Chapter Text
Black Escarpment, South Continent, Barrayar
Everard “Easy” Jole woke with a start, trying to discern where he was and what had so rudely interrupted his sleep. He opened his eyes to find an auburn head hovering above him: his sister, Nile Naismith. Naturally.
Situational awareness kicked in at last, and he recalled where he was: Senior cadet's barracks on the Black Escarpment. For winter ground combat exercises. Three weeks of maneuvers that were part of evaluations for cadets in their final year at the Imperial Service Academy. The war games pitted the officer candidates against each other as well as enlisted recruits, mostly on the Infantry and Service Security tracks, who were completing their own specialized training.
He wrapped his blanket tighter around his shoulders, suddenly colder than he had been a moment ago.
“Five more minutes,” he muttered, shutting his eyes again.
“Wake the fuck up, baby brother!” she replied with mock sweetness.
Nile was technically his half-sister, and even more technically only older by a few weeks. But she took glee in reminding him of the small age difference constantly.
“Fuck off!” he retorted in the same tone.
“Love you, too!”
“What time is it?”
“Time to show all those wanna be grunts what our team can really do!” cried his best friend Feo Kamenski, entirely too brightly for 0-dark-30 hours.
He brandished a plasma rifle – an item which he should have turned in yesterday after maneuvers – for emphasis.
Whatever assignment you receive after graduation, Feo, I hope it doesn’t involve live weapons.
Nile reached up and grabbed the weapon by the tip, pointing it down to the floor.
“Muzzle control, Kamenski!” she snapped.
“Sorry, sorry!” the other cadet blurted.
“Right! Get up, Everard,” Nile ordered.
He groaned at her sororal tone; he was officially the one in charge of their little group. But he obediently dragged himself from his bunk to dress and face the day’s challenges.
Naismith-Jole Residence, Port Nightingale, Sergyar
Four Years Earlier
“I have something to share.”
Nile’s voice is soft, but Everard sees the tension in her face. He wonders if Mama and Da do, too.
“Oh my god, she’s gonna do it!” Everard hears his next younger sister, Sofia, murmur to their middle brother, Corwin.
“What is it, kiddo?” Mama asks brightly, firmly ignoring the conspiratorial giggling of their youngest siblings.
“Well, we, that is Everard and I, have an announcement.”
Nile glances at him and there is a brief silent sparring match. He wins. Mostly because they’d already agreed and he’s not letting her back out now. She squares her shoulders.
“EvieandIwannagototheImperialServiceAcademy!” she blurts out.
Mama shakes her head, half exasperated, half fond at this lifelong habit of her second daughter. She signals Nile to try again.
The sentence is repeated, though no slower. Everard rolls his eyes but doesn’t attempt to take up the thread. It’s cowardly, he knows, but this was Nile’s idea.
Da is the first to decipher it. He breaks into a smile, turns to Mama, who catches up less than a second later. And frowns deeply.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asks, though she really doesn’t need clarification now.
“Cordelia.” Da says the name calmly but with a world of meaning behind it.
Her grey eyes narrow at him, going steely.
“Let them have their say,” Da insists.
She purses her lips but then opens a hand in a ‘let’s hear it’ gesture at Nile.
“Evie and I want to apply to the Imperial Service Academy,” Nile repeats, slowly and clearly this time. “We want to serve Barrayar, the Imperium, like our fathers before us.”
They’d debated that line, when planning this announcement. Everard thought it sounded a little melodramatic. But Nile was right; the effect on Da is electric. His smile widens into a grin even as his blue eyes fill with tears.
The effect on Mama is more troubling. She goes still and silent.
Mama’s never hidden her distaste for the military. On the other hand, she never stood in the way of Da telling tales of the Great Admiral Aral Vorkosigan, the man who had contributed half of their genes. Nor prevented their nieces and nephews from regaling them with stories of their eldest brother Miles’ exploits. She’s even told an anecdote or two of both men herself.
So she cannot be too surprised that at least one of her children would have ambitions in that direction. Though it was their niece Taura’s graduation from the Imperial Service Academy, with the first class to include women, that ignited Nile’s determination.
Everard, well, he just wanted to be like his father. Like both of his fathers.
Nile goes on to lay out all the arguments they discussed. Da asks leading questions and Everard finally wades in to help answer several of them. By the time they run out of their prepared material, Mama still has not spoken.
