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Title: Adjusting Perspective
See Ch 1 for full notes
Adjusting Perspective Ch 2 of 3
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The next day when Ivan opened his comconsole he was delighted to see a message from Byerly. “The Blue Duck, 1600 hrs. Let's hide out for a long weekend. I'll tell all. Love, Byerly.”
Love? Byerly had never closed a message to him with 'love,' that he could recall. Or at least not since they'd been doing ... *things* together. Before that By's cynical humor might have lead him to say something similar, just to be annoying. It was almost sneakily suspicious serendipity. Had Miles had been in contact with By? Did he want this? His stomach was upset. Or giddy? He could *not* be in love - that was ridiculous. What was Miles thinking?
He put in his request for a day off to lengthen his weekend and endured an eye roll from the scheduling officer.
"Hot date?"
"No. No. A friend has some things he needs help with."
"Couldn't you have given me a bit more notice?"
"I only just found out."
"Some friend. Okay, okay, but I don't know what we'll do if everyone starts behaving like you."
All day his work suffered. He would focus himself and be happily inputting data, and then find himself staring off into space with no idea how long he'd been like that. He tried to force himself to work until half past three, but at quarter past he realized there was no point, he was far too distracted. He locked it all up, stopped in the rest room on his way out to splash water on his face, and, leaving his ground car in the garage, swung off down the street with a spring in his step. The Blue Duck was a little cafe with only two tables on the sidewalk, and he was ridiculously early. He got a coffee and a small pastry which he proceeded to pulverize between his fingers as he waited, watching the people go past and scanning for By. Ivan could not deny his impatience, but he told himself sternly it was simply because he wanted to see his friend whole and walking around, definitely out of the hospital and well.
After fifteen minutes or so two men appeared out of the crowd and glanced at each other before stopping, the tall one next to his chair, blotting out the sun, and the other right in front of Ivan, blocking his view of the crowd. Ivan looked up, vaguely perplexed, and realized that the blocker of the view - a man shaped like a solid cube and dressed in black, topped by dark glasses and an insincere smile - was obviously intending to talk with him.
“Lord Ivan Vorpatril?”
“May I help you?”
“We've come to escort you to Lord Byerly Vorrutyer.”
The man was not a Vor, yet he reeked of arrogance - so not Barrayaran. Jacksonian, probably, by his accent. /I've spent too much time with Miles; it's making me paranoid,/ he thought, but couldn't ignore the feeling that something bad was in the offing. This looked way too much like a potential kidnapping. /Run with it, at least I'll find out what By's gotten himself into./ He widened his eyes and did his best to appear just as slow-witted as everyone thought him to be. "Lord Vorrutyer, yes. I did hope to meet him here. But I was also meeting my cousin. I really can't leave, he's on his way." /I'm a dullard,/ he willed the other man to believe, /I could never deceive a sharp one like you./
A moment's silence, and Cubic's smile had disappeared as though it had never been, then: "We'll have you right back. He won't even notice."
/I'm a complete idiot, I'm being complicit in my own kidnapping./ "I could just leave him a quick note with the counter boy, let him know I've been called away. Reschedule for another day. That way he won't worry." /This will work out much better for you, it will take longer before anyone notices I'm missing. Believe it, believe it./
After another short silence the man nodded. "Wouldn't want him to worry."
Ivan took out his wallet, found a credit chit /perfectly normal to offer a tip when asking that a message be passed on, perfectly normal/ and a business card. He laid the card on the table and wrote in large, block letters so that Cubic would be able to see his message easily: "Miles - Had to leave, we'll find another time. -Ivan" As he rose to enter the small shop the Cubic one was right behind him, and Ivan thought hard about getting his wording just right.
The counter boy, who had been washing coffee urns, quickly dried his hands. "Help you, Sir?"
"I'd like to leave a message for someone. I hope you can make sure it's delivered directly into his hand." He pressed the card, with the bill folded under it into the boy's hand.
"Yes, Sir." The boy nodded. "What's he look like?"
"Short guy," Ivan held up a hand slightly below shoulder hight to indicate, and added, "Vorkosigan is his name."
"I'll see to it, Sir."
Ivan gave the Cube his most gullible smile. "Lead on."
A good quality but bland rental ground car awaited them at the curb not far away, the driver of the same stamp as the other two. Cubic opened the backseat door for him and Tall entered on the traffic side of the car so that they had the window seats. Ivan observed the polarized windows with increasingly plummeting spirits. Really a very bad sign.
"You have the advantage of me. Are you friends of Lord Vorrutyer?"
"Forgive our manners." The tall one spoke for the first time. "Our employer is an independent contractor temporarily engaging Lord Vorrutyer's services. He sent us to drive you as a convenience."
