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Despite Haroche's best efforts, the aftermath of the Yarrow affair was a chaotic mess. There were layers and layers to the conspiracy and the deeper Simon dug, the more he was convinced that Count Vortrifrani was behind it all. Proving that, of course, wouldn't be easy, even here in the lion's den, since currently every scrap of evidence pointed to a group of rural isolationist Vor, whose deep connections to Votrifrani and his district were purely coincidental. But Simon hadn't stopped looking yet, wading through disc after disc of detailed information in search of some clue that might justify fast-penta'ing a sitting Count. Not something even the head of Imperial Security could do on a whim.
Rubbing his face tiredly, Simon extracted the current data disc out of the comconsole, added it to the slew of completed ones, and selected the next from the top of a neat stack. So far, since arriving in Vortrifrani Delprato, he'd read through everything from household budgets to livestock breeding programs. What would it be this time?
The label read, 'Vortrifrani District: Arrests and Confinements, 12 mths to present.'
Simon slid the disc home with a solid click, knowing the action was undoubtedly pointless. Analysts would have been through this information, exhaustively. By going over it again, he was doubling up, wasting his time and theirs, and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop, because even the best analyst could miss things that he, with this thrice-damned chip in his head, couldn't help but remember.
The first screen covered the district's main prison. He read off names and dates and convictions, letting the information flow along channels already soaked with data. Nothing sprang out at him, so he flicked to the next page, then the next. The lists grew shorter as the places of incarceration became more provincial, until he reached the final one.
Vortrifrani Delprato Institute for Female Re-education; the only women's prison in the district, and located in the capital, not more than four miles from where he was sitting right now.
Simon's gaze marched down the page, the names scrolling before him. The list was long, the convictions predictable, with petty theft, lewd behaviour, and prostitution dominating. There was the occasional murder and assault, and one, of a woman called Emeline Gienne, of perversion.
Even back in the day that was an unusual conviction for a woman. In recent years, it'd become nigh-on unheard of for both sexes, since the Emperor had struck that particular law down in his own district, as was his right as Count Vorbarra, thus clearing the way for like-minded Counts all over Barrayar to do the same. Some hadn't, of course. Conservatives like Vortrifrani and his ilk seemed to regard such things as milestones on the road to the destruction of the Imperium, thus to be shunned and condemned at every opportunity.
Simon had no real opinion on the matter, only so far as it removed another avenue of pressure from potential blackmailers, and so made his job incrementally easier, but in this case, it wasn't the crime that made him pause and frown thoughtfully at the screen. It was the name.
Gienne. Where had he heard that before?
The chip provided the answers almost before Simon asked. Names, dates and references fell into his mind like coins into a well, sending out ripples of connections. Thirty-two years ago, the sister of one of Vortrifrani's junior armsman married an Alois Gienne. Could this be the same family? And if so, could this be the loose thread he'd been looking for?
Why hadn't anyone else picked it up?
Simon reached out and tapped the comm.
"Sir?" came the brisk enquiry from the other end.
"The Institute for Female Re-education, prisoner 67982, Emeline Gienne. Send me everything you have on her, and arrange an immediate fast-penta interrogation."
"Yes, sir," the secretary replied, before adding, "Ah, there's one already booked for first thing tomorrow; 8am. Do you want me to bring it forward, sir?"
Simon huffed the smallest puff of air. Good, his analysts hadn't completely dropped the ball then. A quick glance at the chrono told him it'd gone midnight. He could take another stim, push himself that little bit harder. He'd done it before, when circumstances demanded, but the price was high, and creeping higher the older he got. "No," he said finally, "No, eight will be fine." It would give him time to properly look over the records anyway. And maybe even grab an hour or two's sleep if he was lucky.
~&~
By the time he reached the prison's interrogation suite the following morning, Simon was both better slept and more comprehensively informed. Colonel Olshansky, seated at the room's only comconsole, glanced up as he walked in and gave an informal nod of greeting, having worked with Simon long enough to know not to stand on ceremony unless the situation demanded it.
Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the room's other occupant. A harried looking blond man in a medic's uniform with sweat stains on the collar, sprang to attention, saluting smartly and barking, "Good morning, Captain Illyan, sir! Ensign Deneuve reporting for duty." A junior, the chip provided, one of several seconded from out-district for the duration of this investigation, and not coping well with the extra pressure by the look of him.
Not that it mattered, so long as he did his job. It was his lack of local connections that Simon was interested in. The potential for data contamination was far too high if local agents were used in cases like these, and he hadn't wanted to strip Imp Sec HQ of essential staff for what was essentially a digging expedition.
Ignoring the flustered Deneuve, Simon nodded back to Olshansky, and took a seat behind a table placed kitty-corner to the trolley of medical supplies. The room the prison had provided was smaller than the ones Simon was used to, but, with peppermint green walls and black and white swirled tiles on the floor, it was clean enough and well-lit, with nothing dungeon-like to scare a potentially vulnerable young woman.
Silence fell briefly, broken only by the rapid tapping of Deneuve's hypospray against his leg. Then, with a clearing of throat and a nervous glance at Olshansky, who was deeply immersed in the comconsole, the medic asked, "Will you be conducting the interrogation personally, Captain Illyan, sir?"