“Well,” Da says. His eyes dart to his wife’s face periodically but he is mainly focusing on them. “It sounds like you’ve thought this through. What do you need from us to support this project?”
It’s the familiar parental question, asked countless times over the course of their childhoods, whenever any of them embarked on some new hobby or set a new goal.
But for some reason it stirs Mama up.
“Oliver, a word!” And rises from her chair, stalking from the room without a backward glance. Da huffs out a breath. “I’ll be right back,” he announces to the room at large.
He follows their mother into the back of the house. A door slams.
The siblings sit at the dining table, gaping at one another.
It’s not that their parents never disagree; Da might frequently defer to Mama but he’s no pushover. But normally when they disagree, they hash it out in front of the children, modeling Open Communication and Meaningful Compromise. Because Mama is Betan like that.
They brace when voices are raised, another unprecedented event in their household.
Da does come back, trying to hide a blush of anger, but by then dinner is well over. He takes Evie and Nile aside.
“What do you need from me to support you?” he rephrases his earlier question.
Nile’s and Everard’s eyes go wide at his use of the singular pronoun.
“Doesn’t Mama have to sign my application?” Nile asks, glancing toward the still closed doors of the main suite with apprehension.
Da’s eyes turn as steely as Mama’s had earlier that evening. “Oh, she’ll sign it.”
Neither of them cares to argue with that tone.
Mama doesn’t emerge until it is time for ‘goodnights.’
More deeply concerning is the siblings’ discovery the next morning that Da spent the night in Aurelia’s old room. And that Mama is not speaking to him. And Da spends the next few days as angry as any of them have ever seen him. Evie suspects the only thing stopping him from removing himself to the house across the lake is the fact that it’s currently rented to Summer People.
Mama and Da eventually make up, though a palpable tension remains around the subject of Nile and Evie’s career aspirations. Da continues to help them with their preparations – giving them practical advice, assisting them with studies, setting them a training regime – but they endeavor to keep it all well out of Mama’s sight.
Mama tries to explain. About their father, their brother Miles. How the Service chewed them both up and spat them out. How Barrayran style service, military or not, can consume the ones who offer it up. ‘Barrayar eats her children,’ she says. And she’s fed enough children to the Empire.
They listen respectfully because they do respect their mother’s opinion. It doesn’t dissuade them.
She eventually gives up and signs Nile’s application forms. She even sees them off at the shuttleport when it comes time for them to depart. They’re not laying any bets on whether she’ll come with Da to their graduation.
Black Escarpment, South Continent, Barrayar
Present Day
Cadets “Easy” Jole and Nile Naismith, along with their fellow third-years Feo Kamenski and Angela Thomas, had initially been assigned to a squad of twelve; three teams of four, each in their own Close Combat Weapons Vehicle. They had spent the first week and a half participating in mock battles, ambushes, and capture scenarios of varying degrees of complexity along with the rest of their squad.
Today was going to run to a different plan.
“Angela’s still throwing up,” Nile declared in a whisper. "There's no way she'll be ready by assembly."
“Shit!” He ran his hands through his hair. “What are we gonna do now? We need a fourth!”
The third-year faculty advisors had decided that Team Chanceuse – or truth be told, Feo and Nile – demonstrated an understanding of mission success that was “ill-fitted to the standard, structured testing” in which their fellow cadets were engaged. After compromising an attack simulation for the third time in two days, they’d been reassigned to a series of scenarios focusing on more “guerilla” tactics against a smaller core of enlisted specialist candidates.
Nile and Feo were ecstatic, Easy stoic. Cadet Thomas had taken to alcohol to calm her nerves.
“Improvise, adapt, overcome!” Feo declared far too loudly.
Several of the other cadets in their barracks shot him dirty looks, which the skinny young man completely ignored. He snapped his fingers and Easy groaned, recognizing the face of his best friend formulating A Plan.
Feo darted for the door.
“Muster is in fifteen!” Easy yelled at his retreating back.
“I’ll be there!” the other cadet tossed over his shoulder. “Have a little faith!”
“Oh, God!”
Nile pulled at his uniform sleeve. “Finish getting your gear on. He’ll be fine!”
He rolled his eyes but followed her advice.
********
Feo’s plan turned out to be worse than anything Easy’s imagination had supplied.
“What is he doing here?” Nile hissed as their younger brother, Corwin, slipped into formation between them.
