AN. Sorry that this is so late. However, as a small comfort, please enjoy and the extra-long chapter and the cover-art I made for the story. You can find it in both my deviant-art and tumblr. Links to both are available in my profile.
Let's hope I can get the next chapter up a little bit sooner...
But no promises. My life is a real mess right now.
Chapter 2. When everyone's got secrets, the name of the game becomes "who knows what?"
"God dammit!"
Miles exclaimed as he ended up flat on his face on the fine carpet. Curiously enough, the fall didn't hurt... much.
Not even a minute ago, he had woken up to an unfamiliar alarm clock's sound and had felt the eerily familiar confusion that followed his mysterious seizures, well, sans the usual hangover-like effects. Not again… he grimaced and swept his hand over his face. However, opening his eyes gave him more pressing concerns than minor health issues; he wasn't where he was supposed to be.
Immediately, he checked for restraints and guards.
None found… so he wasn't kidnapped?
At the nightstand laid an impressive collection of wrist coms and alarms, and demurely next to them; an electronic book reader with a psychology disc inside, and curiously few thrash fiction discs next to it, a bottle of sleeptimers and other miscellaneous medication. That ruled out most criminal plots, because surely no one would be stupid enough to leave all that communication equipment in such an easy reach? Or maybe it was set there to lull him into a false security….
A minute check at the most benign looking wrist com confirmed that it was working in full capacity. Activating the connection and listening in the answering voice told him something even more worrying; he was in the Residence and the wrist com was Gregor's.
Thus he abruptly tried to stand and find out more…
It was then that he realized that the world was wrong. Not even slightly wrong but wrong in every way possible, because everything was at a wrong angle and he had apparently grown a feet in height overnight.
Impossible!
…and his legs rebelled, sending him flat to the floor.
From his embarrassing position it was easy to note how his hands weren't his own either. His own hands were full of scars, the fingers were stubby, the nails were always thoroughly gnawed down to the cuticle – his habit of biting his fingernails might be unattractive, but so was a lot of other things in him and it helped him to think. These hands, though, were large and the fingers were long and elegant in a way that the ladies would describe as the pianist fingers, or so Miles fancied. Not a single scar or callus to be seen, definitely not a physical worker's hands.
And truthfully… taking in the surroundings, the wrist com, the sudden increase in height and these hands… all lent to one unlikely conclusion.
For some cracked up reason he was in Gregor's body.
Where was the Emperor then? Missing? Relocated out of his body? Killed? What would happen to Barrayar without Gregor…?
Oh fuck no.
This couldn't be happening.
Sure he knew the Imperial Succession theory. He had even cracked jokes about it, even dangled the possibility to that megalomaniacal whore Cavilo during the Hegen Hub crisis... But no matter the jokes and the blood and heritage, the possibility of him as the Emperor wasn't something that people would speak out loud. Aral Vorkosigan's stance in the matter was rock solid; no Vorkosigan would ever sit on the Imperial Campstool, and Miles understood it all.
He had never, ever, wanted Gregor's job.
But right now, if he couldn't find Gregor and reverse this…
No.
It simply wasn't a possibility.
Backtrack. If he was somehow misplaced into Gregor's body, didn't that also follow that Gregor would be misplaced into his body? He needed to find out. And in any case, even if it wasn't so, it would be prudent to find out what had happened to his original body anyways.
For this, he would have to get moving and find something to wear.
Biting his teeth together in determination, Miles heaved himself up to his knees, took hold of the nightstand and carefully gathered his long, gangly legs under him. He found out soon that while walking was odd, it wasn't impossible – clearly the body knew how. If he didn't concentrate too hard, the body moved almost just like his own, never mind the staggering size difference between them. So, he should be able to handle the everyday functions.
Thank god.
He could only imagine the trouble, if he had to learn how to walk again and get used to the new limbs the hard way….
Miles didn't get far, just barely a few steps out of the bedroom, when he became face to face with a servant in Vorbarra's colors. What was the man's name? He had absolutely no idea… but the servant was clearly a valet.
Miles paused in bafflement. While he was used to having servants, he was by preference self-sufficient and liked to, for example, handle his dressing alone. But if he was Gregor for these people at the moment, could he act according to his own preferences?
A sinking feeling hit the bottom of Miles's stomach and he realized that he needed to get into the role and fast. If he roused suspicion, if he acted too out of order… oh shit, Barrayar had a great deal of well-founded fears for insane Emperors. He could singlehandedly destroy everything his family and friends had been shedding sweat and blood for decades. Miles swallowed, no, no – he could do this. He had spent the majority of the last decade in a deep cover role, so taking a new identity shouldn't be too difficult. And he was one of the few people who knew Gregor well as a person. So, it shouldn't be too impossible to make this work and find out what the hell had happened and solve this mess…
Managing a suitably good bland expression on his face, one that Gregor usually tended to default to, Miles handled the servant politely and got dressed in the dark civilian suit the valet had picked out for him. Inwardly Miles grimaced in distaste; he would have preferred the safe anonymity of uniform. The positive side of the garments was, though, that it confirmed that Gregor didn't have anything too official to attend to this morning, such as Council of Counts meetings, Military reviews… or any other mind numbing horrors the Emperor of Barrayar was subjected to frequently.
Thank god it was Sunday.
It was when he got out of Gregor's private apartments after washing, dressing, eating breakfast… that a more acute problem became apparent. The next order of business in the Emperor's schedule was the morning security briefing with the Chief of Impsec.
Dammit, this too! Of all the people he would have to deal and try to handle, surely Illyan was the worst, Miles despaired as he made his way to Gregor's office. He didn't have to think twice about the route, after all, he was very familiar with the Residence, having spent his childhood there and being a frequent visitor.
The core of the problem with his boss was that Illyan knew him too well, and the old fox couldn't forget a thing either. A meeting, right now – when he still didn't know enough or hadn't managed a full forward momentum?
An almost impossible task.
Should he try to explain the truth?
No, it was too outlandish, Miles concluded with a frown.
Then again, trying to lie to Illyan even more than he was already doing sat badly on Miles's conscience. But there was no other choice, not really. He couldn't afford to be tied down to detainment or medical check in ImpMil… he needed to get in the middle of things and figure this out.
Illyan was already in the office – waiting for him. Miles couldn't help but to blanch at his boss's expression; that frown, tightening around eyes, grim lines near the mouth…
Illyan was stressed.
Shit.
"Sire, I regret to inform you that there is a major Cetagandan intelligence operation going on and we have confirmed that they managed to plant an experimental biotech device during yesterday's ball to at least one of the guests…."
Miles eyes widened despite himself and his thoughts started to fly in speed, connecting the dots; intelligence operation, experimental biotech device, this absurd out of body experience… So it was Cetas - not too surprising, he concluded, and absently bit his nails and rose to pace around. Had it perhaps some connection to the telepathy experiments? But Terrence Cee had been a result from genetic experimental modification, which was the Cetagandan specialty. Biotech wasn't their cup of tea, but Illyrica was close to them and it was a well-known and acknowledged fact that Illyricans had went further than anyone with the biotech development…
His thoughts sped up, running through the scraps of information, making connections and discarding them. He couldn't help the slightly manic glee hitting him hard. After all, if anything, Miles loved dismantling complicated plots. What made it even more interesting was this promise of a good cat and mouse game with the Cetas.
…but what was the purpose of this forceful personality arrangement?
What would Cetas gain by it?
Spying was all well and good, but even the Cetas weren't absurd enough to do this sort of a thing on purpose.
