façade

[isthisart]

Linya gradually feels her way around being proper friends with Ekaterin, not wishing to wreck things with a premature "will you be my Second at my duplicate wedding" request. There is companionable gardening. There is, when Linya and Jocelyn make an unexpected sudden breakthrough in causing the nibs to behave, which holds when they fabricate a prototype and test it out, a fountain pen for Ekaterin. (In addition to Miles's and Count Vorkosigan's. And one for Emperor Gregor, which has got to be worth all the R&D in advertising alone.) When Miles's legs are more or less completely healed, they skip off to Vorkosigan Surleau for a few days and he teaches her to fly a lightflyer, which she enjoys very much and picks up very quickly. Linya writes Miles a song. (It has no words, she doesn't feel up to lyrics, but it is very pretty and slightly different every time she plays/sings it.) With the nibs handled and all the Barrayaran languages learned Linya spends more time reading textbooks and signs up for a university placement exam to see how far ahead into advanced classes on various things she can skip, and awaits her results.

And snuggles her tiny Barrayaran.

Comments

[sweet_song]

Nicol smiles just a little bit - then she's all business. "Captain Thorne. Admiral Naismith. You're - mercenaries, are you not?"

[whyexit]

"We are...?"

[sweet_song]

"And - if I read you correctly - you have some understanding for my situation? Empathy for the position I find myself in."

[whyexit]

"You're dangling over a pit," murmurs Thorne.

[sweet_song]

"And I mean to find a way to safety."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Safety from what? It seems to me that Baron Fell offers... reasonable security. Against threats such as Baron Ryoval. You could hardly ask for a more powerful protector in Jacksonian local space than the Baron of the local arms dealers."

[sweet_song]

"He's dying. Or thinks he is, at any rate."

[thisvorlunatic]

"I gathered as much. What confuses me are his dark hints about why he won't just occupy a clone like any other soullessly unscrupulous rich man."

[sweet_song]

"He had one commissioned, and House Bharaputra was happy to take the job. The clone was fourteen, full-sized, all ready - and assassinated a few months ago. He doesn't know who did it, though his half-brother tops the list of suspects. And the new one isn't even decanted yet. It'll be years before he can transplant, and during those years anything could happen to him, or the new clone."

[thisvorlunatic]

"What a fascinating choice of target," murmurs Miles. "Assassinate the new body, leaving him trapped in the... old. And what is this unknown enemy's next move? Wait him out?"

[sweet_song]

"I couldn't say, but I don't want to find out what happens to me if I'm still here then. And - I can't buy my way out of unless the baron decides to let me. I didn't realize back on Earth what it'd mean - and the cost of living just keeps going up - and there's five years left in my contract."

[thisvorlunatic]

"So you," says Miles, attempting to keep the irony out of his voice, "want us... to help you jump a Syndicate contract. Smuggle you out in secret, no doubt."

[sweet_song]

"I can pay you. More now than I'd be able to later on, for certain. This - wasn't the gig I thought I was signing up for. If I ever want to get all the way back home I have to reach a wider audience and bring in more money than I'm ever going to collect under contract. I want out, before I - fall downside and never come up again." She pauses. "You aren't afraid of Baron Fell, are you?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"Yes," he admits. "Or at least, let's say, inclined to be careful of him."

[whyexit]

Thorne looks scornful.

[sweet_song]

Nicol glances between them, then produces a wad of Betan dollars - a single on top conceals its value, but when Thorne flips through it it's at least a couple thousand worth of middle denominations under that. "Does this," Nicol asks, "improve your nerve?"

[whyexit]

"What do we mercenaries think of that?" Thorne wonders to Miles.

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles reflects on the many favours he owes Captain Thorne.

"I encourage my commanders to develop an independent mindset and a creative approach. Negotiate away, Captain."

[whyexit]

Thorne smiles and fans through the money and stacks it back up. "The idea's sound," it tells Nicol. "But the amount's wrong -" When Nicol frowns uncertainly and reaches into her jacket, Thorne peels off the single and hands back the larger bills. "One dollar. To make it a proper deal, you see."

[sweet_song]

Nicol is confused, but shakes Thorne's outstretched hand with a smile.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Beware, hero," says Miles, "your independence extends as far as your ability to pull this off without inciting Fell to send in the hounds. If your plan seems likely to land us in deep shit, I'm calling in my veto."

[whyexit]

"Yes, sir," agrees Bel.

[thisvorlunatic]

In case they did not already have an adequate supply of complications, a few hours later Miles takes a call from one Vaughn. Which is the agreed-upon codename of the other person Miles is supposed to be helping jump a Syndicate contract on this trip - real name Dr. Hugh Canaba.

