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]

"I don't mind the question. Though I am a little skeptical that you are interested to hear me complain."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Fascinated, milady," he promises quite sincerely.

[isthisart]

"Well. There's two things - there's the reason why most of us don't want it, which has principally to do with loss of face and losing touch with friends and the general acknowledgement by the other haut that this one was a failure and is being demoted. And there's the reason why I don't want it, which is that from the perspective of my extremely unusual goals it would, impressively enough, be a step down. I want to do constructive work. I do not want to play status games and write poetry - though I have nothing against poetry, I do have something against status games - and while I live here and have the privilege of my bubble, my only problems are having a low supply of friends and serious obstacles sharing any of my ideas with people who would use them in broader contexts than miniscule art contests. I don't suffer from lack of materials or education or spare time.

"Assuming I don't find some way to evade the fate before I'm perhaps thirty - maybe younger, I am unusually blatantly an unsuccessful haut-project - then I will abruptly find myself short on all of those things and likely accompanied by co-wives with every reason to despise me. A haut-wife's principal tasks are to design children with dramatically fewer resources than she might have hoped to have for the task - because she can only work with her personal genome and her husband's - and to be ornamental. And these tasks are somewhat harder to dodge than any given use of my time on offer in the Celestial Garden, so even if I selected avenues of work that didn't require materials I didn't have, I'd have less time to do it in. To say nothing of the fact that I have not met any ghem-lords who seemed like pleasing company in their own rights."

[thisvorlunatic]

"...I find I understand your position more than I expected to," he says after a moment, thoughtfully.

[isthisart]

"Why, what were you imagining I'd say?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"I really didn't have any idea," he says. "But I'm reminded of a story from my childhood - up until age five, I had to spend all my time in a full-body brace, to make sure my bones grew as straight as possible and didn't break too often while they were still just developing. I have it on good authority from my mother - my own memories are somewhat vaguer - that as soon as I got out of the thing, I learned to run almost immediately and didn't slow down for months." He thinks of Ivan, and adds, "Some people might say I still haven't. So your complaints about haut society have... emotional resonance."

[isthisart]

"I think I was about five when I noticed I wasn't supposed to do the things that most interested me," muses Linyabel. "I don't even think I was the only one - but I declined to be sneaky about it and pretend to grow out of it. Sometimes I wonder if that was a good idea. I suppose I'll have a very clear picture when I'm old enough to see in more detail where it gets me."

[thisvorlunatic]

"It's rarely given to us to know where we could have ended up, if we'd made a different choice," says Miles. "We only have the one reality to play with."

[isthisart]

"Yes. But if I risk some particular drawback, and it befalls me, I think I may be legitimately wistful about the lost chance to pursue plans that did not have that specific problem. Who knows, perhaps if I am very clever I will wind up with a ghem-lord who will bring me on a diplomatic excursion to Beta Colony and leave the door unlocked."

[thisvorlunatic]

He forestalls a wild urge to ask if she wants to run away with him to Barrayar.

"My mother's Betan," he says instead. "I suppose you'd know that, if you read about me... I like the place fine to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. Too restrictive - but I suppose for your needs, it would be just fine. I like a planet where I can stand out under the sun without protective gear, though. ...Is, er, 'leave the door unlocked' figurative, or is that really how ghem-lords treat their haut-wives?" he asks, mildly appalled.

[isthisart]

"I've actually never been out under the sun without my bubble unless you count that extremely rainy occasion or don't count the dome as interfering with the sunshine... And, we don't hear back from the wives very often. So perhaps it's vanishingly uncommon; I would like to think so. But if he did decide to lock her up - to do anything he liked to her, for that matter - what do you imagine she could do about it? These are extremely high-status ghem-lords, with powerful friends who owe them favors, and they're often half or more haut themselves genetically speaking, in the event it ever comes down to a physical contest."

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles shudders slightly. "What a horrifying thought."

[isthisart]

"But perhaps this never happens. Perhaps all the actual personal relationships are negotiated in their details to the mutual satisfaction of both principals - if not that of the ghem co-wives, I suppose - and the reason one does not hear about any runaways is that I am the only haut-lady who has ever considered living on Beta Colony - or somewhere - preferable."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Having a haut-wife is meant to be an honour... but... I suppose it doesn't necessarily follow that the wives in question are treated as cherished people as opposed to cherished ornaments," he says. "Ambulatory medals."

[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."