marilacan embassy

[middlingalong]

Ivan does not successfully get Miles to stop fussing with the thing (Miles takes an impression of its impressions on a plastic flimsy) or convince him to leave it somewhere other than inside the bedchamber (it is in a drawer) nor get him to actually tell Vorreedi as promised (Vorreedi is dealing with importation infractions out of town; this is, Miles says, nothing to do with him). He does, however, get Miles (who complains about not having had warning about all this downtime such that he could have scheduled leg bone replacement surgery) to their ride to the party, on time and in uniform.

The Marilacan embassy is, Vorob'yev says, to be regarded as neutral yet non-secured territory - they can enjoy themselves, among fellow offworlders and some ghem-lords. Vorob'yev entertains them - so to speak - on the way by remarking on the Marilacan strategic situation; they've apparently been taking lots of help from Ceteganda, are ignoring their womhole maps and don't think Cetaganda would ever backstab them and blah blah. There is also more fascinating gossip about suicides with... "uncooperative principals", but not much of it; the topic soon drifts to the fact that the party may yield gossip that they should report to Vorreedi when he's back. Along with certain other things they should report to Vorreedi.

"Try not to give away more than you gain," Vorob'yev says.

"Well, I'm safe," remarks Ivan. "I don't know anything." A position of safety he'd dearly like to be able to cultivate more, coz, hint hint.

The Marilacan embassy is pretty, and scans their guests; Ivan does at least know enough to have left the nerve disruptor behind. There's an art project - Ivan doesn't rightly know what sort of thing to call it; a sculpture? With a water feature? And flying colorful flakes? The Marilacan ambassador, Berneaux, says it's called Autumn Leaves, anyway, so it's an Autumn Leaves - and then both lieutenants are shooed. The hors d'oeuvres are excellent. There is wine. Ivan can at this point get rid of his cousin and see if there are any ladies who could benefit from his company about.

Oh now there is one.

Ivan sets about charming the probably-at-least-an-eighth-haut ghem-lady as best he knows how. Mutants on purpose may be mutants still but pretty on purpose is pretty still likewise. He knows tact, at least with girls. He gets her (Lady Gelle) to laugh. Miles is wandering back in his direction again, but whatever, Miles probably isn't going to compete with him for elbow room here.

Then they're approached by some ghem-lord, Yenaro apparently, who mercifully doesn't seem to be related to or involved with the girl, and indeed obliquely congratulates her on having located "galactic exotics". Good, Ivan has been trading on the right characteristic with her so far. Gelle introduces Ivan, and prompts Ivan to introduce Miles, to Yenaro. They talk ancient history, grandfathers and who's at fault for events of the war - apparently they call it the Barrayaran War here.

Gelle kindly diverts the subject to the art piece, which is Yenaro's handiwork. He insults her stylistic choices and Ivan takes the opening to compliment her; if she's looking for sophisticated Cetegandan taste over appreciative galactic obliviousness Ivan can't help her, but he can show off the latter to best effect in case it'll sell. Yenaro chooses this occasion to tell the lady that Ivan was born in the usual - well, the normal, anyway - fashion. Her revulsion is disheartening, although she seems to find Yenaro's behavior at least as obnoxious as she finds childbirth grotesque. Either way, the combination of the two sends her skating off into the crowd.

Yenaro fumbles and then coaxes them into touring the interior of his sculpture. Miles breaks off, but Ivan goes ahead and has a look, no use holding a grudge at the man for dissuading exactly one girl, however pretty she was. Miles is apparently more interested in talking to the forty-standard lady Vorob'yev has on his arm.

Comments

[isthisart]

"Why, what would you do with one if you had one?"

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles chokes slightly, coughs, and recovers well enough to answer the question.

"Um," he says. "Well, to be honest, the Vorkosigans haven't been a rich aristocratic family since the Time of Isolation; I wouldn't have all that much luxury to offer, certainly not in comparison to," he waves a vague encircling hand, "all this. But I like to think I'd offer her possibilities. I abhor the waste of a mind. You haut-folk are supposed to be perfect—superhuman—whatever, but I'm getting a strong impression that you aren't supposed to do anything with it except stand around being better than everyone. It's not my business if that's how some people want to occupy themselves, but no wife of mine is going to spend her life locked in a, a brain-brace against her will."

That came out rather more passionately than he meant it to. He subsides, dropping his gaze to the floor.

[isthisart]

Linyabel is now looking at him rather - intently.