He wasn't planning to; Olshansky was a much better interrogator than Simon could ever hope to be. However that was none of this man's concern. Deneuve was simply there to administer the fast-penta and monitor the prisoner's health, which the man himself had to know. Thus, Simon surmised, the inquiry was an attempt to make small-talk, not something Simon either expected or desired from his underlings. This was Imp Sec, not Ops. They were here to do a job, not spend time idly chatting.
After casting Deneuve a quelling look, Simon focused inward and began reviewing what he knew.
Emeline Gienne, twenty years old and, up until recently, a completely unremarkable middle-class prole girl. Her picture, which the chip dutifully recalled, showed an ordinary looking face with sad hazel eyes, thin lips that turned down at the corners and a surprisingly strong chin, all framed by long mousy-brown curls.
Emeline's father worked as a terraforming engineer down on the south continent, which was where Emeline and her older siblings - a sister and two brothers - had been brought up. Despite leaving their district of origin, the family was financially stable and put a great emphasis on education, for the girls as well as the boys. Madame Gienne's influence, no doubt, since she'd been studying life-sciences herself before dropping out of college to become a full-time wife and mother.
By all reports, Emeline was a model student, with high marks across all subjects, and it came as no surprise to anyone when, just over eighteen months ago, she won a scholarship to study on Beta Colony entirely on her own merits.
That twist had brought Simon up short when he'd first run into it. Since all 'the Captain's girls', as Prime Minister Count Vorkosigan referred to them, were background checked long before being allowed off-planet, Simon had been temporarily thrown as to how Emeline could have been part of Vortrifrani's plot to assassinate the Emperor.
Under analysis, two possible theories presented themselves. First, that the girl was simply a naive mule, used to carry information, and undoubtedly payment, to Vortrifrani's contact on Beta Colony, perhaps not coincidentally the source of the high-impact explosives that were to be used on the Yarrow when it was crashed into the Imperial Residence. Or second, that she was well enough trained to slip beneath the radar of the security check. One of the aims of the interrogation this morning would be to ascertain which of those possibilities was more likely. In the meantime, Simon had his agents looking into the Beta Colony end of the equation, so as to get the drop on any potential developments.
Connections, that was the thing.
Simon's attention briefly shifted from Emeline to the uncle, his mind instinctively selective of the torrent of facts the chip suddenly presented to him.
Otto Harberger: a twenty-year man, whose term in the Imperial Service was primarily served on Komarr, where he earned a commendation for his role during a particularly nasty outbreak of civil unrest. He mustered out just over seven years ago having achieved the rank of sergeant in the infantry, and like a lot of decorated men, immediately applied for an armsman's post in his district Count's household. Beyond him having a little more galactic experience than many of Vortrifrani's men, there was nothing remarkable about his record, before or since.
Back to the girl then.
Three months before she was due to leave Barrayar, Emeline was sent up from the Southern Continent to stay with her uncle in Vortrifrani Delprato, Count Vortrifrani's district capital. There, she stayed with her family in a small house on the east side of the city, but was a regular visitor to the Count's residence, where she took up some duties in the extensive stables. Although there was no record of her meeting with the Count himself, any such encounter could easily have been kept secret since it was well known that the Count loved to ride and, however much Simon wished it in times like these, Imp Sec couldn't actually keep track of every conversation that every Count had across the whole of Barrayar.
Whatever the girl was actually doing in Vortrifrani's capital, she dutifully left for Beta Colony when the time came and enrolled at Silica University. All seemed to be going well, until she was called back just over five months later, not even halfway through her scholarship year. The ostensible reason was the death of her paternal grandmother, but the dates were suspicious, and made more so by Emeline being detained at the district shuttle port five weeks later, on the eve of the extremist plot being uncovered, for having the wrong travel papers. At the time, she'd been carrying a ticket to Beta and a credit chip containing six thousand Barrayaran marks.
Stranger still, when she was returned to her registered district, she was immediately charged with perversion and locked up, safely out of the way of anyone asking inconvenient questions.
In short, the whole thing reeked of a conspiracy. One that Simon was convinced would tie Count Vortrifrani to the Betan-sourced explosives that had been destined to be packed aboard that damned ship.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway yanked Simon away from his deliberations. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a hatchet-faced female prison-guard in a full length black dress and starched white cap. One gloved hand gripped the upper arm of a youth with roughly-cropped, mousy-brown curls, wearing only a ragged shirt and what looked like underdrawers. He was also sporting a reddening mark on one cheek, which no doubt matched one on the guard's palm.
"Sorry for the delay, sirs," the guard said with a little bob of her steel-grey head, before ushering her companion into the room. "We had a slight hitch on the way here."
On many occasions in the past, Simon had heard Countess Vorkosigan spit the word 'Barrayarans' as though it was the worst kind of curse. He had never felt more tempted to use the word 'Betans' in exactly the same way, because, unless the prison's records had gone seriously awry, this young man had to be Emeline Gienne.
Which meant a lot more had gone on on Beta Colony than a simple scholarship.
As soon as they were inside the room, the youth shrugged off the prison guard and stepped forward, dipping a smart bow and saying in a light alto voice, "Emile Gienne at your service, sirs,"
Silence greeted the introduction. Simon found himself desperately trying to include this new information into his analysis. Changing a courier's sex would certainly help conceal their identity, but why then give them the wrong papers? That made no sense. Unless it was a genuine mistake, and one that couldn't be corrected in time to get him off-planet. But that simply raised the question of why lock him away in a women's prison?
"I-I think there must be some kind of mistake," Deneuve suddenly piped up. "All my dosage calculations are based on a female subject!"