Ivan couldn't imagine any Barrayaran would use such a phrase as 'independent contractor' for anyone besides manual laborers.
They crawled through the crowded streets. Ivan sat with his hands folded in his lap and tried to surreptitiously fret his hands around until he could 'accidentally' bump his wristcom and hopefully send a signal which could be followed. He would somehow need to actually hit two buttons at the same time and then a third several times, and he had very little chance of getting the sequence right without looking at the display while he was doing it. Besides which it would give cheery little beeps of varying sorts to let him know that commands had been entered, which would give him away... all in all it seemed like a pretty unlikely plan at the moment. Maybe later, when they weren't watching him so closely.
Very soon they were in a much less-frequented warehouse area, and a garage door opened in the side of one of the buildings. No chance for escape here, then, not that he wanted to escape until he found out what they had done with Byerly. /"And what if they don't even have him? What if I just walked blithely into my own kidnapping based entirely on a message that didn't even sound like him, just because it had his code on it?"/ Try not to think about it.
Inside the gloomy, echoing space they parked next to a stack of wooden cases on a pallet and climbed out. The warehouse was not close to full, but there were a good many of these pallets high stacked and wrapped in plastic. Above, offices were built out as a second half floor, grimy yellow windows looking down into the warehouse area. The group climbed a metal staircase so rickety it didn't seem possible that it would actually hold the four of them at once, making a rattling that would have killed all but the hardiest conversation, if there had been one to kill. At the top of the stair the office door, flaking multiple layers of paint, was opened by Cubic, and as Ivan entered he peered past the man's burly shoulder, eager to see if By really was here.
Indeed he was. Ivan had no trouble identifying his slender back instantly, facing away from the door in a plain, straight-backed wooden chair in front of a desk, on the business side of which stood another man, stirring a cup. The set of his shoulders signaled exhaustion to Ivan. He turned his head, rather disinterestedly, to see who was entering, and Ivan was nearly sure that his face went a little paler when he saw Ivan among them. "What are you doing here?"
"I got your message," Ivan volunteered, trying, against all odds, to emulate a bit of cheerful brainlessness.
"I didn't send a message." Byerly looked immediately toward the man behind the desk.
"I took the liberty," the man with the cup confirmed. "Coffee, Lord Vorpatril? Martial, could you bring us a chair?" The tall escort was apparently Martial, as he lifted a chair from another desk and placed it next to Byerly's.
"Thank you," Ivan said to Martial with a nod before responding, “Yes, I'll take coffee.”
"How?"
"Cream, no sugar."
As he fixed the coffee he continued, "You may call me Saulotte, Lord Vorpatril. Or Dik - I would be comfortable with the familiarity.”
Ivan opened his mouth and nearly said, 'a pleasure,' as he had been raised, but managed to change it to, “At your service, Sir.” He supposed that would be the actual case, anyway. “Would it be Mr. Saulotte?”
“That will do fine. Considering the circumstances I understand your reserve. I do want you to understand that I'm a business man - no offense was meant by my bringing you here, I simply have need of your presence.”
“He's of no use to you as a hostage, Saulotte. He's a nobody among the Vor.” Byerly was still white - with rage, Ivan judged.
“He is not a nobody to you, if my information is correct. And I think by your reaction it is. And you are not a nobody to him or he would not have jumped as he did to answer the message I sent under your code. Martial, was Lord Vorpatril early to his rendezvous?”
“At least twenty minutes, Sir. He'd obviously been there a few minutes when we arrived.”
“I think I did not guess wrongly. You've been a little overwrought at your boyfriend's disappearance over the past few days, have you not, Lord Vorpatril?”
“He's not - we're not -”
“Oh, that's right. I understand that one doesn't like to talk about these things on Barrayar. Uncivilized place. There's really no need to be bothered by it among us. We really care nothing about your relationship besides the good it does us. Having you here as our guest will serve as leverage to ensure that Lord Vorrutyer keeps our interests in mind in some ongoing negotiations that he is undertaking for us.”
“This is really not necessary. If you'll let him go you'll have my word that I'll do my best -”
“Unfortunately not possible at this point. Although I don't think that Lord Vorpatril would go to the authorities while he knew we had you, the negotiations which I wish you to attend to will require you to have some physical freedom. I would feel better if Lord Vorpatril stayed with me for the moment. I'm sure that when our business is transacted, as long as everything has concluded satisfactorily and we are on our way off-planet, we will be able to go our separate ways."
"It's not as though they won't notice Ivan's missing, though. They'll be searching for him."
"Not for at least three days if my understanding of psychology is correct. You did take a day off from work, didn't you?" He looked expectantly at Ivan.
"Yes."
