Chapter Text
“They fired him! How-the-hell?” Miles choked on a bite of scone slathered with strawberry jam and reached for something to drink to clear his mouth. Unfortunately, it was the strong herbal liquor Duv had brought back from Komar. He sputtered even more. Duv pressed his lips together, not letting his chuckle escape. It was exactly the effect he'd intended. He'd been feeling brotherly toward Miles recently. Big brotherly.
Delia had witnessed the whole by-play as she hurried into the comfortable parlor. The children must be in bed, then. She pinched Duv on the neck. “Stop that! You're acting like a ten-year old.”
Duv continued more soberly. “Yes. Solstice University fired Dr. Banastas Enzo, the chairman of their history department.” He leaned back on the green couch, a little worn from its misuse by children and pets. It had nostalgia value because it was the first piece of furniture Delia and he had bought together. She squashed down beside him, even though there was plenty of room. Their modest house didn't resemble Vorkosigan House in the slightest, except in the warmness created by each chatelaine. He could still smell the aroma of the stew she'd prepared for dinner.
He relented a bit. “Yes. He messaged me. He's packed up his whole office and put it in storage in the Serifosa Dome.”
“But why? He must have done something really heinous.” Miles squinted his eyes narrowly. “Was it Alessia? Surely they wouldn't—that would be bad, but I would think some internal discipline”—Miles sat on the edge of a green and gold side chair. The previous occupant of the chair, an orange tabby, jumped back onto Miles' lap and he was gently petting it. He'd gotten the aggressive thing to settle down and purr.
“No. And it was never Alessia in the first place. She was so lonely to see another Komarran that she stayed with him for long hours, but not romantically. No, they fired him for being insane.”
Miles wrinkled his brow. “But—he's a little outrageous—Duv, tell me what the hell's going on!” Delia poured some coffee for Miles, and he sipped. Duv wasn't about to try the same trick twice, and he waited for Miles to swallow. His hooded eyes darkened from their nutmeg brown.
Delia leaned into him, and he could feel her warmth. Perfect, beautiful, humorous, she was a better wife than he could have imagined.
He sighed, relaxing a bit from Delia's comfort. “They fired him for being insane enough to be taken in by the Vorkosigan Vashnoi exhibition, and since they're not completely insane, also for a conflict of interest. Seems he's been going around preaching Komarr reconciliation to anyone who'll stand still long enough to hear him.”
He picked up one of the heavy scones, split it quickly with a knife, and piled clotted cream on it. Then a dab of strawberry jam. When Delia told him that scones and clotted cream represented the new food fad in Vorbarr Sultana—entrepreneurs were trying to bring back old-Earther dishes—it sounded horrible. Who would want to eat soured milk? But she bought some, and he was surprised to find that clotted cream was much like a delicious heavy butter. He offered her a bite.
"Enzo seemed like a hog at the exhibition. I was furious with him for being a no-show til then that I grabbed his arm when he jumped out of his seat. I was that close to pitching him back down the stairs. It would have ruined the whole thing, so I didn't. But since then he's become an advocate for our point of view.”
Miles sat up more. The tabby regressed to its normal behavior, laid back its ears, hissed, dug its claws in him, and jumped down. Miles didn't even wince. Right, he'd had dozens of cats to train him. “Can't he get another job anywhere? Or has he spoiled the well on all of them?”
“He probably could get another academic job. But he seems to be done with academia. He's going the route everyone prominent does when they get kicked out of a top job—write a book and go on speaking tours.”
Duv could see Miles' jaw tighten. “That bastard! We did all the work and he's going to get rich off it! I'm talking to Gregor about this!” He seemed ready to fling himself up and search out the nearest comconsole. The cat came over, huffily, and sat on Delia's free side.
“I wouldn't worry yet. He's announced that he will give ninety percent of any profits to the project, to be spent anyway we want. He'll be open book, let any accountant we care to send check him out. He sent me his first check.” The wind was picking up outside, and he could hear branches thumping against the house. Even after all this time, wind and storms reminded him he was truly on an alien planet. Temperature changes he'd gotten used to, and the colored glories of season change he adored. Storms, though, heavy rain, thunder, and lightning still put him a bit on edge. He hid it from his Barrayaran wife and children.