"Then redo them," Simon snarled in frustration. He stalked across the room, Gienne tracking him as he came, gaze only dropping away as Simon came close enough to invade their personal space. And to see the truth. "On second thoughts, don't bother," Simon added, turning away with a huff of annoyance. "She's still a woman." Which at least answered that question.
"I'm not, I'm-"
Gienne's words snapped off as Simon gestured her towards the chair. For a moment she hesitated, her gaze darting towards the female guard and on to the three men in the room, then she seemed to steel herself. She stepped forward, shoulders back and spine straight, in a performance of guts that would have put many of the young men of Simon's acquaintance to shame.
It would take a few minutes to administer the allergy test and then the dose of fast-penta. While that was going on, Simon took another look at the facts in the light of all this new information.
His initial thought that changing Gienne's sex was an attempt to cover up her role as a courier, wasn't true. It couldn't be, the slight Adam's apple and fuzz on cheeks and neck didn't mesh with way the shirt pulled across the chest and not at the crotch. In other words, it wasn't a proper body mod.
That realisation brought all of Simon's carefully constructed conspiracy theories down around his ears, because even someone as insular as Count Vortrifrani would have known that such a disguise wouldn't stand up to any decent level of security, like that at a shuttle port.
So where did that leave them?
Quite possibly with one of those problems. Simon pressed his fingertips to his forehead, feeling his head starting to ache at the mere thought of it.
"Sir, we're ready," Olshansky spoke up a moment later.
Simon glanced at him, then over at Gienne, who was slouched in the chair, a familiar vacuous smile on her face. Given what he now knew, this whole charade was probably a complete waste of time. Even so, it had to be done. If there was even the smallest chance that Emeline's testimony could connect Count Vortrifrani to the Yarrow conspiracy, Simon had no choice but to take it.
And if it turned out afterwards that she was innocent? Then, he supposed, he would deal with the problem if and when it arose.
~&~
A week later, as Armsman Pym showed him into the small study at Vorkosigan House, Simon had reconciled himself to never proving that Vortrifrani was a traitor. Unfortunately, he still hadn't been able to shift the case completely from his conscience.
Countess Cordelia, dressed in her usual Vor matron's wear of calf-length skirt and bolero in deep autumnal brown decorated with delicate green and gold embroidery, sat at a circular table in the middle of the room surrounded by a sea of flimsies. She glanced up as Simon entered, tucking a long strand of grey-streaked roan hair behind her ear, and gave him a warm welcoming smile. "Simon, how nice to see you," she said, before pausing, her brows drawing down slightly as she added, "I think, anyway. Find somewhere to sit and tell me you're not the bearer of bad news."
Managing the former was easier said than done, since every flat surface in the room, including all the chairs, had been drafted for the new filing system. Picking up the smallest pile of flimsies, Simon looked around for somewhere to put them, gave them to the Cordelia when she held out a hand, and sat down. "Not bad news, so much as complicated, I think."
Cordelia's busy hands froze and she gave Simon a narrow-eyed look. "Complicated on this benighted planet has a tendency to escalate beyond anyone's wildest nightmares," she said, settling her hands, complete with flimsies, in her lap. "More, Simon, I need to know more."
He'd thought long and hard about this. Part of him had wanted to walk away. It was too complicated for him to deal with. Gienne had been locked away in the prison, out of sight and out of mind. Someone else could tackle it. Someone younger and less hidebound than himself.
But then the damn chip had persisted in throwing up memories of the interrogation session. Vivid detail after vivid detail of a determined quavering voice and a chin that threatened to crumple into dimples as the truth had spilled out, unstoppable under the influence of fast-penta.
Simon needed to work, damn it. He couldn't afford to be distracted like this all the time.
"Emeline Gienne," he said.
At the sound of the name, Cordelia's grey eyes widened slightly, and Simon recognised the tell for exactly what it was. "You knew!" he accused, pointing an irate finger at her. "Worse, I bet- I bet you sent her there specifically to get this done! Without telling me!"
He was sputtering with sudden rage, all his worries boiling up into a single outburst. How could she do this to him? Put him in this situation. The implications of the case. Oh, perhaps not for some prole girl, but if a Vor did it. A Count's daughter or sister, then where would they be? And she was the Prime Minister's wife. She should be aware of these things!
"It's he, Simon. Emile was always he." Cordelia's calm voice cut through his temper like a plasma arc through flesh, cauterising as it went. "And actually it was him who told me what he wanted, not the other way around."
Simon's anger drained away leaving him feeling simply tired. The trouble with Cordelia was that she was so unremittingly Betan, but wasn't that why Simon had brought the problem to her in the first place?
He sank back into his chair. "I don't claim to understand the ins and outs of it all," he told her, rubbing at his forehead with his fingertips. The headache was back, throbbing in a way that he would almost find worrying if he hadn't experienced it so many times before, often when dealing with one of Cordelia's problems. "But I'll take your word for it. She - no, he now, I suppose - certainly showed enough backbone during interrogation. Not that that is an exclusively male trait."
Cordelia's brow furrowed. "Why was he being interrogated?"
Distracted by the implications starting to spool out in his mind, Simon waved a hand. "He's related to one of Vortrifrani's armsmen. I'd hoped there might be something in his trips to Beta Colony to connect him to the Yarrow affair, but it turned out he was just going back to get the body-mod completed."
"Oh, hadn't that happened already? I'd thought six months was the usual waiting list."