Easy risked a quick sideways glance at Cory. As a Firstie, he ought to have been with his classmates on less high-stakes maneuvers a few klicks away. Instead, here he was turned out in Cadet Angela Thomas’s gear and standing at attention with the Seniors.
“He’s replacing Angela,” Feo replied out of the corner of his mouth.
“You’re an idiot!” Easy shot back.
“Why? He’s about the same height and similar build as Thomas.”
“He hasn’t got any breasts!”
Nile snorted. “Neither does Angela!”
Feo turned his head to smirk at her briefly.
“Catty,” he remarked to her. “I approve. Anyway, Corwin’s the best marksman in the Freshman class.”
“That’s damning with faint praise,” Easy murmured testily.
“Hey! I can outshoot you!” Cory blurted.
Easy elbowed him to silence just as the inspection officer moved on to their row. He would rather not have risked tedious, possibly painful, punishment details to give his little brother the dubious honor of filling out their team, but he also wasn't going to be the one to drop them all in the soup over it.
And they really did need a fourth.
Feo’s annoyingly good luck held. Major Lau, who was new to the Academy staff, didn’t seem to notice Cadet “Thomas’s” sex change. The Major bawled him out for several moments due to the disorder of his uniform and equipment – all down to Cory donning everything in an extreme hurry – issued a load of demerits, then continued on down the line with no more than the usual parting insults.
“See?” Feo grinned when they were dismissed. “Slick as shit.”
“Shut up, Feo!” Easy snapped.
“Right-oh!”
Imperial Service Academy, Vorbarr Sultana, Barrayar
Three Years Earlier
“Feo Kamenski,” the weedy, red-haired young man introduces himself.
Everard, reaches for his new roommate’s hand, pauses, and blinks. “Feo?”
He blushes, a little embarrassed by asking. Who is he, after all, to question someone else’s name?
His new roommate doesn’t appear offended, however.
“Nickname. From the chemical formula for ferric oxide. Fe2O3.” At Everard’s unenlightened expression, the other cadet gestures at his curly copper locks, worn so close to the edge of regulation length that some faculty officer is bound to insist he get a more dignified haircut before the first week is out. “My real name is Everard. But I can’t stand it.”
Evie cringes inwardly; he is fond of his given name because it was also his grandfather’s – although that is another ancestor who he never got to meet – and the naming convention is very Vorish. Neither he nor any of his Naismth and Jole siblings are Vor, of course, despite the fact that their shared parent was one in life, but he takes pride in this little piece of tradition anyway.
“Wouldn’t Rusty make more sense?” he asks in lieu of revealing any of that.
“Feh! That’s a horrible nickname!" The red-headed cadet bounces on his toes. “What’s your name, then?”
“Um… well, Everard Jole, as it happens,” he says, blushing again in sympathetic embarrassment.
Except that Feo is not remotely embarrassed as far as Evie can tell. “Oh? Wow! Small universe, eh? But that’s dire. We need a nickname for you, stat! What’s your middle name?”
“Xav,” Everard answers, too surprised to protest against this suggestion.
“Right, then I’ll call you Easy!” the smaller boy squeaks, answering his new friend’s questioning look with: “You know, like your initials. E. Z.”
“Um… Xav is spelled with an X?” The correction comes out a question, to his consternation.
But Feo waves that away. Everard is already starting to figure out that his new friend prefers to ignore any bits of reality he finds inconvenient.
“Okay, but I can’t go around calling you Ex, now can I?”
Everard shrugs and gives in to the new name.
Black Escarpment, South Continent, Barrayar
Present Day
Easy probably should have been more suspicious of Feo and Nile volunteering to assist with the ordnance issue. Later he consoled himself by blaming the chaos of the morning for his failure to remember that he should always distrust his sister’s and best friend’s motivations.
Wishing to keep Cory well away from the other cadets and any instructor who might blow his cover, Easy took his brother with him to inspect and secure their assigned vehicle – the Infantry guys were not above a spot of vandalism in the night – while the other two headed for the Issue Point. Easy brought the CCWV around just as the supply techs were shutting up shop. Feo and Nile loaded up their officially issued weapons and the spare dummy ammo.
Then to Easy’s consternation, Feo directed him to a conveniently located dumpster, where the pair had stashed several extra weapons and their respective charges.
