Chapter Text
“They’re on the Greenline track, heading towards the centre of the city.”
Laisa kept her eyes fixed on the screens. One of them showed the floatbus inching through traffic. The other was a feed from the internal security vid on the bus, showing the passengers.
There they were. Three seats from the front, a young woman and three children.
Laisa’s children.
She knew her grip on Gregor’s arm would leave bruises tomorrow. She didn’t care. That tight hold on him was all that was stopping her from screaming.
Her children. Seven days, seven interminable days, she’d lived in hell while ImpSec quietly tore the city apart, desperate to find the missing children. They’d issued the usual cover story about terrorists – which might even be true – to explain the increased activity, but said nothing about the children.
On the first day – nothing. No message, no ransom demands, no sign, no trail to follow. The children went out with their nurserymaid to visit their Vorkosigan cousins for a playdate, and what their hired experts called ‘Planned socialisation’. Laisa wasn’t sure that time spent with the Vorkosigans would be all that useful in training their children to fit in with the rest of society, but on the other hand it would give them strategies to cope with … well… just about anything.
Kidnapping? Could her three tiny babies cope with kidnapping? She always knew they’d face problems just by being Vorbarra, but she always thought that would happen later, when they were grown and trained, after years of practice.
Xav was only five. Dolen was three. And Karina – that beautiful, perfect baby who waved starfish hands and smiled so innocently – she was barely six months old.
And if Laisa lost them – don’t. Don’t think about it.
First day they were on their way home from Vorkosigan House, with their nurserymaid, two armsmen and an ImpSec squad that had gone to collect them and escort them home. All the right security passes, all the right passwords, identity checks, everything.
And then, thirty minutes after they’d left, an ImpSec squad turned up at Vorkosigan House to collect the children.
And Laisa knew what it meant for your heart to freeze.
The investigation was savage and desperate. Miles wasn’t crazed, or wild – he was ice-cold and focussed with absolute intensity. Within hours they knew that the floatcar had been a perfect copy of the official one. An ImpSec clerk had died in a traffic mishap the previous evening – and his bank account had deposits from a recently-opened account in the name of a prole who had died three years ago – a dead end. The clerk had access to all of the daily codes and passwords, and to the timetables of the security squads. They tracked his input codes – he’d altered the pickup time for the Imperial children by thirty minutes. It was his last act at work the previous day; he was taking some annual leave and was heading for the shuttleport, and the liner that would have jumped him past Komarr and on the way to Jackson’s Whole before anyone started looking for him. Apparently whoever paid him didn’t like loose ends.
Second day the bodies of the two armsmen were found dumped in an alley in the Caravanserai; well away from any street vids. Getting rid of more loose ends. Throats cut, no energy weapon discharges to trace. Surgical precision. Laisa watched as Gregor turned to stone, then to steel, as the news came through. She knew him well enough to see the boiling rage behind the ice.
Laisa didn’t have his hard shell. She felt as if her skin had been flayed, as if every nerve ending was shrieking. She held onto Gregor, and just tried to breathe.
Third day they found the nurserymaid, in another alley on the other side of the city. Again, well away from any street cameras. She’d been bludgeoned; not the high level of precision the kidnappers had shown so far. A mistake, maybe?
Who was caring for her babies now?
Fourth day – nothing. No bodies, no demands. Just the agony of silence.
Fifth day – a notice in the morning newsfeed. The commercial feed that everyone watched while they had their breakfast, or read in the floatbus on the way to work. A message in the personals: “Greg, your three missing parcels are safe. Will contact you with details for retrieval.”
No way to trace the message, it was sent from a newly-bought vidcom, no way to trace it, no way… no trace…more dead ends.
Miles was planting vidcams everywhere he could think of that might pick up their next message, or body-dump. Checking baby-food purchases, vidcam buyers, house rentals, floatcar sales, anything.
Sixth day – Another message, “Greg, delivery of your parcels will be expedited after the big vote passes. Contact you in two days. Hope it goes well. The parcels aren’t damaged so far.”
Big vote? The vote… the only ‘big’ vote coming up in two days was in the Council of Counts. It was a vote about opening up the Empire to more trade with Jackson’s Whole; there was some pressure to abolish various restrictions on certain genetic manipulations, to allow the ownership of genetically-modified life forms, to let businesses trade in these laboratory-originated life forms. It all sounded harmless and sensible – the campaigners had stressed the way Barrayar would take a brave leap forward to Nexus-standard science and commerce. The word ‘slavery’ was never mentioned.
Big money on Jackson’s Whole, some of the greediest and most ruthless Houses, wanted to get a slice of Barrayar, now that the Empire was wealthy enough to be worth their while. They’d been trying to move in for some time; small crimes, pushing the boundaries, diplomatic pressure, buying off impecunious Vor, especially High Vor – second sons or penniless heirs – to build contacts in the Capital. The trade vote had been pushed into the Lower Council by a consortium of bought-and-paid-for minor business operators and political lackeys. But the security concerns allowed the LC to flip it onto the Council of Counts. Let the big boys take the heat, that’s what they were for.
Laisa looked around at this morning’s emergency meeting: An Emperor, the Head of ImpSec, the Prime Minister, four Auditors… and no answers.
“This has Jacksonian style all over it,” Miles fumed as he paced across the room, then trudged back to slump into a chair at the long table. “Jacksonian planning, Jacksonian money – but some home-grown knowledge too. I’m guessing Vor – a younger son, or a Count or Count’s Heir who needs the money, it’s Vorbataille all over again. We’re checking them as fast as we can, but… sixty families, it’s taking time.”
Allegre nodded miserably, “We have every researcher on this, everyone we can pull in. We’re crunching bank accounts, checking finances, looking over every hint of Jacksonian contact with Barrayarans, Vor or prole. But…”
But it wouldn’t be done before the vote.
No ransom payment, nothing that could be tracked. A public vote. They couldn’t delay it, change it, refuse to do it. Pass the vote or lose the children – these people were ruthless, there’d be no second chance.
If the Vorbarra vote was Yes, enough Counts would fall in line or abstain and it would go through. Especially with a little Imperial hinting beforehand.
And Laisa knew that Gregor wouldn’t, couldn’t, throw the vote. She knew he was against the bill, a majority of the Counts were, it wasn’t going to pass.
Prime Minister Racozy stirred, “We could... make a delay. An explosion in the Great Square? Komarran terrorists – we couldn’t be blamed for that.”
Lord Auditor Vorkalloner frowned, “Maybe… maybe if we issued a press release stating that the Emperor had been injured…?”
Miles shook his head, “Even if they believed it, it’s just a delay, at best.”
And the longer her babies were held captive, with nobody who cared for them, the longer they were in danger. Suffering, afraid… agony of mind to think about it. Or the kidnappers could cut their losses and go. Cut… no, don’t think about that either.
Laisa looked at the room full of worried, useless men.
Gregor’s wristcom beeped. They couldn’t hear the message, but it was like watching a man come back to life, “They’ve found them. On security vid – on a floatbus.”