He passed a slip of paper to Miles. He had the satisfaction of getting the drop twice on Miles in one conversation. Miles turned the check over and studied it, possibly to be sure it wasn't play money from a children's game.
“It's forty-five thousand marks.” He'd never seen Miles stunned before. Miles sat back in the chair, his feet dangling off the chair. Duv had considered getting a child's chair for him. Miles would think it an insult.
“Forty-five thousand Betan dollars. A hundred eighty thousand marks.” He'd been shocked, too, although not by Enzo's changed beliefs, because he'd seen the exact moment they'd changed. He remembered the auditorium with its uncomfortable seats. He'd already made a courteous call to the director, on behalf of their new expansion.
“What are his conditions? What's his angle in this?” Miles still sounded suspicious.He looked perilously close to pacing. Duv hoped he wouldn't. The number of times he'd had to haul Miles down to earth was in the dozens and he was quite tired of it.
“No conditions. Spend it as we will.” He shrugged. “Call it blood money, call it whatever you want. He's apparently very sincere.”
“I don't believe a word he says. Even if he does send the money, why would he change his mind so fast?” Miles started biting his fingers, another manifestation of his relentless hyperactivity. The longer he spent around Miles, the more he respected Ekaterin. She was the only one who could quiet him down.
“Wasn't that the result you were hoping for? He changed his mind when he sat through the program. He was sitting next to me, and I saw when he started crying. It was when you pitched out the bombs into the audience. He came completely undone.” Duv was suddenly quite annoyed. Miles seemed stuck on his negative, quarrelsome outlook. Okay, let him go home, get some rest. They could take it up when he wasn't exhausted.
He glared at Miles, who glared back, a bit defensively. His eyes were deeper in their sockets than they should be. Yes, although Miles was masking fatigue and probably pain, he needed to send the man home.
Delia spoke up, blonde hair up in a plait running around her head. This was her normal daily coiffure. Taking out her hair pins and letting the dark blond lengths out was a huge turn-on for him, every night. “Duv, I took a course one time in comparative religions."
He smiled quizzically at her, turning his head. “Oh?”
“Yes, well, I started the course, but dropped it. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of them, and it seemed like the instructor was going to cover them all. But before I dropped it, he'd covered some of the old Earth religions, all of which started wars lasting generations. She put her head on his shoulder. He shifted his head down to rest on hers. She smelled of strawberries. It was in fact, he saw, a bit of the strawberry jam clinging to one corner of her mouth. It was definitely time for both of them to sleep.
“I remember one thing, though I can't quite remember which religion it was. There was a man who persecuted members of a new religion, hunting them down and killing them. Then he had a great change of heart, for some reason, and joined the very religion he'd been hunting. He never wavered in his new faith, and spent the rest of his life trying to get followers. He even went to prison for it.”
“I remember that, too, now you remind me.” His own comparative religion classes were far behind him, but he'd also been struck by its similarity to his own life. That was—Pole, Pol?”
“Well, we'll see.” Miles still sounded begrudging. He'd never known an entire shift in worldview, or been forced to suffer from a traitorous father.
Miles shook his head. “Look, I know it's late, and I'll be off in a minute. But we need to review the permanent installations at the site. We've got to get them finished before winter. I'm really afraid we're going to lose some corpses.”
“There we are now being helped by the archeologists.”
Miles laughed. “Two converts in one day, Duv. Great job.” He stood up and searched around for his coat.
“I'll get it.” Delia shifted her warmth away from him, getting up to be the perfect political hostess. Perfect, absolutely perfects. He was going to taste that jam very soon.
“Yes, all right, well, we'll talk tomorrow.”
After the little man had been seated in his ground car, Delia embraced Duv, saying, “This is fantastic! You've spent so much time, years, hoping to change minds, and you have. I love you.
“And I love you.” He took her head in his hands, tipped it up, and brought his mouth down gently, tasting the strawberry jam.