“Oh, God, we’ll be scrubbing latrines until graduation if we get caught with this lot!” Easy could hear the whine in his own voice but couldn’t help it.
“Don’t be such a ninny,” Nile replied, doling out the illicit goods to her brothers and Feo.
They were now running slightly late to make their first scheduled engagement, so Easy shoved aside his doubts and took his share of the ill-gotten gains.
The first assignments of the day went off without any hitches – or at least with no more hitches than was normal when Nile and Feo were involved. Their adversaries outnumbered them by a factor of four – the team had been warned when they’d been reassigned that they would be outnumbered and outgunned. But the three Seniors had spent hours the previous evening brainstorming unconventional tactics and other methods of overcoming the imbalance. Their impromptu over-armament, which Nile justified as appropriately “guerilla” in nature, proved advantageous, too.
Several hours and far too much initiative later, the comms beeped.
“HQ 6 to Chanceuse. Over.” Easy recognized the voice of Cadet Commander Jensen, who was acting as the comms operator for the facility today.
“Copy HQ. This is Chanceuse Actual. Over.”
“Chanceuse are to stand down until 1730 hours. Smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em. Over.”
“Roger, HQ, standing down,” Easy said. “You got any info on the next scenarios? Over.”
“Check your team messages, Actual. Should be there by now. Best of luck! Over!”
“Willco! Over.”
“Copy. HQ6 out!”
Easy called up the message queue on his wristcom and found the one he needed. He projected the scenario description on the dashboard holo-plate. A groan went up from the entire team as they all reached the ending at about the same time.
“So, we’re meant to engage a force that outnumbers us by a factor of five. On foot. And they have advanced targeting scanners. Which we don’t,” Nile summarized. “That seems fair.”
Their brother snorted at this obvious sarcasm.
“I’ve got a way to level the playing field,” Feo said far too casually.
“Whatever it is, no!” Easy barked.
“It’s mostly harmless, Easy!” Feo protested. “And these kids need to learn the limits of their technology, so they don’t become over reliant on it!”
Feo frequently asserted that the point of these war games was for the trainees to learn something new with each altercation. Secretly, Easy adhered to the conviction that Feo actually believed the point of these war games was to teach everyone else how to lose to Cadet Kamenski.
“Answer’s still no,” Easy reiterated.
“At least hear him out, Everard,” Nile cut in.
“You know, I am actually in charge around here!” he asserted unconvincingly.
“How nice for you.”
“This is why they should never post us together,” he muttered under his breath.
His team just smirked at him.
Imperial Service Academy, Vorbarr Sultana, Barrayar
Three Years Earlier
The Academy instructors are conspiring to kill Feo and Nile.
Well, not literally, except maybe in the case of Feo – who is the walking exception to the maxim "it’s not bragging if one can back it up" – but absolutely in the simulations.
They are the only Firsties whose sleeves remain bare of any yellow or green bands, which indicate a virtual death or injury respectively in a sim or exercise. Even Easy has earned one of each. The pair have figurative targets on their chests now. Having figured this fact out quicker than most of the other cadets, Easy’s taken to avoiding ever being partnered with either one. At least for anything that might earn him any more bad-luck badges.
They emerge from their current simulation looking smug, both their sleeves still clear. Easy’s not sure whether to be proud or jealous. He may be a bit of both.
The other first years gather around to congratulate and pester them for the story. One of the instructors, color high in his cheekbones from frustration and a touch of embarrassment, bellows:
“Get to your next class, you lot! You’ll see it in AAR tomorrow!” When the Firsties don’t immediately obey, he shouts: “GO!” and the cadets dash off to Five Space Maths.
Despite the best efforts of the faculty, Nile and Feo finish their first year entirely unscathed, the only cadets to do so since Miles Vorkosigan.
The siblings can’t mention this fact to Mama. But Da’s ecstatic grin when Nile tells him more than makes up for it.
Black Escarpment, South Continent, Barrayar
Present Day
Easy felt his heart start to race at the sight of Feo’s other 'acquisition.'
We are going to get expelled!
“Where did you get those jammers?” Easy asked with as much calm as he could muster. “You swore you’d turned in everything every night.”
Half of the third year cadets had been issued the scanner-scrambling devices for a "hide and seek" scenario a few of days ago. They were only practice models, a third of the power of the real thing, but at short range they would certainly render the scanners temporarily useless.
