and-grab approach, say, driving down through the park dirt with a plasma beam some, what, some twenty or thirty meters and boiling a hole through the roof of the bunker, is simply not on. Nevertheless, if they manage some way through those challenges, and if they finally break in…then will be the right psychological moment to make my deal.”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “What are you playing for, Simon?”
“Wider strategic concerns.”
By made a kind of weak, inquiring, throat-clearing noise.
Simon cast a head-tilt his way. “Jackson’s Whole has always been a problem disguised as an opportunity, for ImpSec and the Imperium. Too far away for direct intervention, but sitting astride a major wormhole route out of the Cetagandan Empire, which gives the Cetas roughly similar strategic interests to our own. And the same problem with working through local contacts-they tend not to stay bought.
“House Fell has always been dangerous, but determinedly independent. Morozov believes that House Prestene has strong Cetagandan contacts-and it now controls two out of the five wormholes in a possible first move on a monopoly. The loss of House Cordonah was originally judged to make little difference in that count, as they were thought to be technically neutral but with personal ties to the Cetagandans through the Baronne. Having now met Moira ghem Estif I am…rethinking that.”
“I, uh…Shiv Arqua doesn’t strike me as material to be anybody’s puppet,” said Ivan. “Still less Shiv and Udine. Ours or the Cetas.”
“Puppet, no. Ally…perhaps. Even just having a reliable safe house for our agents in the Whole would be a tactical improvement over the present confusion.”
“So you’re thinking of offering him-them-what?” asked By.
“At present, nothing, till I’ve had a bit longer to evaluate the man.”
“Word in your ear, Simon,” Ivan put in uneasily. “The man and the woman. Evaluating Shiv without Udine would be like, like…trying to assess Uncle Aral and leaving out Aunt Cordelia. They seemed that tight, to me.”
Simon’s brows climbed. “Really.” His attention on Ivan was suddenly sharper. “How do you come by that impression?”
Ivan stirred uncomfortably. “Not any one thing. Just the way they add up.”
“Hm.” Simon’s lips pursed. “Not that I, in my capacity as a mere retired Imperial subject, am in a position to promise anything to anyone, of course. Shiv kept…not noticing that.”
Ivan refrained from blurting a raspberry through his lips at this disingenuity. It would have disturbed By.
“So,” said By slowly, “what is all this, then-an IQ test for a future ally?”
Simon’s smile flashed. “Nothing so simple, alas. Or unidirectional. The one other thing I would point out-but did either of you notice? I handed it to you, a few minutes ago.”
By shot Ivan an agonized look. Simon playing mentor sometimes reminded Ivan of his worst moments from his school days, or maybe one of those nightmares where you found yourself running to a test naked. And he’d been Miles’s boss for years; maybe that, too, explained something about his cousin. Simon sat back, clearly willing to wait till the coin dropped. For hours, if need be. And no end-of-period bell to save them.
Simon had always been very precise in his speech, a habit that had survived the chip-removal; his current pauses for memory-searches were hardly distinguishable from the old ones for-the same thing, only more reliable. He’d said, he’d just said…
“Marked cleared,” said Ivan. “Would that be the same thing as, um- was cleared?”
Simon’s smile at him grew briefly genuine. “It was not only before I took over ImpSec, it was before I was born. Who now knows?”
“Moira ghem Estif?” Ivan hazarded. “It’s plain she does think there’s something there. One of you has to be wrong.”
Simon nodded. “As for the marked cleared problem, I have someone looking into that. With suitable historical expertise. Privately, on the side, when he gets a spare moment.”
Ivan blinked. “You got Duv Galeni running inside searches for you? Won’t he get in trouble? And it’s not his department.”
“For all I know, it’s all declassified and stored in the Imperial University archives by now,” said Simon, “but in either case, Duv’s the man to most efficiently put his finger on it.”
“I should report this,” said By. “Er…should I report this…?”
“I don’t know, Byerly, should you?” Simon said.
“That’s…not fair, sir.”
“Not especially, no.” Simon took in By’s harassed look and measured out a small drop of mercy. “You have some time to meditate upon it. Shiv can only have started to tackle the tunneling problem. They need to line up local equipment, perhaps local contacts-if I were you I’d keep a close eye on Shiv and Star as the most likely to possess the technical expertise. The problem was always what to do with the tell-tale dirt, and the longer the shaft, the bigger the pile…well.”
Ivan admitted reluctantly, “Tej drives everyone everywhere.”
“And isn’t talking to you, you said. That’s actually rather convenient, right now. At least you know it’s not personal.”
Ivan wasn’t so sure.
“Which means the Arquas are under the gun to solve their visa extension problem, or they’ll never make it to the engineering ones. I am so tempted to help with that…”
Afraid your game will be over too soon, Simon?
In any case, Simon had apparently decided that it was time for this chat to be over, for he slid the conversation into amenities, and then somehow, a few minutes later, Ivan found himself and By being amiably escorted to the door. Ivan, calculating how soon his mother was likely to be back, allowed the eviction without protest.
“That was reassuring,” said Byerly, as they settled themselves in Ivan’s two-seater once more. “Illyan is on top of it. Might have known.”
Ivan’s lips twisted. “Eh…”
By glanced aside at him. “I didn’t notice anything addled about any of that. Did you?”
“No,” Ivan admitted. Addled isn’t exactly the problem, here. Where would Tej fall, if things played out the way Simon pictured-or if they didn’t, for that matter, but in any case, if she was forced to take sides? If she and Ivan each were?
By buckled up in a pointed manner; Ivan aimed his car out of the garage and turned into the street, and said, “Where do you want me to drop you? Your flat? Or back to the hotel?”
“No, I shan’t put any more Arquas to the trouble of finding new circles to lead me in tonight.” By sighed. “My flat, I suppose.”
Ivan took the turn that would lead on to the shabby-trendy parts of Old Town Vorbarr Sultana. By put his head back and closed his eyes, although, given the lack of any white-knuckled grips anywhere, presumably not at Ivan’s driving, which was if not sedate was at least equally fatigued. After a few minutes, apropos some unguessable chain of thought, By remarked, “I don’t usually get attached to my surveillance subjects.”
“Considering your usual crowd, I can see why,” said Ivan.
“Mm,” said By, not disagreeing. And after another minute, “Ivan, you’ve had a lot of girlfriends-”
Byerly Vorrutyer is about to ask me for relationship advice? Ivan didn’t know whether to be flattered or appalled. Or to distract his passenger with a few evasive lightflyer moves, somewhat impeded by being in a ground vehicle.
“-seems like every time I saw you, you had a different one hanging on your arm.”
“They weren’t all girlfriends. Mamere always made me do a lot of diplomatic and social escort duty.” Actual real take-to-bed girlfriends had been less abundant, though Ivan wasn’t about to explain this to By.
“You made them all look like girlfriends.”
“Well, sure.”
“How did you keep them all happy?”
The light-spangled night rain flickered by outside the canopy. The wet streets wanted background music, some soulful lament to urban loneliness…“You know,” and somehow, probably because of the damned rain, Ivan’s mouth went off on its own: “I’ve always wondered why nobody ever notices that lots and lots of girlfriends entail