"How did you manage that?" Byerly directed this to Saulotte.
"Such are the privileges of your class," Saulotte said to Ivan before turning his attention to Byerly. "You asked him to, in the message you sent. How could he refuse? He hasn't seen you in so long."
Ivan was stung at the implication that he only got days off on short notice because he was Vor, but more, wanted to distract attention from the implication - no, fact - that he had jumped at an invitation he had thought was from Byerly, who now spared a moment from glaring at Saulotte to glance at Ivan with an expression that Ivan couldn't read. "It's not as though my job is critical. I just input data, and there's nothing important happening right now."
"Ah." Saulotte nodded and smiled. "Certainly. Regardless, we must be getting on with our work. We have only a few days. Lord Vorrutyer must find us another buyer for our merchandise."
"I just don't know that I can! There really aren't that many Counts who are willing to risk full-out armed rebellion against the Emperor, these days. You may have mortally offended the only one!"
"But it *is* your job to know who the malcontents are. Perhaps you can find a few buyers, unload a little here and a little there. You have two days in which to try, Lord Vorrutyer, while I entertain Lord Vorpatril. I'm sorry for making it a bit short, but we really will need to have a little time to reload our merchandise if you fail. I very much do not want you to fail. At this point I'm not even sure I can recoup expenses for the trouble of bringing all this merchandise here, but one likes to at least minimize losses."
"Can I ask a stupid question?" Ivan interrupted, just wanting to keep Saulotte talking. "Why *did* you even bring whatever it is all this way? From Jackson's Whole?"
"Not so stupid a question. You may be a little smarter than you look." Saulotte smiled on him. "Although we do operate with Jackson's Whole as our home base we're what you might call traveling salesmen. We not only sell, we buy and trade. Very little of what we have, now, was carried all the way from Jackson's Whole. And when we set out I had no intention of coming this far. We've had a series of setbacks, and I gambled that possibly a little further out we could command a better price. You see how this is, in business."
"So you knew it might fall through," said Byerly. "Why throw good efforts after bad? Why not just cut your losses and go?"
"Severe penalties are exacted for returning with losses. Quite severe. Just as I have your dear Ivan here to exact your penalties upon, so I have people at home who put up the initial capital for this venture, and they have a hostage to me. Or, if they're feeling kind, they may only take their pound of flesh from my own hide. So you'll understand that I mean it when I say this is merely business. Dolin, the shock collar. And Martial, if you could set up the two-way for Lord Vorrutyer. We'll monitor you, Lord Vorrutyer, to ensure that you don't do anything you shouldn't, and you'll have an earpiece through which to hear Lord Vorpatril."
It was Byerly who leapt from his chair, first, flinging the coffee cup at Saulotte's face and continuing his motion up and around to nail the surprised Martial with a fist directly to the point of his jaw. Ivan, a half-second behind, did not catch Dolin, the cubical one of the pair, quite as unprepared. Their engagement was short lived, however, and it was wasted effort as a stunner blast caught them both with the sickening jolt that Ivan was all too familiar with, and everything went black.
When Ivan faded back to reality he was sprawled on the floor, the collar was already around his neck. His opponent had apparently been dragged away, and was now just sitting up against the wall, shaking his head free of cobwebs. It seemed that the origin of the stunner blast had been the chauffeur, who had been sitting quietly in the corner.
Byerly had been replaced in his chair and tied to it, Saulotte over him, half-sitting against the front of the desk with something in his hand, his expression looking sincerely sorrowful and confused.
"Why would you be so silly? You had to know there was no chance with that attempt."
"'Sa Vor thing," Byerly mumbled. "Go down with honor and glory. No collars."
"Why not be a little less glorious and perhaps live through this? Now, I just have to test the collar. This is the lowest setting - the highest would cause you to pass out, which is more than I want right now. Remember, Lord Vorpatril, you will experience the full power if you try to get the collar off."
/"Of course,"/ Ivan thought, just before the shock hit him like a blow to the stomach, folding his whole body around itself into a fetal position and tearing an undignified grunt from him as the air left him. Saulotte didn't let up right away, but held him there for a few moments, every muscle in his abdomen contracting at once. When they finally released he sucked air in a huge gasp and then then lay, limply, unable to do anything besides be grateful he could breath and hadn't lost control of his bladder.
Byerly had his head down, eyes lowered, when Ivan could look again, and his voice was low and flat. “I'm going to do my best. Don't hurt him. You have my word.”
"You know, I believe you. I never really doubted your word, of course, but I need to make sure. The collar is really the most humane way of doing these things. The effects won't be damaging, long term, not even as much as the old fashioned livestock control shock collars, as this new type uses sonics that affect only the nerves. Possibly the loss of a few brain cells - much better than disfiguring your boy with scars, I wouldn't want to do that. Here, have a little synergine. It's time for you go to out to a party and have a good time."
