Tales from the Academy

Chapter 12

"My God, Alby, you actually live here?" cried Jer Naddel as he stepped out of the air car. Anny Payne and Patric McDermott were just standing there with their mouths hanging open.

"Well, I try to," said Alby. "I realize it's not much, but I've learned to scrape by somehow."

"Yeah, right!" snorted Patric. "I wish I could scrape by so well!"

"It is quite a pile of bricks, isn't it? I was born here so it doesn't seem unusual. But I'm so glad you could all come! This is going to be great!"

"Thank you for inviting us, Alby," said Anny. Alby found that he was having trouble keeping his eyes off Anny. This was the first time he'd ever seen her out of a uniform. She was wearing a traditional blouse, bolero and a skirt that went down to her shins. Except for her very short hair she might have been a typical Barrayaran young woman. An extremely pretty Barryaran young woman…

"Oh, don't thank me, Anny," he replied. "I should be thanking all of you. I was getting bored here all by myself after ten minutes. Two weeks of this would have driven me crazy."

"All by yourself?" asked Jer. He looked around at where Cahill and Kurt were unloading luggage from the aircar.

He almost answered by saying that the servants didn't count, but caught himself just in time. It would have sounded terrible and it wasn't what he meant in any case. "Well, not by myself, but there's no one else here that was even born in the same century as me." The others smiled and laughed in understanding. "And my parents are both away on business. They'll be back later today."

"Do they know you've invited us here?" asked Anny.

"It'll be a surprise," said Alby. "Oh, did you bring your uniforms like I asked?" They all nodded. "Sorry about that, but at least for the dinner tonight my father and grandfather are going to expect us to dress. The curse of living in a military household, I'm afraid."

"It'll be fine, Alby," said Anny. "Uh… will your father or grandfather have any problems with… with me?"

"If they do, screw 'em!" said Alby with feeling. "You're my company commander—and my friend—and if they can't accept that then to hell with them both!" Cahill's head swiveled sharply at that, but Alby didn't care. The presence of his friends had buoyed his spirits and he was feeling marvelously rebellious just at the moment.

He had intended to give them a quick tour of the house, but it ended up taking most of the day. Things which he no longer gave a second glance were fascinating to the others and he ended up having to draft Cahill to fill in a lot of details which he had either forgotten or never known.

"These two stone columns holding up the door arch were salvaged from the original Vorsworth castle," said Cahill at one point.

"My God," said Jer, "you can see traces of plasma fire on these!" He ran his hand over a deep scar that Alby had never given any thought. He looked closely at the Komarran youth and then at Cahill. There were still some Barrayarans who held a grudge against the Komarrans for letting in the Cetagandans—just as there were Komarrans who held a grudge against the Barryarans for conquering their planet a few generations later. But there was no trace of anger on either face, so he let it pass without comment.

Inevitably, they ended up in the War Room, playing with the game. Their next three years at the Academy would see them using similar devices and even more sophisticated simulators, but they hadn't been allowed on any of them in their first year. None of the others had ever used anything like this before and they were fascinated with it. Alby patiently let them play and even joined in. It was fun. They were still at it when Alby heard the whine of an aircar's turbines fast approaching. Oh crap, they're here.

"Attention on deck, guys," he said. "My parents are home." The others were suddenly looking as nervous as Alby felt. Despite his earlier statements, he was worried about how his parents would react to his friends.

"Uh, your father's a general," said Patric. "Do we salute or what?"

"We're not in uniform and we're not on duty," said Anny. "We should not salute. We should act in the same respectful fashion as we would with any elder gentleman."

"So says, our walking regulations manual," said Jer with a grin.

Alby ushered them out through the back doors. The aircar was on the ground with its doors open. His father had already exited and he was offering his hand to help his mother out. Cahill and Kurt were unloading luggage and piles of boxes which Alby was quite sure came from some of Vorbarr Sultana's poshest boutiques. Alby awkwardly led his friends up to his parents.

