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Dec. 30th, 2025 09:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iniquiticityfacta non verba - deeds, not words.
One of Ivan’s personal nightmares was coming true: this was the second time in two days that he was talking to Gregor. In person. They were seated in one of Gregor’s more-relaxed receptions rooms, and Gregor was wearing one of his relatively-informal grey suits. This was vastly preferable to yesterday, where Gregor had been his most Imperial Majesty, and Ivan had been wearing his Eferetti ambassador’s formalwear: absolutely nothing but his green sarong. At least none of the Vorkosigans, or his mother, or Simon, had been there for the formal presentation.
He was wearing his undress greens for this one, and after wearing the sarong for eight months, even putting these on felt like his whole body was being constricted. The multi-jump back had not accommodated him to shirtsleeves well enough, but it was a start. The Eferetti had a point about how catastrophically squeezy pants could be.
"I know," Gregor said, an uncharacteristic lightness taking out some of the typical severity of his face, "That you didn't do anything. But I would like the record to be clear that your Not Doing Anything has resulted in an extremely favorable trading partner for the various radiation cleanup efforts of Barrayar."
"Thank you, Sire," Ivan said. It was best not to say too much in these kinds of situations, even if he did feel bad, honestly, that it was best not to say too much to Emperor. Well, the Emperor and the two princes, the year apart in their birth the longest ever they had not been in the same room together. Eferett as a planet had what Tej always called a truly deranged number of birds; the two Vorbarra princes in their little grey suits reminded Ivan of the city-colored kirrekos and their judging eyes.
He thought he could at least let Gregor have that little edge of bemused sarcasm on him. Gregor did not get the opportunity to be sarcastic very often.
"In your quest to not do anything," Gregor continued, "You not only found common ground with a people who had stubbornly resisted many of Our most renowned diplomats, but you managed to convince them that it was in their best interest to, on a global economic scale, give away one of their most valuable exports."
The truth was that Eferetti were the least bureaucratic, least transactional, most altruistic people Ivan had ever met, which of course made it very clear why any normal Vor would have immediately failed against them. He had executed a rare and irresponsible strategy: be a nice person, try to do good things without expecting anything in response, and be honest about Barrayar. Much of Eferetti society ran on a concept called varn, which was basically karma: you did the right thing for the people around you without any proof or promise, which gave you strong varn, and you moved up in the world around it.
Naturally, Mark, an earlier attempt to procure the radiation-cleanup system from the Eferetti, had terrible varn. Ivan was coming around to the possibility that Miles’ clone-brother could have positive qualities, but altruistic and fair were not among the list.
At least, Ivan thought, trying to decide on ways this wouldn’t end up with him getting more responsibility for not that much more pay, this was informal flattery from the empire. He shuddered to think of getting a medal; he knew about Miles’ collection.
He would have preferred to have set up this whole agreement and Gregor send him a nice thank you tightbeam and that was it. Instead the Eferetti had insisted that he present this gift to his emperor in person (in traditional costume, nonetheless) as a consummation of their new galactic friendship. They did not ask for proof - they never did, but good varn demanded he do what he said he was going to do.
That had been yesterday. This morning he’d woken up and found Gregor wanted him back today, and maybe dressed, if that was something he was now culturally permitted to do by his ambassadorship?
So he was here. Again. Feeling the unfamiliar itch of sleeves, and the sensation of his boots squeezing his feet, and trying not to be given any more work under six Vorbarra eyes.
"Just doing my job, Sire," he said.
"Were half Our diplomats as competent," the Emperor murmured, looking away. Ivan didn't envy anything about Gregor's life, and he could add having to keep track of every Barrayaran diplomat out there to the list. Finally, Gregor turned back to him.
Oh no, Ivan thought, miserably. He's going to give me a new job to do. I'm going to have to get used to wearing a shirt again. He's going to ship me and Tej off to somewhere colder, and definitely meaner, without all the unique planetary qualities that had driven the culture to wear a lot less clothes than everyone else.
"You know, recently Miles pointed out to me a habit of mine, which was punishing all of Our most successful agents with more work than they can possibly do."
"Miles is into that," he offered, before he could stop himself, "So you shouldn't worry about doing it to him."
A fleeting smile, which would have been a belly-laugh on anyone else, flickered across Gregor's face. It made him look closer to his real age, Ivan thought.
"I completely agree,” Gregor responded, uncommonly light, “And so did he. He also decided on six children, which seemed to rather conclusively prove the point."
Ivan, who was very content to be an uncle, nodded in agreement. What if his new posting put him even closer to his mother? He had gotten very good at brief responses to her messages about grandchildren.
"However, for any of Our agents who have done nothing with such extraordinary results, I shall happily assign them nothing more. Keep on doing nothing, if you would, Ivan?"
Ivan brightened despite himself. Was it actually possible to fly this close to the emperor (sorry Gregor!) and not come crashing down into some terrible ocean?
"On Eferett, Sire?"
Gregor nodded, quite decisively, "We think it best to speed you back there as soon as possible. Perhaps have dinner with your mother first?"
And just in an instant all hope evaporated.