“I did!” Feo protested hotly. But he couldn’t keep the sly smile from taking over his lips. “Relax! I acquired these more recently.”
“From where?” Easy’s temper was starting to fray just a tad.
“The Amnesty Box,” Cory piped up.
Both Nile's and Easy’s heads snapped in his direction.
The ostensible reason for their team being shorted was that guerilla forces were generally less well equipped than regular military forces. But every cadet at Academy knew the instructors were especially eager to try to break Feo and Nile, who were currently alternating number one and two positions in their cadet class standings.
The team were determined not to be defeated. Or at least, to go down fighting.
None of their plans for working around their disadvantages had included breaking into an Amnesty Box, however. The locked containers were set up outside of each of the barracks for cadets to return any ordinance they’d conveniently “forgotten” to hand in to the Collection Point when previous days' exercises had concluded. Being found with items that they had not officially been issued could lead to… well, several kinds of negative consequences, each worse than the last.
“When?” Easy demanded of his little brother.
“While I was getting dressed, I assume,” Cory answered with a shrug.
Easy’s eyes swung back to Feo. “How did you get down to the Firsties, find him,” – he jabbed a finger at Cory – “get back to the barracks, break into the Amnesty Box, and still make muster?”
Feo grinned evilly at him. “You want me to reveal all my secrets, Jole?”
Easy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “No, actually, it’s better if I don’t know.”
“Going for plausible deniability, bro?” Nile teased.
“With you lot? Always!” Something else suddenly occurred to him. A question he should have posed far, far earlier in the day. “Say, where do your instructors think you are?” he asked his brother.
“Infirmary,” Cory replied laconically.
Easy narrowed his eyes at the boy. “And how…?” He broke off and threw his hands in the air. “No, I don’t want to know that, either.”
He shook his head in utter exasperation, wondering how in the Nine Hells his easygoing father and no-nonsense mother had raised two such insubordinate little gits. Must be the Vorkosigan blood, he thought wryly, entirely ignoring the fact that he shared that blood in equal measure.
Bowing to the inevitable, Easy allowed himself to be talked into hearing Feo’s “mostly harmless” little plan.
********
When darkness fell, the team gathered all the gear they needed and climbed out of the CCWV, which Easy had parked beneath an outcropping they’d discovered during battle sims the previous week. The hike to the site where they would launch their mad little plan took less than half an hour. The run back would be more of a challenge, but they should be far less weighted down by then.
Luring their opposition into a trap would have been more of a challenge at the beginning of the war games, when everyone was fresh, eager, and at their most cautious. Halfway through the maneuvers, the trainees were becoming worn out and frustration, rivalries, and grudges had begun to set in.
Cadets Naismith and Kamenski subscribed to the philosophy that one should put down one's enemy as hard as possible the first time, so as not to need to do so a second time. And while Cadet Jole was nominally in charge of the team – and another Senior in overall command of their original squad – somehow this viewpoint always managed to prevail during planning sessions.
It hadn’t taken too many encounters with the resulting tactics before a great number of their opponents became personally invested in ‘killing’ rather than capturing the assorted members of Team Chanceuse.
The success of their current plan relied heavily on these factors.
The Black Escarpment offered little in the way of concealment. The team had deployed their personal camo screens on their half-armor, which might trick soldiers with standard display visors in their helmets but wouldn’t fool the scanners with which the opposition squad had been issued. Along with their numbers, the devices were meant to confer an insurmountable advantage.
The faculty strategists who had planned the encounter had clearly forgotten to factor in Nile and Feo’s endless resourcefulness.
By the meager illumination of their cold lights, the team chose hiding spots deep within a high-walled canyon. They pitched their tiny emergency tents, also snow camouflaged, and crawled in with their weapons. Feo then handed them each a jammer.
“Remember, don’t activate it until my signal,” Feo remarked as he helped position the flap of Easy’s tent; the jammer batteries were not fully charged but the devices only needed to last for a short time.
“I remember the plan, Feo. Go do your job and we’ll do ours!”
His friend gave him a sloppy salute and bounded off downslope to lay the trap.
Nile’s contribution to the other wily redhead’s plan was to wire several of their spare charges to three legitimately issued scout drones, mimicking the energy signatures of their weapons. Feo sent these to perch in strategic niches, as if the team members were lying in wait along the narrow ravine that ran downhill from their true positions. The little scouts were pre-programmed to fly back toward ‘home,’ which should lead any pursuers straight up to the canyon’s path and into the ‘kill zone.’