Apparently she didn't know about the recall to Barrayar. Simon filled her in and passed on some of the other details while he was at it, though he steered clear of repeating some of the things Emeline - Emile - had said under fast-penta. That was none of anyone's business but the boy himself.
Cordelia listened with a darkening expression. "And where is he now, Simon?" she asked when he finished. "Tell me he's not still locked up in some terrible dungeon."
"Actually no," Simon replied. "He's in the groundcar, outside. I requested a custody transfer for security reasons and then brought him here. It seemed like the best move under the circumstances."
An approving smile broke across Cordelia's face and Simon got the impression she'd pat him on the head if she thought she could get away with it. "Well done, Simon. I'm glad to see your faith in me to deal with these things hasn't diminished."
As if it could. The thing about Cordelia was that she was as terrifying as she was open-minded. Even without the help of the chip, Simon didn't think he'd ever forget the sight of Vordarian's severed head rolling across that boardroom table.
"So, what do you propose to do?" he asked.
"Bring the boy inside to start with," Cordelia replied. Looking around at the carefully calculated mess, she added, "Though perhaps not in here." She leaned over and buzzed the comm.
Pym appeared at the door a moment later. "You rang, milady?"
"Tea, please, Pym. For three, in the second sitting room. It's too early for dinner, but some snacks would be nice, if you don't mind?"
Pym glanced around curiously, probably looking for this mysterious third person, before nodding and saying, "Tea for three, yes, my lady. Will there be anything else?"
"Yes, there's a young man waiting outside in Captain Illyan's groundcar. Could you bring him in to join us, please?"
Pym's face brightened as the mystery was solved. "Of course, my lady. Straight away?"
"If you would, Pym, thank you." As he turned to go, Cordelia added, "Also, I would ask that the household be even more discrete than usual about anything they might see this afternoon."
In other words, no gossipping with other Count's armsmen, Simon interpreted. That was good. Until they could assess all the potential fall-out from this, Simon would be happier keeping it under wraps completely. Olshansky was in the loop, of course, but Simon trusted his discretion. As for Deneuve, the man could be posted to another district. One less politically sensitive than Vortrifrani's.
Simon and Cordelia followed after the departing Pym, turning right at the main entrance hall to make their way down to the second sitting room. As they walked, Cordelia filled Simon in on Miles' latest epistolary offering, always worth listening to since mother and son shared a level of understanding that sometimes escaped even the best of Simon's analysts. Maybe next time he could stop the boy getting into trouble before it happened, instead running around afterwards, frantically trying to put out the inevitable fires.
The second sitting room was a airy room on the first floor of the east wing that opened out onto the gardens. As Simon and Cordelia entered, pale yellow curtains billowed in the breeze around the open French doors, filling the room with the scent of summer flowers. Simon inhaled deeply. It made a pleasant change from the recycled air at Imp Sec HQ.
Two plump upholstered chairs and a long couch covered in floral brocade were arranged in an informal grouping around the old marble fireplace, which these days only got lit for Winterfair. Seeing Cordelia opt for the couch, Simon took one of the chairs for himself. They'd only just sat down when a knock came at the door. When it opened, a stoic looking Pym stepped through and announced, "Emile Gienne, your ladyship."
It was a very uncomfortable Gienne who shuffled in after him, still dressed in the uniform he'd been issued at the prison. At some point, he'd hoicked the skirt up somehow, so that it now more resembled a pair of trousers. In retrospect, Simon realised he should have allowed the young man to change. Apparently Cordelia thought the same, if the exasperated, "Simon, how could you!" was anything to go by.
"I did say that I'd brought him straight here," Simon replied, a bit peevishly.
Gienne's head shot up as Simon spoke and a small grin, that could be interpreted as cheeky if one disregarded the desperation, crooked one side of his mouth. "Believe me now, do you, sir?" he asked.
Simon sat back in his chair, refusing to be drawn on his change of terminology, though Cordelia's lips twitched. "For all his fearsome reputation, Captain Illyan's not actually that stuck in his ways, I'm glad to say," she said with an amused laugh. Her eyes twinkled as she continued, "Why, at times, he can be downright revolutionary in his thinking."
"Flexible, I think, rather than revolutionary," came another, deeper, voice from the hallway.
Cordelia's expression immediately blossomed into a full smile as her husband appeared in the doorway. "Aral, love! You're home early. Is there something wrong?"
"It's a sad state of affairs when a homecoming before midnight sets a man's wife to worrying," the Count said as both Pym and Gienne stepped rapidly aside to let him enter. He did a double take at Gienne as he passed, then went to greet his wife with a kiss on the cheek, saying, "My dear captain, why is there a half-dressed young…" he hesitated before pressing on, "person cluttering up my sitting room?"
Rather than reply, she smiled and took his arm, turning him back towards the door. "Aral, I would like you to meet Emile Gienne. He was last year's beneficiary of my scholarship award to study on Beta Colony."
An award that was only open to girls. As Simon watched, he could actually see the Count adding up the clues and coming to the correct conclusion. Cordelia's expression turned approving again as Aral held out a large hand to Gienne and rumbled, "Pleased to meet you, young man. Would you like some proper clothes? I'm fairly sure there must be some of the right size kicking around here somewhere."
"Pym?" Cordelia said.