"Though," he added, thoughtfully, "Given how little you've been up to, I certainly can't require that."
One of Ivan’s personal nightmares was coming true: this was the second time in two days that he was talking to Gregor. In person. They were seated in one of Gregor’s more-relaxed receptions rooms, and Gregor was wearing one of his relatively-informal grey suits. This was vastly preferable to yesterday, where Gregor had been his most Imperial Majesty, and Ivan had been wearing his Eferetti ambassador’s formalwear: absolutely nothing but his green sarong. At least none of the Vorkosigans, or his mother, or Simon, had been there for the formal presentation.
He was wearing his undress greens for this one, and after wearing the sarong for eight months, even putting these on felt like his whole body was being constricted. The multi-jump back had not accommodated him to shirtsleeves well enough, but it was a start. The Eferetti had a point about how catastrophically squeezy pants could be.
"I know," Gregor said, an uncharacteristic lightness taking out some of the typical severity of his face, "That you didn't do anything. But I would like the record to be clear that your Not Doing Anything has resulted in an extremely favorable trading partner for the various radiation cleanup efforts of Barrayar."
"Thank you, Sire," Ivan said. It was best not to say too much in these kinds of situations, even if he did feel bad, honestly, that it was best not to say too much to Emperor. Well, the Emperor and the two princes, the year apart in their birth the longest ever they had not been in the same room together. Eferett as a planet had what Tej always called a truly deranged number of birds; the two Vorbarra princes in their little grey suits reminded Ivan of the city-colored kirrekos and their judging eyes.
He thought he could at least let Gregor have that little edge of bemused sarcasm on him. Gregor did not get the opportunity to be sarcastic very often.
"In your quest to not do anything," Gregor continued, "You not only found common ground with a people who had stubbornly resisted many of Our most renowned diplomats, but you managed to convince them that it was in their best interest to, on a global economic scale, give away one of their most valuable exports."
The truth was that Eferetti were the least bureaucratic, least transactional, most altruistic people Ivan had ever met, which of course made it very clear why any normal Vor would have immediately failed against them. He had executed a rare and irresponsible strategy: be a nice person, try to do good things without expecting anything in response, and be honest about Barrayar. Much of Eferetti society ran on a concept called varn, which was basically karma: you did the right thing for the people around you without any proof or promise, which gave you strong varn, and you moved up in the world around it.
Naturally, Mark, an earlier attempt to procure the radiation-cleanup system from the Eferetti, had terrible varn. Ivan was coming around to the possibility that Miles’ clone-brother could have positive qualities, but altruistic and fair were not among the list.
At least, Ivan thought, trying to decide on ways this wouldn’t end up with him getting more responsibility for not that much more pay, this was informal flattery from the empire. He shuddered to think of getting a medal; he knew about Miles’ collection.
He would have preferred to have set up this whole agreement and Gregor send him a nice thank you tightbeam and that was it. Instead the Eferetti had insisted that he present this gift to his emperor in person (in traditional costume, nonetheless) as a consummation of their new galactic friendship. They did not ask for proof - they never did, but good varn demanded he do what he said he was going to do.
That had been yesterday. This morning he’d woken up and found Gregor wanted him back today, and maybe dressed, if that was something he was now culturally permitted to do by his ambassadorship?
So he was here. Again. Feeling the unfamiliar itch of sleeves, and the sensation of his boots squeezing his feet, and trying not to be given any more work under six Vorbarra eyes.
"Just doing my job, Sire," he said.
"Were half Our diplomats as competent," the Emperor murmured, looking away. Ivan didn't envy anything about Gregor's life, and he could add having to keep track of every Barrayaran diplomat out there to the list. Finally, Gregor turned back to him.
Oh no, Ivan thought, miserably. He's going to give me a new job to do. I'm going to have to get used to wearing a shirt again. He's going to ship me and Tej off to somewhere colder, and definitely meaner, without all the unique planetary qualities that had driven the culture to wear a lot less clothes than everyone else.
"You know, recently Miles pointed out to me a habit of mine, which was punishing all of Our most successful agents with more work than they can possibly do."
"Miles is into that," he offered, before he could stop himself, "So you shouldn't worry about doing it to him."
A fleeting smile, which would have been a belly-laugh on anyone else, flickered across Gregor's face. It made him look closer to his real age, Ivan thought.
"I completely agree,” Gregor responded, uncommonly light, “And so did he. He also decided on six children, which seemed to rather conclusively prove the point."
Ivan, who was very content to be an uncle, nodded in agreement. What if his new posting put him even closer to his mother? He had gotten very good at brief responses to her messages about grandchildren.
"However, for any of Our agents who have done nothing with such extraordinary results, I shall happily assign them nothing more. Keep on doing nothing, if you would, Ivan?"
Ivan brightened despite himself. Was it actually possible to fly this close to the emperor (sorry Gregor!) and not come crashing down into some terrible ocean?
"On Eferett, Sire?"
Gregor nodded, quite decisively, "We think it best to speed you back there as soon as possible. Perhaps have dinner with your mother first?"
And just in an instant all hope evaporated.
"Though," he added, thoughtfully, "Given how little you've been up to, I certainly can't require that."