forbarrayar | and at the gate of the embassy our hands met through the bars

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and at the gate of the embassy our hands met through the bars

Who: Byerly "Shitbird" Vorrutyer, Miles "Shitlord" Vorkosigan, and Piotr "Shitass" Vorkosigan
What: Spying? Spying.
When: February 17thish
Where: Barrayaran camp!
Warnings: Proposed shenanigans
Did Negri eavesdrop?: I assume Piotr has security against tiny malice

Well, By has well and truly proven himself now, hasn't he? Participating in the torture of a man who deserved no torture, uncovering a traitor to put him in the line of further torture. What a pleasure and a blessing. He finds himself steeped in no small amount of self-loathing, which means, surely, that he has accomplished all that he needs to have accomplished this past month. So, he decides, it's time to try Piotr Vorkosigan once again.

Miles, of course, knows Cetagandans. By should have gotten the story out of him about that rumored Cetagandan Order of Merit while they were smashed and he had the chance - pity - but with or without the details, it's clear enough that the littlest Lord Auditor is an asset. And, god help him, Piotr detests Miles but Miles knows Piotr; perhaps the little bastard will keep him from pissing the big bastard off too much.

So By talks his way into Piotr's war tent once again. Surely, he thinks, this will end well: either he'll get what he wants, or Piotr will decide he's too obnoxious to live and execute him as well.

"Count Vorkosigan," he greets the man, lowering his head with something that looks vaguely respectful. He tried.

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Miles isn't so sure this is a good idea. Two time travelers going into enemy territory? With fast penta on the table? Nothing is worse than Duv being in their hands, but dear god. This is a hell of a risk for both of them.

So of course Miles is along for the ride. Because of course he's not sitting this one out, especially since By proposed it to him. He is ... somewhat more doubtful of his own ability to handle Piotr, given how bady he's done with that so far. But he can try. And maybe tip Byerly in the right direction.

Starting by keeping his damn mouth shut as he bows his head as well. Let Byerly talk first. Then pipe up.

Piotr is not, strictly speaking, altogether fond of Byerly. His opinion of the little mutant isn't much higher. But this Vorrutyer, as personally irritating as he remains, has earned himself a few points -- Galeni's interrogation, and then his part in catching that son of a bitch Vorhalas. And his wife is, for some reason, thoroughly taken with Miles's patriotism, and while Miles has given no show of dishonor, Piotr's esteem of him still isn't particularly high.

So when they enter the war tent, they'll find it empty of anyone but the General Count, seated on a stool at the table strewn with maps and dossiers and sketches -- the strategist's playbook, spread out over a table that's clearly seen better days. He rises when they enter, standing not at parade rest but with his arms cross over his chest, hip resting slightly against the table. The layers of wool clothing don't soften his appearance so much as they just seem to make him loom larger.

"Vorrutyer. Illyan." Despite being close in age to both Byerly and Miles, Piotr seems to have the odd weight of extra years on him. No man of thirty-two should ever be able to pull off gruff general this well, that's for damn sure. "You requested my attention. You have it." Start talking.

"Just so, sir," Byerly murmurs. Rotten bastard. How does he manage that aura? Somehow, even younger than By, he still feels like an old man. Because he's a relic of another era, perhaps...Or perhaps simply because power clings to him like a cloak. It makes him look taller and broader. In a strange way, he reminds By of his cousin Dono - except that Dono had taught himself how to drape himself in power. Vorkosigan was born with it...most likely. Now that By is thinking about it, he wonders if that's really true. Perhaps Vorkosigan, too, was self-taught.

Ah, well.

"I've come to make a request, General," Byerly says. "Or, more precisely, the same request, once again. I want to be sent in with the Cetagandans, to gather intelligence on them to transmit back to you. To play traitor to them, like Vorhalas was to you."

Every time Miles thinks his grandfather can't possibly get any more intimidating, he goes and does it again. It's a hell of a thing to stand here with Byerly Fucking Vorrutyer of all people, trying to convince his grandfather to let them go on a spying mission deep into Cetagandan territory. The stuff that nightmares are made of, right there.