Suddenly Miles noted the marked silence and glanced at his boss, who was looking at him with a decidedly peculiar expression – complete bafflement. Never before had Miles seen his honorary uncle look so out of it.
Miles frowned and the dread creeping on him, backtracked his actions for the last few moments.
Oh shit.
Illyan choked and whispered; "….Miles?"
Simon Illyan's horrible and stressful night and surprisingly successful spy hunting mission had continued on to a morning of absolute chaos.
While Sergeant Kaverin had been successfully arrested, it had been quickly confirmed that he was fast-penta allergy conditioned, despite the fact showing nowhere in his profile. It served as a conclusive factor to prove that the man was a foreign agent.
Typically only high profile agents were secured like that as losing an agent in a counter intelligence work for anaphylactic shock was an acceptable loss compared to sharing the information. The procedure was never induced to ordinary grunts, though, as it was quite expensive, and they never knew enough to warrant it…
However, the mere existence of allergy conditioning made the interrogation a tricky endeavor and rather more nasty than it needed to be.
The old fashioned way was slow and messy.
Imprecise.
And if anything, the man that was known as Sergeant Kaverin, was a well-trained counter-intelligence agent, with all that implied. Thus, so far they had managed to only get a tentative confirmation that the man had smuggled unknown biotech device and successfully planted it to some guests of the ball. There had been three pellets – but that wasn't a conclusive confirmation for the number of targets, no. It was impossible to know if the pellets had contained only one device each, or if there had been many…
In any case, it all came down to the matter of time. How long had the spy device been active, what information Cetas had gotten, where were the conspirators hiding… and more importantly, was it still transmitting? If so, how to shut the device? Or if it couldn't be done retroactively, they needed to figure out how to contain the information leak. Thankfully the reports from their Eta Cetan agent claimed that the device wouldn't do any harm to the target, even if it broke down. The biotech "nanochips" were very, very small – barely the size of an ordinary red blood cell and travelled within the bloodstream.
At half past seven, Illyan was so swamped in the mess that he had started to delegate tasks. And it was at that point he noted that Miles hadn't answered his summons, even though the order had come down almost a full hour ago. What the hell was going on with the boy?
Well, he simply didn't have time to find out.
So, Illyan shuffled Miles's orders to Haroche. The Head of Domestic Affairs had been brought into the loop some time ago and was already in the full swing to gather a team to track down Kaverin's movements and finding the agent's possible co-conspirators.
Now, Illyan was on his way to give the Emperor his morning security briefing and bring him, too, to the information loop. And as soon as they could figure a way to check out possible targets for the device's existence, the first priority was verifying if the Emperor had been tagged. God only knew how much delicate information the Cetas could ferret out by spying successfully on Gregor… Illyan felt the chills race on his skin at the thought.
If there was his worst counter-intelligence horror scenario, that would be it.
For some odd reason, Gregor was unusually late for their meeting. It was just five minutes, but it was out of character. So was the way his Emperor's face blanched at the sight of him… He and Gregor had been working closely together for fifteen years, during that time they had developed a very good working relationship, nearly camaraderie – built of bonds of loyalty and absolutely trust.
So, while he tried to pinpoint where the warning bells sounding in his mind were coming from, he started his report…
…and saw Gregor bite his nails, and start to pace around the study, eyes gleaming brightly with plotting. Never, ever, had he seen the introverted, quiet and careful Gregor look so gleeful and manic. It was highly disturbing.
Very out of character.
Illyan fell silent and just stared at the spectacle before him in an absolute bafflement.
If anything, that sort of behavior was something his mind associated his most erratic subordinate with. Briefly, he ran the comparison with Miles from his memory chip to the way Gregor behaved right now – and surely enough, the amount of steps before changing direction, even the order of gnawing on the fingernails, the direction of the motion from left to right, the way the eyes sparked…
It was all pure Miles Naismith Vorkosigan.
In utter disbelief Illyan choked, and before he could even think what it all meant, his lips betrayed him by letting to slip out a questioning; "….Miles?"
And the Emperor froze, just like a deer caught in headlights.
For a moment they both just stared each other.
And then the Emperor started to babble madly, sprouting the most absurd report he had ever heard. Thank god he had his memory chip and could backtrack and replay the explanation, because otherwise he would have been totally lost.
Even still…
"Woke up like this, not kidnapped, grew a foot overnight, wrist com, own body? Switch? Concentrating too much is a hindrance, Gregor, me as an Emperor, gotta find, to reverse…"
….It wasn't much of a help.
But if there was something Illyan learned of that, it was that Gregor was missing, Miles was in Gregor's body and he would strangle his honorary nephew if the boy wouldn't shut up right now.
Illyan pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, taking a deep inhale…
And miraculously, it was silent when he opened his eyes. Miles was looking harried, eyes very wild and the chest heaving air to his lungs. About what Illyan had expected, really. After that tirade, he too would be short of breath.
"Let's go over this again." He said slowly, with a deceptively calm voice.
Miles wasn't fooled. Good. It meant that the boy was listening carefully.
"We have a Cetagandan experimental device that has been planted yesterday evening. We know it transmits information. What and how, are still unknown. You woke up this morning in the Emperor's body. This suggests that at least the Emperor was tagged."
Miles exhaled and nodded, but then a frown formed between his brows. "Then most likely I was too. Do you know what is the situation concerning my body?"
Illyan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. As usual, Miles was fast on pick up and made a good point… so he recounted, choosing his words carefully; "I become aware of the device's existence yesterday, but only managed to connect the plot being active on the spring ball by a random chance this morning. It was then that I needed an expert sniffing out Ceta plots and issued an asap summon to you. Before I came here, you still hadn't reported in."
So was Miles's body unconscious with the boy's mind misplaced? Or was there someone else –preferably Gregor - occupying the body? Or was Miles's mind duplicated to Gregor's body by the device? One way to find out. Illyan raised his wrist com to his mouth, and asked calmly; "Connect me to General Haroche, please."
Ignoring the eager "Yes, sir!" and then waiting for the transfer sounds, Illyan didn't quite know what he wished to be true. Every single aspect of this mess was a catastrophe on its own, but put together it formed a shit storm of epic proportions. Not on the scale of the Pretender's war or the Escobar fiasco, as no one was dead - yet – but climbing closer on the shit-o-meter and fast.
"Chief Illyan, how can I help you?" Haroche's voice sounded out, clearly wary but curious.
"Just one thing, has Lieutenant Vorkosigan reported in yet?"
A pointed pause, then a slow… almost judgmental; "Yes, he arrived some time ago. As you ordered, I assigned him a task among my team to track down the Cetagandan moles."
"Very good." Illyan said as his thoughts raced.
...so of the three tentative possibilities, only two were left. And if there was one thing he was absolutely sure of, it was that this knowledge of missing minds and misplaced bodies shouldn't be let out to anyone. So, should he order Lieutenant Vorkosigan to report in to him? Could he even let an unknown element near the Emperor's body? There was no way to know who was inhibiting the body… Or should he try to protect a possible location of the Emperor's misplaced mind?
"…is there anything else I can help you with?"
Choices, choices…
Compromising, Illyan asked with an idle voice, projecting a mere familiar interest; "Was Lieutenant Vorkosigan alright?" Hopefully Haroche wouldn't read too far into that, no matter that the question made Illyan seem too familiar and soft to his subordinate… it was simply easiest way of getting the information he needed.
"No, he seemed normal."
"All right, then. Thank you, General Haroche." Illyan said and closed the com connection.
What did this mean? With a sinking feeling, Illyan realized that there was always a way things could get worse. So far his only tentative hope of locating his missing Emperor's mind had been the same wishful idea that Miles had also suggested. But if Miles had been duplicated… where was Gregor?
