
Illyan sighed inwardly. His mind felt a little fuzzy from whatever painkillers the medtech had him on, the time he'd spent unconscious hadn't been the same thing as actual rest, and facing Negri was hard enough at the best of times. Under the medtech's eye, he got up and dressed, his left arm numb and awkward from the medical stun.
"You'll do," the medtech said. "Light duties only for the next week."
"Good," came a voice from the doorway, and Illyan and the medtech both turned and came to attention as Negri entered. The medtech hurried out at a wave of Negri's hand, and Negri turned to Illyan.
"I suppose that foul-up could have been worse," he said. "You did well. Vorkosigan passed your analysis on to me, and I think you're correct. We took two of your attackers alive, and they've been singing for the past hour. Unfortunately Iackowitz was killed." Negri's heavy face grew angry. "Finding out how he got through our screening unnoticed will be keeping some of your colleagues busy for a while."
"Why did Grishnov try it at all?" Illyan asked. "The Emperor was putting a stop to Captain Vorkosigan's investigation."
"Right now Grishnov is distancing himself so fast he's blurring," Negri said, not quite answering the question. "He claims that the word didn't get passed on in time, all a misunderstanding, extremely sorry... you know the drill. I think he just saw an opportunity and went for it."
That seemed unlike Grishnov, but Negri's expression did not invite further comment even from his protégé.
"Captain Vorkosigan is waiting for you in the apartment downstairs," Negri said. "If you're up to it, I think he'd like to go on to Vorkosigan House."
"You don't want to give him someone not on the sicklist?" Illyan said.
"You'll have a tighter guard, but I don't think Grishnov will move again. Ezar's been talking to him." Negri looked Illyan up and down. "Go on, then. I'll tell Vorkosigan to meet you at the side door."
At the side door, a car was waiting for them, and Illyan was bowed in by a young man in the silver and brown Vorkosigan livery. They drove through the late-evening traffic and arrived at Vorkosigan House. Illyan stifled his reaction as he saw the enormous, opulent house. Somehow, he had always thought of Vorkosigan in his role as soldier, not as a Vor lord of the first rank. He knew, of course, that should something happen to both Prince Serg and baby Gregor, Princess Olivia's son would have a strong claim to the Imperium. Could he be sitting next to the future Emperor of Barrayar? He put the thought away firmly. He was sworn to Ezar and his line, as was the soldier beside him.
Another armsman opened the great front door of Vorkosigan House and admitted them. Vorkosigan gave orders for a room to be prepared for Illyan and sent for drinks in the library. Illyan refrained from protesting that he was on duty and followed Vorkosigan through the marbled corridors. The library was a large, panelled room which reminded Illyan of an unusual museum, archaic leather-bound books carefully shelved behind glass, modern vid discs more carelessly stowed lower down. Vorkosigan gestured to an armchair before a blazing fire, and Illyan was reminded that he had only just been released from sickbay as he sat with some relief. A liveried servant entered wheeling a well-stocked trolley and stood at a polite distance.
In and out of the Imperial Residence for the past five years, Illyan was not unused to opulence around him, but he had never had any of it directed at him. He was accustomed to being the servant, not the guest. Vorkosigan seemed entirely at ease.
"Brandy all right with you, Lieutenant? Two brandies, please."
A beautiful snifter was placed at his elbow and a platter of assorted nibbles materialised on the table between them. Illyan decided to sit back and enjoy his chance to play the Vor lord. The brandy was excellent, even to Illyan's not hugely experienced palate. When the servant had left, Vorkosigan leaned forward.
"I owe you an apology," he said. "I thought you were Grishnov's man ever since I met you."
"That was Radnov's doing," Illyan said at once. "I didn't know until after we got back to ImpSec that he was your enemy. We did our officers' training together."
Illumination crossed Vorkosigan's face. He sipped his brandy. "I didn't like to doubt Negri--though he does like his games--but I don't trust spies, and I was in a humour to be suspicious of anyone."
A smile twitched the corners of Illyan's mouth. "ImpSec agents can hardly criticise anyone else for paranoia."
"Ha. True. Whilst you were out of it I had a word with Negri and he made your position in ImpSec clear to me."
Wish he'd make it clear to me, Illyan thought wryly as Vorkosigan did not seem to be forthcoming about how highly Negri rated him. But Negri took need-to-know very seriously indeed. Why, he wondered, did Vorkosigan need to know? He finished his brandy and leaned back with a little sigh. At once Vorkosigan turned to him.
"Get some sleep, Lieutenant. The rest of the week should be quiet enough--I've got nothing but meetings for days." He pressed a button discreetly concealed in the arm of his chair, and a moment later the servant reappeared. "Show Lieutenant Illyan up to the red suite, please."
Illyan rose stiffly and followed the servant through a maze of corridors and staircases to a handsome suite on the second floor. He hadn't ever been shown a plan of Vorkosigan House, so he made sure to observe all around him to provide some preliminary data on the place. Not that he was likely to spend much time here.
*
Vorkosigan hadn't been exaggerating about the meetings. Waiting in the richly decorated corridors of the Imperial Residence was far more boring for Illyan than it would have been for any other man, because after he saw something for the first time there was no possibility of him noticing extra details on the thirteenth examination of it. Painting had never interested him anyway; if there was an art form he cared for it was music. Music spoke to the emotions, and emotion was not recorded on his chip: even when he listened to the same symphony for the tenth time he could not predict how it would affect him. Sometimes he hummed to himself as he paced the corridors. Other times he swore. Whatever was going on in Ezar's private office, it was taking a lot of organising.