"Father? Mother? Welcome home."

"Alby!" said his mother with a smile. She held out her arms and he moved in to give and receive a hug. Her perfume was a bit overwhelming and he pulled away to breathe as quickly as he decently could. "Goodness! You've grown six inches, I swear!" she said when she looked him over."Oh, and you've brought some friends!"

Alby looked at his father and extended his hand. "Good to see you again, sir." His father was wearing undress greens and he smiled and shook Alby's hand.

"Welcome home, son. Sorry I missed seeing you at the ceremonies, but I was tied up with a bloody exercise down on South Continent." His eyes kept wandering past him to where his friends were waiting. Oh well, no putting this off!

"Sir? Mother? I'd like to introduce a few friends of mine from the Academy. He gestured to Anny. "This is Cadet-Captain Andreanne Payne. My company commander."

Anny give an awkward little half-bow and said: "It's an honor to meet you, General Vorsworth, Lady Vorsworth." His father frowned and his mouth opened and closed. His mother's eyebrows shot up and her hand was over her mouth. A dozen heartbeats went by and then his father jerked his head in an odd fashion.

"Miss Payne, welcome to Vorsworth House," he said. Alby breathed a sigh of relief and introduced Jer and Patric. His father responded to their greetings with a simple: "Cadet." Then they all trooped inside. His parents walked slowly and stiffly after their long aircar ride. They were only a few years short of eighty, after all. How much longer is father going to put off retirement? Alby grimly realized that he was probably waiting for him to get his commission. One last duty to perform…

The rest of the house staff was waiting just inside the doors and Alby was interested to see that his grandfather's doctor was there, too. The man quietly informed his father that the Admiral would be attending dinner that night. The General then turned to Alby. "Your mother and I need to rest a bit, son. We'll see you at dinner." They took the lift up and the other staff dispersed leaving Alby and his friends alone in the vestibule. He checked the time. Three hours until dinner.

"So who's up for another game?" asked Jer.

[Scene Break]

Dinner was… interesting. The four of them were in their dress grays, although since they were indoors they could thankfully leave the uncomfortable shakos in their rooms. Alby's father wore dress greens with a chestful of medals and his mother had a gown that was almost elaborate enough for a ball. He suspected it was probably brand new. His mother had always loved clothes.

When they arrived, his grandfather wasn't there yet, so they all remained standing in a rather awkward silence. Alby and his friends collected in a small clump near one end of the dining room while his parents were at the other. Several servants came in from time to time making last minute (and totally unnecessary) adjustments to the table settings. His parents kept staring at Anny who he could see was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the silent scrutiny. Alby began pointing out various paintings and antiques in the room just to distract her.

Finally, they heard the lift doors slide open. Somehow, without a word being said, Alby's parents formed a short line on one side of the door while the cadets did the same on the other. A moment later the Admiral rolled in seated on a power-chair. For the first time in Alby could not remember how long, his grandfather was wearing a uniform. The space-black uniform of a vice admiral, glittering with gold braid and medals, looked completely out of place—and much too large—on the wizened old man in the power-chair. Alby had a few vague memories from when he was very young of his grandfather tottering about using a cane, but for at least ten years he'd been bound to that chair.

Alby's parents made odd little half-bows and the old man acknowledged them with a twitching wave of his hand that was not quite a salute. Alby, himself wasn't exactly sure what to do, but then he heard three pairs of heels click together almost in unison and out of the corner of his eye he saw his friends saluting and he instinctively followed suit, a half-heartbeat behind. His grandfather turned his chair to face them and his thin white eyebrows jerked upward.

"Well, well, what have we here?" he said. His voice was stronger than Alby remembered it, although it was high-pitched and rasped like the rusty hinges on Anny's cottage at the Academy. He rolled over and stopped right in front of him. "Cadet Worth, is it? I know you by reputation, but I don't believe I've had the pleasure." To Alby's surprise the admiral held out his hand. After a moment of hesitation he grasped it and squeezed gently. There was no strength in the old man's grip and he felt like he could crush the bones if he squeezed harder.

