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“The Vor came,” said Simon’s grandfather in tones of story-telling, “And they took our groats from us, and we could not fight them because they were Vor. And every year they came, and every year they took, whether the year be abundant or lean, and in time they called it taxes. Then the Cetagandans came, and they took our groats from us, and we said, “No. You cannot have our groats,” and we fought them. Do you know why we fought them, when we did not fight the Vor?”
“No,” Simon said. He didn’t think “Because the Cetas were bad” was a good answer. If he was another boy, in another little village, he might have said “because the Vor are our liege lords,” but Simon was Greekie, and Greekies didn’t think that way.
“It’s because we belong to Barrayar and Barrayar belongs to us. Because we were born here, and died here for six hundred years, and we built the earth beneath our feet, manured it and tilled it and grew our groats in it, and our ancestors are buried in it. And the Vor are bound to Barrayar, blood and bone, to the land and the things that grow here, born here and buried here for six hundred years. So the groats are of Barrayar, and we belong to Barrayar, and the Vor are bound to Barrayar, and so it is not so terrible a thing to give our groats to the Vor. But the Cetas were not bound here, they were bound far away if anywhere, and they did not know our groats, and they did not know us. And they were beautiful and uniform, and they wished to change us, to make us into their slaves, and take our land and take our groats and take ourselves and bend them into the shape they thought was beautiful. And when we saw the haut lords there was nothing human in them at all.’
“So the Cetagandans came, and we said “No, we will not give you our groats,” and then the Vor came and said, “Come fight with us against the Cetagandans,”—
“I thought Count Vorfolse sided with the Cetagandans,” Simon interrupted, “That’s what my history class said.”
“Yes, these were different Vor, a man by the name of Vorpatril was in charge. General Count Vorkosigan sent scouts all through the Ceta held districts and had them drum up recruits where they could,” Grandfather said, before returning to the story, “The Vor said, “Come fight with us against the Cetagandans,” and we agreed. And so the Vor left, and took our young men away with them. And we fought the Cetagandans, and in the end we won and freed our land of them. But many of the young men the Vor took died, and most never came back, and those who did come back came back different.’
“Of course,” said Grandfather, breaking out of story mode, “The ones that didn’t come back mostly went to the cities, and it’s hard to tell how much of that is down to the Vor and all that pretty Ceta infrastructure, and how much is just plain better wages. And by “came back different” I mostly mean learned to read and fly a lightflier and handle plastic explosives, leastways, that’s how it was in my case.”
“Mostly, but not only,” said Simon, because you could tell there was something a little different about Grandfather, and it wasn’t just his wartime education.
“No, not only. And not only the war dreams either,” Grandfather said, “So if you’re serious about this notion of becoming a soldier, you’ll keep that in mind. It’s a dangerous thing, to come too near to the Vor, and not just because you’re more likely to be shot there.”
“I know,” Simon said, “And I am serious.” More serious than he’d been about anything in the twelve years of his short life, and he’d always been an unusually serious child. Simon was going to see the stars someday, maybe even become an admiral.
“Well, study hard, then,” said his grandfather, “And keep us safe from the Cetagandans. But be sure not to let some Vor girl turn your head. That’s a sort of trouble too big for anyone.”
“I doubt there’ll be many Vor Ladies on a spaceship, Grandfather,” Simon said, blushing a little at the thought. Ordinary girls were terrifying enough, inhumanly beautiful girls who could put you under enchantments didn’t bear contemplating.