It was near time for them to finish for the day, and soon Vorkosigan came out. As always, Negri remained with Ezar, but Illyan rose and stood at attention as Vorkosigan approached. Vorkosigan's expression was morose and grim, and he merely nodded to Illyan. Illyan fell in behind him as they made their way out to the groundcar. They had not walked home again after that first night, and Illyan was always careful to check the car before he let Vorkosigan in, even though it was driven by one of Vorkosigan's personal Armsmen. He was staying at Vorkosigan House for the time being. Negri had only warned him against getting used to the life of luxury, but Illyan could see that he was pleased that Vorkosigan had dropped his hostility towards him.
"I know you can't tell me what's being discussed in there, but do you have any idea how much longer this is going to go on, sir?" Illyan asked once they were seated in the groundcar.
Vorkosigan, settling himself opposite, shot Illyan a look with the faintest hint of amusement beneath his grimness. "Getting tired of watching me eat my breakfast each morning, are you?"
"Oh," Illyan said, "watching people eat their breakfast is part of the job, sir." He paused, gauging Vorkosigan's mood, then went on, "Normally, though, I get to shoot them afterwards."
Vorkosigan blinked at him, then let out a sudden laugh. "I didn't know Negri allowed his people to have a sense of humour." A smile lightened his expression for a moment, then faded. "Well, we're getting through the work," he said. "Perhaps two, three more days." He paused. "Actually, there are a few things I can tell you--ought to tell you, in fact, though I expect Captain Negri will give you more details later on. It looks like you're going to be coming with me to Escobar."
"Ah. I thought it must be Escobar that was keeping you so busy." Illyan considered his good fortune. This had looked like being an unusually dull job, but if he was going to get to go with the invasion fleet.... "Are you commanding, then, sir?" he asked hopefully.
Vorkosigan's brows lowered. "No." The monosyllable was a bare, harsh whisper. Illyan fell silent, chastened.
After a minute Vorkosigan relented. "You'll find out who's commanding shortly. I'm going on the staff." He frowned. "I've made no secret of what I think of this business, so I'm in charge of the contingency plans." He scowled, gazing out the window.
"Do you have a family?" he asked suddenly, just when Illyan had given up hope of getting any more out of him.
"Just my mother," Illyan said, surprised. "She lives out in Vordarian's District."
"Hmm. I shall arrange to spend a day at home seeing absolutely nobody--my word as Vorkosigan on it--so you can go out and visit her before we go."
"That's very good of you, sir."
Vorkosigan shook his head mutely. Illyan meditated on this development. It was easy to follow Vorkosigan's reasoning. He expected a disaster, and he was sending Illyan to say goodbye to his mother before taking him away to be killed. Illyan thought Vorkosigan's assessment unduly pessimistic, but he had to admit it was a generous offer.
*
A week later Illyan got leave from Negri to requisition a flyer from ImpSec's vehicle pool, and took off for Vordarian's District. The flight took just over an hour, and Illyan landed on the outskirts of a small town, secured the flyer and made his way to his mother's home.
She had left the cottage where Illyan had grown up several years ago, when she had become too frail to live alone, and now had the upper floor of an old town house to herself. Ma Ockhert, the landlady, looked after her. A large chunk of Illyan's pay went towards this arrangement, since the widow's pension from the Service was pitifully small and all the family's savings had gone to putting the two sons through officers' training.
He had called ahead, and Ma Ockhert met him at the door. She had known Illyan since he was a boy, and even the ImpSec insignia on his collar could not daunt her.
"Go right on up," she said after Illyan had deflected several not-so-discreet enquiries about the progress of his love-life and whether he needed a good Baba yet. "She's doing pretty well today."
As he climbed the stairs, Illyan contemplated his lack of a love life. It wasn't for want of opportunities, nor of trying, and before he'd had the damned chip installed he'd known several nice girls. The full ImpSec background check on anyone he so much as shared a drink with was a bit irritating, especially when it brought up unhelpful facts like pre-existing betrothals or membership of radical political groups, but it was the memory chip that had killed all his recent attempts. He'd explained that it was a piece of galactic technology, but he could see that to many of the young women he met a technological mutant was still a mutant. He'd been getting on really well with one young woman until telling her about the chip, but then she had grown cooler and cooler towards him until, confronting her, she had screamed at him to leave her alone and not use his mutie brain powers around her. He could see the ridiculous side of it, but it had stung nonetheless. The chip might be great for his career, but it was death to his personal life. It was beginning to look like his mother would never get the grandchildren she hoped for.
He reached the top of the stairs, entered his mother's rooms and greeted her with an affectionate embrace. After the pleasantries were finished with, her health enquired after and her comfort assured, she turned bright, quizzical eyes on him.
"You haven't come all this way out of the capital just to hear my little news," she said. "Is everything all right?"
"Oh yes. But you're right, I do have some news for you. I've been assigned to galactic duty. I'm going out with the fleet, to Escobar."
Her eyes widened. "To Escobar? You've been given ship duty? I'd heard about the invasion, of course, but I had hoped--I'd expected ImpSec would keep you here. I thought you were working at the Imperial Residence."
Her slip dented Illyan's excitement. Of course, she must have hoped her second son would not also be consumed in battle.