Miles's frown wasn't quite on par with the Emperor's most severe expressions, but definitely getting there as he remarked; "The first priority will be finding Gregor… and finding out what this device does," and then an angry hissing breath, "…I cannot be in the loop for obvious reasons."
Illyan nodded, acknowledging the fact coolly.
It went unsaid, but they both were acutely aware that the only target they could be relatively sure that was tagged was the Emperor. And Miles was wearing the body, transmitting data straight to the Cetagandans.
The Emperor's schedule needed to be cleared of meetings with highly sensitive information. He couldn't be officially compromised or withdrawn, not right now with the law reform coming up to vote in CoC early next week…
Oh god, that too…
They needed a way to confirm the device's existence and clear out possible targets, and find a way to disconnect it… a team of biotech experts.
"Dr. Weddel." Miles muttered and Illyan nodded in agreement. It was obvious that their thoughts were running similar paths.
Not too surprising, considering.
Suddenly the brainstorming session was interrupted by Gregor's comsole blaring into life, alerting to an incoming vid call. Miles glanced at him, but then sighed and went to answer it – effortlessly passing the handprint and retina check…
And Illyan couldn't help but to note that in one move Cetas had actually effectively made all of Impsec's hideously expensive security measures obsolete…
"Sire, Lieutenant Vorpatril is here to see you."
"Ivan?"
"Yes, Sire. He says it's urgent."
What the hell? As far as Illyan was aware, lady Alys's feckless son wasn't a frequent visitor by any means. Just why Ivan Vorpatril would be coming to visit Gregor?
And especially this early on a Sunday morning?
Miles's surprised look was an echo of his own, but then there was a spark of realization in his eyes -
…and answered smoothly in Gregor's cultured tones; "Very well, I will see him now." and closed the connection.
Illyan raised a brow, and Miles stroked his chin with a "wait and see" – gesture he knew the boy had copied in his youth from Aral Vorkosigan. However, now replayed on the Emperor's likeness, it looked odd. Gregor had always been very careful not to copy his old Regent's habits, in the fear that it would be perceived as a political statement.
Everything Gregor Vorbarra did was always a political statement.
And now Miles was Gregor.
God help them all.
Gregor and Ivan had settled down for a good calming cup of coffee, when they had been interrupted rather rudely by a vid call from Impsec. It had been recounted orders for Miles Vorkosigan to report in to General Haroche, Impsec Head of Domestic Affairs.
Needless to say, Ivan had gotten a little bit panicked.
A reasonable reaction, really - or so Gregor thought. After all, Ivan was for all relevant purposes Miles at the moment, and thus ignoring direct orders. A criminal offense in any military service and in Barrayar, the punishments could, depending on the severity of the offence and a few other factors, get nasty all the way up to mortal. So there wasn't much to do at that point but to calm Ivan down a bit, give him directions to Haroche's office and set the harried man on his way.
So Gregor had been left alone to figure out what to do about the situation. To give himself something to do while he thought, he mopped the spilled coffee from the kitchen floor. It was oddly appealing, never before had he been allowed to stain his hands doing such a menial chore.
Liberating, really.
Gregor sighed and glanced at Ivan's wrist com, checking for the time. It was half past eight in the morning, and according to his regular schedule he should be on the way to the regular morning security briefing. So, at this point there should be some answers available and he could, possibly gain entrance before the meetings with the ministers that were difficult to reschedule would begin…
It was time to get moving, then. It was better this way, to find out what was going on, find a way back – away from this tempting impossible chance he had been handed to.
Gregor was on the way out of the door, before he realized that a serving officer couldn't, in fact, go into the Residence, even for a family visit, without being correctly dressed in a service issue uniform. It was a punishable offence and he really couldn't do that to Ivan…
So he backtracked and changed into Ivan's crispiest and clearly most rarely used uniform. If he had to wear these things, he could at least choose the garment with the least amount of attached history to it, Gregor grimaced in distaste. Thankfully Ivan's personal standards of hygiene were rather high and the clothes were well treated and clean. His choice was a slight mistake, though, as the undress greens were still new enough to be uncomfortable as hell; the collar was toughly starched – it kept pinching his neck and the boots didn't sit right on his feet. His heel kept moving with every step in a very unpleasant way.
Compared to the other options, he rather preferred it this way. At least it served as a reminder that he was in a loaned body and loaned life.
The next hurdle came at the door of the apartment building; an issue of location and logistics. Gregor recognized that he was in the newer part of the town, but how could he actually get to the Residence? It was good seven miles away by his best estimate.
Ivan didn't have a chauffeur…. or even an assigned Armsman driver. Huh…
Well, the monorail would be couple miles to the east and he could walk the distance, but how did Ivan normally move around? The Ops headquarters was close and Ivan was in good physical shape, but truthfully his cousin wasn't the sort of person to hike to work every day…
Come to think of it, didn't Miles and Lady Alys complain about Ivan's driving habits?
So there should be a lightflyer somewhere. Hmm, should he try to find it? On the other hand, walking would be interesting, but his available time window for an audience was rather tight… and he did know how to drive a lightflyer.
Granted, last time he had driven had been some fifteen years ago, when he had been taught the skill for security reasons, but it shouldn't be too difficult. And last time he had driven, it had been an enjoyable experience. And really, when could he get a chance like this again? Decision made, Gregor headed back in to hunt for the keys with a faint smile on his lips.
Sometime later he was quickly revising his earlier assumption of the ease in lightflyer's piloting.
It wasn't.
Easy, that is.
Gregor had managed to scratch the vehicle's surface enamel in three different small collisions, the latest one occurring with the Imperial Residence's main gate. The Impsec guard's stony look contained a world of unspoken critique and Gregor's cheeks flushed red in sheer embarrassment.
He hadn't felt this stupid in decades – and he was sure that Ivan wouldn't be happy with him either, not that his cousin would ever dare to comment on it aloud.
To his relief, Gregor managed to find a way to the visitor's entrance and announce his business to the receptionist without further mortifying mistakes.
Despite being quite well adapted to the situation, at least in his own opinion, Gregor found out that it was odd to be asking for an audience with himself. The receptionist, though, didn't offer any comment about the request and asked him to wait there.
For any other subject it would be impossible to ask an audience with an Emperor, but Ivan Vorpatril was among the very few in the cleared list of Gregor's personal friends and family. And the Residence staff were obliged to always inquire and then, if permitted, to attempt to shuffle these personage's visits to the Emperor's busy schedule. It was a privilege Ivan had always been entitled to, but had almost never actually used.
The surrealism of the whole situation finally sank in, when Gregor stood there waiting in the busy foyer. He couldn't help but to stare - this was the building he had been confined to for most of his life. On good days it was his home. On bad days, it was his golden cage, where he was the poor bastard eternally committed to keep pushing the old-fashioned and backwater tri-planetary Empire moving forward.
A centerpiece of the Empire.
Always, always, since the moment he first remembered, people had noticed him. Looked at him, been infernally aware of his presence…
"Omph!" He yelped, as the air gushed out of his lungs as something collided into him, and drove him to crash into the entrance's red carpeting. Around him, flimsies were still flying and scattering to the floor. What the..?
"Hey! Watch where you are going!" An angry female voice huffed at him. Then the strange woman started to desperately gather the flimsies, all the while muttering under her breath; "…just my luck to run into a dithering idiot the very first morning on the job. Oh sweet Mary, what did I ever do to deserve this?"