"Hello, sir," said Alby.

A tiny smile creased his grandfather's face. He released his hand and rolled over to Patric who was next in line. "And you are?" he asked.

"Cadet Mederov, sir!" Patric looked relieved when he didn't offer his hand but moved on.

"Cadet-Sergeant Naddel!" said Jer without being prompted.

"Cadet-Captain Payne!" said Anny.

The Admiral nodded at all of them. "Welcome to Vorsworth House, gentlemen. Well, let's not stand here! Be seated, be seated! I know Maria is anxious to show off her art and it would be a shame to keep her waiting." He rolled toward the head of the table. Alby's friends looked nervously around, unsure where to sit. Fortunately, Cahill was there and quickly directed them to the proper places.

Alby didn't know who had come up with the seating plan. His grandfather was at the head of the table and his father at the opposite end as was proper. His mother was on his father's right and Alby was placed between her and the Admiral. His three friends were on the opposite side, Patric next to father and Jer right in the middle—which put Anny next to his grandfather. Of course, with only seven people sitting at a table built for twenty-four, each of them had meters of room on either side. Even so, only Jer looked even moderately comfortable in his insulated position. The servants bustled around with wine bottles and the appetizers. Maria had, indeed, outdone herself with the food, but somehow Alby couldn't pay much attention to it.

"S-so how are things in the capital, sir?" Alby said to his father.

"A bit hectic," replied the General. "The Emperor's daughter is scheduled to be born in a month or so and there's uncertainty about the level of celebration that's going to accompany that."

"Oh, I remember how exciting it was when the crown prince was born," said Alby's mother. "An heir at last! The whole planet was celebrating! You remember that, don't you, Dear?" She directed the last remark at Alby.

"Sure, it was only three years ago." It hadn't made much of an impression on him at the time, but he did remember it. The chief memory, however, was of mounds of bags and boxes filled with new clothing for his mother piled in the foyer…

"If they do decide on a major gala that will almost certainly include the Corps of Cadets from the Academy," said his father. "I hope you bo… you people are keeping your drill up to snuff." His eyes darted toward Anny.

"We all looked pretty damn good at the graduation two weeks ago," said Alby.

"Alby!" said his mother. "No barracks language at the table, please!"

"Sorry."

"And so how are things at the Academy these days?" asked Alby's grandfather.

"Well enough, sir," he replied. "I don't imagine it changes much year to year. Probably not much different from what it was like in your day." To his left his father abruptly coughed on a swallow of wine. What…?

"Well!" snorted the Admiral. "I sometimes wondered how much attention you paid to all the boring stories told by the old men around the table, boy. Now I know. In my day, if by that you mean when I was your age, the Academy was a burnt-out pile of debris left by the Cetagandans. I learned my trade in the field, not in some classroom." An awkward silence fell for a moment, then, unexpectedly, Anny stepped into the gap.

"Yes, sir, I was hoping I'd get the chance to ask you about that. The records are all so incomplete from the time of the occupation. And most of the attention seems to focus on the activities of General Piotr Vorkosigan in the Dendarii Mountains. But from what I've read, what was happening here in the delta was every bit as important to the final victory. Can you tell us about that, sir?"

The Admiral looked pleasantly surprised. "Certainly, certainly. Of course, I was a mere child when it all started. And you can't take anything away from Vorkosigan, either. If he hadn't kept the resistance alive until the rest of us could get organized we might never have won. One of my first memories is of my mother leading me and my brothers into the swamp with Vorsworth castle ablaze on the hill behind us. Heh, I was only worried about my pony at the time. Never did see the beast again." The old man paused for a moment as if reliving old memories. "Then for the next ten years it was a matter of staying alive and avoiding the Cetagandan patrols. Again, we have to thank Vorkosigan. He made so much trouble in the mountains we were almost left alone around here. Of course, that all changed once the off-world help started coming in."