Saulotte shot the hypo into Byerly's arm himself, stuck a small patch behind his ear ("So you can hear every noise from your boyfriend.") and a decorative button on his lapel with camera and mic and tested them against his own handset and headphones. He flatly ignored Ivan, who pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed the dirt - stuck with saliva - off his face. Something nagged at his mind as he did that, but he was too blurry to place exactly what was odd. Dolin was on his feet, now, though his nose was bloodied and he was still looking woozy, and Martial was slumped in a chair looking almost worse, his face starting to swell. Ivan was proud that at least Byerly had done some damage, though the chauffeur still held the stunner, the other two had theirs out, now, as well, and Saulotte held the remote. Byerly's eyes, as Saulotte untied him, continually returned to Ivan, and he looked back as the chauffeur escorted him out. Ivan really didn't feel up to trying again, at the moment. He would have to trust that Byerly could come up with something. Some way of contacting ImpSec that wouldn't get Ivan shocked again would be his preference.
Dolin fetched a cold pack for Martial's face and they discussed the swelling and what they should do with him.
"Lord Vorpatril, you will need to be our native guide while Lord Vorrutyer is out. How can we get medical attention for my man, here?" Saulotte asked.
Ivan shrugged. "Dump him off at any hospital. He can't talk, they won't recognize his accent."
"They may ask him to sign forms and indicate who insures him."
"They won't turn away someone who's injured. There will be some forms. Just have him make an X. They'll think he's illiterate and won't ask him to write anything."
"Illiterate? Who would believe that?"
"There are plenty of illiterate hillmen who come to town and get into fights. If you get some rags from a second-hand shop - clothes that look as though they've been worked in - you should have no problem."
Saulotte nodded. "A very nice system. Easy to exploit." He called the chauffeur to impart this idea, and they made Martial as comfortable as possible on a cot in the corner with what pain killers they had on hand. In Ivan's not so expert opinion the man probably had a broken jaw.
Saulotte monitored Byerly's progress with his handset, occasionally commenting on things he amusing or making notes. After a while the chauffeur returned with take-away boxes, clothes and an armload of blankets - he had to make several trips up the stairs, but no-one offered to help him - and everyone ate, Martial sitting up on his cot and sipping soup carefully. They put Ivan at the other desk by himself and ignored him and each other, Saulotte watching Byerly's surroundings and the others amusing themselves with their own handsets - Dolin nodding his head in time, the chauffeur probably reading, Ivan judged, by his stillness. After dinner the chauffeur left again, to drop Martial, now dressed in appropriate work clothes, near a hospital, and returned after only fifteen minutes or so, to settle back down with his handset, again. Ivan thought that being kidnapped and tortured was nowhere near as exciting as the holovids made it out to be - it was turning out to be quite a lot of dull waiting for him.
Dull waiting with a lot of stressful wondering about what this was going to do to Byerly's career. Would arranging an arms sale be considered fomenting rebellion? In the eyes of the law, probably. He was doing it for Ivan's sake. Would that be accepted as a defense? Probably not. Really they both had a duty to lay down their lives for the Imperium. This behavior was insane. And Byerly was doing this for Ivan.
The little office had all the amenities - a small refrigerator, stove and sink hidden in the corner, and a tiny lavatory. When the food and rest had recovered him enough to think about walking that far they let him use the lav by himself, although both Dolin and the chauffeur lowered their handsets and put their hands to their stunners, which they had sitting out, convenient, as he walked by. It was while he was washing his hands in the lav that he finally realized what had been nagging at him. His wristcom was gone. They must have removed it while he was out after the stunner blast. He rubbed both wrists with the soap and water, thinking about wrists - mostly Byerly's, tied to the chair. So where was his wristcom, then? In someone's pocket? Flushed down the lav?
As he walked back to his chair at the desk on the far side of the room he considered whose pocket it might likely be in. Either the chauffeur's or Saulotte's, because the other two had been out of the fight at the time. He would bet on Saulotte's pocket, because he guessed that the man would like to have as much control as possible.
He was trying to think of a plan or find a way to surprise them, or do anything proactive, but the boredom caught up with him and he was dozing off, his head on the desk, when pain ripped through him, convulsed him, tossed him to the floor.
"Oh, sorry," said Saulotte, as Ivan gasped and shuddered. "I thought he was speaking in code. You should see his reaction to hearing you, though. You would be flattered."
"Sure. My lip is bleeding. Can I get a towel?"
"Go right ahead." Saulotte waved vaguely, his attention back on the screen.