Gregor sat up and gingerly pressed his fingers against the slight throbbing pain in his temple, and surveyed the site of the collision. From the pain and angle of impact, he must have hit the floor with a rather alarming velocity, but the plush carpeting had softened the blow. For the first time in his life, he understood that there was some practical value in the ostentatious piece of décor.
Around them, people glanced at the spectacle and moved on their own business… no one stopping to lend assistance or ask if he had hurt himself.
It was absolutely surreal.
He, the Emperor of Barrayar, had gotten hurt in his own home and no one cared. But of course, at the moment he wasn't Gregor Vorbarra… but just a regular Vor born lieutenant, Ivan Vorpatril.
The woman, well – a girl, really - was young, in her early twenties, and she was still gathering scattered flimsies. And getting rather upset, Gregor noted with consternation, as there were tears forming in her eyes. She was dressed in formal office style clothing, made of only a passable quality material. So, she had to be one of the secretaries or reception assistants working here, Gregor surmised.
Belatedly, he started to help her gather the flimsies. It was only polite thing to do, as he was partly responsible for the accident for having stood there blocking the way. She noted his action with a frown, but didn't offer any comment, instead taking a deep breath and continuing to set some order to the flimsy stack.
From the corner of his eye, Gregor couldn't help but to note that she was a nice looking girl, soft and curvy. Some very male part of him appreciated her well-developed chest in particular. She wasn't beautiful by any means, falling more closely into what was described as "girl next door" – type by Gregor's understanding, but in an odd way, it merely increased her appeal.
It was an odd thing to notice, because after having had a full set of tall, perfectly dressed and subservient court beauties paraded in front of him by Lady Alys since he had been old enough to shave… Gregor had thought for the longest time that he didn't even care for ladies' company. Not that he noted men either – instead he had quietly assumed that he was just one of the unlucky few who were generally disinterested in such things.
Occasionally he had wondered about an option of just choosing someone suitable for convenience's sake, just to get some peace and quiet on the matter. But picking a random Vor bride was impossible, for Gregor was well familiar with the lurking genetic time bomb hidden in his lineage. And really, what other politically advantageous options there were? Then there was the fact that after having had Cordelia and Aral as examples of a good marriage when growing up, Gregor just didn't want to settle for anything less.
But here, right now… for the first time in almost ten years, Gregor couldn't keep his eyes away. On her right breast was a name tag, declaring her name to be "Irina".
Almost without a thought, an apology left his mouth; "I am terribly sorry, miss Irina."
She glanced at him and pursed her lips, and suddenly Gregor realized that his words had come across terribly rude. After all - she hadn't permitted him to use her given name and they were not familiar enough for such a casual conversation.
Feeling out of balance, he turned away, trying to hide the slight rise of color on his cheeks. Here he was, polite and cultured diplomat, offering such embarrassing words…
An amused chortle rang out, distinctly different from the background noise. Startled, Gregor turned to her and saw a rueful smile. "It's all right, and in truth, my mistake." She said and stacked the pile of flimsies straight, then leaned forward to pick up more.
Feeling encouraged, Gregor rose slightly to reach one of the more errant flimsies. He was just about to offer her a compliment, when he noticed an extraordinarily stressed looking Simon Illyan march with long steps to his way. And suddenly Gregor lost his line of thought, but his mouth was already running; "If I offered you a compliment that you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"
The woman – Irina – froze in utterly mortified shock. But it wasn't even the worst thing in this, for Illyan had clearly been close enough to hear the line, judging by the man's incredulous scoff and amused tilt of lips while he passed Gregor on the way out.
"I, I… I have never…. you, you… skirt chasing scoundrel!" Irina screeched, full of righteous anger and Gregor raised his arms in front of him; a poor imitation of formal self-defense move that security training had tried to instill to him during seemingly endless spars. All for naught, for it did little to protect him from her attack with the stack of flimsies, directed, of course, at his much suffering head.
After she had extracted her vengeance and stomped off, Gregor staggered back to the reception where the clerk offered him an amused look, and told him that the Emperor would be willing to receive him now.
Gathering his bruised pride, Gregor ignored the laughing stares directed at him in the foyer that held absolutely no sympathy for his plight and followed the servant escorting him to the Emperor's office in the East Wing. The looks were well deserved, Gregor admitted to himself, if a little alien experience. After all, he had stepped well over the line of everything decent and proper…
Replaying the memory once more, analyzing it over and over, he finally concluded that if there was a mixed blessing in this mess, it was that the gossip couldn't ever connect his blunder to being performed by the Emperor of Barrayar. That would have roused a scandal. He could just imagine the gossip; "Emperor chasing the servants", "Seducing a little girl's half his age", "No wonder he wasn't interested in Lady A or B" or even "Just like his father…" Gregor grimaced, feeling dirty all of a sudden. He knew that Crown Prince Serg had liked satisfying his tastes on the defenseless and it wasn't a large leap of logic that most likely servant girls had been among his targets.
All in all, it was good that Ivan would carry the blame for this.
Even though Gregor felt a little bit guilty for tarnishing Ivan's reputation with his blunders, he was quite sure that Ivan had probably even more outrageous tales of missteps and lapses of decorum with the ladies. Though, most likely they wouldn't have actually hit Ivan, because his cousin was most commonly known for seducing ladies of the Vor caste…
Gregor sighed and rubbed his aching head absently.
"Not making any more mistakes-" he muttered under his breath and resolved to stay away from further encounters with ladies. It would be only prudent, as he had certainly proven to be a complete amateur for expressing an interest. Hardly a surprise, that. Gregor hadn't ever had to work to impress a lady. They had been always chasing after him, well not him per se, but the prestige – the title of the Empress. All he had ever had to do with ladies was to keep his silence, be polite and figure out a way to get rid of them without pissing off their all too politically interested relatives.
Not a single one had ever wanted him for him. How could they, though? They knew him too well from the outside; the holovids, the scanty fast introductions at the socialite events, the hearsay. They all had already formed their opinions, their own minds preventing them from seeing him under all the golden shine, the facade.
Gregor couldn't help the glum expression setting on his face any more than he could affect the weather. It was just a part of him. And truly, he reasoned, there really wasn't any point in examining this surprising surge of interest to a lady, well – not at least while he was stuck in this borrowed body.
"Lieutenant Vorpatril, Sire" His escort announced at the door of the Emperor's office.
And so, a little bit abruptly, Gregor was face to face with himself. Or someone just like him, for the Emperor had a severe frown marring his face and hands clasped behind his back, a gesture very similar to his own. For a moment Gregor felt an intense vertigo, and doubts started to flood his thoughts. He hadn't even considered the option that he could be normal and just his mind to be duplicated…
"You had an urgent matter to discuss, Ivan?" The Emperor said in his own cultured tones, stressing the name "Ivan" with the just correct amount that told careful listener clearly that now was not a good time.
Gregor paused, and tried to gather his scattered thoughts. What should he say? The truth, a lie?
Desperately buying for time, he instead derailed for rather an important curiosity; "I came across Captain Illyan leaving with hurry, has something happened?"
The Emperor let out a small, understated grimace – something he too could have done – and waved his right hand signaling, "could be, not sure I can share".
It was almost okay, fitting seamlessly into the Emperor's presentation and it did look good. A casual observer wouldn't have given a second thought for it.
Gregor wouldn't have either, but for the fact that it reminded him acutely of Aral Vorkosigan. His former Lord Regent was an extremely charismatic and physical person and had the habit of scattering such gestures without a thought. They were his trademark, truly, and many men of Gregor's generation had liked to copy them as an easy way to craft their image. However, Gregor had taken serious pains not to use them at Cordelia's suggestion, to avoid furthering the stigma of "Vorkosigans, the Emperor makers".