"Yes, sir," said Anny. "That's what I was especially interested in: how the pipeline for smuggled weapons got started."

"Heh,' chuckled the Admiral. "Smart lad." Anny looked sharply at Alby and his own eyes widened. Was it possible that his grandfather didn't realize that Anny was a woman? But he was going on: "If you believe all the claptrap they pass off as history today along with the popular stories, you'd be led to believe that we threw the Cetagandans out just by being brave and noble and using what we had at hand. Poppycock! All the bravery in the world isn't going to help when the enemy can just sit behind a force dome and send out hunter-killer drones that can sniff out gunpowder and chemical explosives from ten kilometers away. Without off-planet equipment we would have been helpless. No resistance could survive long when you can't do a damn thing to even hurt the enemy. But as for how I got involved with running the blockade, well, that was mostly a matter of being in the right place at the right time. The main technique for the runners was to come down over the ocean and then sneak into the delta in this area. We had a half-dozen secret bases for unloading. One of the more successful runners was docked and was short a crewman and there I was…" The Admiral launched himself into a long story that took the rest of dinner. Since his digestion could tolerate little of Maria's feast, he rarely needed to pause.

Alby had heard bits and pieces of the tale before, but now, hearing it all together and actually listening to it he had to admit it was riveting. Barrayar had only had a few years from the time it reconnected with the rest of the galaxy until the Cetagandans had invaded, but that had been enough time for them to purchase a few jump-ships and get a few pilots trained. A handful had avoided capture and were able to maintain a tenuous link between Barrayar and the outside. It was unbelievably dangerous and from this vantage point it seemed incredible that his grandfather had survived to reproduce.

"…so anyway, by the time it was over, I was left in command of the ship. Since there was only one other of the original ships left by then I had quite a bit of say in forming the post-war navy. Not bad for twenty-three, eh?" said the Admiral as the desert dishes were being collected. He paused and took a drink of the nutrient solution that was his primary source of sustenance these days.

"That's amazing, sir," said Anny. "But one thing I've been wondering about: where did all the smuggled weapons come from? And who paid for them? It doesn't seem like Barrayar would have much capital to trade on."

"Ah," said his grandfather fixing an eye on Anny. "You've touched on a key point, lad. Who indeed? I never did find out, even after I earned these." He tapped his rank tabs with a bony finger. "The suppliers we dealt with were clearly middlemen and the equipment itself could have come from a dozen different worlds. We never paid a farthing for any of our cargoes. They had all already been paid for and we were never told who by."

"Some… some people say that the Betans were behind it," said Jer.

This produced an angry growl from Alby's father. "Bastards," he muttered. Grandfather didn't hear or pretended not to.

"Aye, if I had to make a guess that would be mine," he said. "The Betans have always tried to maintain the status quo. If the scales tip too far in one direction they add their weight to balance it. When the Cetagandans were expanding the Betans helped their opponents. Later, well… But they usually try to keep their involvement a secret if they can."

"There was nothing secret about their involvement at Escobar!" snapped Alby's father. "We lost a lot of good men because of those scum!" Oh, that's right, father commanded a brigade during the Escobar Adventure. Somehow these events all seemed like ancient history to Alby, he couldn't really picture his father or grandfather actually having taken part in them.

"Heh" snorted his grandfather. "You just picked the wrong war, son." He shifted his gaze to Anny. "But you, young man, you ask some sharp questions. Vorpayne? I don't think I know your family…"

Anny's face went a little pale, but she answered steadily. "It's Payne, sir. Just Payne."

"Ah? And a cadet-captain? You must be good. My compliments."

"Thank you, sir."

"Ann… she…Cadet-Captain Payne is the best damn officer in our battalion, sir," Alby managed to fumble out.