"I'll get right on it, ma'am," Pym replied, then to Gienne said, "If you'd like to come this way?" After a moment's hesitation, and a quick glance at Cordelia, who gave a small nod of reassurance, Gienne ducked a shallow bow to the room at large and followed Pym back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
"Good, well, that's settled then." Aral turned Cordelia towards the couch. Spotting Simon, he said, "Ah, there you are. Jole said you'd been seen heading in this direction." His gaze darted pointedly upward, towards bedrooms where, no doubt, Gienne would soon be being clothed from the storage cupboards. "This is one of your problems, I assume."
"Only in a second hand way," Simon replied primly. "Your lady wife started it."
In the process of handing Cordelia into her seat, Aral gave her a look of mock censure. "Is this true, dear captain? Have you been making Simon's life difficult for him again?"
"You know I only do it to broaden his mind," she quipped back, and their tones were so light, so flippant about the whole affair, that Simon couldn't hold back for a moment longer.
"I don't see how the pair of you can take this so easily?" he snapped. "That- that boy up there represents the kind of change that can bring down governments. And you two are laughing about it? Have you thought about what this could mean for the future of an Imperium held together by primogeniture?"
Aral turned towards him, face now sombre. "Believe me, Simon, I am well aware of the potential consequences, particularly if this ever arose within a sitting Count's family. But surely you must have been expecting it to happen sometime?"
Well, yes, Simon thought desperately. But not yet. Not while he was still in charge of Imperial Security. He had enough on his plate. This was a complication for future generations.
"It's a common enough occurrence on Beta Colony, after all," Aral added as he sat down beside Cordelia on the couch. He frowned, tugged a cushion out from behind him and passed it to his wife.
She took it automatically, tucking in beside her as she pointed out, "Though not for the same reasons. When people on Beta have a change of sex body-mod, it's because they wish to explore the possibilities of a different body, not because they feel so desperately disconnected from the one they were born into, thank god."
Still stinging slightly from Aral's comment, Simon retorted, "And what makes your precious Betans so different, eh?"
"Why, gene-cleaning, of course" Cordelia replied calmly. "You don't honestly think that something which causes this level of distress would be allowed to continue when we have the ability to prevent it, do you? Had Emile been born on Beta Colony, adjustments would have been made to his genome to ensure his physical body matched his psychological one. It's all very simple, really."
Simon harrumphed. The way she spoke about the place made it sound perfect, whereas Simon knew for a fact that that wasn't true. Beta Colony, like Barrayar, had ways of policing what they considered normal. This prenatal pruning of genes sounded like one of them, but in Gienne's case, at least, the need did seem to be real. His desperation to return to Beta and complete the body-mod couldn't have been faked, not under fast-penta. And when asked outright, he'd stated again and again that he was male, despite the nature of the body he resided in.
None of which changed the underlying problem.
"So, say we let Gienne finish the job. What then? Where will he go? He can't go home, not if we want to keep a lid on the whole affair. For one thing, the conservatives will come after you once Vortrifrani puts them on to it. Right now, I'm using Imp Sec custody as safehouse for the boy, but there's a limit to how long I can keep doing that."
"He's related to Vortrifrani?" Aral asked, shooting a quizzical look at Cordelia. "I thought he was a prole?"
Simon waved a hand. "He is. It's Vortrifrani's armsman he's related to, but the argument stands. Once word is out, the conservatives will use this as a stick to beat you with, and no amount of progressive flavouring will make it taste any better once they've had their teeth into it."
"Why, Simon, that sounded almost political," Cordelia put in, clasping her hands in her lap. "I thought you were supposed to remain above that sort of thing."
"I am and I do, most of the time. But having just spent six weeks digging through the underbelly of the conservative extremists, I know exactly the sort of thing they're capable of. And anything which adds fuel to that fire is a no go as far as Imperial Security's concerned. The quicker this can be made to disappear, the happier I'll be."
"And what about Gregor?"
Simon clamped his jaw shut, the sudden tightness of his shoulders adding to the pain in his head. "He needs to be told, of course." Though he'd tried not think about how he was going to brief the Emperor on this matter. "Goodness knows what he'll make of it." A worried, 'after the last time', remained unspoken. It was entirely possible, Simon thought, that he would never get over Gregor running away when he found out the truth about his father.
"This is hardly the same thing," Cordelia said, soothingly. "And won't be completely new to him either. Variations in sex, gender and sexuality were all part of Gregor's early education."
Refusing to be boggled by the stupidity of the men who'd failed to see how much influence this formidable Betan woman would have on their then child emperor, Simon said, "That be as it may. I'd prefer to have a plan of action before we speak to him about it."
"I agree with Simon," Aral said, sitting forwards and leaning elbows on splayed knees. "Much as I'd like to see things change on Barrayar, it's got to happen slowly, and turning this into some kind of freak parade won't help either our case or Emile's." He cocked his head at Cordelia, expression serious. "Think of the boy, if nothing else, my dear. How will he fair if this becomes common knowledge? No one will employ him for fear of drawing down unwanted attention. His chances of finding a wife will be non-existent. His entire life will end up being blighted by it."
Cordelia sighed, fixing her gaze on her hands, and lacing her fingers together tightly. Simon was almost certain he heard a mutter of 'Barrayarans' under her breath. Finally though, she lifted her chin and said, "You may be right. Perhaps it would be best if he went back to Beta Colony and stayed there-"
"No." Simon leapt to his feet. "Absolutely impossible. Cordelia, you know Betan security as well as I do. If they were to find out that Gienne was related to a sitting Count's armsman, goodness knows what use they'd put him to. He can go back to have the job finished, with a suitable escort, of course, but then I want him somewhere nearby. Somewhere I can keep an eye on him."
