Work Text:
Vorkosigan was drunk, but less drunk than he would be later in the evening, when he said, “Who even thought calling it “The Ministry of Political Education” was a good idea ? That’s some Orwellian bullshit. They try to make it sound evil on purpose?”
Ordinarily, Simon would have either stayed silent apart from occasional listening noises, or else tried to gently steer the conversation in more positive directions, but he’d had a tiring day.
“Well,” Simon said, “Ezar’s primary priority has been stability in the Imperium, and whatever else you might say about the political situation in 1984, it was certainly stable .”
Vorkosigan stared at him.
“You never say things like that, and you’re not even drunk,” he said, “That - that was treason-ish!”
Well, in for a half-mark, in for a Betan Dollar, Simon supposed. No one else was listening in on their conversation, he’d checked.
“Not for much longer,” he said, “We’re working on destroying the Ministry right now. Going to make it look like spontaneous rioting, assassinate Grishnov in the chaos.”
Of course, that neatly sidestepped the fact that it was really Ezar that Simon had been criticizing. Simon had been dancing around the Emperor’s own complicity in Political Education’s existence all day.
Vorkosigan took another long swig of his drink, vodka today.
“And now you’re telling me highly classified information,” he said, “Do I have to get even more drunk than usual to be sure I forget it all?”
Simon was mostly sure that Negri wouldn’t mind what Simon told Vorkosigan. Vorkosigan would be regent soon, unless he drank himself to death.
“Oh, I don’t think you need to trouble yourself, sir,” Simon said, “In order to be a security risk, you would have to actually talk to your friends. Which you haven’t. Despite their best efforts.”
“ Snarky,” Vorkosigan said, setting down his drink with a thunk and narrowing his eyes at him only a little blearily, “Is something wrong?”
Is something wrong? What a man he was. If only Vorkosigan could be convinced to look after himself half as well as he tried to look after anyone who was even in the neighborhood of being his subordinate.
“Just rather a long day,” Simon said, “Like I said, we’re getting ready to start some riots. Negri’s put me in charge of writing all the Greekie propaganda on my own. I’ve spent all day writing slogans in Greek in the style of anti-government revolutionary groups and teenaged malcontents. I think I may temporarily be a little suborned.”
“You? Suborned, Simon?” Vorkosigan said, “Not in a million years.”
Apparently Ezar and Negri thought the same. Simon had been given real examples to base his work on. Pages and pages of the most treasonous claims and accusations of the most dangerous anti-government and anti-imperial agitators, the sort of thing that ImpSec was meant to burn without looking at it. And now Simon had seen it all, and it was all in his head, forever.
Simon wasn’t sure that he liked it. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to be the sort of person who was that loyal to Negri, or even, treasonous thought, to Ezar, not after Escobar. Someone who could be marinated knowingly into a sea of treasonous ideas and come out again none the worse for it, ready to follow his orders without question. Simon, if he was honest, and he tried to be, could not conscience himself to be that loyal, loyal beyond reason and beyond sense.
“You never know,” Simon said, “Everyone seems loyal until they aren’t.”
Vorkosigan shook his head.
“What, do you suspect even yourself, then? Where does that ImpSec paranoia of yours end ?”
With you, Simon thought with the suddenness of realization. Because Simon was loyal to Vorkosigan, loyal beyond reason and beyond sense. And he found that he didn’t mind in the least, because beyond everything else, Simon trusted Vorkosigan, trusted him to make the right moral call, trusted him to do what was right and just to the best of his ability, rather than what would be best for himself or his class, rather than what was easiest.
And maybe Ezar knew that, the old bastard, knew that Simon would follow Vorkosigan into hell (again) if he had to. And maybe Ezar didn’t mind if Simon was not loyal to ImpSec or his Emperor, or even to Barrayar, perhaps Simon could join the Greekie separatists in his heart for all Ezar cared, so long as his first loyalty was to Ezar’s successor. Ezar was dying. Ezar was dying and he was tying up all his loose ends before he went. You could see all his pieces falling perfectly into place. All his pieces but one, which was instead doing his best to drink himself into an early grave.
The trouble with Ezar was that he was so unprofligate; he desired to use his tools more than once. But Escobar had broken Vorkosigan, and Vorkosigan had been used up and broken before, yes, but never by his Emperor. Aral Vorkosigan was not loyal beyond reason any more than Simon was, and he certainly was not loyal beyond honor, although Simon very much suspected he was loyal beyond sense. But Vorkosigan’s loyalty was broken now, along with his honor and his hope and his heart, and if ever he could be made whole again, it was certainly beyond Simon’s capabilities to accomplish.
But that didn’t excuse Simon from trying.
“Well, sir, trust is a tricky thing,” Simon said, meaning so many things by it: trust in the future, trust in Barrayar, trust in yourself, “But maybe sometime when you’re sober we can find out.”