'Vaughn' discloses that he has a problem. He is very vague about the nature of this problem, but very clear that Miles absolutely has to meet him planetside to talk about it in secret. He even invokes the specter of Miles's employer, unaware that Miles's employer has in fact shared with him all the details of this operation and none of the mysterious 'samples' Dr. Canaba is on about were mentioned. The man must be desperate. It's bizarre. But Miles is unable to talk him out of it, and Canaba seems very sincere in his threat to call off the deal and stick with Bharaputra unless Miles comes down to talk to him.

Fine.

Miles comes down to talk to him. And brings Bel. And allows Canaba to lead them from a dingy park through dingy streets to a dingy building where, in a dingy little room, they finally come to a halt.

"I think we can talk safely here," says Canaba.

Miles gestures to Bel, inviting it to check on the truth of this assertion.

[whyexit]

Thorne produces various devices and performs various scans, of the premises, of Canaba. It sets up a sonic baffler. "Scans clean. For now," it reports.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Fine," says Miles. "So. Dr. Canaba." He spreads his hands, inviting explanations.

Dr. Canaba eyes Miles unhappily. "You're meant to protect me from House Bharaputra?"

"I am," Miles says evenly. "I will. But I cannot fulfill that mission if you jerk me around. Not out of personal offense, you understand - personal offense doesn't enter into it. I need to know what I'm doing in order to take responsibility for doing it."

"No one's asked you to take responsibility."

Miles raises his eyebrows. "Oh, but they have, Doctor."

"I... see," says Canaba. He sighs; paces a few steps, then returns. "But will you do what I ask?"

"Tell me what you want me to do," Miles suggests, "and I'll tell you if I can do it."

Canaba takes a deep breath, then exhales it anticlimactically and shakes his head, beginning to pace again. "When I came here, I was looking for freedom, not money. The freedom to do the research I wanted. What I got was the research they wanted. I nearly drowned in it! And my own results, my own breakthroughs - I get no resources to devlop them, merely because the projected profit margins are insufficiently exciting. No thought to who it would benefit besides House Bharaputra! And I can publish nothing - I am constantly taunted by the literature of my field, filled with lesser men being honoured for their lesser work because no one has heard of me and mine. It was frustration that drove me to contact your employers. Wounded ego... nothing more than wounded ego. But the shame of it! Do you understand? Can you understand?" He gestures helplessly.

"I would be more than happy to listen until I do," says Miles. "On my ship. Proceeding toward the dropoff with all speed."

"Ah," sighs Canaba, "a practical man. Well - well, God knows I could use one."

"I had received the impression you were having some difficulty," Miles agrees.

"I thought I had things under control - but - " Canaba sighs. "There were seven synthesized gene-complexes. One cures an obscure enzyme disorder. One massively accelerates oxygen generation in space station algae. One is from outside Bharaputra Labs, brought in by - well - we were never sure. Anyone who worked openly on his project was murdered in a commando raid shortly after he left, all their records and samples destroyed. I never mentioned I'd borrowed a tidbit to study. I don't fully understand it yet, but what I've gleaned so far is... truly extraordinary."

Miles manages not to choke. He recognizes the description from previous Dendarii reports on an encounter aboard Kline Station. Dr. Canaba does not need to know that Barrayar already has a copy of this sample, nor that the sample in question is a large part of the reason why they're looking for a geneticist in the first place, until he arrives at his new laboratory. But, God, if the ones Canaba isn't listing are worth anywhere near as much...

"All together, these seven complexes represent nothing less than my life's work. I was always going to take them with me. I had used a viral insert to store them in an... organism, in a dormant state. I had thought no one would look there."

"Why," Miles asks reasonably, "didn't you just store them in your own tissue? Harder to misplace that way."

This stops Canaba in his tracks. "I - I never thought of that. Why didn't I think of that?" He puts his hand to his forehead as though examining it for faults. "But - no. It doesn't make a difference. I would still need to - this organism, you understand - "

No. Miles does not understand. He awaits enlightenment with decreasing patience.

"Of all the things I regret doing, that I have done in this vile place... this is the one I regret the most. It was - it was years ago, I was younger, I thought I was building my future..." He shakes his head. "House Bharaputra took on a contract to manufacture a... a new species. Made to order."

"I thought it was House Ryoval that was famous for making - creatures - to order," says Miles.

Canaba shakes his head. "One-offs. Specialized slaves. For a tiny customer base. Rich men and depraved men both exist in plenty, but Ryoval caters to the overlap, which is... smaller. The Bharaputra contract was meant to end in a production run. Some planetary government or either wanted us to design a race of super-soldiers."

"Hasn't that been tried? Over and over and over again? To variously worthless results?"

"Well, we were confident enough to take their money. But the project suffered from too much input. The client, the Bharaputran higher-ups, all the members of the genetics project, all pulling in different directions. It was doomed before it got out of the design committee."

"And then...?" prompts Miles, privately boggling at the idea of a super-soldier designed by commmittee.

"Well... as you said, the super-soldier project has been tried. The practical limits of the merely human have been explored. But of the inhuman - well, I for one was intrigued by the muscle metabolism of the thoroughbred horse."