"I'm going on the flagship, with Lord Vorkosigan," he said, hoping to restore her confidence, and was pleased to see his mother's face light up.
"The Hero of Komarr?" she exclaimed. "And you're going as his aide? That's marvellous. Everyone says he is a good man."
"Er," said Illyan, embarrassed by her delight but unable to lie, "well, I'm actually going as his spy. The Emperor wants him watched."
She looked at the carpeted floor and the pleasure vanished from her face.
"I know you don't much like my work," Illyan began defensively, but she interrupted.
"I understand someone has to do it," she said, "and you must do your duty. I know you will do what is honourable. But spying on our own men, on Lord Vorkosigan…" She shifted in her chair, and Illyan changed the subject abruptly to avoid saying anything he might regret. He fumbled inside his uniform jacket.
"I brought you this. Spotted it in a little shop in the capital, and thought you'd like it."
He pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper and gave it to her. She unfolded the paper and pulled out a small, carefully painted ikon. Illyan glanced around the room. There had been ikons everywhere in his childhood house, standing in every corner of every room. Now many of them had been put away, but his mother's love for them was undiminished.
His mother's smile returned as she looked it. Illyan did not need to peer over her shoulder, for his chip produced the exact appearance of it in his mind. It was of the Agony in the Garden, and the painter had been a man of unusual talent, to capture the anguish on the principal figure's face. Not a cheerful ikon, but a beautiful one nonetheless.
She kissed the ikon and glanced expectantly at him. Illyan had long forsaken the old Russian faith of his childhood, a bastard version of the faith a few of the original colonists had practiced, but he would no sooner say so to his mother than he would strike her. He kissed the ikon three times and joined his voice with his mother's in the prayers he had learned almost as soon as he could speak.
For a while afterwards his mother bowed her head in silent prayer, whilst Illyan looked around uncomfortably and tried not to fidget. The ikons around the room seemed to be watching him. On the stand by the door he saw the one which had once hung above his bed. Mikhail the Archangel, armed with the two swords and wearing fine Time-of-Isolation armour, stood indomitably facing a great black dragon. He had been fascinated by it as a child, and played at slaying dragons in their little garden.
His mother looked up again and followed his gaze. "Oh yes, that used to be yours, didn't it?" She pushed herself up from the chair and hobbled over to it. "You should have something of home, when you go off to this battle," she said. She took up the ikon and replaced it with the one Illyan had just given her. "There. Very appropriate for a soldier. The defender of the innocent and slayer of monsters."
Illyan helped her back to the chair and accepted the ikon. It would, he thought, look very odd in the cabin of a battle cruiser, but it could not be refused.
He saw that his mother was growing tired, and began to make his farewell. She kissed him and gave him her blessing, then let go of him reluctantly. He could feel her eyes following him, memorising him, as he left the room. The ikon felt hard and heavy in his pocket.
*
When he landed his flyer at ImpSec and went to sign it back in, the corporal on the desk gave a nod.
"There you are. Captain Negri wants to see you, sir. He said you were to go straight up."
Illyan nodded. Ignoring the corporal's expression of curious inquiry, he hurried to obey, straightening his jacket as he made his way through the complicated passageways of ImpSec, wondering what this was about. He had cleared his trip with both Vorkosigan and ImpSec, it couldn't be some reprimand for it. His chip produced nothing from his actions of the past few days that could deserve Negri's negative attention. New orders, perhaps? Explanations of what he was supposed to be doing sitting in the corridors of the Residence all day? He could hope.
Negri was busy when Illyan reached the outer office, and the secretary directed him to sit and wait. Staring at the wall, Illyan considered his commander and mentor. Negri was fanatically loyal to the Emperor and to him alone. Illyan had wondered many times whether his own distant respect for Ezar was a failing. He had sworn his oath to Ezar, and kept it through battle and intrigue, but he did not seem to be capable of the devotion Negri had for the old man. But then, Negri had laid down everything, including his sacred oath to Emperor Yuri, for Ezar's sake. If it took such fires as those to forge Negri's kind of loyalty, Illyan was not altogether sorry to lack it. The days of civil war were over.
But he could not avoid a twinge of regret. On Barrayar, everyone belonged to someone. Oaths and bonds of sacred loyalty held the entire society in place. In this close, almost intimate network, Illyan felt like a stranger. He had never even met Vordarian, his district Count, the first man to whom he was in theory bound, nor did Negri inspire that kind of loyalty in him, nor even the Emperor. In this land of bonds Illyan was free, but freedom from loyalty was about as desirable as that other freedom he had, freedom from love. But neither could be had for the asking.
He knew the reason, of course. A squadron of psychologists had studied him like a creature in a zoo, the most successful survivor of the memory chip, and had decided he had adapted to having the chip by operating almost constantly in an analytical mode of thought, treating everything in life as a distant fact to be observed from a position of godlike detachment. It was, he thought, the only way, when you could not lose your own foibles or weaknesses into merciful forgetfulness. He had to treat them all as cold, passionless facts, separate from their emotional freight. But there was nothing passionless about love, nor loyalty either. It was another part of the price he had to pay for having the chip.
A light flashed on the secretary's monitor. "You can go in now," he told Illyan.
Illyan was no stranger to Negri's office. As he had risen through ImpSec he had spent more and more time here. Once the biochip had been implanted in his head, Negri had moved him sideways through the chain of command, so that he reported only to Negri. Now he took the seat Negri waved him towards and gazed attentively across the large desk.
