Mirror Dance

“Yes.”

“I’d love to talk with him. Do you know him? Can you introduce me?”

“Sure. Thinking of more investing, are you?”

“Yes, I’ve decided to diversify. Two-thirds Barrayaran investments, one-third galactic.”

“Galactic?”

“I’m putting some into Escobaran medical technology, if you must know.”

“Lilly?”

“Yep. She needs the set-up capital. I’m going to be a silent partner.” Mark hesitated. “The solution has to be medical, you know. And … do you want to bet she won’t return a profit?”

“Nope. In fact, I’d be very leery of laying any bet against you.”

Mark smiled his sharpest. “Good. You’re learning too.”

Miles led Mark over and performed the requested introduction. Vorsmythe was delighted to find someone who actually wanted to talk about his work here, the bored look pasted on his face evaporating with Mark’s first probing question; Miles turned Mark loose with a wave. Vorsmythe was gesturing expansively. Mark was listening as though he had a recorder whirring in his head. Miles left them to it.

He spied Delia Koudelka across the chamber, and made for her, to claim a dance later, and possibly cut out Ivan. If he was lucky, she might offer him a chance to use that line about the dueling scars, too.

Chapter Thirty-Three

After a most fascinating chat on the topic of Barrayaran high-growth economic sectors, Vorsmythe was reclaimed by his wife for some escort purpose, and dragged out of the window embrasure he and Mark had taken over; he parted with Mark reluctantly, promising to send him some prospectuses. Mark looked around for Miles again. The Count was not the only Vorkosigan in danger of over-doing it tonight while trying to prove his health to assorted observers, Mark had realized.

Mark had, by default, become Miles’s confidant for self-tests he didn’t want to share with his ImpSec superiors, checking knowledge bases, going over old material ranging from Service regs to five-space math. Mark had made a joke about it exactly once, before he realized the depth of terror that was driving Miles’s obsessive probing. Particularly when they actually found some hole or another in Miles’s memory. It bothered Mark deeply, this new hesitation, this desperate diffidence in his big brother. He hoped Miles’s obnoxious self-confidence would return soon. It was another strange reciprocity, that Miles should have things he wanted to remember, and couldn’t, while Mark had things he wanted to forget. And couldn’t.

He would have to encourage Miles to show him around some more. Miles enjoyed playing the expert, it put him automatically in the one-up position to which he was addicted. Yeah, let Miles expand his highly-inflatable ego a bit. Mark could afford it, now. He’d give Miles a run for it some other time, when Miles was up to speed again. When it was more sporting.

Finally, by hopping up on a chair and craning his neck, Mark spotted his brother just leaving the reception chamber, in the company of a blonde woman in blue velvet—Delia Koudelka, Kareen’s tallest sister. They’re here. Oh, God. He abandoned the chair and went on a fast search for the Countess. He finally ran her to ground in a third floor lounge, chatting with some older women, obviously cronies. She took one look at his anxious smile, and excused herself to join him in a nook in the carpeted corridor.

“Have you run into a problem, Mark?” she asked, arranging her skirts on the little settee. He perched gingerly on the opposite end.

“I don’t know. The Koudelkas are here. I promised back at the Emperor’s Birthday to dance with Kareen, if I made it home in time. And … I’d asked her to talk with you. About me. Did she?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Well, it was a long conversation …”

Oh, shit.

“But the gist of it was that I judged you an intelligent young man who had had some very unpleasant experiences, but if you could be persuaded to use that intelligence to get your problems straightened out, I could support your suit.”

“Betan therapy?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ve been thinking about Betan therapy. A lot. But I dread the thought of my therapist’s notes all ending up in some ImpSec analyst’s report. I don’t want to be a damned show.” Again.

“I think I could do something about that.”

“Could you?” He looked up, shaken with hope. “Even though you wouldn’t get to see the reports either?”

“Yes.”

“I … would appreciate that, ma’am.”

“Consider it a promise. My word as a Vorkosigan.”

An adopted Vorkosigan, even more so than he. But he did not doubt her word. Mother, with you all things seem possible.

“I don’t know what details you told Kareen—”

“Very few. She’s only eighteen, after all. Barely assimilating her own new adulthood. More, hm, advanced matters could wait, I judged. She has to get through school, first, before undertaking any long-term commitment,” she added pointedly.

“Oh. Um.” He wasn’t sure if he was relieved, or not. “It’s all out of date anyway. I’ve acquired … a whole new set of problems, since. Much worse ones.”

“I don’t sense that, Mark. To me, you have appeared much more centered and relaxed, since you and Miles got back from Jackson’s Whole. Even though you won’t talk about it.”

“I don’t regret knowing myself, ma’am. I don’t even regret … being myself.” Me and the black gang. “But I do regret … being so far from Kareen. I believe I am a monster, of some sort. And in the play, Caliban does not marry Prospero’s daughter. In fact, he gets stomped for trying, as I recall.” Yes, how could he possibly explain Gorge and Grunt and Howl and Killer to someone like Kareen, without frightening or disgusting her? How could he ask her to feed his abnormal appetites, even in some dream or fantasy play? It was hopeless. Better not to try.

The Countess smiled wryly. “There are several things wrong with your analogy, Mark. In the first place, I can guarantee you are not subhuman, whatever you think you are. And Kareen is not superhuman, either. Though if you insist on treating her as a prize and not as a person, I can also guarantee you will run yourself into another kind of trouble.” Her raised brows punctuated the point. “I added, as condition to my blessing on your suit, the suggestion that she take the opportunity during her schooling on Beta Colony next year for some extra tutoring. A little Betan education in certain personal matters could go a long way, I think, to widening her perceptions enough to admit, um, complexities without choking. A certain liberality of view an eighteen-year-old simply cannot acquire on Barrayar.”

“Oh.” That was an idea which had never even crossed his mind, tackling the problem from Kareen’s end. It made … so much sense. “I’d … thought about school on Beta Colony for myself, next year. Some galactic education would look good on my record, when I apply here for the job I have in mind. I don’t want to leave it all to pure nepotism.”

The Countess tilted her head in bemusement. “Good. It seems to me as though you have a sound set of long-range plans, well-coordinated to advance all your goals. You have only to carry them through. I entirely approve.”

“Long-range. But … tonight is right now.”

“And what were you planning to do tonight, Mark?”