"South continent?" Aral suggested.
A knock came at the door before Simon could point out that Gienne actually hailed from there. This time when the door opened, a much more presentable looking Gienne was shown in by Pym. Now dressed in what looked like some kind of old fashioned horse-riding outfit, with knee length boots, fitted tan trousers and a cream shirt that buttoned up to the neck, Gienne looked much more comfortable.
On the heels of the men came two maids with the tea trolley Cordelia had requested earlier, and for a little while everyone was more concerned with refreshments than they were with politics.
Once things settled down again, Simon found himself sitting opposite Gienne with a laden table between them, while Aral and Cordelia shared another by the couch and spoke quietly to each other as they ate.
An awkward silence quickly fell. Simon might have shared a lightflyer back from the Vortrifrani district with the boy, but they'd hardly exchanged two words outside of the interrogation. Now, watching Gienne work his way rapidly through a stack of sandwiches and honey cakes, Simon couldn't help but wonder how a middle class child from the rural south continent had come to the conclusion that they were a boy not a girl. It seemed such a profound decision for one so young.
When Simon was his age, all he'd cared about was becoming the best soldier he could for the Imperium, to the extent that, when an opportunity finally arose, he'd volunteered to have the memory chip implanted. He could have said no, the risk of death or mental breakdown from the graft had been terrifying high, but Simon would be the first to admit that the chip had given him opportunities in life he wouldn't have had otherwise.
Ah, and so. Maybe he could understand that much after all.
Though, that still begged the question of how Gienne had found out about Betan body modification in the first place. Simon hadn't bothered to ask during the interrogation. Had actually done his best to steer Gienne away from too much confession about the matter once they'd established that it hadn't been ordered by Count Vortrifrani or any of his people.
Putting his tea-cup back in its saucer, Simon said, "Countess Vorkosigan informs me that it was you who told her that you wanted a body-mod. However did you find out about it?"
Gienne glanced up at him warily. A smear of jam coloured the corner of his mouth and his tongue darted out to lick it away. "It's not illegal to know about them, is it?" he asked.
"Not these days, no. Just unusual, and with you being a country boy and all, I wondered where you came by the information."
Nervous hazel eyes darted over to the door and then back to Simon. "A… friend told me."
The slight hesitation over the word 'friend' gave Simon pause. Maybe there'd been more to the perversion charge than simply removing a family embarrassment from the public eye. "A good friend is she?"
Colour flushed the tips of the boy's ears, spreading down his cheeks. "I-I guess," he said. Then, slumping in his seat, added, "Though I think she was more interested in the horses than me."
Simon's lips twitched in mild amusement. Oh to be young and in love again.
"Are you really in charge of Imperial Security?" Gienne asked suddenly.
"I am," Simon replied, helping himself to another crumpet.
A lengthy pause and then, quietly, "Is it true that you can make people disappear?"
For once, Simon found himself completely at a loss for words. He needn't have worried. From the couch, Cordelia said, "Is that what you want, Emile? To disappear?"
Gienne glanced over at her, looking absolutely terrified for a second, like he'd forgotten that he and Simon weren't alone. Then he looked away, shrugging a shoulder. "I don't know, to be honest, milady. I'd thought - I'd hoped, that when I came back, Ma and Pa would see things my way, that they'd understand, but they never came to see me in that place, or even wrote me a letter, so I don't know."
"To return to an earlier conversation, Emile comes from the Southern Continent," Cordelia told her husband. Aral nodded and mouthed an understanding, 'ah'.
Gienne's gaze flitted between them and then over to Simon. "You were talking about me? Why?" The nervous look in his eyes was back. Understandable under the circumstances, Simon thought.
It was Aral who answered. "We were discussing what to do with you," he said in his usual straightforward way. He leaned back, throwing one arm along the back of the couch. "Though it occurs to me now that we didn't ask the one person we should have." That was also aimed at Cordelia and had accompanying raised brows. "Given the choice, Emile Gienne, what would you like to do with your life?"
"Me, sir?" Gienne's cheeks flushed, making him look almost pretty for a second.
"You are the one who has to live it," Aral continued. "And though I'm not making any promises since there're other matters that have to be taken into consideration when we make our final decisions, my wife did help get you into this mess, so the least I can do is help you get out of it."
Gienne glared down at hands clamped into fists on his thighs, and Simon would bet Betan dollars that that chin was dimpling again in an effort not to cry. It took the boy a few moments to compose himself, but when he did, he looked up, admirably clear-eyed, and said, "If I could have anything, I'd want to go home and be with my family again. I learnt so much on Beta about terraforming techniques, things that'd be really useful in Pa's job. But…" His gaze dropped again. "If that's not possible, then I guess anywhere I can be useful would be good."
Aral and Cordelia exchanged a voluble look on the heels of that statement. Cordelia apparently drew the short straw when it came to responding, since it was she who shuffled forward in her seat and said, "How do you feel about taking those expertise off-planet?"
"Not Komarr," Simon put in immediately. There were elements there who'd be as eager to embarrass Aral Vorkosigan as the Betans. More so, even.
Though, on second thoughts, Komarr probably wasn't the colony Cordelia was about to suggest.
"Of course not," Cordelia waved Simon off. "They have enough terraformers already. I was talking about Sergyar."