Feo then continued down toward the enemy’s perimeter, in search of a place to make himself conspicuous.
There were no flying animals larger than the imported bats living wild on Barrayar, which was a shame in Easy’s Sergyaran-bred estimation. Granted the flying – or rather floating – creatures of his home world ran the gamut from minor annoyances to serious danger. He’d still been disappointed to learn that the fascinating Earth-evolved birds that he’d read about in some of Da’s biology books existed only in captivity on the Empire’s capital world. This lack didn’t stop the Barrayaran military from using bird calls for communication under appropriate circumstances.
A soft double-hooting noise warned Cory, who was in the most forward of their makeshift gunner’s nests. He whistled the call that signaled their quarry had spotted Feo and were fast approaching the first decoy.
Nile and Easy each whistled back an acknowledgement.
The engagement started fast and was by no means quiet or organized. Their opponents knew as well as they did who they were up against.
Shouted directions and random discharges filled the air. Easy shook his head at this lack of discipline, even as it served them in exactly the way they’d planned. Egged on by Feo and the drones’ fake tactical retrograde, the enemy squad followed their scanner operators up the slope.
A wild high-pitched screech, which Feo insisted was some hunting birds’ cry, had Easy slamming the button on his jammer and bringing his weapon up to ready. The sly cadet slipped into his own previously-positioned tent, flicking on his own jammer, just as his pursuers poured into the canyon.
As planned, Team Chanceuse held their own fire while the would-be grunts emptied charges into the drones. It took quite some time for any of the trainees to notice that they were getting no ‘kill’ signals from any of the targets. Even longer for the squad’s commander to finally get them to all stop and assess the situation more thoroughly. At a barked command, the men all finally fell in to something resembling a proper formation.
Taking advantage of the pause, Easy whistled the next command, then opened fire. He heard the other three do the same. In the corner of his visor, the tally of hits began to climb.
The click of his weapon told him he’d emptied his first charge, so he dropped it and reached for a backup. He shouted another order – it was far too loud now for whistles – and threw off the shell of his tent, bringing the new plasma rifle to bear before he was even fully on his feet. Much to his satisfaction his team was also on their feet, silently and swiftly shifting their positions, and firing only when they had a clear shot.
The infantry commander eventually caught on to the fact they’d been had and made a considered effort to get his remaining ‘living’ troops under control. At least half the opposing squad was ‘down’ but Chanceuse were still well outnumbered and outgunned. It was time to make their real retreat.
“Olly olly oxen free!” Easy cried.
With no time to spare for anything other than making sure his team members were still ‘alive’ and on the move, he broke for the back of the canyon.
Shouts of triumph from the pursuing infantry trainees echoed against the rapidly narrowing walls. He allowed himself a small grin as he ran.
Easy had been the one to spot the little rift in the back of what they’d thought was a box canyon the first time they’d ended up here. HQ’s topo map of the area revealed that it opened into another, shorter slot canyon. This further cleft in the escarpment ran for less than a klick and led almost directly to the overhang where they had stashed their CCWV. He’d squirreled that information away for potential use later and been gratified to have something to offer to the plans for today.
There was just enough room in the passage for them to run single file, but with a small amount of effort, they could swiftly trade positions such that someone with a fully charged weapon was always bringing up the rear. They’d practiced the maneuver in lieu of their rest period, and it paid off in spades now. All four of them were free of the mouth of the canyon and a dozen meters into their sprint for the vehicle before the first of the enemy squad squeezed his way out.
The team urged Easy into the lead; as the driver, it was imperative he reach the CCWV first. He ditched the plasma rifle, now on empty, and scrambled up the ladder to the front compartment. Slapping the ‘on’ switch with one hand, he pulled the blast-hardened canopy shut with the other.
The balance of Team Chanceuse piled in through the top hatch, Cory remaining in the gunner’s position as the other two buckled themselves into passenger seats.
“Go! Go! Go!” Cory screamed from above.
Easy went.
They very quickly left the last of the pursuers – by the visor’s count, just six of them left fully functional – in their wake.
Vorkosigan House, Vorbarr Sultana, Barrayar
Four Months Earlier
The party is just beginning when Nile and Easy are shown into the largest receiving room at Vorkosigan House.
