He shook his head in regret. “Not this one. It’s only a sonic, and two people wouldn’t fit.” He brightened. “But when we get back to my place in Vorbarr Sultana, I know that, um…another time?”
They should have taken advantage of the amenities back in his Solstice flat, but how were they to have known? Timing. The best chances of life all ran afoul of timing.
He kissed her again, then peeled himself away, lips last.
When they rendezvoused again in the bed, most of the unwrapping was already done, to Tej’s mild regret, but perhaps there would be other occasions. She slid between the sheets he had warmed. Clean sheets, she noticed in appreciation, a thoughtful touch from the busy bâtman, at a guess. Ivan Xav rolled over, and up on one elbow, his hand hovering uncertainly over her, as if he didn’t know where to begin.
She smiled up at him. “Are you shy, Ivan Xav?”
“No!” he denied indignantly. “It’s just…I’ve never made love to a wife, before. I mean, to my wife. A wife of my own. Not having had one. I don’t know how a few words in a groat circle can make what should be familiar feel very strange all of a sudden. Power of suggestion or something.”
She rolled up on her own elbow, to free a hand to reach his face, trace the bones beneath the skin. Good bones. Her body shifted with the motion, and then he wasn’t looking deep into her eyes anymore, but he was looking, pupils wide and black. Noticing gifts with due reverence needn’t always take the form of speech, she was reminded.
“I always kept it light, y’know?” he gasped.
“I can do light,” she said, leaning in. “My name means light.”
He leaned to meet her. “So…so illuminate me,” he breathed, and then there was much less talking.
The admiral’s bâtman brought breakfast on a trolley—not intending it to be indolently consumed in bed, Ivan suspected, but rather to make sure Ivan was out of his in a timely fashion. The military servant knocked politely on both bedroom doors and set up the meal in the sitting room, effacing himself promptly as soon, Ivan also suspected, as he’d ascertained who had slept with whom last night, the better to report that intelligence back to their mutual boss. Desplains had very obviously left it up to Ivan and his guests to sort themselves out, but he had to be curious as to the results.
Ivan felt…chipper, he decided, was a good word. Remarkably chipper. He put himself together in immaculate military order, waved to Rish, who was blearily sucking tea, kissed his wife goodbye—make that, his beautiful bed-rumpled exquisitely edible wife, who, to cap his enchantment, did not appear to be chatty in the mornings—and chippered off to work, approximately twelve steps down the corridor to Desplains’s on-board office, adjoining the ship’s compact tactics room.
Desplains was there before him, not unexpectedly—the admiral found the constraints of jump travel minus combat boring, and, unless Madame Desplains was along, worked longer shifts to fill the time. Since this often resulted in his generating yet more things for his subordinates to do, it was one of Ivan’s duties not mentioned in the manual to make sure he didn’t extend those hours indefinitely. But this shift, Ivan felt ready to wrestle a thousand snakes. He greeted the admiral with a snappy salute and a “Good morning, sir!” and fell to.
Desplains merely raised a brow; they slid at once into the practiced routine, Ivan triaging the messages coming in semi-continuously over secured tightbeam, shooting notes back and forth, the occasional spoken query or order, returning memos, messages, and orders in a steady stream back to Komarr Operations or ahead to Ops HQ in Vorbarr Sultana, still five flight-days away. As Ivan had anticipated, the uncovering of the theft and smuggling ring had generated a load of new traffic, though not yet the interesting explosions that would no doubt ensue when word had finally made it all the way to Commodore Jole’s Sergyar Command and back.
“Ivan?” said Desplains, about an hour into this.
“Sir?”
“Stop whistling. You sound like an air leak.”
“Sorry, sir. Didn’t realize I was doing that.”
“So I eventually concluded.”
When the first wormhole jump came up, Ivan took a break to warn the ladies, which was when he discovered that both were susceptible to jump-sickness, Rish far more than Tej. He then pulled off the world’s easiest heroics by popping to the infirmary and collecting jump medication—the admiral’s ship carried the good stuff—and hand-delivering it, though Tej had to forcibly excavate the whimpering Rish from her bedding to administer her dose. “Five jumps in five days, why did I agree to this?” she moaned. But within twenty minutes she was sitting up blinking in agreeable surprise, reconciled once more with her inner ears, her stomach, her vision, and, apparently, her hearing—unpleasant auditory hallucinations from jump sickness were a new one to Ivan. All he ever experienced was a brief twinge of nausea and having everything appear to turn green, requiring him to remember to use caution in interpreting indicator lights for about a minute.
He returned to work, intensely aware that mere meters away, a pocket paradise awaited.
At the end of the shift, Desplains cordially invited Ivan and his female entourage to join him for dinner, which was laid on privately, just the four of them, in the little observation lounge. While ship food was not elaborate—Desplains was an indifferent gourmet—Ivan detected the hand of his loyal crew in fresh produce picked up before they’d left Komarr, and Ivan himself had long ago made sure that the admiral’s all-Barrayaran wines were something to be proud of. And the bâtman’s service was impeccable.
Observation lounge proved an apt description, as Ivan quickly became aware that Desplains was using the opportunity to study Ivan’s new bride and her companion. Well, evaluating personnel was one of the man’s jobs, after all. Tej did quite well, Ivan thought. It occurred to him that a Jacksonian Great House might be not-dissimilar to a District count’s household, with its demands for the regular entertainment of assorted business associates and odder guests, and a lot of potentially hazardous politics going on under the table. She certainly had the how-to-make-small-talk and which-fork-to-use down smoothly.
Desplains drew her out on her recent flight, avoiding the most distressing parts because this was, after all, dinner. A few of her stories were unconsciously hair-raising, but mostly they were neutral-to-opaque. Morozov might have done some groundwork, there, unconsciously supplying her with clues of what to say to Barrayarans, and she hadn’t missed the turns. Rish, more wary, spoke less.
In any case, Desplains seemed to have enjoyed the diversion and the company, for the invitation was repeated on succeeding evenings, with various of the ship’s crew gradually added in as shifts permitted—the captain, the off-duty pilots, the chief engineer, and Desplains’s physician, because the admiral traveled with his own as per Service regs. But by whatever mercy, Desplains did not let the meals stretch too far into the night, for which Ivan was intensely grateful.
During the dayshift hours when Ivan was closeted with Desplains, Tej seemed to be reasonably content reading and watching vids, or primping, or playing games with Rish. The crew of JP-9 were among the more sophisticated fellows the Service could supply, and any comments they had to make on Rish’s boggling physical appearance they at least kept out of her keen hearing. Rish made heavy use of the exercise room, first alarming and then impressing some of the crewmen who shared it. She somehow discovered three more addicts of Komarran holovid dramas, and ganged up with them during their off-duty time to obtain fresh episodes snuck in during slack periods in the tightbeaming.