Captain Vorpatril's Alliance (57 page)

“But the Mycoborer was from Earth,” Tej offered hesitantly. “Not Cetagandan at all. Old Earth is practically the definition of
not alien
. And Grandmama
said
it was safe.”

“Big, big heaving mobs,” said Ivan Xav. “As far as the eye can see.”

Simon Illyan nodded in reluctant agreement.

The Arqua clan was released from ImpMil that evening with clean bills of health, and returned not to their hotel but to an empty apartment a few floors down from Lady Alys’s penthouse. Uniformed ImpSec guards stood at the foyer doors, with more patrolling downstairs. The Arquas’ things, minus all communications devices, arrived much later, transported from their hotel after a detour for close examination by whatever high-clearance security people could be spared at present. Ivan Xav wondered aloud just how many Winterfair leaves had been summarily cancelled over this, and indicated that this grudge, too, would be added on the debit side of the House Cordonah ledger, at least in the dark matter column.

They were not yet officially arrested, though Tej heard that Ser Imola had been, satisfactorily. The legal phrase for their own state was
detained at the Emperor’s pleasure
, a term that had Pidge wrinkling her nose and, conducted by an impassive sentry, ascending to Lady Alys’s flat to look it up. Ivan Xav explained, morosely, that it would more accurately be described as
detained at the Emperor’s displeasure
. But it seemed it trumped, at least temporarily, their visa termination, though Tej gathered that deportation on that point could be brought back into play at any time.

Requests for media interviews penetrated despite all the sequestration.

Pidge said hesitantly, “It might be a way to start to put a good spin on all this. Pave the way for our defense.”

“I,” said Lady ghem Estif austerely, “would be more than
happy
to give this benighted world a piece of my mind.”

Baron and Baronne Cordonah looked at each other.

“No interviews,” said the Baronne. “Not one word.”

“Right,” sighed Dada.

Evacuation of critical equipment and files continued out the roof of ImpSec HQ, under tight military escort, to be temporarily relocated in an assortment of nearby government buildings appropriated for this emergency. Illyan, wincing at the pictures in passing, muttered only, “God, but the evidence rooms are going to be a bitch. When they get down to them.”

The edifice’s on-going descent, it was said, had slowed to an almost imperceptible rate. But by midnight, Lord Dono the Architect’s masterpiece had sunk to the fourth floor.

*
 
*
 
*

Simon kept his appointment the next day with Emperor Gregor. He returned over an hour late.

“It is not often,” he remarked, either to Lady Alys or the air generally, it was hard to tell, “that Gregor permits himself the self-indulgence of sarcasm. I could see that it was very relieving for him.” With an added mutter of, “We live to serve,” he disappeared alone into his study and did not come out till dinner.

*
 
*
 
*

When the Imperial Accounting Office auditors inventorying the old Cetagandan bunker—under the general direction and command of Commodore Duv Galeni, pulled off his departmental duties for the special assignment—reached an estimate of eleven hundred million marks, they stopped publicly reporting.

*
 
*
 
*

“What,” said Pidge, peering over Ivan Xav’s shoulder, “is an
Imperial Court of Inquiry
”—she squinted—“
most secret
?”

“You could think of it as a subpoena,” said Ivan Xav. “With fangs. But it would be…be…”

“A charming understatement?” suggested Tej, peering over his other shoulder.

“No,” said Ivan Xav, in a distant tone, “not charming…”

*
 
*
 
*

Ivan had looked forward to escorting Tej on her first trip to the Imperial Residence, but not under these circumstances. She stared up apprehensively at the sprawling pile, a great irregular rectangle of four-to-six-story-high wings with odd inner links, in style a bit like Vorkosigan House bloated by a factor of four but with modern additions dating back to one post-war rebuild or another. The East Portico was one of the older, more ornate and impressive entrances. Mamere’s groundcar was just finishing disgorging her and Simon and the senior Arquas (and one ghem Estif) as Ivan pulled up behind it in his two-seater; they caught up with the group at the double doors, to be herded through by Gregor’s own majordomo. The man’s expression this morning was grim and suspicious, though as he caught sight of Simon it took refuge in very, very blank. Ivan won
grim and annoyed
.