Lady Helen – countess of the Vorkosigan’s District in all but name – is presiding over a round of toasts to their mother, her grandmother.
A banner hanging above a packed sideboard reads:
Happy 100th Cordelia!
Technically this celebration is early; Mama’s birthday is not for several more weeks. But Calliope, who holds the title if not the actual position of Countess Vorkosigan, decided to take advantage of the actual date’s proximity to Corwin’s report date for the Academy to coax the Naismith-Jole branch of the family back to Barrayar for a reunion.
Their younger sister Darya sent a tightbeam to inform them that, surprisingly, it was Da who was reluctant to come at first. And Mama, who had declared after Miles’ death that she never wanted to set foot on Barrayar again, who talked him into it.
Mama appears very happy now. Well, almost the entirety of her biological wealth – all her living children, including her foster son, her thirteen grandchildren, and the seven great-grandkids – are here in one room. What matriarch would not be happy?
She smiles at them as they approach, holding out a free hand. Nile takes it first, bends to hug her. Waiting for his turn to greet their mother, Easy notes there is far more grey in her red-roan hair than he remembers.
Da claims his share of hugs next. Easy is just slightly taller than him now, a fact that makes him feel vaguely unsettled.
One of the liveried men brings them each a glass of champagne – they have no taste for anything stronger – to join in the toasts.
“Happy birthday, Mama,” Nile says when the ‘official’ salutes have run down and the family begins to mill about greeting and chatting as the occasion required.
Mama clicks her glass to Nile’s. “Thank you, daughter.” She smiles, her slightly mischievous ‘mother’ smile. “It’s very good to see both of you. I’d almost forgotten what you looked like, it’s been so long.”
“You never call, you never write!” Easy replies in a sing-song voice, allowing the amusement to creep over his face.
“Brat!” Mama shoots back, though with no hint of rancor. It’s an old inside joke between them; of all the children, Easy’s always been the most like Da, mild-mannered and well-behaved.
“Well, I hate to say it, Mama,” Nile cuts in. “But Senior year is going to be worse.”
Easy and Da exchange concerned-exasperated glances. Easy wishes his sister wouldn’t poke their mother like that. She’s been hanging around Feo too much; his annoying bluntness is rubbing off on her.
“I recall,” Mama responds blandly, and Nile actually wakes to her own rudeness.
“Sorry, Mama,” she says quietly. “I’ll make an effort to send messages a little more frequently next semester. And we’ll make sure Cory does as well, won’t we Everard?” She elbows her brother.
“Of course, we will,” Easy says. As if he could say anything else.
Black Escarpment, South Continent, Barrayar
Present Day
Their visors signaled a victory condition so Easy called in to HQ for further instructions. They were ordered to report back to base in a tone that conveyed it was an open question whether they would be lauded or punished for their shenanigans. Easy was not about to inquire of the comms operator which was the more likely outcome.
“We’ve got to get Corwin back to his unit.” Nile’s tired voice from the back reminded them of something else Easy had been trying hard not to think about.
“I’ve got it covered,” Feo replied confidently. “Just drop us round the infirmary.”
“Fine, whatever.”
Corwin was shucking out of Thomas’ uniform pants when they pulled up to the hospital tent. Easy watched skeptically as Feo splashed water over the boy’s head and re-arranged his short blond locks so the disarray no longer screamed ‘helmet hair.’ Cory looked sweaty and flushed and Easy thought he could see the edges of what Feo had planned. The pair climbed out of the CCWV without another word.
Easy and Nile returned the vehicle to its assigned location, turned in the remaining – legitimate – weapons and charges to the Collection Point, and wearily made their way back to barracks in the now-dark encampment. Thomas intercepted them a few meters from the building and waved them into her make-shift hideout in a supply shed. Puking aside, she had apparently had enough presence of mind to lie low throughout the day. She looked askance at the soiled uniform and half armor the siblings presented her with, but made no demur about changing into it for verisimilitude.
Captain Taura Vorkosigan was waiting for them at the barracks door.
Shit!
Nile and Easy stopped in their tracks and braced at the sight of her. Angela took a moment longer to register her presence and What It Meant before she too stopped and straightened her spine to a proper stance.
“Where’s your fourth?” Vorkosigan questioned laconically.
Easy swallowed hard, racking his brain for a satisfactory answer and finding none.