His breath hitched at the realization; whoever the Emperor was, it was not Gregor's duplicate, but instead someone good enough to pass off as him even in short notice. The amount of people capable of that was startlingly short, and considering the circumstances…
Before Gregor could think of it further, or say anything on the matter, the Emperor let out a minute sigh, and spoke; "I probably should tell you some of what's going on. Very well, here is the short of it; by our best knowledge, yesterday the Cetagandans managed to plant an experimental biotech device at an unknown number of the spring ball's guests. We suspect that both I and Miles were among the targets. To make things worse, Illyan received a word just a few moments ago that Miles had some sort of... a fit and then fell unconscious straight after."
"Ow, ow, ow," Ivan muttered as he slowly stirred.
Not daring to open his eyes yet, he fought against the unpleasant haze of confusion clouding the reality. Everything ached, his brain felt like it was full of smoke and even his tongue felt numb, there was a faint taste of blood on his mouth, had he bitten his tongue?
Why would he have?
And why did everything hurt? Last night he had been dancing for hours and had had a nice pleasant buzz going on, had flirted with Lady Vorob'yev… but then he had had the most horrifying nightmare ever, where he had been stuck into Miles's body and had been summoned for mission briefing. He had been in such a hurry that he hadn't managed to stop at Vorkosigan's house to drop Miles's nice lightflyer off, but rather had had to drive with the sleek and sporty vehicle to the cockroach central.
The parking had been a pain and people had stared at his choice of transportation. It was showy, sexy beast of a flyer. Exactly the sort one used when picking up girls, or simply fine tuning for one's one pleasure. Not one to go work with, especially if one was sensitive like Miles to be recognized for his own merits, not for his heritage and relatives' achievements…
But by then it was already too late, as the damage had been already done and Ivan had been trying to find his way to the briefing arranged by General Haroche of Domestic Affairs. The mad Vorrutyer's finest achievement in bizarrotecture had managed to get Ivan totally lost, despite having stopped to ask directions twice. By the time he had managed to find the correct briefing room, Ivan had been totally sick and tired of people's concerned looks, jealous looks, calculating looks...
But nothing had been more awful than having to face the clearly displeased General Haroche and sit through the mission briefing, where he couldn't for the life of him keep track of what was going on save for some rudimentary understanding of Cetagandan plots, biotech devices and moles in Impsec ranks. And then there had been an opportunity to ask questions and people had kept glancing at him, like they were expecting him to volunteer to theorize. But he was just "Ivan the Idiot," whose most known military achievements included just brewing good coffee, sorting the mail right and performing other miscellaneous duties at the Ops headquarters. He was decidedly not a goddamn paranoid spook, who loved complex secret agent games with Cetas!
Then Haroche had looked so damn condescending, just in a way that privately pissed Ivan off. But he knew better than to comment on it, so he had just nodded and done what he was assigned to do – try to track down the movements of the Cetagandan mole Sergeant Kaverin by checking the surveillance vids of the Residence.
It was a supremely boring task, yes, but one that he knew how to do.
By the considering looks given to him, people kept expecting him miraculously figure the whole mess out in minutes or something, and maybe the real Miles could have done it, but he was just Ivan!
And the ending, it was fit for horror holovids, truly. Because when General Haroche had come down to ask a question, Ivan had been so stressed that the back of his shirt was wet from cold sweat, clinging in the most unpleasant way to his skin and then suddenly there had been just green confetti filling his vision and everything had gone blank.
"Most horrifying dream ever…" Ivan muttered aloud. It must have been caused by the spring champagne he had drunk at the ball, because after that he had felt a little bit odd. It would definitely fit well into this hangoverish feeling, so Ivan decided with a solemn vow; "…never ever drinking that damn champagne again."
"Funny that you should say so."
Instantly Ivan opened his eyes in utter surprise and tried to sit up, only to fail because of the loosely tied restrains chaining him to the hospital cot. The sudden light made his eyes water in irritation and he clenched them shut.
"Calm down, Miles."
The voice was Captain Illyan's and was coming from the doorway.
Blinking tears away from his eyes and managing to focus for just a second, was all that Ivan needed to realize that his nightmare had only just begun. He swallowed, feeling nauseous for a moment. This couldn't be, it simply wasn't possible, he couldn't do this…
But when he opened his eyes, Captain Illyan was still there, having sat down to a stool situated next to the bed and looking concerned.
It looked wrong.
The old fox had never been concerned for Ivan, not really. They had this odd, mutually ignoring way of dealing with each other; Captain Illyan would look the other way whenever, and it was often, Ivan screwed up or did something that would embarrass his mother… and Ivan stayed out of old Illyan's notice the best he could.
It was an arrangement that had suited them both fine, but hadn't let any real closeness develop between them. Not like Illyan's and the Vorkosigans' relationship – like Miles was Illyan's honorary nephew. Like Illyan had liked Elena, back when Ivan, Miles and her had been the unruly trio of kids, like Illyan had become a steady cornerstone of Gregor's reign.
No.
Captain Illyan was happier when he didn't notice Ivan, and it had been fine.
So why did this look of concern hurt so much?
Because it wasn't directed to Ivan, it was for Miles. It had always been for Miles. Miles who had the best family one could ever hope for, Miles that everyone loved, Miles that everyone had always cared about… slightly bitter, Ivan turned his face away slightly and tried to focus.
It's not you he is seeing, but Miles.
"What's with the champagne, sir?" He asked softly, trying to derail. It was easier to think of the Cetagandan mess than this fucked up reality.
Captain Illyan cleared his throat, and after a small pause; "Yes, the champagne. We confirmed that Sergeant Kaverin planted the nanochips through the spring champagne that was served with the hors d'oeuvres. According to the surveillance vids of that time period, he carried only one tray with full set of glasses, the standard dozen and managed to serve the Emperor and you, and three other quests. However, the angle of recording doesn't allow full tracking of his movements. Can you pinpoint any of the seven other quests who received their drinks from him?"
Ivan frowned and stared at the ceiling, trying to recollect the situation from his scraps of memories. At the early evening he had had a wonderfully productive conversation with Lady Vorob'yev, and after she had accepted his invitation to the date…
Oh god, no. No! This couldn't be…
He was in Miles Vorkosigan's ill-used body and he had a date this evening with the most desired woman in the whole tri-planetary Imperium! He couldn't even cancel, not this late – she would never forgive him for it. But she would be even more pissed if he didn't show up…
And he had already arranged the reservations to Galereya that had cost a pretty penny, and owed a large favor for the majordomo –
But wait, it was Gregor who was in Ivan's body at the moment. And Gregor was a good diplomat; he knew how to handle a girl, right? At least judging by the amount of beauties having grazed his cousin's arms during all these years… Surely Gregor would do a favor to him and handle one measly date, while Ivan was stuck?
"Did you remember anything?"
Ugh… Ivan was pulled out of his plotting rather abruptly, and he turned to look at Captain Illyan feeling slightly sheepish. "I can't remember seeing anyone else taking a drink but Ivan." He told in all honesty, relatively sure that the waiter he had grabbed the drink from had been the mole… even though Miles probably wouldn't have seen him taking a glass, come to think of it.
"Well, try to focus if you can remember anything more." Illyan said, and was starting to rise to stand up –
Hey, what the hell? What was with the look of relieved disappointment? And more importantly; "What happened to me? At the headquarters, I mean?"