"He'd have to be good to keep a rascal like you in line," chuckled the admiral. "But when we were fighting in the delta, before I got my ship, it didn't matter a damn if a man—or woman—was Vor or not. We were all too tired and filthy to care…" His grandfather's voice trailed off and he seemed to sag in his chair. "But speaking of tired… I think it's about time for me to call it a night. A shame… I've enjoyed this a great deal…"

Alby's father was out of his chair immediately and calling for the Admiral's attendants. They must have been waiting right outside, because only seconds passed before they arrived. The old man did look very tired, but he still managed a short good night to everyone before he was pushed out. Everyone else was on their feet, too and it was obvious that dinner was over.

"Alby, said his father, "once you have your… friends settled, please come and see me in my study."

"Yes, sir."

[Scene Break]

He left the others in the War Room and then made a quick side trip to his room to shuck off his uncomfortable dress grays. He was afraid he knew what was coming and there was no need to be uncomfortable on two fronts. None of his more formal civies fit him anymore so he ended up wearing the same casual clothes he'd been wearing earlier. He left his room and walked down the hall to his father's study and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

His father's study was a miniature version of the downstairs library: paneled walls, shelves filled with leather-bound books, mementos, and antiques. Two small portraits, one of the emperor and the other of Count Vorgannon, hung behind the old polished desk. The general sat in his chair with the collar of his tunic open. There was a frown on his face. "You wanted to see me, sir?" asked Alby.

"Yes. Can you please tell me just what in God's name you think you're doing?"

"Uh, that's a pretty open-ended question. What do you mean?"

"I mean those… those friends of yours!"

"What? Did they use the wrong fork on their salads or something?" Alby knew perfectly well what his father meant, but a simmering anger was growing inside him and he wasn't going to make it easy for him.

"Don't play the fool!" snapped the General. "Of all the people, all the respectable Vors, you could have taken up with at the Academy, who do you become friends with? A prole lout from South Continent, a Komarran, and a… a girl! My God! That bloody girl!"

"Well, I guess you can rack that up to my inexperience in making friends—never having had any before!" Alby couldn't keep the anger out of his voice and to his surprise it actually seemed to get through to his father.

"Yes, this is partly our fault," he growled. "Keeping you isolated here with tutors instead of sending you off to a good Vor school was a mistake. But Alby you have to realize that the friends you make, the contacts you make at the Academy will have a huge impact on your later career. The 'Old Boy Network' is how the military functions! I don't really care about this Mederov kid and considering who our empress is the Komarran might even prove useful to you at some point. But stay away from that girl! She's toxic! Anyone even associated with her is going to face hell later on. As soon as you get back to the Academy you put in for a transfer to another company, I'll make sure that it's approved. You understand me?"

"Should I have the servants toss Anny down the hill while I'm at it?" Alby clenched his fists. He couldn't ever remember being this angry. "We wouldn't want anyone to know she's actually been here would we?"

"Damn it! You keep a civil tongue in your head, young man! And you do what I tell you!"

"I respectfully decline, sir. I'm quite happy with the company I'm in."

"Your happiness has nothing to do with this!"

"And it never has!"

"You will do as you're told!" His father's face was getting quite red. Alby reminded himself that he might look young compared to Grandfather, but he was still an old man. Still, he wasn't about to knuckle under just to spare his blood pressure!

"Or what? You'll whip up another little Vorsworth and hope he works out better?" Even as he said the words Alby realized that he had gone too far. This had lain, unspoken, between them for years. Perhaps it should have remained unspoken. His father's face drained of color and an icy silence engulfed both of them.

"Go to your room and stay there," said his father at last.

"I'm being confined to quarters, sir?"

"Yes. Now go."

Even though he wasn't in uniform he saluted and then spun on his heel and walked out of the room. But instead of going to his room, he went downstairs to where his friends were still playing with the game. Apparently the traces of the confrontation were still on his face because Anny immediately asked: "Alby, what's wrong?"

"Change in plans, folks. Get your stuff. We're leaving."

"Leaving?" asked Jer. "We just got here."

"Where are we going?" asked Patric.

"Anywhere but here."