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Chapter 3
See Ch 1 for full notes
Adjusting Perspective Ch 2 of 3
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The next day when Ivan opened his comconsole he was delighted to see a message from Byerly. “The Blue Duck, 1600 hrs. Let's hide out for a long weekend. I'll tell all. Love, Byerly.”
Love? Byerly had never closed a message to him with 'love,' that he could recall. Or at least not since they'd been doing ... *things* together. Before that By's cynical humor might have lead him to say something similar, just to be annoying. It was almost sneakily suspicious serendipity. Had Miles had been in contact with By? Did he want this? His stomach was upset. Or giddy? He could *not* be in love - that was ridiculous. What was Miles thinking?
He put in his request for a day off to lengthen his weekend and endured an eye roll from the scheduling officer.
"Hot date?"
"No. No. A friend has some things he needs help with."
"Couldn't you have given me a bit more notice?"
"I only just found out."
"Some friend. Okay, okay, but I don't know what we'll do if everyone starts behaving like you."
All day his work suffered. He would focus himself and be happily inputting data, and then find himself staring off into space with no idea how long he'd been like that. He tried to force himself to work until half past three, but at quarter past he realized there was no point, he was far too distracted. He locked it all up, stopped in the rest room on his way out to splash water on his face, and, leaving his ground car in the garage, swung off down the street with a spring in his step. The Blue Duck was a little cafe with only two tables on the sidewalk, and he was ridiculously early. He got a coffee and a small pastry which he proceeded to pulverize between his fingers as he waited, watching the people go past and scanning for By. Ivan could not deny his impatience, but he told himself sternly it was simply because he wanted to see his friend whole and walking around, definitely out of the hospital and well.
After fifteen minutes or so two men appeared out of the crowd and glanced at each other before stopping, the tall one next to his chair, blotting out the sun, and the other right in front of Ivan, blocking his view of the crowd. Ivan looked up, vaguely perplexed, and realized that the blocker of the view - a man shaped like a solid cube and dressed in black, topped by dark glasses and an insincere smile - was obviously intending to talk with him.
“Lord Ivan Vorpatril?”
“May I help you?”
“We've come to escort you to Lord Byerly Vorrutyer.”
The man was not a Vor, yet he reeked of arrogance - so not Barrayaran. Jacksonian, probably, by his accent. /I've spent too much time with Miles; it's making me paranoid,/ he thought, but couldn't ignore the feeling that something bad was in the offing. This looked way too much like a potential kidnapping. /Run with it, at least I'll find out what By's gotten himself into./ He widened his eyes and did his best to appear just as slow-witted as everyone thought him to be. "Lord Vorrutyer, yes. I did hope to meet him here. But I was also meeting my cousin. I really can't leave, he's on his way." /I'm a dullard,/ he willed the other man to believe, /I could never deceive a sharp one like you./
A moment's silence, and Cubic's smile had disappeared as though it had never been, then: "We'll have you right back. He won't even notice."
/I'm a complete idiot, I'm being complicit in my own kidnapping./ "I could just leave him a quick note with the counter boy, let him know I've been called away. Reschedule for another day. That way he won't worry." /This will work out much better for you, it will take longer before anyone notices I'm missing. Believe it, believe it./
After another short silence the man nodded. "Wouldn't want him to worry."
Ivan took out his wallet, found a credit chit /perfectly normal to offer a tip when asking that a message be passed on, perfectly normal/ and a business card. He laid the card on the table and wrote in large, block letters so that Cubic would be able to see his message easily: "Miles - Had to leave, we'll find another time. -Ivan" As he rose to enter the small shop the Cubic one was right behind him, and Ivan thought hard about getting his wording just right.
The counter boy, who had been washing coffee urns, quickly dried his hands. "Help you, Sir?"
"I'd like to leave a message for someone. I hope you can make sure it's delivered directly into his hand." He pressed the card, with the bill folded under it into the boy's hand.
"Yes, Sir." The boy nodded. "What's he look like?"
"Short guy," Ivan held up a hand slightly below shoulder hight to indicate, and added, "Vorkosigan is his name."
"I'll see to it, Sir."
Ivan gave the Cube his most gullible smile. "Lead on."
A good quality but bland rental ground car awaited them at the curb not far away, the driver of the same stamp as the other two. Cubic opened the backseat door for him and Tall entered on the traffic side of the car so that they had the window seats. Ivan observed the polarized windows with increasingly plummeting spirits. Really a very bad sign.
"You have the advantage of me. Are you friends of Lord Vorrutyer?"
"Forgive our manners." The tall one spoke for the first time. "Our employer is an independent contractor temporarily engaging Lord Vorrutyer's services. He sent us to drive you as a convenience."
