bioestheties exhibition

[middlingalong]

The following day they visit the 149th Annual Bioestheties Exhibition, Class A, Dedicated to the Memory of the Celestial Lady. This dedication, though rather last-minute, makes it a key stop for offworlders on Eta Ceta for funerary proceedings. Lord Vorreedi is, unexpectedly, present too; he may be hard to slip.

The exhibits are gorgeous. Unnatural colors of various flowers are sufficiently routine to be used as borders for the real show - fish with clan marks on their scales (this exhibitor is about twelve), a pet unicorn (this one is possibly not even an exhibit), a tendril of vine that attempts to entrap Ivan's foot (its keeper dislodges it), and a kitten tree.

Ivan is displeased by the kitten tree, believing there to be glue involved in the attachment of kittens to their pods. He picks one in a determined rescue attempt. It is not ripe; the kitten expires when detached. Vorreedi offers to discreetly dispose of the poor beast, for which Ivan is intensely grateful.

Their erstwhile friend Yenaro is present. When Ivan notices, he points the man out to Miles.

Comments

[middlingalong]

Yenaro picks up a pitcher of something.

"More zlati ale?" wonders Ivan under his breath.

[thisvorlunatic]

The sight of the pitcher closes the circuit of memory. Miles comes on full alert. "Grab that pitcher, Ivan!" he says urgently. "Don't let him spill a drop!"

[middlingalong]

Ivan reacts before he asks inconvenient questions and then holds the pitcher, bewildered.

"Really, Lord Vorkosigan!" says Yenaro, exasperated, giving up the vessel without complaint.

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles drops flat, putting his face as close to the thick green carpet as possible - the carpet that is only present at this particular entry - and inhales, confirming his suspicions.

"What are you doing?" laughs Lady Benello. "The rug isn't part of it!"

Not part of the entry, no. But part of something else. Miles gets to his feet and takes a few steps Ivanward, away from the edge of the dangerous rug. "Hand me that pitcher, very carefully. Then give that carpet a sniff and tell me what you smell," he instructs.

[middlingalong]

Ivan obeys, gingerly, self-consciously, and - when he smells what's in the carpet - furiously: "Asterzine!"

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles retreats farther from the carpet, handling the pitcher with exquisite care, and lifts the lid for a quick sniff. The not-quite-vanilla-orange scent of the liquid inside removes all doubt.

"Ivan, pull a thread or two while you're down there," he says. "I think it's time we took Lord Yenaro aside for a discreet private chat. Excuse us, please, ladies. Um - man-talk," is the best vague excuse he can summon on the spot. Rather to his surprise, it works. He leads Ivan and Yenaro - assuming the one will drag the other along bodily if necessary - to an unused and unoccupied nook several spaces away from the scent-fabric exhibit with its unlucky carpet.

[middlingalong]

Ivan pulls carpet-fibers, takes Yenaro not terribly gently by the arm, and follows Miles to an empty nook a few spaces down, where he takes up a forbidding position between Miles, Yenaro, and the pathway.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Allow me to demonstrate what you almost did," says Miles. He sets the pitcher down, retrieves the strangely gummy fibers from Ivan, places them carefully on the ground—the flooring is an artificial marble which he judges, importantly, not flammable—and takes up the pitcher again where he sits.

"Lord Yenaro. Down here, if you please." There are no other people visible or audible nearby; good. "Take two drops on your fingers of this harmless liquid, and sprinkle it on top of those threads." He emphasizes 'harmless' in a way that makes it very clear the substance is anything but.

[alicornucopia]

Yenaro, making impotent protests and trying without success to get Ivan's hand off his arm, eventually obeys, cut off mid-vague-threat by the bright flash of heat.

[thisvorlunatic]

"And that was only a gram of the stuff, if that. Multiply this," he gestures at the scorch mark on the quasi-marble tile, "out to the full mass of your little carpet bomb - about five kilos, I'd guess. But you probably have a better idea. I imagine you carried it in here personally. You've obviously never had military training, or you would've recognized it yourself, by the smell—sensitized asterzine. You can dye it to almost any colour, mold it to almost any shape, and until it meets the right catalyst it's totally, harmlessly inert. But as soon as they make contact," scorch mark. "Which is what would have happened to you, me, Ivan, the ladies, the exhibit, and anyone else who happened to be passing by, if you'd dumped that pitcher like you planned."

[alicornucopia]

"This is - some sort of trick," Yenaro insists.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Of course it is. But this time the joke is on you. Tell me, what effect did your good friend the haut-governor say this was going to have?"

[middlingalong]

"He -" Yenaro looks desperately at the scorch mark; sniffs his catalyst-damp fingertips. "Oh."

"Confession is good for the soul," says Ivan. "And the body," he adds menacingly. "What did you think you were doing?"

"It... was supposed to release an ester. That would simulate alcohol poisoning. You Barrayarans are famous for that perversion. Nothing that you don't already do to yourselves!"

[thisvorlunatic]

"Allowing me and Ivan to stumble through the rest of the exhibition blind drunk, I suppose. Charming. Did you come pre-antidoted?"

[middlingalong]

"No, it was - supposed to be harmless - I had arrangements to go and sleep it off. I thought it might be an - interesting sensation."

"Pervert," trills Ivan.

Yenaro glares at him.

[thisvorlunatic]

"That first night, at the Marilacan embassy," says Miles. "When I was burned - you weren't entirely faking all that apologetic fluttering, were you? You didn't expect that level of... severity."

[middlingalong]

"I - thought perhaps the Marliacans had adjusted the power. It was supposed to shock, not - injure. I was told."

"The zlati ale was yours, though, wasn't it?" growls Ivan.

"You knew?!"

"I'm not an idiot."

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles leaves the pitcher on the floor next to the scorch mark and stands, gesturing to a little bench tucked against one side of the nook. "I've got something to tell you, Lord Yenaro, and I think you'd better be sitting down."

[middlingalong]

Ivan helps with the sitting down thing. Yenaro looks aggrieved.

Ivan then also pours the remaining liquid onto the nearest potted tree.

[thisvorlunatic]

"This isn't just a few cute tricks played on the unsuspecting envoys of an old enemy," Miles says quietly. "You are a pawn in a treasonous plot against your own Empire. The last such pawn I know about was Ba Lura - I assume you've heard how it ended up. You were all set to play out the same pattern, just now." He gestures at the scorch mark for emphasis.

[alicornucopia]

"That - that can't be," says Yenaro after a silent moment. "It's too crude, it would have started a blood feud between his clan and those of the - bystanders."

[thisvorlunatic]

"No," Miles corrects. "It would have started a feud between their clans and yours. Because who would be around to say you hadn't set the trap yourself, and then incompetently walked into it with the rest of us? It would be the obvious conclusion, from the evidence available. A very elegant way for your backer to dispose of you at exactly the moment you ceased to be useful."

[alicornucopia]

"The Ba Lura..." says Yenaro slowly. "Committed... suicide."

[thisvorlunatic]

"No. It was murdered. Your Imperial Security is already headed down that trail. They'll reach the end eventually; I'm just not sure it will be soon enough."

[alicornucopia]

"You must believe - I would have no regrets if you two fell off a cliff. But I would not push you myself."