Illyan sighed, but sat down again and recounted dispassionately; "The doctor's aren't sure. All of a sudden you had a seizure, during which you lost all control, toppled over hitting your head on the way down, bit your tongue and then twitched like being electrocuted for six minutes. Then you fell unconscious for about thirty minutes, during which we transferred you here. According to the preliminary tests, there was a spike of activity in your brain, and considering the current situation, we suspect an idiosyncratic reaction with the Cetagandan nanochip's stimuli. They shouldn't have been harmful to the targets according to our best knowledge, but then again, you have been always a special case."
Ivan couldn't help but to stare at Illyan in disbelief. That sounded… bad. Really bad and so very typical of Miles. Except it wasn't Miles suffering through them this time…
"So that's why these…?" Ivan asked after a small pause, and raised his arms to demonstrate and tug on his restrains.
Captain Illyan nodded, seemingly not trusting himself to say more – but his look of concern told everything, really. For a moment the Chief of Impsec looked just like a tired, weary old man who had had enough. But then visibly the old fox gathered himself and stood straighter, and checked the time from his watch.
"I am gathering a team of biotech experts to try to figure to locate the biochip and see what can be done about it." Illyan said and took a few steps, but then looked over his shoulder and said; "Just take it easy until we know more, all right?"
Ivan couldn't help but to glance at his restrained wrists, the chillingly medical interrogation room in the Cockroach Central and be acutely aware that today he had the date of his life coming, and only a miracle would let him get to it. Feeling utterly defeated he let his head hit the pillow and muttered; "Well, this sucks."
To say that Miles was worried and stressed would be a severe understatement. Even though the body he was wearing was in prime condition, Miles was quite sure that he wasn't imagining his ulcers acting up. After all, it was the only reasonable explanation for this ice cold fear weighing at the bottom of his stomach that his original body's mysterious collapse didn't have anything to do with the Cetagandan nanochips.
Sure, suddenly and unexplainably falling into unconsciousness he could believe to be the nanochips' doing - even convince himself that it was possible.
Having... a fit with all the niceties like twitching and shaking?
Not so much.
Miles hadn't had any time to say or do anything about it, before Illyan had curtly dismissed himself with a rather daunting; "Stay here, don't do anything-" and gone to explore the situation. The "stupid" hadn't ended the curt, reflexive command, but Miles's mind easily added it to the truncated sentence.
However, not long after being left alone in the office, Miles had felt all his world collapse around him.
If the reason for his body's collapse was what he feared… Illyan would gather the best doctors in the Imperium and they would surely figure it out soon. Then Miles's secrets would come out, even the fact that he had lied and oh god-
Then his secret identity, his true life as Admiral Naismith would be gone forever.
He would be kicked out of the service, ten years of sweat and blood for the Imperium all gone down the toilet. Even in the best scenario, Illyan would chain him to a desk to an analyst position or some administrative work, and both would kill Miles. He knew this in his very heart and soul – he needed to be in the middle of things, in the center of all the action and fighting. To let go of that life and being forced to stay away in safety, in a nice office with a comsole in the middle of Cockroach Central…
It simply wasn't an option.
Miles would do right about anything to avoid that fate.
Dendarii were still refitting on Escobar, it wasn't a long travel there – only five wormhole jumps to Komarr, and two more to get out of the Imperium through Sergyar to Quinn and Taura, to Baz and Elena and the rest of his people, who were personally loyal to him and him alone. With them, Naismith would live….
"Lieutenant Vorpatril, Sire." Announced the Vorbarra liveried Armsman at the door and for a second, Miles became dizzy with the vertigo. His life falling into ruins around him and now he was the Emperor of Barrayar while Gregor was missing and -
Focus, boy or a lot more will be wrecked than a single life. Like the whole Imperium if you don't hold it together!
Closing his eyes, and taking a slow inhale Miles gathered his wits and tried to summon onto his face the best approximation of the severe looks that his foster brother was known for and clasped his hands behind his back.
Ivan was looking somewhat... hangoverish. Undoubtedly because of long night of partying; dancing, flirting, drinking – Miles couldn't help the bitter jealousy and utter exasperation rising inside him, just what did Ivan want with him?
Perhaps his tone of voice was a little bit too much, but then again, he didn't have the time or energy for this right now.
Nor ever, the way his day was going.
But then Ivan's inquiry brought the issue about his body back, and he frowned. Should he hide the facts? Tell about it? What should he say?
The real Gregor would tell the truth, because Ivan did have the familial right to know about the collapse of Miles's original body.
But perhaps, even Miles could gain from this. His need to know the true situation with his original body was desperate, but in Illyan's priorities, containing the information leak to the Cetagandans was on the very top. Even though one little seizure's relevance to the investigation or to the Cetas was close to zero, Miles was officially out of the loop.
But here was Ivan. Deeply loyal, member of the family, high security clearance and most importantly - not compromised.
And Ivan did look quite shocked, so it shouldn't be too difficult to convince him to make a trip to the Impsec headquarters… so with deceptive calmness, trying to portray the right kind of concern, Miles started; "Ivan, could I perchance - "
And it was then that he finally looked at Ivan. Really looked at his cousin, whom he had grown up with and had envied and loved ferociously like a brother – and saw a very self-contained person, whose expertly masked face didn't reflect their thoughts. No matter the body or the impressive Ivanish swollen bump on his temple…
It wasn't Ivan.
Miles didn't quite gape, but his thoughts started to speed up. If he was in Gregor's body, and someone else was in his original body… but Haroche hadn't noticed markedly different behavior from him? But the Impsec head of Domestic Affairs hadn't actually ever spent more time in his presence than the few minute hallway briefs. So in theory the person inhibiting Miles's own body could be someone else, who just needed to know him well enough to play the part…
Mark was in Beta, wasn't he?
And if it wasn't the usual suspect…
The number of people who could boast to know him well and who were currently staying on Barrayar were very, very limited. Especially considering that he hadn't spent much time at home for nearly ten years and during that time he had changed greatly -
And this oddly calm, serious not-Ivan –
"Oh god."
"I was wondering how long it would take for you to connect the dots. Two seconds, by the way, once you started to look. Very slow of you."
Miles wanted to giggle in a very unmanly way, slightly hysterical. He had found the Emperor. By accident, again. Oh fucking saints and Betan theistic deities… he shuddered, not really sure how many more of these complications he could handle.
"So, Miles – could you please fill me in on what's happening?"
As he recounted what he knew, his brains were running on high speed to bring the world back on the right axis. But it only helped to make the other side of the revelation clear, because if Gregor was here and Ivan was him, then that meant….
Ivan had passed as him in Impsec and Haroche, the man famous for uncovering the Yarrow mess, hadn't noticed a thing?
At that second Miles decided that the Impsec's head of Domestic Affairs must be a senile fool and absolutely blind, with no perception ability whatsoever.
Ivan couldn't pass as him!
…but if he had to name a person who knew him best, not including his mother or Mark, Ivan would probably be the best candidate. What a horrible thought, Miles frowned and shoved the idea so far aside that hopefully it would never occur to him again.
The thing that struck Gregor the most in Miles's explanation was the news of Ivan's sudden collapse. It was very worrying, and frankly frightening. But more importantly, when looking at it from the distance, coolly – trying to separate the emotions from the facts in order to see the whole picture, just like he had been taught from an early age by Aral and Cordelia both, it simply didn't fit to the otherwise clean and absurdly brilliant Cetagandan scheme.
After all, there was no point in planting a spying device and then have it cause such a spectacular way of being noticed.
Come to think of it, why hadn't Miles pointed this out? Surely the most crookedly thinking man he knew would see it? Although, perhaps Miles had, but merely refused to speculate on incomplete data. His foster brother did look terribly concerned. Almost panicked, really.