"I see you have finally managed to get on good terms with Vorkosigan," Negri observed blandly.
Illyan nodded, then when something more seemed to be required, said, "It would have been somewhat easier had he been fully briefed regarding my chip."
Negri smiled, or at least bared his teeth. "So I have heard from Vorkosigan. At some length. It was interesting to see how you both coped with the situation."
Illyan groaned inwardly. Everything was a test, with Negri. However, since further criticism was not forthcoming, he knew he could assume he had passed.
"Replay me any conversations you have had with Vorkosigan about the Escobar invasion," Negri said abruptly.
Well used to Negri's terse command style, Illyan scanned his memory without showing any discomposure and let the words spill from his mouth. Recalling in this way was a peculiar experience, since it did not interfere with his ability to think of something quite different or access other memories, and sometimes he would feel almost in a trance, his mouth describing the contents of his chip whilst his mind was occupied on another matter. But this time he followed the memory attentively, wondering what Negri was looking for. As far as he could tell, Vorkosigan hadn't said anything improper. But Negri only nodded slightly when he ran to the end of the conversation.
"Thank you. Now give me your personal opinion on the invasion plans."
Illyan hesitated for an instant to collect his thoughts. Negri rarely wanted personal opinions--what was he testing for this time?
"Comparatively speaking, it will be a much more difficult conquest than Komarr. Escobar has a strong military, and her fleet may well be an equal match for ours. I would expect retaliation from Escobar's allies and frequent attempts at revolt if we succeed. On the other hand, our military is far more experienced both in frontal attacks and pacification. With a wise strategy and swift moving we could get the upper hand."
"And considered from the domestic perspective?" Negri prompted when he paused.
"Well… Grishnov is pulling the strings. Either success or failure could cause considerable political, ah, difficulties here." Perhaps even the civil war they all feared. Visions of political chaos danced through his mind. "In success, Grishnov's personal influence would increase substantially. In failure, he could turn to revenge, perhaps even use it to discredit the Emperor." Vorkosigan would make an ideal scapegoat in that scenario. Illyan frowned thoughtfully and made a mental note. He would not wish to be taken down with Vorkosigan should this prediction be fulfilled. It would be prudent to make sure he had a plan to avoid this fate.
Negri's face remained impassive. "Interesting analysis, Lieutenant. Time will tell how accurate it is. Tomorrow Vorkosigan and the rest of the Staff will be heading out to the fleet. You will continue to accompany Vorkosigan." Negri paused to bring something up on his comconsole, then continued. "The joint commanders of the fleet are Prince Serg and Admiral Vorrutyer. Admiral Vorhalas will also be going with you, and the usual assortment of more junior officers."
Vorrutyer. Illyan's memory flickered instantly to the mentions of the man in Vorkosigan's file. They'd been lovers for years, and the details in the file grew increasingly unpleasant until Vorkosigan had left Vorrutyer for ship duty. But Vorkosigan had been a different man then. Perhaps Vorrutyer had changed as well.
Negri was watching him closely. "One of your most important duties will be to prevent Vorkosigan from doing anything--rash, in relation to Serg and Vorrutyer. Vorkosigan must work with them and avoid confrontations." He paused. "You must remember that you are not in the chain of command on the fleet. Vorkosigan is not your commanding officer, and neither are Serg or Vorrutyer. It is your duty to watch Vorkosigan and steer him through this expedition without any kind of scandal or political involvement. The military business is out of your area of competence; it is the interactions between the Staff that are dangerous."
Illyan nodded, his mind whirling. Explanations at last on why Negri had put him to watch Vorkosigan. There was something more going on with this invasion--was Negri expecting a coup? Serg and Vorrutyer were trouble, no doubt of it. He looked at Negri, hoping for more answers.
"This is Ezar's will. Vorkosigan is headstrong; he will not avoid trouble. You must discourage him from incriminating himself. Also you must not incriminate yourself or compromise your neutrality. And when you return you will give Ezar and myself a full report of all of Vorkosigan's activities."
"What, for the whole duration of the invasion?" Illyan blurted out, briefly horrified. They could be gone for months, maybe even a year. How long would it take to play back that much memory? There would be no interim reports: none of his chip-reports were ever committed to writing, by Ezar's order.
"If necessary," Negri said calmly. "The Emperor is very interested in how this turns out."
Illyan returned his face to its bland mask. "Is there anything particular I should endeavour to observe?" Serg, for instance. It had been mostly down to Illyan and his memory chip that the most recent attempt by Prince Serg on his father's life had been foiled. Watching Vorkosigan as a cover for watching Serg would make excellent sense.
"Just keep Vorkosigan in your sights." Negri's reply cut off that line of speculation. "Do not permit him to do anything without your observation." Negri leaned forward a little and repeated his toothy smile. "An easy job, now that you've got him eating out of your hand. Make sure it stays that way."
***
Next Chapter
Rating/warnings: R, Shards-level sexual and physical violence (none in this chapter)
Length: 70k (this chapter 4400 words)
Summary: Illyan is assigned to watch Aral Vorkosigan during the Escobaran war. Soon he has to choose between his duty and his conscience, and the consequences rapidly get beyond him.