"Warn me," she says, "if you decide to do anything very positively impressive in the environs of Cetaganda."

[thisvorlunatic]

...This time the sputtering goes on a full several seconds.

But Miles remains Miles—as soon as he regains the capacity for coherent speech, he rejoins with, "Such as for example rescue the Great Key of the Star Creche from a thieving planetary governor, milady?"

[isthisart]

"That might do it," she agrees. "I can't say for sure - you aren't a ghem-lord. But it is not impossible."

[thisvorlunatic]

"I... um... admit to entertaining some hope in the matter," he says. Is he blushing? God, he hopes he's not blushing. (He is blushing.)

[isthisart]

"I have no wish to insinuate myself where unwelcome," says Linyabel lightly.

[thisvorlunatic]

"You would be very welcome," he assures her with utmost sincerity.

[isthisart]

"...by you, that is clear. I do have some concern about the rest of Barrayar, though. Considering." She gestures generally at herself; she might as well be labeled 100% Cetagandan, Manufactured On Eta Ceta, This End Up.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Well."

Yes. That.

"I won't pretend the population at large won't have... qualms. But my mother would love you. My father... might be wary, but could be won over. I don't know you well enough to be sure, but - from what I can tell, Gregor would like you. That's a start, right?"

He's just glad, in a bleak guilty sort of way, that Grandfather Piotr isn't around to form and express opinions on his grandson's Cetagandan wife-trophy. Hypothetical Cetagandan wife-trophy, he reminds himself firmly. Strictly hypothetical.

"Anway, if you were going to marry anyone on Barrayar, I'm your best choice by a long shot as far as general welcomeness," he adds. "My friends and close associates are preselected for tolerance. I may not be the most well-liked man on Barrayar, but anyone who willingly hangs around with me has got to be at least a little open-minded."

[isthisart]

"Imperial approval is, in most places where 'imperial' is a relevant adjective, an excellent start," agrees Linyabel. "As is a well-filtered list of associates, I suppose."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Anyway. I... suppose I shouldn't get ahead of myself," he sighs. "We still need to find the damn Key. And then get it back - and I do think I'd be useful on that mission. I'm the only trained intelligence agent you've got, at the moment. As far as I know. The job description may be 'courier', but the training's no different."

[isthisart]

"Yes. What do you need to operate? I am assuming Lisbet will help; she seems to like you."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Yes, I got a similar impression... Ideally I'd want some way to travel up to the appropriate ship in disguise, or otherwise concealed," he says. "Disguised as a ba, possibly, because some of them are as short as I am and hardly anyone seems to pay them any attention unless they're lying dead in unexpected places. And of course an accurate map of the ship would be extremely helpful."

[isthisart]

"It shouldn't be hard to get you a ba's uniform," Linyabel nods. "A map of the ships in question might not be available, but I can see if I'm wrong..." And with that she plucks the long black wand from her necklace - it detaches easily, revealing itself to have been tucked in a little collar on the chain. She spins it in her hand, pokes three points in the air, turns it around again, and - it projects something you might expect to see on a custom-programmed comconsole, but hovering stationary in the air on the plane she defined, even as the wand moves to jab at this and that and navigate her file trees.

[thisvorlunatic]

"...Nice," says Miles. "Is that a usual haut-lady tool?"

[isthisart]

"Nope," she says, grinning. "It's my pen. I made it."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Very nice."

[isthisart]

"I'm very fond of it." Eventually she has found what she's looking for. "Well, these are the models of the ships, and here are maps of them, but this won't show any customization that's happened since or tell you if the rooms have been purposed other than according to the maker's recommendations."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Yeah. Less than ideal, but - it's not nothing. Thanks. I'll want another look at whichever one of those turns out to be relevant, before I go up."

[isthisart]

"Lisbet may have a peripheral I can use to get them on flimsies, if you don't expect anyone to wonder why you have ship maps on flimsies?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"Mmm... at this point, I think it wouldn't be enough of a benefit to be worth the admittedly slight risk that someone will get nosy about them. If I only study the one ship, and only when I'm ready to go, then it'll be fresher in my mind when I'm up there and there won't be any risk of getting the two confused."

[isthisart]

"All right." She waggles the pen; the projection disappears and she puts it back on her necklace.

[thisvorlunatic]

"That is an amazing gadget."

[isthisart]

"I'd like to come up with a consumer version, but so far the best I've been able to do is smuggle about a third of the gesture recognition technology to a company on Escobar."