Momentarily relieved, Gregor leaned further into the cushioning of his chair, trying to pinpoint what was giving him such a bad feeling about this all. If the nanochips shouldn't do any harm to the targets, but Ivan still collapsed… Gregor narrowed his eyes as another angle came to him and asked; "You said they were experimental, maybe they malfunctioned? Is there a danger to us too?"
In front of him, Miles paused, then rubbed his chin as if in indecision, then; "No, I don't think so."
"How can you be sure?" Gregor inquired with a raised brow.
"Cetagandans wouldn't use so experimental technology that such a reaction would be common. They are professional and perfectionists. Most likely what happened to Ivan had something to do with… ah, my own body's idiosyncrasies." Miles returned smoothly, his logic sound and convincing.
Gregor nodded, despite the small alarm ringing in the back of his head, shouting; too smooth! That pause! What wasn't Miles telling him? But he dismissed it as mere paranoia caused by the stress and the situation. After all, his foster brother had never lied to him. And truly, how many times had Miles had idiosyncratic reactions to this medical treatment, that drug and so on?
It was a very likely explanation.
"Earlier, you were in the process of asking me something?" Gregor asked in a way of filling the oppressive silence. In diplomacy, such silences weren't very useful for getting the information and he habitually avoided them.
"I was going to ask you to visit my body in the headquarters, but that was before I knew– " Suddenly Miles frowned, then cursed; "Damn, we need to let Illyan know this. He is trying to operate on a mistaken premise." With those words, Miles rose and headed to the comsole…
It was like a moment's clear premonition. Few words to Illyan and the Chief of Imperial Security, the man who was in charge of his and the Imperium's safety from all domestic and foreign threats would be aware where he was and then Gregor would be taken to maximum safety. He would still be stuck in a loaned body, but he would be safe, guarded so well that a mosquito couldn't harm him. The scientists and doctors would try to reverse this absurd event with the very best of their ability so he would be returned again and chained to his depressing life. All this morning's surprising freedom, new discoveries, and frankly, the thrill of life he hadn't experienced for a decade since Miles had rescued him from Cavilo… With just one call, the freedom he had never thought he would have a chance to experience again, would be swept away and buried so far under classified that no one could know about it-
"Wait!"
For a brief second, Gregor wasn't sure who had said that, but seeing Miles lowering his hand from the comsole's palm check and looking at him…
It must have been me. And Gregor looked down at his clasped hands, and swallowed, feeling something alike to what he imagined freefall hitting him as he realized that he didn't want to let go.
Not yet.
"Let's keep this between us for the moment." He suggested, still not looking up.
This time, he didn't do anything about the heavy silence falling between them.
Here they were, the two brothers in all but name, who couldn't publicly acknowledge the bond between them. And though Miles was the one more frequently known for his madcap adventures and pulling insane ideas out of nowhere and making them work, Gregor too was entirely capable of his own experimental decisions. And this, this… was surely the craziest he had had, ever.
"…you want me to withhold critical information from Impsec?" Gregor heard uttered in his own disbelieving voice.
It was disconcerting to the extreme, but he steeled his resolve and looked up; "For now."
"Their first priority is to find the Emperor."
"I am aware, however… I am not lost. And in a way, Impsec knows where I am, doesn't it?" Gregor asked, with a slight tilt to the corner of his lips. A blatant reference to the way young Miles had so decisively thought of himself as the whole of Imperial security on the spot during their adventure during the Hegen Hub crisis, and more importantly - a reminder.
Miles's tiny answering smile was all he needed to know. So, Miles's first loyalty was still to him, just like it had always been.
Now he just needed to reason it out.
Hearing Gregor's speech gave Miles severely mixed feelings. Truthfully, the very first thing he did was to entertain an additional possibility that Ivan had been brainwashed by the Cetas and was spouting this absurd set on their orders to fulfill some highly convoluted plot…
But despite the craziness of the suggestion, the way Ivan spoke, the way he reasoned and twisted the logic – it was a work of art. Only a highly skilled conversationalist could have done it. And not even the Cetagandans could instill such eloquence to Ivan in one night.
….and no matter how hard he tried to avoid the fact, this whole suggestion just screamed Gregor at his worst experimental streak.
But still, there was something severely wrong about being asked to lie to his boss. While he was aware of his own hypocrisy, he just couldn't help resisting to the best on his capabilities and purely on reflex, tried to pick the argument apart. Not that it was going all that well…
"We just can't withhold this!"
"Why not?"
"We are compromised. The Cetas can follow everything we do! That's what the device does and despite this… this... out of body experience, we have no reason to suspect that the device doesn't work." Miles finished his latest counter-argument, trying to gather his wits.
He just wasn't used to arguing with Gregor! Sure, he could manage to cross words with everyone in the whole universe, but Gregor was his liege, the one man he had always bowed to.
"By my understanding, spying isn't a very effective strategy if the target is aware of it. But do correct me if I am wrong, after all, you are the expert. Say, if we all take measures to avoid looking at sensitive information, what can they get? In my or Ivan's case, nothing critical. Yours? While successfully spying on the Emperor of Barrayar can be something of a milestone, the useful information can be scarce. I regret to inform you that most of my daily activities aren't very noteworthy. So they will get the color of my underwear, my pass phases, and a clear record of the people I meet and see in the Residence. All quite menial information they could have already managed to gain by other routes. Everything highly classified you can avoid if you rein in your curiosity."
The latest jab was a bit unnecessary, in Miles's honest opinion. He wasn't that bad…
Well, all right.
Maybe he was exactly that bad, and knowing he had everything he needed to ferret out the most classified information in the whole Empire…
Miles swallowed, trying another route; "But think of your safety. Cetas could know where you are, unprotected. They could-"
"With whatever few men they have stationed here?" Gregor asked with disbelieving air. "No. While Illyan's security can allow a few very skilled infiltrators slipping in through the years, their men are not many. And in any case, there is nothing that even suggests anything more than a spying mission, intended to be non-harmful. If they did abduct me, kill me, did anything to me – Barrayar would raise hell. While we wouldn't win an open all out shooting war with them, we could make their life supremely difficult. And didn't you say yourself that the Cetaganda isn't looking to expand right now?"
Miles couldn't help his answering nod, and then Gregor continued with his impeccable logic; "So, at the moment, we are something of an anomaly to them. An object of interest and they want to figure us out… And in truth, if this scheme of theirs had gone according to the plan they would have already taken advantage of our vulnerability. I think we can safely assume that they are just as confused as we are."
Gregor paused for a breath and frowned, adding another angle to the mess; "And according to your knowledge of Cetagandan operations, do they typically allow their grunts to analyze the information on the spot?"
Miles eyes widened, as the latest counter-argument hit him. It was right there that he finally let go of his fairly useless resistance and started to think, truly think, what Gregor was saying.
Cetas were the control freaks in the Nexus, going so far as to utterly control even their genes, for God's sake. Failure wasn't an option for them. It was a fact. Moreover, the standard operating procedure in all intelligence gathering agencies was to find out what you were looking for, get the hell out – and the basement boffins could analyze the information later.
So whatever the Cetas could find out, they wouldn't have active use of it for weeks when the information was in transit to their Empire. And targeting the Barrayaran Emperor? On purpose? They definitely wouldn't want to get caught doing that. The agents would lose their heads for that, no mistake. And Illyan had already caught one man in their team, so they were fucked already…
Oh, it was absolutely beautiful. He couldn't help a gleeful grin hitting him. The Cetas wouldn't have time to decipher the information they were getting. Not given the situation, no way. Now their priorities included only scrambling and trying to figure out how to do damage control.
So, essentially – they wouldn't be an active threat.