Index Post
Previous Chapter
Illyan awoke. Automatically, before even opening his eyes, he reviewed his memories. Judging by the gap in his chip memory, he'd been unconscious a little over three and a half hours. He looked around. He was in the ImpSec infirmary, alone. He went back to the last clear memories on his chip... the old sewers, Grishnov's men following, ImpSec arriving. His chip memory went on a little further than his organic one, showing him six ImpSec agents fanning out into the tunnel and a field medic stooping over him, but even those images came to an abrupt stop a few moments later.
A medtech came in. "Ah, good, you're awake. The Chief was asking after you." He began to fuss with his monitors, nodding and noting things on a data pad, then withdrew a drip and checked the bandaging on Illyan's arm. "He said he wants to see you as soon as you're up."
Illyan sighed inwardly. His mind felt a little fuzzy from whatever painkillers the medtech had him on, the time he'd spent unconscious hadn't been the same thing as actual rest, and facing Negri was hard enough at the best of times. Under the medtech's eye, he got up and dressed, his left arm numb and awkward from the medical stun.
"You'll do," the medtech said. "Light duties only for the next week."
"Good," came a voice from the doorway, and Illyan and the medtech both turned and came to attention as Negri entered. The medtech hurried out at a wave of Negri's hand, and Negri turned to Illyan.
"I suppose that foul-up could have been worse," he said. "You did well. Vorkosigan passed your analysis on to me, and I think you're correct. We took two of your attackers alive, and they've been singing for the past hour. Unfortunately Iackowitz was killed." Negri's heavy face grew angry. "Finding out how he got through our screening unnoticed will be keeping some of your colleagues busy for a while."
"Why did Grishnov try it at all?" Illyan asked. "The Emperor was putting a stop to Captain Vorkosigan's investigation."
"Right now Grishnov is distancing himself so fast he's blurring," Negri said, not quite answering the question. "He claims that the word didn't get passed on in time, all a misunderstanding, extremely sorry... you know the drill. I think he just saw an opportunity and went for it."
That seemed unlike Grishnov, but Negri's expression did not invite further comment even from his protégé.
"Captain Vorkosigan is waiting for you in the apartment downstairs," Negri said. "If you're up to it, I think he'd like to go on to Vorkosigan House."
"You don't want to give him someone not on the sicklist?" Illyan said.
"You'll have a tighter guard, but I don't think Grishnov will move again. Ezar's been talking to him." Negri looked Illyan up and down. "Go on, then. I'll tell Vorkosigan to meet you at the side door."
At the side door, a car was waiting for them, and Illyan was bowed in by a young man in the silver and brown Vorkosigan livery. They drove through the late-evening traffic and arrived at Vorkosigan House. Illyan stifled his reaction as he saw the enormous, opulent house. Somehow, he had always thought of Vorkosigan in his role as soldier, not as a Vor lord of the first rank. He knew, of course, that should something happen to both Prince Serg and baby Gregor, Princess Olivia's son would have a strong claim to the Imperium. Could he be sitting next to the future Emperor of Barrayar? He put the thought away firmly. He was sworn to Ezar and his line, as was the soldier beside him.
Another armsman opened the great front door of Vorkosigan House and admitted them. Vorkosigan gave orders for a room to be prepared for Illyan and sent for drinks in the library. Illyan refrained from protesting that he was on duty and followed Vorkosigan through the marbled corridors. The library was a large, panelled room which reminded Illyan of an unusual museum, archaic leather-bound books carefully shelved behind glass, modern vid discs more carelessly stowed lower down. Vorkosigan gestured to an armchair before a blazing fire, and Illyan was reminded that he had only just been released from sickbay as he sat with some relief. A liveried servant entered wheeling a well-stocked trolley and stood at a polite distance.
In and out of the Imperial Residence for the past five years, Illyan was not unused to opulence around him, but he had never had any of it directed at him. He was accustomed to being the servant, not the guest. Vorkosigan seemed entirely at ease.
"Brandy all right with you, Lieutenant? Two brandies, please."
A beautiful snifter was placed at his elbow and a platter of assorted nibbles materialised on the table between them. Illyan decided to sit back and enjoy his chance to play the Vor lord. The brandy was excellent, even to Illyan's not hugely experienced palate. When the servant had left, Vorkosigan leaned forward.
"I owe you an apology," he said. "I thought you were Grishnov's man ever since I met you."
"That was Radnov's doing," Illyan said at once. "I didn't know until after we got back to ImpSec that he was your enemy. We did our officers' training together."
Illumination crossed Vorkosigan's face. He sipped his brandy. "I didn't like to doubt Negri--though he does like his games--but I don't trust spies, and I was in a humour to be suspicious of anyone."
A smile twitched the corners of Illyan's mouth. "ImpSec agents can hardly criticise anyone else for paranoia."
"Ha. True. Whilst you were out of it I had a word with Negri and he made your position in ImpSec clear to me."
Wish he'd make it clear to me, Illyan thought wryly as Vorkosigan did not seem to be forthcoming about how highly Negri rated him. But Negri took need-to-know very seriously indeed. Why, he wondered, did Vorkosigan need to know? He finished his brandy and leaned back with a little sigh. At once Vorkosigan turned to him.
"Get some sleep, Lieutenant. The rest of the week should be quiet enough--I've got nothing but meetings for days." He pressed a button discreetly concealed in the arm of his chair, and a moment later the servant reappeared. "Show Lieutenant Illyan up to the red suite, please."
Illyan rose stiffly and followed the servant through a maze of corridors and staircases to a handsome suite on the second floor. He hadn't ever been shown a plan of Vorkosigan House, so he made sure to observe all around him to provide some preliminary data on the place. Not that he was likely to spend much time here.