Ivan couldn't imagine any Barrayaran would use such a phrase as 'independent contractor' for anyone besides manual laborers.
They crawled through the crowded streets. Ivan sat with his hands folded in his lap and tried to surreptitiously fret his hands around until he could 'accidentally' bump his wristcom and hopefully send a signal which could be followed. He would somehow need to actually hit two buttons at the same time and then a third several times, and he had very little chance of getting the sequence right without looking at the display while he was doing it. Besides which it would give cheery little beeps of varying sorts to let him know that commands had been entered, which would give him away... all in all it seemed like a pretty unlikely plan at the moment. Maybe later, when they weren't watching him so closely.
Very soon they were in a much less-frequented warehouse area, and a garage door opened in the side of one of the buildings. No chance for escape here, then, not that he wanted to escape until he found out what they had done with Byerly. /"And what if they don't even have him? What if I just walked blithely into my own kidnapping based entirely on a message that didn't even sound like him, just because it had his code on it?"/ Try not to think about it.
Inside the gloomy, echoing space they parked next to a stack of wooden cases on a pallet and climbed out. The warehouse was not close to full, but there were a good many of these pallets high stacked and wrapped in plastic. Above, offices were built out as a second half floor, grimy yellow windows looking down into the warehouse area. The group climbed a metal staircase so rickety it didn't seem possible that it would actually hold the four of them at once, making a rattling that would have killed all but the hardiest conversation, if there had been one to kill. At the top of the stair the office door, flaking multiple layers of paint, was opened by Cubic, and as Ivan entered he peered past the man's burly shoulder, eager to see if By really was here.
Indeed he was. Ivan had no trouble identifying his slender back instantly, facing away from the door in a plain, straight-backed wooden chair in front of a desk, on the business side of which stood another man, stirring a cup. The set of his shoulders signaled exhaustion to Ivan. He turned his head, rather disinterestedly, to see who was entering, and Ivan was nearly sure that his face went a little paler when he saw Ivan among them. "What are you doing here?"
"I got your message," Ivan volunteered, trying, against all odds, to emulate a bit of cheerful brainlessness.
"I didn't send a message." Byerly looked immediately toward the man behind the desk.
"I took the liberty," the man with the cup confirmed. "Coffee, Lord Vorpatril? Martial, could you bring us a chair?" The tall escort was apparently Martial, as he lifted a chair from another desk and placed it next to Byerly's.
"Thank you," Ivan said to Martial with a nod before responding, “Yes, I'll take coffee.”
"How?"
"Cream, no sugar."
As he fixed the coffee he continued, "You may call me Saulotte, Lord Vorpatril. Or Dik - I would be comfortable with the familiarity.”
Ivan opened his mouth and nearly said, 'a pleasure,' as he had been raised, but managed to change it to, “At your service, Sir.” He supposed that would be the actual case, anyway. “Would it be Mr. Saulotte?”
“That will do fine. Considering the circumstances I understand your reserve. I do want you to understand that I'm a business man - no offense was meant by my bringing you here, I simply have need of your presence.”
“He's of no use to you as a hostage, Saulotte. He's a nobody among the Vor.” Byerly was still white - with rage, Ivan judged.
“He is not a nobody to you, if my information is correct. And I think by your reaction it is. And you are not a nobody to him or he would not have jumped as he did to answer the message I sent under your code. Martial, was Lord Vorpatril early to his rendezvous?”
“At least twenty minutes, Sir. He'd obviously been there a few minutes when we arrived.”
“I think I did not guess wrongly. You've been a little overwrought at your boyfriend's disappearance over the past few days, have you not, Lord Vorpatril?”
“He's not - we're not -”
“Oh, that's right. I understand that one doesn't like to talk about these things on Barrayar. Uncivilized place. There's really no need to be bothered by it among us. We really care nothing about your relationship besides the good it does us. Having you here as our guest will serve as leverage to ensure that Lord Vorrutyer keeps our interests in mind in some ongoing negotiations that he is undertaking for us.”
“This is really not necessary. If you'll let him go you'll have my word that I'll do my best -”
“Unfortunately not possible at this point. Although I don't think that Lord Vorpatril would go to the authorities while he knew we had you, the negotiations which I wish you to attend to will require you to have some physical freedom. I would feel better if Lord Vorpatril stayed with me for the moment. I'm sure that when our business is transacted, as long as everything has concluded satisfactorily and we are on our way off-planet, we will be able to go our separate ways."
"It's not as though they won't notice Ivan's missing, though. They'll be searching for him."
"Not for at least three days if my understanding of psychology is correct. You did take a day off from work, didn't you?" He looked expectantly at Ivan.
"Yes."