"It's only a matter of time now. They are panicking, very likely to do mistakes and Impsec is already on the lookout. Whether the rest of Cetas screw up or that one man they already caught breaks first… Illyan's hounds will catch them." He thought out loud.
Gregor nodded in agreement. "And we are still stuck, out of the loop and committed to handling the situation with the least amount of damage. And while, technically, Ivan and I could be detained in Impsec for safety, it's not an option in your case."
Too true.
He could only imagine the chaos that would arise from having the Emperor detained in Impsec for security reasons. Civil wars and coups had been started for less. It truly didn't leave out many options, though, and he slowly concluded; "The path of the least damage is for us to continue playing these roles."
Truthfully, Miles hadn't been too enthusiastic to finding out what being detained would do to his personal reputation, either. And what would his parents say…
Oh god, the seizure and his parents. No matter everything that was going on, Illyan would inform them too-
"Besides, Miles – how does it feel?"
And just like that, Miles was utterly stumped and was forced to do his best imitation of an idiot; "Excuse me?"
He didn't have any idea what Gregor was asking him. But from the way Gregor was looking at him through Ivan's eyes… an intent, piercing gaze, it left him feeling like he really should know. He wasn't used to feeling this out of it, being forced to react, not being on top of things…
"How does it feel being in my body? One that is healthy and somewhat close an approximate of what your own would have been like in another world?"
And for the first time, Miles just stopped.
Trust your beloved ones to point the obvious, to hurt the deepest without even trying.
He swallowed, trying to gather himself. He hadn't even thought about it, too busy panicking and being flung from one catastrophic scenario to the next, but… having it pointed out right in front of his face, and forced to see it…
He looked down at his body, just staring at it. All his youth he had spent hating his own body, the crooked, twisted frame that had garnered him all the disdain and difficulties, hate, mistrust… back then he had jealously hated and loved his cousin Ivan for being such an easy comparison point. But, in one way, Gregor was one too. He wasn't quite as closely related to Gregor as he was to Ivan, but the familiar Vorbarran resemblance was there, still.
If one was willing to look.
And now, he was wearing Gregor's body.
"It doesn't hurt." Miles whispered, admitting the fact, aloud, for the first time. He had learned to ignore his body the best he could, but there were things that even the modern medical technology couldn't help him with, such as chronic pain. On good days he barely noticed it, and while in good mood it was like it didn't exist.
But it had.
The pain had always been with him; the bones, the replacements, the spine, the joints, battle injuries… all had heaved a heavy toll on him. But now…
He absently hit the armrest of his chair with the back of his hand, and sure enough the slight blow that would have set off a wave of pain, just didn't. He felt the impact, but nothing else.
Distractedly, he noted; "It's odd. Like the whole world went wrong overnight, and now everything is too small. Reaching things is easy, distances aren't so long - people look at me differently."
And it was the last thing which hurt the worst.
He had been always aware of the way people looked at him, no matter how well they hid their distaste – he would notice it every single time. Part of it was his skill at reading people, but mostly it was just his well-developed paranoia combined with his self-awareness.
Always, always people had been looking at him, judging him – here, right now – it wasn't so.
Like a fairy tale dream showing him the world of might-have-been.
Gregor looked at him through Ivan's eyes, waiting politely.
Did he want to see what it was like?
The offer was there, for him to take. And seeing Gregor sitting there, calmly allowing him to choose… Miles finally realized that it was an opportunity for both of them. Because his foster brother too, had been trapped by birth into something he hadn't chosen.
A different struggle, but just as crushing.
"You want me to lie to Illyan so you can live Ivan's life, while we wait for more facts." So Miles closed his eyes, exhaled – not really wanting to fold, but; "I must be crazy to agree to this."
Gregor's pleased smile and subtle relaxation told everything.
"Then let's see what happens."
Sometime later, unusually happy Gregor was making his way to the Impsec headquarters. He didn't think he had felt this good in years, maybe ever.
For the moment he was free and it felt wonderful.
After their agreement he had given Miles a few directions how to handle the issues, noted the critical meetings and ones that could be postponed. After this quick bout of productivity, Gregor had written a pass for himself as Ivan to visit one Lieutenant Miles Vorkosigan in Impsec HQ and stamped it with the Emperor's official seal, while Miles was trying to figure out where the most important files and items in his desk were.
Then they had been interrupted by the Armsman Rene announcing the Emperor's next meeting with the Minister of Agriculture and Gregor had ruthlessly abandoned Miles to it.
It had felt incredibly good.
And now his steps were light as he was escorted to visit Ivan.
At the small, chilling hospital department Ivan was surrounded by doctors and odd machines concentrated on tracking his brain activity. It was… like a hammer strike of reality had hit him as he stopped and stared at the bustling mess.
Ivan saw him and waved him inside, and somehow, Gregor managed to find himself an empty chair near the wall from where to follow the show.
This mysterious seizure that had happened to Ivan… there was something very wrong about it. Frankly, it made it slightly difficult to enjoy his momentary freedom to see how badly Ivan had it at the moment. But, even if Illyan knew the truth, it wouldn't change a thing. It wasn't information that would be given to wider circulation, and Ivan had the best medical care there was. So, did it matter who occupied Miles's body for the moment?
The issue with the nanochips and their odd reaction to Miles's physiology would still be there.
It was about an hour later that the doctors finished for the moment and some of the bulkier equipment was carted away. In short order, Ivan and Gregor were left alone – well, alone after the door was closed with the guard outside after a flash of the Emperor's signed permission slip. Gregor hadn't behaved so irresponsibly in years and it gave him an odd glee to pull rank like this. Usually he didn't care for such simple pleasures, but here, right now – it was practical and surprisingly fun.
Then the two of them went to business of exchanging information. Unfortunately, Ivan didn't know any more of the seizure than he did; only being able to offer an explanation on what exactly had happened. Convincing Ivan to keep their three-way body switch a secret wasn't in truth any easier than his earlier ordeal with Miles, but he had to push at highly different points.
Only reasonable, considering.
However, at the end of their plotting Gregor was surprised from a completely unexpected direction. He had assumed that he had the easiest part to play, having only to pass as an ordinary Vor Lieutenant bachelor at the capital, one who had no particularly strenuous tasks or close confidantes he had to be able to fool.
But he hadn't remembered this aspect….
"…do me this one favor. It cannot be rescheduled this late, and it would destroy everything I have worked for years to woo her. Please, Gregor, it's just one dinner."
Gregor closed his eyes, exhaled and muttered, "Just one date."
A date! Where he would be posing as the well-known, suave Ivan Vorpatril trying to woo the ridiculously prim, cold and difficult Lady Vorob'yev! He would be expected to entertain her, flirt with her, be an active charmer on a mission… and what if he succeeded?
What then?
If he could hold it together that far, it would be at bedroom, where his relative inexperience would wreck this deception most thoroughly. While Gregor wasn't a person who people would gossip such filthy rumors to, even he had heard that Ivan was supposed to be one of the best lovers in the whole Vorbarr Sultana…
"Gregor, please."
But Ivan was stuck, here in Impsec for unknown time, forced to suffer through the necessary medical tests to locate the nanochips and figure out what to do about them. The test that Gregor himself had cleverly managed to avoid. So, despite knowing it would only end in disaster… he found himself saying; "It was at eight in Galareya?"
"You do need to pick up her first, though." Ivan supplied helpfully.
"Of course I do," Gregor muttered, seeing it coming but still confirming; "With your lightflyer?"
"What else?"
Maybe this wasn't the best moment to mention the scratches he had subjected Ivan's sleek flyer to…