But Feo’s fucking luck once again held strong.
“Sir, right here, Captain Vorkosigan, sir!”
Feo was running, breathing hard but looking just as confident as ever even in the face of this twist.
The officer gave the red-headed cadet a bland once over as he skidded to a halt, saluted her crisply, and stood at attention for all the world like an innocent bystander.
The only one of their oldest brother’s children to go into the Service, Taura Vorkosigan was a space forces officer, not part of the official Academy staff. She’d been temporarily seconded to assist with the war games while awaiting the completion of her new ship, her first command.
Her presence here could mean a lot of things; it was definitely no guarantee one way or another of the cadets’ fate.
“And where have you been?” She delivered this line in tones of a senior officer giving a subordinate just enough rope to hang himself.
“Sir, helping Cadet Corwin Jole to the infirmary, sir!”
“How… helpful of you.”
“Sir!” Feo replied, continuing to project earnest innocence.
The officer scrutinized him closely, but he did not so much as twitch. After several moments of this standoff, she seemed not so much to let go of her suspicion as to table it for the time being. She began to pace up and down their short line, still giving no clue as to the reason for her presence here.
“You know,” she eventually remarked, oh so casually, “one important point of these war games is that all of the trainees should be allowed to experience mission success.”
“I respectfully disagree, Captain!” Feo piped up.
Not for the first time Easy was glad that he’d inherited Da’s temper rather than his other father’s. Regardless he still had to restrain himself from strangling his friend on the spot.
Captain Vorkosigan raised a single eyebrow at the bold cadet, reminding Easy far too viscerally of Mama at her most acerb.
“Oh, really?” she replied in a flat, discouraging voice. “Do tell, Cadet Kamenski.”
Any other cadet hearing that tone would have back-peddled as fast as possible. Feo, of course, doubled down.
“Sir, they say adversity is an excellent instructor, don’t they, sir?”
The other eyebrow joined the first. Then both drew down in speculation. “Are you sure you don’t have any Vorkosigan blood, Cadet?” She tilted her head, closely examining his hair. “Or perhaps Betan?”
Feo gave this a moment’s thought then shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever known, sir. My people are all from the west country. Nowhere near any of the ex-pat settlements. And about as prole as they come, to boot. Sir.”
Vorkosigan made a little dismissive gesture with her fingers. “Never mind, Cadet Kamenski.”
She walked up and down their little line again, stopped to flash a captainly frown over her shoulder at the faces peeking out of the barracks windows, causing them to all disappear instantly.
“Your performance today has been… noted by the higher ups. There was quite a mix of reactions to it, as you might imagine.”
Easy willed his face to bland, his eyes to remain locked on the middle distance.
“There was a lively defense of your tactics from a person who is... ah let's say quite familiar with the career of our mutual ancestor, General Count Piotr Vorkosigan.” She nodded at Nile and Easy.
“Fortunately for you all, the view that your antics were worthy of him prevailed. They’ve decided to overlook the fact you blew yet another carefully planned scenario out of the water.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Easy saw Feo open his mouth to say something. Calculating that it was probably less dangerous than letting his friend speak, Easy elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Feo clamped his jaw shut.
The question of just who this mystery benefactor was crossed Easy's mind. Taura wasn't naming names and he didn't dare ask.
“I’ve been tasked with the job of riding along with your team tomorrow,” the captain went on. “So as to temper any further… excessive initiative."
Easy’s eyes widened at this announcement, and he felt a little giddy. He imagined Nile must be feeling poleaxed by this chance to spend time in the presence of her hero. And maybe, just maybe, the presence of Captain Vorkosigan could keep his sister and Feo in line.
“I trust that is acceptable to you all.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” the team chorused.
“Good.” She stopped in front of Feo. “I also trust there will be no further unauthorized removals from any of the Amnesty Boxes. The brass would like to see what you four can accomplish when you're truly outgunned.”
Feo gulped audibly.
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Right, I’ll see you lot at the Issue Point, 0600 sharp. Now get out of my sight!”
They all saluted with great relief and scrambled for the door.
They were all stripping out of their gear and uniforms, when Thomas finally noticed the message light on her wristcom. Easy and Nile exchange a speaking glance and, made a break for the showers ahead the inevitable reaction.
“Hey!" Angela's voice trailed after them. "Where the fuck did I get all these demerits?”