Followed by a pair of Residence guards, to pick off stragglers presumably, the majordomo led around and, unusually, down. Ivan had not often seen this subterranean section of the Residence, devoted to a pocket of practical conference rooms, as it was never open during the assorted public ceremonies or festivities, such as the annual Imperial Winterfair Ball coming up soon. The chamber into which they were gated felt more like a small, if unusually well-appointed, university lecture hall than a courtroom. At the front was a lectern and a comconsole table, and more seats were arrayed in a semi-circle of gently ascending rows. It might have held forty people in a crush. Which this was apparently not to be, despite the milling other-Arquas-plus-Byerly who had arrived just before them. A table at the side was set up with, mercifully, coffee, teas, and an assortment of pastries; Ivan wasn’t sure if it represented hospitality or a sign that this was going to be a very long session.

Ivan made certain Tej had coffee with cream—she declined the pastries with a wan smile, not a good sign—and edged over to By. “Did you get a personal invitation, or are you here as an ImpSec plainclothes guard?” he muttered.

“Both,” By muttered back. “Courtesy of Gregor
and
Allegre. Though I’ve had my own debriefings with ImpSec.”

“Plural? They had time?”

“Oh, I’m special this week.” By grimaced. “And not in a good way. I
told
them I needed backup—never mind.”

And then it was time for everyone to hastily put down their drinks and swallow their last bites as the majordomo announced simply, “Your attention, for Emperor Gregor Vorbarra.”

Ivan, after much dithering, had chosen a good suit instead of his military dress greens for this; Gregor, curiously, had made a similar choice, severe in dark blue. He was trailed by his senior armsman and his chief secretary, who went to set things up at the lectern. Gregor accepted assorted uncertain head-ducks with a wave of his hand that seemed to say,
Yes, but not yet
; the armsman hurried to supply him with coffee and, Ivan saw with a twinge of guilt, a couple of painkiller tablets, which he swigged down before turning to take command of the front of the room. The rest were directed to seats: the seniors in the front row, along with Pidge, Tej, and Ivan at the end where he could see everyone without craning his neck, much; and Byerly and the remainder—Rish, Star, Pearl, Emerald, Amiri and Jet—in the next. The armsman took up a parade rest at the side of the room where he could keep an eye on everyone; the secretary seated himself at the comconsole table, preparing to record everything.

Gregor set down his coffee on the lectern and turned to stare unamiably out over his captive audience.

“There are a number of interlocking jurisdictions and issues, legal and practical, involved in last weekend’s events in my twice-capital. First are the questions of crimes, misdemeanors, and the creation of public hazards in the city of Vorbarr Sultana and the Vorbarra District. For this, the highest legal venue is the Vorbarra District Count’s Court, of which I am, as Count Vorbarra, senior judge and final arbiter. Next, what might be construed as an attack on a critical Imperial military installation, for which, as Commander-in-Chief of the Barrayaran Military Service, I am again the ultimate authority. And finally, there are matters involving the welfare of the Imperium as a whole, for which, as Emperor, I am—again—finally responsible.

“It is my intention to stack up all of these jurisdictions”—he didn’t say,
in one big heap
, but Ivan fancied he could hear it—“and get through the major issues this morning all at once. In short, I offer you a Star Chamber. You have a choice whether to accept this offer and my authority, and abide by the outcome, or not. You may have a moment to consult among yourselves before you reply.”

Pidge rose and darted to the senior Arquas; Gregor went aside for more coffee and a bite of pastry. Ivan could only think,
Yes, for the love of mercy get your blood sugar up, sire
. He joined the huddle. Simon and Mamere, he noted, stayed seated.

Pidge was saying, “If we want to hold off retribution for as long as possible with delaying actions, now is our chance. You know I had the sequence of court fights all mapped out—”

“If I may advise?” said Ivan, pitching his voice low. Shiv put out a hand to quell Pidge, who scowled at the interruption.

“Please do,” said the Baronne.

“About ten thousand people are lined up behind you competing for a slice of Gregor’s time, but he’s offering you this morning on a platter. He won’t make that offer twice. Also, his clothes.”

“What about them?” asked Shiv, his heavy face dark in bafflement.

“Signal. If he’d planned to go after you about the local issues—including that damned Mycoborer—he’d have come dressed in his Vorbarra House black-and-silver. If he meant to crush you for what you did to his ImpSec headquarters, he’d be in his Service dress greens. But he’s wearing his politician-suit, instead. That means he wants something he doesn’t already have. That means there may be the offer of what you might call a deal, depending. If you don’t waste his time, and if you don’t piss him off.”