*
Vorkosigan hadn't been exaggerating about the meetings. Waiting in the richly decorated corridors of the Imperial Residence was far more boring for Illyan than it would have been for any other man, because after he saw something for the first time there was no possibility of him noticing extra details on the thirteenth examination of it. Painting had never interested him anyway; if there was an art form he cared for it was music. Music spoke to the emotions, and emotion was not recorded on his chip: even when he listened to the same symphony for the tenth time he could not predict how it would affect him. Sometimes he hummed to himself as he paced the corridors. Other times he swore. Whatever was going on in Ezar's private office, it was taking a lot of organising.
It was near time for them to finish for the day, and soon Vorkosigan came out. As always, Negri remained with Ezar, but Illyan rose and stood at attention as Vorkosigan approached. Vorkosigan's expression was morose and grim, and he merely nodded to Illyan. Illyan fell in behind him as they made their way out to the groundcar. They had not walked home again after that first night, and Illyan was always careful to check the car before he let Vorkosigan in, even though it was driven by one of Vorkosigan's personal Armsmen. He was staying at Vorkosigan House for the time being. Negri had only warned him against getting used to the life of luxury, but Illyan could see that he was pleased that Vorkosigan had dropped his hostility towards him.
"I know you can't tell me what's being discussed in there, but do you have any idea how much longer this is going to go on, sir?" Illyan asked once they were seated in the groundcar.
Vorkosigan, settling himself opposite, shot Illyan a look with the faintest hint of amusement beneath his grimness. "Getting tired of watching me eat my breakfast each morning, are you?"
"Oh," Illyan said, "watching people eat their breakfast is part of the job, sir." He paused, gauging Vorkosigan's mood, then went on, "Normally, though, I get to shoot them afterwards."
Vorkosigan blinked at him, then let out a sudden laugh. "I didn't know Negri allowed his people to have a sense of humour." A smile lightened his expression for a moment, then faded. "Well, we're getting through the work," he said. "Perhaps two, three more days." He paused. "Actually, there are a few things I can tell you--ought to tell you, in fact, though I expect Captain Negri will give you more details later on. It looks like you're going to be coming with me to Escobar."
"Ah. I thought it must be Escobar that was keeping you so busy." Illyan considered his good fortune. This had looked like being an unusually dull job, but if he was going to get to go with the invasion fleet.... "Are you commanding, then, sir?" he asked hopefully.
Vorkosigan's brows lowered. "No." The monosyllable was a bare, harsh whisper. Illyan fell silent, chastened.
After a minute Vorkosigan relented. "You'll find out who's commanding shortly. I'm going on the staff." He frowned. "I've made no secret of what I think of this business, so I'm in charge of the contingency plans." He scowled, gazing out the window.
"Do you have a family?" he asked suddenly, just when Illyan had given up hope of getting any more out of him.
"Just my mother," Illyan said, surprised. "She lives out in Vordarian's District."
"Hmm. I shall arrange to spend a day at home seeing absolutely nobody--my word as Vorkosigan on it--so you can go out and visit her before we go."
"That's very good of you, sir."
Vorkosigan shook his head mutely. Illyan meditated on this development. It was easy to follow Vorkosigan's reasoning. He expected a disaster, and he was sending Illyan to say goodbye to his mother before taking him away to be killed. Illyan thought Vorkosigan's assessment unduly pessimistic, but he had to admit it was a generous offer.
*
A week later Illyan got leave from Negri to requisition a flyer from ImpSec's vehicle pool, and took off for Vordarian's District. The flight took just over an hour, and Illyan landed on the outskirts of a small town, secured the flyer and made his way to his mother's home.
She had left the cottage where Illyan had grown up several years ago, when she had become too frail to live alone, and now had the upper floor of an old town house to herself. Ma Ockhert, the landlady, looked after her. A large chunk of Illyan's pay went towards this arrangement, since the widow's pension from the Service was pitifully small and all the family's savings had gone to putting the two sons through officers' training.
He had called ahead, and Ma Ockhert met him at the door. She had known Illyan since he was a boy, and even the ImpSec insignia on his collar could not daunt her.
"Go right on up," she said after Illyan had deflected several not-so-discreet enquiries about the progress of his love-life and whether he needed a good Baba yet. "She's doing pretty well today."
As he climbed the stairs, Illyan contemplated his lack of a love life. It wasn't for want of opportunities, nor of trying, and before he'd had the damned chip installed he'd known several nice girls. The full ImpSec background check on anyone he so much as shared a drink with was a bit irritating, especially when it brought up unhelpful facts like pre-existing betrothals or membership of radical political groups, but it was the memory chip that had killed all his recent attempts. He'd explained that it was a piece of galactic technology, but he could see that to many of the young women he met a technological mutant was still a mutant. He'd been getting on really well with one young woman until telling her about the chip, but then she had grown cooler and cooler towards him until, confronting her, she had screamed at him to leave her alone and not use his mutie brain powers around her. He could see the ridiculous side of it, but it had stung nonetheless. The chip might be great for his career, but it was death to his personal life. It was beginning to look like his mother would never get the grandchildren she hoped for.
He reached the top of the stairs, entered his mother's rooms and greeted her with an affectionate embrace. After the pleasantries were finished with, her health enquired after and her comfort assured, she turned bright, quizzical eyes on him.