"And I want to help Vorrutyer, sir," adds Miles, raising his chin back up to look at his grandfather. "I've encountered the Cetagandans before. My expertise would magnify his efforts." He had brought back that bit of technical expertise on the power generator, after all. And if he's questioned for details, he can truthfully list quite a few interesting Cetagandan encounters. Including stealing a great treasure from them. No need to mention he'd gotten a medal for returning it...

Piotr's gaze flicks to Miles when he speaks, but it returns to Byerly just as soon. That's who he's addressing right now. Or scrutinizing, rather. Piotr has that penetrating gaze bit down to an art.

"Why now?"

"Because I've proven my loyalty," he says. There's a glint in his eye, a little bit of steel in his face. He doesn't look around at Miles; instead, he just keeps his gaze right on Piotr's. "We both have, frankly. Do you not agree, sir?"

Once again, Miles wisely keeps his mouth shut. Byerly has done more; Miles has hopefully done enough.

"I agree that you have proven yourselves trustworthy," Piotr says brusquely, "thus far. Biding your time, then, were you?"

Damn it. Damn it. Of bloody course he'll turn it into the worst possible explanation. Biding your time. By somehow avoids grinding his teeth, and somehow avoids leaping across the table and strangling the old man and pissing on all of his books and strategy tables and all of it, and somehow avoids screaming. Instead, with just the smallest twitch, he lowers himself into a bow.

"Just trying to earn your trust, sir," he grits out. "With no ill intent. Has our service been unsatisfactory?"

Down, Byerly. Miles steps very slightly closer to him as a warning. Careful with that temptation ...

"We're poor masterminds," adds Miles. "And lives can be gambled by anyone. Trust and still are far rarer." Echoing back to his previous conversation with Piotr.

Piotr's eyebrows twitch. "Calm down, the both of you, before you trip over one another backpedaling. That wasn't a criticism."

Admittedly, difficult to tell coming from Piotr Professional Hardass Vorkosigan, but if he's impatient with anything right now, it's just that neither of them seem to know when to shut up, and now they're both in his tent.

"Do you think I'd have preferred this proposal on a whim?" Piotr lets out a snort. "If you've a plan -- and I should hope you didn't walk in here entirely empty-handed -- then lay it out. But first," he says, gesturing at Miles but still addressing Byerly, "I'd like to know why you brought him along."

Oh. Well, fine, then. By suppresses a grimace. He suppresses, too, heroically, a quip about getting his poor small companion into a slightly warmer tent - look at him, doesn't he look chilled half to death? Instead, he sticks his hands into his pockets and gives as straight an answer as he ever gives, which is not particularly straight, because...well. The jokes write themselves.

"Illyan has had dealings with Cetagandans," he responds. "I consider him my...cultural consultant. Telling me what I need to do to get through the front door without getting fast-pentaed."

In other words: exactly what Miles fucking said. But of course Piotr won't hear it from the mutie's mouth, oh no. Has to come from an able-bodied Vor. Miles feels a distinct prickle of prole sentiment at that.

"Just so," he says with another faint arch of his chin. "Not happy dealings, but dealings nonetheless."

That gets a brief but not at all dismissive hm, one of acknowledgment, but as far as Piotr's concerned, Byerly's the one to answer the questions he has right now. He'll ask Miles a question if he feels it's relevant.

"So you intend to walk in through the front door, then?" It's not a dismissal. Keep going, Byerly.

Well. That's - a question he didn't fully expect. He'd expected a get out of my sight, you useless degenerate. Surely he couldn't be making some sort of headway. Surely he couldn't possibly have a foothold here.