Gienne perked right up at that idea. "We read about that place during one of my xenobiology courses. It's got some really interesting native flora and fauna, like vampire jellyfish that can fly and giant crabs." His expression turned distantly excited. "I'd love to see something like that."
Over on the couch, Aral and Cordelia searched out each other's hands and clasped them tightly. "They're a sight, for certain," Aral confirmed, "Though a word of warning, it's not a good idea to let them bite you."
"Of course not," Gienne replied with a small snort of derision. "Only an idiot would risk going close to something that dangerous without taking the proper precautions."
"An idiot, oh dear," Cordelia murmured, amusement burning through her tone
"In my defence, no one knew what they were at the time," Aral whispered back, as Simon remembered that it had been these two who'd actually discovered the creatures.
If Gienne overheard the quiet conversation, he showed no sign of it. "I thought about applying to go to Sergyar when they opened it up to settlers, but they won't take unmarried women below twenty-five without their father's consent and-" His words broke off suddenly and he sat up straighter. "But that doesn't matter now. Or it won't by then, will it? I still have the money grand-mere left me, so I can pay for everything, if I can just go back."
He looked pleadingly over at Cordelia, who reached out and patted the arm of the chair he was sitting in. "Don't worry. You're going back to Beta as soon as possible, that's already been decided."
An expression of utter relief filled Gienne's face. "Oh, thank you, milady," he gushed, and grabbed her hand, clasping it between his own. "You don't know how much it means to me. Honestly, you don't. Technology like that, it's like a dream come true."
"Oh I think I understand that part well enough," Cordelia replied, and Simon saw the hand that still lay within Aral's grasp tighten into a hard grip. Of course she understood. If she'd not embraced the kind of technology that Barrayar still found difficult to comprehend, young Miles would have died before he'd even been born.
"And as for the rest," Aral continued, leaning forward to peruse the remains of the food on the table. "I'm sure a suitable placement on Sergyar can be arranged when the time comes. But before we get to any of that, there's someone you need to meet."
Cordelia cocked an eyebrow at him. "Gregor?" she hummed. "What an excellent idea. It'll be an illuminating experience for both of them, and ensure a certain person's focus is exactly where it should be under the circumstances, on individuals rather than policies."
"I thought you might approve, my dear captain." Snagging himself the last cheese pastry, Aral raised it in a kind of toast to Gienne, now close to incandescent with excitement. "In the meantime, you can stay here, so long as Simon doesn't think you're a security threat.
"Not any more," Simon replied, just as the comm on his wrist buzzed. Simon frowned down at it, annoyed at the interruption. It was Olshansky with new information on some odd Cetagandan movements they'd been monitoring out near Marilac.
"Excuse me, I have to deal with this," he said, pushing up from his chair. "I assume I can leave this in your hands?" He aimed the question at the couch in general, the plurality of the 'your hands' implied.
"Of course, Simon," Cordelia replied, and shook Gienne's still clutching hand gently. Beside her, Aral nodded, scattering pastry crumbs across the knees of his bottle-green trousers. It was a strangely domestic scene, and one that Simon felt quite happy to leave, knowing that the job he'd come to do was complete.
~&~
In the maelstrom that was the Emperor's security over Winterfair, the private party at Vorkosigan House came as something of a respite. For Simon, anyway. The property was so well guarded, the visitors so well vetted, and the arrangements so well practised, that it was almost as restful as staying at the residence.
On duty tonight, as he had been every night since the season started and would be until well into the new year, Simon hovered in the main hallway, one ear tuned to the regular all-clears coming through his comm link. From the main dining-room came the sounds of eating and lively conversation, punctuated every now and again by laughter.
The tread of booted feet came from behind him. Simon turned, ready to remonstrate with whichever of his men had left their post without permission or need, only to find Emile Gienne heading towards him down the main staircase. Broad shoulders filled out a charcoal grey jacket, and a trim waist and slim hips were set off by midnight blue trousers and half boots.
But below that obviously male physique, echoes of the girl from the photograph still remained. Even cropped close to his head, mousy-brown hair still curled at temples and forehead, and the eyes were still the same shade of hazel brown. Though when they rose to meet Simon's, they were no longer sad or scared. Much as he'd found the whole thing impossible to understand, returning to Beta had obviously been the right thing for Gienne.
"Good evening, Captain Illyan, sir," the young man said, coming to a halt in front of Simon and dipping a shallow bow.
"Gienne," Simon replied with a nod. "I understood you were leaving for Sergyar in the morning."
"I am. Five am to be precise, but before I went, I wanted to say thank you."
"Thank me by not causing any more trouble," Simon said. Then less grumpily, "But you're welcome. I might be an old stick in the mud, but I have an abhorrence of bullies, and you being locked away like that wasn't right."
"Even so, you didn't have to go to all that effort, and I feel like I should pay you back somehow." Simon started to protest, only for Gienne to continue, "Please, I want to. And well, I may have just the thing."
There was something in his tone that made Simon pause. "Go on," he said.
Gienne cleared his throat and a faint flush crept up cheeks that no longer looked femininely soft. "I was speaking to a friend of mine today, Vanessa Vorcarro. I mentioned her to you before?"
"The girl at the stables, the one who told you about Betan surgery." And the daughter of Count Vortrifrani's stud manager. If you were going to have an unattainable crush, a Vor was the way to go, Simon supposed.