"You haven't come all this way out of the capital just to hear my little news," she said. "Is everything all right?"
"Oh yes. But you're right, I do have some news for you. I've been assigned to galactic duty. I'm going out with the fleet, to Escobar."
Her eyes widened. "To Escobar? You've been given ship duty? I'd heard about the invasion, of course, but I had hoped--I'd expected ImpSec would keep you here. I thought you were working at the Imperial Residence."
Her slip dented Illyan's excitement. Of course, she must have hoped her second son would not also be consumed in battle.
"I'm going on the flagship, with Lord Vorkosigan," he said, hoping to restore her confidence, and was pleased to see his mother's face light up.
"The Hero of Komarr?" she exclaimed. "And you're going as his aide? That's marvellous. Everyone says he is a good man."
"Er," said Illyan, embarrassed by her delight but unable to lie, "well, I'm actually going as his spy. The Emperor wants him watched."
She looked at the carpeted floor and the pleasure vanished from her face.
"I know you don't much like my work," Illyan began defensively, but she interrupted.
"I understand someone has to do it," she said, "and you must do your duty. I know you will do what is honourable. But spying on our own men, on Lord Vorkosigan…" She shifted in her chair, and Illyan changed the subject abruptly to avoid saying anything he might regret. He fumbled inside his uniform jacket.
"I brought you this. Spotted it in a little shop in the capital, and thought you'd like it."
He pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper and gave it to her. She unfolded the paper and pulled out a small, carefully painted ikon. Illyan glanced around the room. There had been ikons everywhere in his childhood house, standing in every corner of every room. Now many of them had been put away, but his mother's love for them was undiminished.
His mother's smile returned as she looked it. Illyan did not need to peer over her shoulder, for his chip produced the exact appearance of it in his mind. It was of the Agony in the Garden, and the painter had been a man of unusual talent, to capture the anguish on the principal figure's face. Not a cheerful ikon, but a beautiful one nonetheless.
She kissed the ikon and glanced expectantly at him. Illyan had long forsaken the old Russian faith of his childhood, a bastard version of the faith a few of the original colonists had practiced, but he would no sooner say so to his mother than he would strike her. He kissed the ikon three times and joined his voice with his mother's in the prayers he had learned almost as soon as he could speak.
For a while afterwards his mother bowed her head in silent prayer, whilst Illyan looked around uncomfortably and tried not to fidget. The ikons around the room seemed to be watching him. On the stand by the door he saw the one which had once hung above his bed. Mikhail the Archangel, armed with the two swords and wearing fine Time-of-Isolation armour, stood indomitably facing a great black dragon. He had been fascinated by it as a child, and played at slaying dragons in their little garden.
His mother looked up again and followed his gaze. "Oh yes, that used to be yours, didn't it?" She pushed herself up from the chair and hobbled over to it. "You should have something of home, when you go off to this battle," she said. She took up the ikon and replaced it with the one Illyan had just given her. "There. Very appropriate for a soldier. The defender of the innocent and slayer of monsters."
Illyan helped her back to the chair and accepted the ikon. It would, he thought, look very odd in the cabin of a battle cruiser, but it could not be refused.
He saw that his mother was growing tired, and began to make his farewell. She kissed him and gave him her blessing, then let go of him reluctantly. He could feel her eyes following him, memorising him, as he left the room. The ikon felt hard and heavy in his pocket.
*
When he landed his flyer at ImpSec and went to sign it back in, the corporal on the desk gave a nod.
"There you are. Captain Negri wants to see you, sir. He said you were to go straight up."
Illyan nodded. Ignoring the corporal's expression of curious inquiry, he hurried to obey, straightening his jacket as he made his way through the complicated passageways of ImpSec, wondering what this was about. He had cleared his trip with both Vorkosigan and ImpSec, it couldn't be some reprimand for it. His chip produced nothing from his actions of the past few days that could deserve Negri's negative attention. New orders, perhaps? Explanations of what he was supposed to be doing sitting in the corridors of the Residence all day? He could hope.
Negri was busy when Illyan reached the outer office, and the secretary directed him to sit and wait. Staring at the wall, Illyan considered his commander and mentor. Negri was fanatically loyal to the Emperor and to him alone. Illyan had wondered many times whether his own distant respect for Ezar was a failing. He had sworn his oath to Ezar, and kept it through battle and intrigue, but he did not seem to be capable of the devotion Negri had for the old man. But then, Negri had laid down everything, including his sacred oath to Emperor Yuri, for Ezar's sake. If it took such fires as those to forge Negri's kind of loyalty, Illyan was not altogether sorry to lack it. The days of civil war were over.
But he could not avoid a twinge of regret. On Barrayar, everyone belonged to someone. Oaths and bonds of sacred loyalty held the entire society in place. In this close, almost intimate network, Illyan felt like a stranger. He had never even met Vordarian, his district Count, the first man to whom he was in theory bound, nor did Negri inspire that kind of loyalty in him, nor even the Emperor. In this land of bonds Illyan was free, but freedom from loyalty was about as desirable as that other freedom he had, freedom from love. But neither could be had for the asking.
He knew the reason, of course. A squadron of psychologists had studied him like a creature in a zoo, the most successful survivor of the memory chip, and had decided he had adapted to having the chip by operating almost constantly in an analytical mode of thought, treating everything in life as a distant fact to be observed from a position of godlike detachment. It was, he thought, the only way, when you could not lose your own foibles or weaknesses into merciful forgetfulness. He had to treat them all as cold, passionless facts, separate from their emotional freight. But there was nothing passionless about love, nor loyalty either. It was another part of the price he had to pay for having the chip.