"How did you manage that?" Byerly directed this to Saulotte.
"Such are the privileges of your class," Saulotte said to Ivan before turning his attention to Byerly. "You asked him to, in the message you sent. How could he refuse? He hasn't seen you in so long."
Ivan was stung at the implication that he only got days off on short notice because he was Vor, but more, wanted to distract attention from the implication - no, fact - that he had jumped at an invitation he had thought was from Byerly, who now spared a moment from glaring at Saulotte to glance at Ivan with an expression that Ivan couldn't read. "It's not as though my job is critical. I just input data, and there's nothing important happening right now."
"Ah." Saulotte nodded and smiled. "Certainly. Regardless, we must be getting on with our work. We have only a few days. Lord Vorrutyer must find us another buyer for our merchandise."
"I just don't know that I can! There really aren't that many Counts who are willing to risk full-out armed rebellion against the Emperor, these days. You may have mortally offended the only one!"
"But it *is* your job to know who the malcontents are. Perhaps you can find a few buyers, unload a little here and a little there. You have two days in which to try, Lord Vorrutyer, while I entertain Lord Vorpatril. I'm sorry for making it a bit short, but we really will need to have a little time to reload our merchandise if you fail. I very much do not want you to fail. At this point I'm not even sure I can recoup expenses for the trouble of bringing all this merchandise here, but one likes to at least minimize losses."
"Can I ask a stupid question?" Ivan interrupted, just wanting to keep Saulotte talking. "Why *did* you even bring whatever it is all this way? From Jackson's Whole?"
"Not so stupid a question. You may be a little smarter than you look." Saulotte smiled on him. "Although we do operate with Jackson's Whole as our home base we're what you might call traveling salesmen. We not only sell, we buy and trade. Very little of what we have, now, was carried all the way from Jackson's Whole. And when we set out I had no intention of coming this far. We've had a series of setbacks, and I gambled that possibly a little further out we could command a better price. You see how this is, in business."
"So you knew it might fall through," said Byerly. "Why throw good efforts after bad? Why not just cut your losses and go?"
"Severe penalties are exacted for returning with losses. Quite severe. Just as I have your dear Ivan here to exact your penalties upon, so I have people at home who put up the initial capital for this venture, and they have a hostage to me. Or, if they're feeling kind, they may only take their pound of flesh from my own hide. So you'll understand that I mean it when I say this is merely business. Dolin, the shock collar. And Martial, if you could set up the two-way for Lord Vorrutyer. We'll monitor you, Lord Vorrutyer, to ensure that you don't do anything you shouldn't, and you'll have an earpiece through which to hear Lord Vorpatril."
It was Byerly who leapt from his chair, first, flinging the coffee cup at Saulotte's face and continuing his motion up and around to nail the surprised Martial with a fist directly to the point of his jaw. Ivan, a half-second behind, did not catch Dolin, the cubical one of the pair, quite as unprepared. Their engagement was short lived, however, and it was wasted effort as a stunner blast caught them both with the sickening jolt that Ivan was all too familiar with, and everything went black.
When Ivan faded back to reality he was sprawled on the floor, the collar was already around his neck. His opponent had apparently been dragged away, and was now just sitting up against the wall, shaking his head free of cobwebs. It seemed that the origin of the stunner blast had been the chauffeur, who had been sitting quietly in the corner.
Byerly had been replaced in his chair and tied to it, Saulotte over him, half-sitting against the front of the desk with something in his hand, his expression looking sincerely sorrowful and confused.
"Why would you be so silly? You had to know there was no chance with that attempt."
"'Sa Vor thing," Byerly mumbled. "Go down with honor and glory. No collars."
"Why not be a little less glorious and perhaps live through this? Now, I just have to test the collar. This is the lowest setting - the highest would cause you to pass out, which is more than I want right now. Remember, Lord Vorpatril, you will experience the full power if you try to get the collar off."
/"Of course,"/ Ivan thought, just before the shock hit him like a blow to the stomach, folding his whole body around itself into a fetal position and tearing an undignified grunt from him as the air left him. Saulotte didn't let up right away, but held him there for a few moments, every muscle in his abdomen contracting at once. When they finally released he sucked air in a huge gasp and then then lay, limply, unable to do anything besides be grateful he could breath and hadn't lost control of his bladder.
Byerly had his head down, eyes lowered, when Ivan could look again, and his voice was low and flat. “I'm going to do my best. Don't hurt him. You have my word.”
"You know, I believe you. I never really doubted your word, of course, but I need to make sure. The collar is really the most humane way of doing these things. The effects won't be damaging, long term, not even as much as the old fashioned livestock control shock collars, as this new type uses sonics that affect only the nerves. Possibly the loss of a few brain cells - much better than disfiguring your boy with scars, I wouldn't want to do that. Here, have a little synergine. It's time for you go to out to a party and have a good time."