Familiar feminine laughter pealed out from the dining room and Simon deliberately closed his mind to it, focusing instead on Gienne. With that strong jawline and extra muscle mass, he wasn't going to have a chance to worry about the girl he was leaving behind. The ladies of Sergyar would be falling over themselves to get at him.
"Yes, her. Anyway, I was saying goodbye over the vid plate - Major Olshansky said I had permission to do that much, since she knew stuff already - and she said something that struck me as being odd. It was when I told her I'd been back to Beta Colony. She said her father had forbidden her ever to go there because, when he went, it was a horrible place full of degenerates and swindlers."
Simon cocked his head, unwilling to agree or disagree. "He's not entirely wrong about that."
"No, sir, but the thing is, when I was at the residence last year, someone brought up my scholarship to Beta Colony in conversation, and he said he'd never been there. The furthest he'd ever gone out into the nexus was Escobar to buy stock, and that suited him just fine. It stuck with me because I remember thinking at the time how strange it'd be for a prole to be better-travelled than a gentleman like him."
The chip supplied the details of files read once and never to be forgotten. Ernst Vorcarro, reckoned a shaker and mover in certain conservative circles. Had been to Escobar several times in the past few years, returning each time with new stock for Vortrifrani's thoroughbred stables. But his movements while on Escobar were largely unknown, there being too much bad feeling between the two planets for Imp Sec to operate there easily.
Facts slid into place like jigsaw pieces. How simple it would have been for Vorcarro to take another ship from Escobar, under an assumed name, through that single wormhole jump to Beta Colony, the source of those damned explosives for the Yarrow.
And he was the perfect man for the job. These days he might be in charge of a stud, but in his youth he'd been an Imp Sec courier, which meant, not only would he be well aware of the black hole that was intelligence gathering on Escobar, he'd also have an induced allergy to fast-penta. Even if they could pin him to the case, they'd never get him to spill his guts about Vortrifrani.
"Damn it," Simon muttered under his breath as his last chance of trapping the traitorous old bastard faded before his eyes.
"Captain Illyan?"
It was Gienne. "Yes, thank you for the information," Simon said, waving off the concerned inquiry. If they could snag Vocarro, that'd be something. Charging a man so close to Vortrifrani with high treason would scupper the Count's support amongst the conservatives for good. He'd not be able to try another plot on the scale of this one.
"I thought you should know because, from all the questions you asked me, I guessed you were curious about people close to Count Vortrifrani who'd been to Beta Colony."
"Yes, you did absolutely the right thing." But now Simon needed to follow this up. Urgently.
He was about to dismiss Gienne when the boy continued, "Also, I kind of owe Vanessa and I trust you to look out for her if her father does end up in trouble."
That brought Simon up short. He blinked at the boy, standing there in the hallway in front of him, hazel eyes full of faith that Simon would do the right thing, not the convenient one.
"If she's not involved, she has nothing to fear," he said, as familiar heavy footsteps came up behind him. The intensity of their conversation must have alerted the Prime Minister that something was wrong.
"Nothing to fear from what." Aral's steps were slightly uneven. He'd been drinking. Hopefully not enough to effect his judgement.
Simon gave him a level look. "We might have had a breakthrough in the Yarrow case. Gienne here was worried about the daughter of one of the parties."
"I'm certain she's not part of it, sir," Gienne said. "If she'd known, she'd never have said anything to me."
"Her loyalty is admirable, I'm sure. But this is where your involvement ends." Aral's tone brooked no nonsense. "Tomorrow you leave for Sergyar. That is your place now, not here. Trust us to take care of anything you've left behind."
Gienne's smile was more relieved than anything. "I do, I will." He bobbed his head. "Good night. And thanks again!" he said and trotted off up the main staircase.
Aral and Simon watched him go in silence. Only once Gienne's footsteps had finally faded, did Aral shake his head and say, "To think, all of that energy and intelligence could have been lost to us."
"If he'd stayed a girl, you mean?" Simon asked.
The look he got in reply was tolerantly amused. "Don't let Cordelia hear you say that. But no, I was talking about you deciding to break him out of jail. Vortrifrani would have let him rot in there, you know. Such a tragic waste."
He wasn't talking about Gienne now, Simon knew, but of all those other young people who'd been locked away because Barrayar had deemed them aberrant or perverse. These days, things were improving, and if Cordelia was right, with gene-cleaning becoming more popular, the problems might disappear altogether. Though what would arise to replace them was an entirely different matter.
Well, they wouldn't be his problem to deal with, that much was certain.
Simon turned his back on the stairs and pressed the button on his comm. "Colonel, dig out everything we have on Ernst Vorcarro, Vortrifrani's man. I want everything we can get on his movements in and out of Escobarran space in the last six months."
As Simon spoke, Aral's brows climbed, though he waited for Simon to sign off before saying, "Vorcarro? Didn't he used to be one of yours?"
"About twenty years ago. It doesn't matter. Gienne gave me some information, and it all fits. The evidence will be there if we dig deep enough."
And if it wasn't, Simon would do what he always did. He'd pull back and wait, watching closely for the inevitable mistake. If necessary, he'd grease a few wheels to make it happen.
The thing was, politics was a demanding mistress, and the version played by the Council of Counts when treason was whispered was particularly fickle. Right now, Vortrifrani might think himself safe as leader of the conservatives, but Simon had no tolerance for bullies, cowards, and people who try to kill his Emperor. The man would pay, for all his crimes, and the Imperium would be safer as a result.
fine