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

[thisvorlunatic]

Hang on. If the haut don't marry— "But what about all those famous and successful ghem-generals and ghem-lords who've won haut-lady wives?"

[alicornucopia]

"They can't all aspire to become Imperial mothers, can they? Actually, I would point out this aspect particularly to you, Lord Vorkosigan. Have you ever wondered how the haut, who are not noted for their military prowess, control the ghem, who are?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"Oh, yes," he says. "I've been expecting this crazy Cetagandan double-decked aristocracy to fall apart ever since I learned about it. How can you control guns with, with, art contests? How can a bunch of perfumed poetasters like the haut-lords buffalo whole ghem-armies?"

[alicornucopia]

"The Cetagandan ghem-lords would call it the loyalty justly due to superior culture and civilization," Maz smiles. "The fact is that anyone who's competent enough or powerful enough to pose a threat gets genetically co-opted. There is no higher reward in the Cetagandan system than to be Imperially assigned a haut-lady wife. The ghem-lords are all panting for it. It's the ultimate social and political coup."

[thisvorlunatic]

"You're suggesting the haut control the ghem through these wives?" he says skeptically. "I mean, I'm sure the haut-women are lovely and all, but the ghem-generals can be such hard-bitten cast-iron bastards—I can't imagine anyone who gets to the top in the Cetagandan Empire being that susceptible."

[alicornucopia]

"If I knew how the haut-women do it," Maz sighs, "I'd bottle it and sell it. No, better — I think I'd keep it for myself. But it seems to have worked for the last several hundred years. It is not, of course, the only method of Imperial control, to be sure. Only the most overlooked one. I find that, in itself, significant. The haut are nothing if not subtle."

[thisvorlunatic]

He considers this for a moment, and asks, "Does this - haut-bride - come with a dowry?"

[alicornucopia]

Maz takes another petit four.

"You have hit upon an important point, Lord Vorkosigan. She does not."

[thisvorlunatic]

"I'd think keeping a haut-wife in the style to which she is accustomed could get rather expensive," he says, continuing in this line of reasoning.

[alicornucopia]

"Very."

[thisvorlunatic]

"So," he concludes, "if the Cetagandan emperor wished to depress an excessively successful subject, he could award him a few haut-wives and bankrupt him?"

[middlingalong]

"I... don't think it's done quite so obviously as all that. But the element is there. You are very acute, my lord," says Maz.

Ivan says, "But how does the haut-lady who gets handed out like a good-conduct medal feel about it all? I mean... if the highest haut-lady ambition is to become an Imperial monopoly, this has got to be the ultimate opposite. To be permanently dumped out of the haut-genome — their descendants never marry back into the haut, do they?"

"No," confirms Maz. "I believe the psychology of it all is a bit peculiar. For one thing, the haut-bride immediately outranks any other wives the ghem-lord may have acquired, and her children automatically become his heirs. This can set up some interesting tensions in his household, particularly if it comes, as it usually does, in mid-life when his other marital associations may be of long standing."

"It must be a ghem-lady's nightmare, to have one of these haut-women dropped on her husband," Ivan muses. "Don't they ever object? Make their husbands turn down the honor?"

"Apparently it's not an honor one can refuse."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Mm..." Enough of this, Miles decides. He needs more information on the real problem. "That seal of the Star Crèche thing—I don't suppose you have a picture of it?"

Yes, it turns out, she does. Miles is so pleased. To his comconsole they go, and they browse through a succession of signs and seals until they come at last to a large cube with the screaming-bird motif engraved in its upper surface.

Well. So far, so good - it seems that whatever Miles has tucked away in his drawer, it's not a piece of the Imperial regalia, or at least not this piece.

[middlingalong]

Up until she shows them what she calls the Great Key of the Star Creche.

Ivan chokes on his wine.

[thisvorlunatic]

Bugger.

"And, ah—just what is the Great Key of the Star Crèche, m'la—Maz? What does it do?" Nothing important, he fervently hopes.

[middlingalong]

"I'm not quite sure. At one time in the past, I believe it had something to do with data retrieval from the haut gene banks, but the actual device may only be ceremonial by now. I mean, it's a couple of hundred years old. It has to be obsolete."

"Miles," says Ivan under his breath.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Later," Miles mutters back at him. "I understand your concern." God, does he ever.

Ignoring the things Ivan chooses to mouth at him rather than say them out loud in front of a lady, Miles manufactures a look of poorly concealed pain. It's not a difficult task. The wonderfully polite Maz is eager to spare him further etiquette lessons in light of his injuries. She departs after minimal pleasantries.

[middlingalong]

"Do you have any idea how much trouble we're in?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"Yes," he says calmly. "I also know how we're going to get out of it. Do you know as much?"

[middlingalong]

"...What else do you know that I don't?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"If you will just leave it to me, I believe I can get this thing back to its rightful," what was the word, "custodian with no one the wiser."

[middlingalong]

Ivan makes an exasperated face, but leaves it at that with minimal muttering. There's really no talking Miles out of it, and Ivan isn't about to break ranks to deal with the reports on his own recognizance.

It is soon after this that they receive an (appropriately checked for poisons and the like) formal invitation to Yenaro's party.

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles unhesitatingly accepts.

[middlingalong]

And when its bearer has departed, Ivan says:

"So tell me - how are you planning to get rid of the Empress's dildo?"

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles snorts. "I can't tell you," he says loftily, touching a hand to one of his paired silver Horus-eye collar pins - the insignia of an ImpSec agent. Which Miles is. "There's a lady's reputation involved."