Captain Vorpatril's alliance полностью

“Yeah. It was…kind of like watching two women trying to make each other pregnant.”

Ivan contemplated this arresting, not to mention distracting, metaphor for a moment. “That’s done. Technologically. Even on Barrayar, these days.”

Byerly waved a dissociating hand. “You see what I mean, though.”

“Yeah.” Ivan nibbled his lip. “Are you outed, by the way?”

“By Rish? I’m not yet sure. Do you know if Tej has told her family anything?”

“About your line of work? Not a clue. No one has given me any time to talk with my wife for the past day.” Ivan hesitated. “She has talked with them about something.”

“Well, try to find out, will you? Both,” By added in afterthought.

Ivan growled. “Spying is supposed to be your job.”

“I’m trying,” By bit out.

“Hey. You’re the one who outed yourself, back on Komarr. Surprised the hell out of me at the time. Were you trying to impress the pretty python with your daring dual identity, or what?”

“ At the time, there were only the two of them, and I never imagined they’d ever get closer than five jumps to Vorbarr Sultana. It seemed a fair deal, and they seemed to agree. They weren’t going to blab to their enemies. Never pictured it lasting more than a couple of days before we went our separate ways. Or Rish having to choose me over her family, for God’s sake.”

Or Tej having to choose me over her family? Ivan had just time to think, before a door slid open down the hall, and By’s teeth snapped shut. Tall and cinnamon Pidge emerged from the guest lav, began to stride back toward the living room, spied the two of them lingering, and hove to with a smile. Snazzy heels on her shoes positioned her to look Ivan directly in the eye, and down on Byerly, very Baronette Sophia Arqua. Strange courtesy title, that. Ivan kept hearing it as bayonet, which…might not be so wrong.

“Oh, Ivan Xav.” A nod included Byerly in the greeting. “What a very pleasant evening this has been, after the tensions of our travels.”

“I’m glad,” said Ivan. “Do tell my mother. Entertaining is an art form, to her.”

“I could see that,” said Pidge, with near‑Cetagandan approval. “Your mother’s partner is an interesting fellow, too,” she went on. Yes, she had been closer to Simon’s end of the table, through dinner. In the place next to Tej that should have been Ivan’s, eh. “ Illyan is a, what do you call your grubbers, a prole name, though, isn’t it? Not one of you Vor.”

“No twice‑twenty‑years Imperial Service man need yield to any Vor for his place in our military caste,” said Ivan firmly.

Pidge looked to Byerly for confirmation of this cultural detail; he nodded cordially.

“Still, a captain. Even after, what, forty years‑why do you call it twice‑twenty, I wonder? But isn’t that the same rank as you?”

“No,” said Ivan. “Chief of Imperial Security, which was his job title, technically isn’t a military rank at all, but a direct Imperial appointment. He froze his military rank at captain because his predecessor, Emperor Ezar’s security chief Captain Negri‑the man they called Ezar’s Familiar‑never took a higher rank, either. A political statement, that. It was, after all, a very political job.”

Pidge tilted her head. “And what did they call your Illyan?”

“Aral Vorkosigan’s Dog,” By put in, lips quirking with amusement.

“But…Vorkosigan wasn’t an emperor. Was he…?”

“Imperial Regent for sixteen years, you know, when Emperor Gregor was a minor,” Byerly charitably glossed for her outworlder benefit. “All of the work, none of the perqs.” Ivan wondered if that was a direct quote from Uncle Aral. Or Aunt Cordelia, more likely.

“And what do they call the current Chief of ImpSec?”

“Allegre? They call him the Chief of ImpSec.” Byerly cast her the hint of an apologetic bow. “I fear we live in less colorful times.”

Thank God, Ivan thought. “Allegre was already a general at the time of his appointment. They didn’t make him give it back, so I suppose that’s the end of that tradition.”

Pidge’s generous mouth pursed, as she puzzled through this. “It seems quite odd. Are Barrayaran captains very well paid, then?”

“No,” said Ivan, sadly. He added, lest she think less of his um‑stepfather, “Illyan was given a vice‑admiral’s salary, though, which makes more sense considering the workload.” Or perhaps it didn’t‑26.7 hours a day for thirty years, all‑consuming? Such a pyre wasn’t something a man entered into for pay. “Half‑salary, now he’s retired.”

“How much would that be?”

Ivan, who dealt with military payrolls regularly and could have recited the wage ranges for every IS‑number/rank ever invented, current or historical, said, “I imagine you could look it up somewhere.” Byerly smiled a little; the sweep of his lashes invited Ivan to carry on.

“Then…is he rich independently?” Pidge persisted.

“I have no idea.”

Pidge tossed her head in surprise; the amber curls gathered in a clasp at her nape, far more controlled than Tej’s cloud, failed to bounce much. “How can you not know?”