“Is that what you’d do?”
“Of course! Well, except for that old guerilla cache Miles and Elena and I found up in the Dendarii Mountains when we were kids. But we were being very stupid kids, as everyone from Uncle Aral on down explained, very memorably, after the—never mind that now. Anyway, the point is, people can still find old, dangerous stuff lying around on this planet, and civilians shouldn’t fool with it.” Untangling himself from this digression, Ivan finally got back to the important question, which was, “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Tej said airily.
Right. Avocados probably did shifty better than Tej. It was most un-Jacksonian of her.
“It was just something I was reading about,” she added, finding who-knew-what in his expression. Consternation, belike.
“How’s about,” said Ivan after a minute, “I take some personal leave?” And to hell with whether any busy-ImpSec-body thought he was admitting to being a security risk. “If your family’s only going to be here for a while, I should seize the chance to get to know them better. It only makes sense.”
“Oh!” She looked briefly pleased, then dismayed. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your work. I know your career is very important.”
“We’re not at war. This week, anyway. Ops can suffer along without me for a few days without collapsing, I expect. They always have before.”
Her eyes were bright, like those of an animal in the headlights. “Good, that’s settled. Let’s make love!”
It was a patent diversion. Dammit, she’d be faking orgasms, next.
…But not, it appeared, yet.
This means she likes me, right? some awkward young Ivan who still lived at the bottom of his brain urged, just before the physiologically induced lights-out.
Surly old Ivan could only think, Ivan, you idiot.
And not one Ivan on the whole pathetic committee had yet been able to muster aloud the only question that mattered. Tej, will you stay?
Chapter Twenty
On the next morning’s drive Tej found herself threading through a new part of the city, an unexpected suburban sprawl north of the ridges that cradled the river valley and the Old Town. Barrayarans seemed to date all their activities in terms of famous military events—before the Occupation, during Mad Yuri’s War, after the Pretender’s War—but in this rare case, by a peaceful one: the area had mostly been built up since Gregor took the reins, or in other words, in the past two decades.
Tej turned in at a modest industrial park, and found a slot for the rented groundcar in front of what was soon to be a rather bewildered minor pipe-laying firm. Star took her notecase and headed purposefully for the door, but for a change Dada did not go with her, nor instruct Tej to stay with the vehicle. Instead, he gestured Tej after him, and walked off toward the street. Tej turned up the collar of her coat against the thick, chilly fog—a change from the recent rains—and followed.
“Where are we going?”
“To see a man I know.”
“Does he expect us?”
“Not yet.”
No appointment, no comconsole contact, and the rental car, which had a mapping system that also served to precisely locate the vehicle for anyone who might be wanting to follow its movements, had a legitimate place to be. Well, faux-legitimate. Tej found herself growing unwillingly alert.
Dada added, “I’m not keen on bringing in an outsider, but we’re now expecting and in fact counting on our visa not being extended. Time grows tight. A reliable contact said she’d used him as a carrier, not long back, and found the results satisfactory. He’ll be open to our business. And, if he has his wits about him, future business.”
They walked two blocks and crossed over to another utilitarian building, and through a door with a sign over it reading Imola & Kovaks, Storage and Transshipping. A harried-looking human receptionist presiding over a cluttered counter, which gave Tej a small, unwanted flashback to her days at Swift Shipping, looked up and said, “May I help you, sir, ma’am?”
“Would you please tell Ser Imola that an old friend is here to see him.”
“He’s very busy this morning, but I’ll ask.” Standard clerk-speak prep, Tej recognized from experience, for greasing an unwanted visitor back out the door. “What name should I say?”
“Selby.”
A brief intercom exchange, and the clerk was escorting them upstairs to another office, also cluttered. A man on the high side of middle age, dressed in relatively unmilitary Barrayaran casual business garb, looked up over his comconsole desk, frowning; his frown changed to an expression of astonishment. A touch of his hand extinguished the current display. “Thank you Jon,” he said. “Please close the door.” The clerk, disappointed in his curiosity, did so. Only then did the man surge up and around his desk to grasp both of Dada’s hands and say, “Shiv Arqua, you old pirate! I heard you were dead!”
“An exaggeration. Again. Though not by much, this time.” Dad smiled without showing his teeth, and turned to Tej, but then turned back. “And what name are you going by, these days?”
“Vigo Imola.”
“Vigo, meet my daughter, Baronette Tejaswini Arqua.”
Tej shook hands, wondering. Formerly, on these business stops with her sisters or mother, she had been named our driver, or not introduced at all, or left with the car. “People usually call me Tej.” Or Lady Vorpatril, but none of her family had used her new name yet. She stifled an unruly urge to trot it out here; Dada was plainly going into dealing-mode.
“Delightful! I would guess she gets her looks from her mother?” Imola’s gaze swept her up and down; he scored a point, or two, by not lingering on her chest. “Mostly.”
“Fortunately,” said Dada, with his low laugh. Their host pulled up a pair of serviceable chairs, and gestured them both to sit.
“Where do you two know each other from?” asked Tej. Sometimes she got an answer, after all.
“In a former life, Vigo was my planetary liaison officer when I was a captain in the Selby Fleet,” said Dada. “Just before I met your mother.”
“And weren’t those the days,” said Imola, planting himself comfortably behind his desk once more. “Was old Selby insane, to take that defense contract with Komarr?”
“We were young. And probably thought we were immortal,” said Dada.
“Yeah, I got over that about then,” said Imola. Imola’s underlying accent was Komarran, Tej judged, overlain by a long residence on Barrayar; in this urban environment, very blended. “Who would’ve thought that a backward planet like this could field such an aggressive fleet?”
“Not your Komarran comrades, it seems.”
“Huh.” Imola shook his head at some old military memory. “So what the devil are you doing on Barrayar? I thought House Cordonah had suffered an extremely hostile takeover. Prestene, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, the bastards.” At the name, Dada bit his thumb and made a spitting gesture. “It’s a long story, very roundabout. I’ll tell you the whole tale at some more leisured moment. So, you ended up in the transshipping business.”
“As you see.” Imola waved around at his unpretentious company offices.
“Ah…all of it?”
Ser Imola smiled, reached under his desk, and turned something off. Or on. “Sometimes. If the price is right. And the risks are low. The second being more important than the first, these days.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m not as ambitious as when we were younger. Nor as energetic. Nor as crazy.”