“How does one piss him off?” asked Shiv, eyes narrowing.

“Well, wasting his time would be a good way to start.”

“And how can you
tell
?” asked Tej, with an anxious glance past his shoulder at the podium. “If he’s pissed off, I mean.”

“Um…” Ivan hesitated. “You all probably can’t. But ask me.”

He backed away, to give the Arquas one last chance to confer privately. To his intense relief, Shiv turned and stated, “House Cordonah chooses to abide by the authority of this Star Chamber.”

Lady Alys didn’t say a word, but her hand pressed to her lips looked to Ivan like hope rewarded. Which made him
really
wonder what all those all-senior-female confabs among Moira, Udine, and Alys had covered, these past few days.

The secretary glanced at a signal from his wristcom, then rose to go to the chamber door and receive from the majordomo a new delegation of men. Ivan recognized them all.

Duv Galeni was wearing his dress greens, all the polished Imperial officer this morning; General Allegre likewise, as was Colonel Otto, too secure in his expertise to be daunted by his surroundings, and entirely mud-free. Equally secure in his expertise, not to mention his ego, was Dr. Vaughn Weddell from the Imperial Science Institute, one of their major bio-boffins—molecular, xeno, genetic, all of the above. He was followed by I.S.I Senior Administrator Susan Allegre, possibly there as his handler, as he usually needed one, possibly to track and gate any other demands on the Institute that might emerge this morning; at any rate, when they were directed to seats, she went with Weddell and not her husband.

When the room had settled once more, Gregor continued, “There are two possible approaches to solving a dilemma, in justice or elsewhere; begin with the facts, and follow out their logic where it leads one, or begin with the desired outcome, and reason backward to the necessary steps to achieve it. We shall see if it is possible to do both, and meet in the middle. To begin at the beginning, with some anchoring facts—Commodore Galeni, were you able to find out how the information about the Cetagandan bunker and its contents were first lost to ImpSec? And the source of Sergeant Abelard and his bomb? We know his fate.”

“Yes, sire. I made considerable progress on both questions yesterday and last night.”

Since his last report, in other words, so some of this was going to be new to Gregor as well. A wave of the emperor’s hand directed Duv to the front; Gregor leaned on the podium, and Duv took up a practiced lecturer’s stance beside the comconsole table. His eye took in his audience almost as curiously as his audience’s eyes took in him.

“In examining what documents and records remain from the construction of ImpSec Headquarters, almost eighty years ago, I was able to trace the officer who signed off on the bunker inspection, a Captain Geo Pharos. He was ImpSec: he had as his listed assistant a sergeant of engineers, Vlad Norman. One month later, both men, along with three civilian employees, were killed in that on-site construction accident where, according to the subsequent engineering reports, two floors in progress collapsed due to incorrect-to-spec sizing and improper installation of the bracing connectors.
Buggered to fit
, was the, er, engineering term underlined in the holograph report. Twice.”

In the third row, Colonel Otto, brows rising with keen interest, nodded; Galeni cast him an acknowledging sort of analyst’s salute.

Galeni continued, “For which unauthorized shortcut Emperor Yuri, on his architect’s recommendation, had the construction boss hanged, and bracing on the girders and connectors throughout triply reinforced, but that’s another tale.

“Ah, those were the days,” muttered Otto; Ivan couldn’t tell if it was with irony or approval.

“There are two possible explanations for the lapse at the time in revealing the, if I may say it, extraordinary contents of that bunker. One, Pharos and Norman may have simply blown off the inspection, due to laziness or time pressures, assuming that the then-thirty-year-old bunker held nothing of interest or danger. The project was already over budget and late—hence, apparently, the business with the girder connections—so this hypothesis cannot be totally ruled out. Or two, that they discovered the contents, but chose to conceal the news hoping to come back secretly later and make some private profit for themselves. Norman’s prior military records are unexceptionable, but the temptation, as we have discovered, was large. Pharos has possibilities in this direction—things around Yuri were already getting worrisome by then, which he would have been in position to see at close range, so he might have been driven to this alternate method of providing for his future by either greed or fear. Or both, of course.”