"That is my plan, sir," he says, lowering his head in an acknowledging bow - and, well, to hide his surprise. "My specialty is getting information from people unawares. By whatever means necessary. So I intend to go in - with your permission, feed them a few tidbits of information - use that to gain their trust, gain access to them - and then begin drawing their secrets from them. Illyan - well." He lifts his eyebrow slightly. "He'll counsel me on how to charm a ghem-lord. Repugnant as the thought might be of cozying up to one."

Because nothing builds Barrayaran solidarity like shitting on Cetagandans.

Every time Piotr ignores him in favor of Byerly, Miles grits his teeth a little more. For god's sake, would it kill the man to show Miles the slightest scrap of recognition ... It's mostly that making him pipe up again, despite his better judgement.

"They clearly have use for Barrayaran defectors," Miles says, referencing Vorhalas. "Between the two of us we'll manage something."

"Vorhalas isn't so much a defector as he is a symptom of a disease," Piotr mutters, perhaps a little viciously, but now he does address Miles, the full weight of his gaze shifting to the other man. "And how do you plan to get Vorrutyer in without being put under fast-penta?"

Byerly, a little sardonically, gestures at Miles to take this one. He clearly wanted the old man's attention; here it was.

Be careful what you wish for, huh. Miles freezes a moment as he scrambles for an answer. How do you get in without fast penta? They can't just submit to it; the secrets that they hold are far too valuable.

The answer comes to him in a flash of inspiration.

"They have outsiders too." Duv Galeni is proof enough of that. "We can pass among them easily enough."

Of course, infiltrating is its own problem, but ...

Piotr raises one eyebrow at Miles, still expectant. "You think they won't fast-penta him just because he's claimed to be an outsider? And a Barrayaran one at that?"

Edited 2017-02-10 03:30 (UTC)

Byerly spreads his hands. "They didn't fast-penta Galeni," he points out. "We can speak with him to confirm that point, but they must not have, or else they'd have discovered his - hm - preference for Barrayarans over themselves. They do not, it seems, want to alienate the outsiders. Perhaps they want something from them - cooperation, perhaps. Or genetic material; Illyan assures me that the Cetagandans have a...fondness for strange genes. And some of our outsiders are strange." As broad-minded as Byerly is, his lips do twist just a bit in instinctive Barrayaran mistrust of genetic strangeness.

"Regardless, they have been treated well. And as an outsider, I would be given the same treatment."

Miles nods as well. Bless Byerly for putting it better than he could. "In any case, it is certainly better than walking in and simply claiming to be Barrayaran."

"They didn't fast-penta Galeni because they didn't fast-penta any of the outsiders. A lone stray on their doorstep may not get the same treatment," Piotr says bluntly. "Frankly, I don't think there's any plan that carries a guarantee that Vorrutyer wouldn't get fast-penta'd as soon as he's through those gates. There's no sure shot here. Just varying levels of risk."

Piotr frowns in dark thought, rubbing his jaw. "You said you wanted to buy your way in with information. I'm sure that after Galeni, they'll believe you're an outsider, but no way in hell are they going to believe you're anything but Barrayaran. You need to sell them a story they'll want to believe."

Edited 2017-02-11 02:02 (UTC)

But at least he's thinking. That alone instills a bit of optimism in Byerly. Vorkosigan is skeptical, yes, but he's searching for some way to make this work. That means that he trusts By enough to let him help. Dear God - has he actually won the old wolf over? He's emboldened enough by that to dare a bit of dryness.

"Easy enough to claim that I'm abandoning the field because of the discomfort," he says. "We're starving and freezing to death here. They certainly won't doubt people fleeing this camp for their marvelously climate-controlled base. I can sell them a story about having some childhood pet horse. My will was broken by the realization that we were killing horses up here. I can probably even work up a tear or two."

There's a strange thought: Byerly actually winning over Piotr. Miles can't help but feel a spike of jealousy in turn, as limited as this victory is.

"This whole fight is varying levels of risk," says Miles. "At least an outsider like us has far fewer secrets to spill even if we are caught."

Ha. That's a complete lie. But neither of them have truly intimate knowledge of Piotr's battle plans either the way a soldier might.

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