Saulotte shot the hypo into Byerly's arm himself, stuck a small patch behind his ear ("So you can hear every noise from your boyfriend.") and a decorative button on his lapel with camera and mic and tested them against his own handset and headphones. He flatly ignored Ivan, who pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed the dirt - stuck with saliva - off his face. Something nagged at his mind as he did that, but he was too blurry to place exactly what was odd. Dolin was on his feet, now, though his nose was bloodied and he was still looking woozy, and Martial was slumped in a chair looking almost worse, his face starting to swell. Ivan was proud that at least Byerly had done some damage, though the chauffeur still held the stunner, the other two had theirs out, now, as well, and Saulotte held the remote. Byerly's eyes, as Saulotte untied him, continually returned to Ivan, and he looked back as the chauffeur escorted him out. Ivan really didn't feel up to trying again, at the moment. He would have to trust that Byerly could come up with something. Some way of contacting ImpSec that wouldn't get Ivan shocked again would be his preference.
Dolin fetched a cold pack for Martial's face and they discussed the swelling and what they should do with him.
"Lord Vorpatril, you will need to be our native guide while Lord Vorrutyer is out. How can we get medical attention for my man, here?" Saulotte asked.
Ivan shrugged. "Dump him off at any hospital. He can't talk, they won't recognize his accent."
"They may ask him to sign forms and indicate who insures him."
"They won't turn away someone who's injured. There will be some forms. Just have him make an X. They'll think he's illiterate and won't ask him to write anything."
"Illiterate? Who would believe that?"
"There are plenty of illiterate hillmen who come to town and get into fights. If you get some rags from a second-hand shop - clothes that look as though they've been worked in - you should have no problem."
Saulotte nodded. "A very nice system. Easy to exploit." He called the chauffeur to impart this idea, and they made Martial as comfortable as possible on a cot in the corner with what pain killers they had on hand. In Ivan's not so expert opinion the man probably had a broken jaw.
Saulotte monitored Byerly's progress with his handset, occasionally commenting on things he amusing or making notes. After a while the chauffeur returned with take-away boxes, clothes and an armload of blankets - he had to make several trips up the stairs, but no-one offered to help him - and everyone ate, Martial sitting up on his cot and sipping soup carefully. They put Ivan at the other desk by himself and ignored him and each other, Saulotte watching Byerly's surroundings and the others amusing themselves with their own handsets - Dolin nodding his head in time, the chauffeur probably reading, Ivan judged, by his stillness. After dinner the chauffeur left again, to drop Martial, now dressed in appropriate work clothes, near a hospital, and returned after only fifteen minutes or so, to settle back down with his handset, again. Ivan thought that being kidnapped and tortured was nowhere near as exciting as the holovids made it out to be - it was turning out to be quite a lot of dull waiting for him.
Dull waiting with a lot of stressful wondering about what this was going to do to Byerly's career. Would arranging an arms sale be considered fomenting rebellion? In the eyes of the law, probably. He was doing it for Ivan's sake. Would that be accepted as a defense? Probably not. Really they both had a duty to lay down their lives for the Imperium. This behavior was insane. And Byerly was doing this for Ivan.
The little office had all the amenities - a small refrigerator, stove and sink hidden in the corner, and a tiny lavatory. When the food and rest had recovered him enough to think about walking that far they let him use the lav by himself, although both Dolin and the chauffeur lowered their handsets and put their hands to their stunners, which they had sitting out, convenient, as he walked by. It was while he was washing his hands in the lav that he finally realized what had been nagging at him. His wristcom was gone. They must have removed it while he was out after the stunner blast. He rubbed both wrists with the soap and water, thinking about wrists - mostly Byerly's, tied to the chair. So where was his wristcom, then? In someone's pocket? Flushed down the lav?
As he walked back to his chair at the desk on the far side of the room he considered whose pocket it might likely be in. Either the chauffeur's or Saulotte's, because the other two had been out of the fight at the time. He would bet on Saulotte's pocket, because he guessed that the man would like to have as much control as possible.
He was trying to think of a plan or find a way to surprise them, or do anything proactive, but the boredom caught up with him and he was dozing off, his head on the desk, when pain ripped through him, convulsed him, tossed him to the floor.
"Oh, sorry," said Saulotte, as Ivan gasped and shuddered. "I thought he was speaking in code. You should see his reaction to hearing you, though. You would be flattered."
"Sure. My lip is bleeding. Can I get a towel?"
"Go right ahead." Saulotte waved vaguely, his attention back on the screen.
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Chapter 3
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