A light flashed on the secretary's monitor. "You can go in now," he told Illyan.
Illyan was no stranger to Negri's office. As he had risen through ImpSec he had spent more and more time here. Once the biochip had been implanted in his head, Negri had moved him sideways through the chain of command, so that he reported only to Negri. Now he took the seat Negri waved him towards and gazed attentively across the large desk.
"I see you have finally managed to get on good terms with Vorkosigan," Negri observed blandly.
Illyan nodded, then when something more seemed to be required, said, "It would have been somewhat easier had he been fully briefed regarding my chip."
Negri smiled, or at least bared his teeth. "So I have heard from Vorkosigan. At some length. It was interesting to see how you both coped with the situation."
Illyan groaned inwardly. Everything was a test, with Negri. However, since further criticism was not forthcoming, he knew he could assume he had passed.
"Replay me any conversations you have had with Vorkosigan about the Escobar invasion," Negri said abruptly.
Well used to Negri's terse command style, Illyan scanned his memory without showing any discomposure and let the words spill from his mouth. Recalling in this way was a peculiar experience, since it did not interfere with his ability to think of something quite different or access other memories, and sometimes he would feel almost in a trance, his mouth describing the contents of his chip whilst his mind was occupied on another matter. But this time he followed the memory attentively, wondering what Negri was looking for. As far as he could tell, Vorkosigan hadn't said anything improper. But Negri only nodded slightly when he ran to the end of the conversation.
"Thank you. Now give me your personal opinion on the invasion plans."
Illyan hesitated for an instant to collect his thoughts. Negri rarely wanted personal opinions--what was he testing for this time?
"Comparatively speaking, it will be a much more difficult conquest than Komarr. Escobar has a strong military, and her fleet may well be an equal match for ours. I would expect retaliation from Escobar's allies and frequent attempts at revolt if we succeed. On the other hand, our military is far more experienced both in frontal attacks and pacification. With a wise strategy and swift moving we could get the upper hand."
"And considered from the domestic perspective?" Negri prompted when he paused.
"Well… Grishnov is pulling the strings. Either success or failure could cause considerable political, ah, difficulties here." Perhaps even the civil war they all feared. Visions of political chaos danced through his mind. "In success, Grishnov's personal influence would increase substantially. In failure, he could turn to revenge, perhaps even use it to discredit the Emperor." Vorkosigan would make an ideal scapegoat in that scenario. Illyan frowned thoughtfully and made a mental note. He would not wish to be taken down with Vorkosigan should this prediction be fulfilled. It would be prudent to make sure he had a plan to avoid this fate.
Negri's face remained impassive. "Interesting analysis, Lieutenant. Time will tell how accurate it is. Tomorrow Vorkosigan and the rest of the Staff will be heading out to the fleet. You will continue to accompany Vorkosigan." Negri paused to bring something up on his comconsole, then continued. "The joint commanders of the fleet are Prince Serg and Admiral Vorrutyer. Admiral Vorhalas will also be going with you, and the usual assortment of more junior officers."
Vorrutyer. Illyan's memory flickered instantly to the mentions of the man in Vorkosigan's file. They'd been lovers for years, and the details in the file grew increasingly unpleasant until Vorkosigan had left Vorrutyer for ship duty. But Vorkosigan had been a different man then. Perhaps Vorrutyer had changed as well.
Negri was watching him closely. "One of your most important duties will be to prevent Vorkosigan from doing anything--rash, in relation to Serg and Vorrutyer. Vorkosigan must work with them and avoid confrontations." He paused. "You must remember that you are not in the chain of command on the fleet. Vorkosigan is not your commanding officer, and neither are Serg or Vorrutyer. It is your duty to watch Vorkosigan and steer him through this expedition without any kind of scandal or political involvement. The military business is out of your area of competence; it is the interactions between the Staff that are dangerous."
Illyan nodded, his mind whirling. Explanations at last on why Negri had put him to watch Vorkosigan. There was something more going on with this invasion--was Negri expecting a coup? Serg and Vorrutyer were trouble, no doubt of it. He looked at Negri, hoping for more answers.
"This is Ezar's will. Vorkosigan is headstrong; he will not avoid trouble. You must discourage him from incriminating himself. Also you must not incriminate yourself or compromise your neutrality. And when you return you will give Ezar and myself a full report of all of Vorkosigan's activities."
"What, for the whole duration of the invasion?" Illyan blurted out, briefly horrified. They could be gone for months, maybe even a year. How long would it take to play back that much memory? There would be no interim reports: none of his chip-reports were ever committed to writing, by Ezar's order.
"If necessary," Negri said calmly. "The Emperor is very interested in how this turns out."
Illyan returned his face to its bland mask. "Is there anything particular I should endeavour to observe?" Serg, for instance. It had been mostly down to Illyan and his memory chip that the most recent attempt by Prince Serg on his father's life had been foiled. Watching Vorkosigan as a cover for watching Serg would make excellent sense.
"Just keep Vorkosigan in your sights." Negri's reply cut off that line of speculation. "Do not permit him to do anything without your observation." Negri leaned forward a little and repeated his toothy smile. "An easy job, now that you've got him eating out of your hand. Make sure it stays that way."
***
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