His replacement at HQ was a Lieutenant Toussaint, who was not going to provide an excuse to stick around. Ivan knew within ten minutes that Toussaint was one of those bright young things, and was kind enough to let Ivan train him in. He had three weeks to do it.
There was a party. Ivan smiled a lot, and drank more. When he got home, his bad-luck charm was sitting in the hall again, dozing. Ivan dropped his keycard on By's head, startling him awake. "Don't be an ass," By muttered, and opened the door. He fetched the magic water again, too. Ivan wondered, again, why he was allowing this.
"It's given me a headache this time," he noted.
By frowned at him, and then his face cleared with understanding. "Take enough stimulants before the alcohol, and it will do that. You were supposed to sleep."
Ivan shuddered involuntarily.
"Yeah, right. Okay." By had brought out water for himself, this time, too. He set it down on the little book-table and began pacing briskly; fortunately, his soft soles didn't make any noise. "Options. You could tell them."
Ivan shook his head. "Do you know what that will do to my career?"
By crooked a smile. "Ok. Suicide!" he suggested brightly.
Ivan said "No!" very promptly and certainly, but only because he'd thought about it. He wasn't interested in dying; he just didn't want to be on a ship in the closed-up dark with the water dripping dripping shut up shut up stupid brain. "Neither career suicide nor personal suicide are options."
"I'm glad to hear you say it. You know, if I thought it were, I wouldn't be here?"
"No?"
"While you certainly have every right to off yourself if you wish, Vor have a tendency to take out a lot of bystanders with them."
"You're concerned for the bystanders?" Ivan said, a little disbelieving.
He replied, with a wounded look, "If I thought you might actually put yourself in a position to harm others, I would have shared your little secret with someone who could stop you a long time ago."
"Who?" Ivan asked. He wondered if that were relief he felt. Or...pride. That someone else agreed that he wasn't a danger to others, even though he'd been so since he'd been born. If he wanted to be maudlin, which he didn't, he'd call it his life's work. No one dies for me. He'd succeeded, mostly, and could hardly be blamed for things that happened before he was born. Right.
By stopped to drink his water, and then mused, "I'm not sure who I'd tell. Your mother, perhaps."
"God."
"Or maybe an anonymous note to Illyan. But it's a moot point -- you're not a threat to our fair citizens. The point is to get you out of ship duty, short of suicide or career-limiting disclosures."
"Right. And how do you propose to do that?"
"Damned if I know. We could rough you up. You couldn't ship out with enough physical damage."
"One, it's three weeks; two, Aunt Cordelia has the best clinics on the planet; three, they'd just find another ship posting." He'd considered that, too.
By nodded. "So they would. Ok, beating the shit out of you is a non-starter. Pity, that."
His look of mock-regret -- and it was sham, Ivan was sure -- was really funny, somehow. "I thought your only fetish was consent," Ivan said, mimicking By's tone from the previous evening.
His expression was downright cherubic. "You'd be consenting, wouldn't you? Except you're not. Next option. Hmm, could you tell His Majesty? Privately? He doesn't seem the sort to kill your career for it."
Ivan had thought of that, too. Gregor would fix it. He did not want Gregor to fix it. The Emperor did not need to have his distant cousins asking him to fix things for them. "That is...a last resort. The last resort. So we have one. A last resort, I mean."
"Ah," By breathed. "It's good to have one," he agreed, then looked at Ivan expectantly.
Ivan tried to think of something. "I could prove myself incompetent at...something."
By shook his head. "You had ship duty before, right? No one would believe it, not enough to get you out of the post. And that's too close to career-limiting...." He trailed off in a way that indicated some thought was blossoming inside his twisty brain.
It was unsettlingly close to one of Cousin Miles' expressions. Ivan hoped the impetus wasn't like one of Cousin Miles' notions. "You have an idea," he said, his voice going flat, but By didn't seem to notice.
"What you need is a posting that has to stay on-planet. On this planet, because you couldn't exactly travel to any of the other ones easily."
"I made it here from Earth -- " Ivan protested.
By flapped his arms to shush him; his face had the beatific expression of the newly enlightened. "What you need, Lieutenant Lord Vorpatril, is a promotion."
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Ship Duty 2
Date: 2010-08-06 04:00 am (UTC)There was a party. Ivan smiled a lot, and drank more. When he got home, his bad-luck charm was sitting in the hall again, dozing. Ivan dropped his keycard on By's head, startling him awake. "Don't be an ass," By muttered, and opened the door. He fetched the magic water again, too. Ivan wondered, again, why he was allowing this.
"It's given me a headache this time," he noted.
By frowned at him, and then his face cleared with understanding. "Take enough stimulants before the alcohol, and it will do that. You were supposed to sleep."
Ivan shuddered involuntarily.
"Yeah, right. Okay." By had brought out water for himself, this time, too. He set it down on the little book-table and began pacing briskly; fortunately, his soft soles didn't make any noise. "Options. You could tell them."
Ivan shook his head. "Do you know what that will do to my career?"
By crooked a smile. "Ok. Suicide!" he suggested brightly.
Ivan said "No!" very promptly and certainly, but only because he'd thought about it. He wasn't interested in dying; he just didn't want to be on a ship in the closed-up dark with the water dripping dripping shut up shut up stupid brain. "Neither career suicide nor personal suicide are options."
"I'm glad to hear you say it. You know, if I thought it were, I wouldn't be here?"
"No?"
"While you certainly have every right to off yourself if you wish, Vor have a tendency to take out a lot of bystanders with them."
"You're concerned for the bystanders?" Ivan said, a little disbelieving.
He replied, with a wounded look, "If I thought you might actually put yourself in a position to harm others, I would have shared your little secret with someone who could stop you a long time ago."
"Who?" Ivan asked. He wondered if that were relief he felt. Or...pride. That someone else agreed that he wasn't a danger to others, even though he'd been so since he'd been born. If he wanted to be maudlin, which he didn't, he'd call it his life's work. No one dies for me. He'd succeeded, mostly, and could hardly be blamed for things that happened before he was born. Right.
By stopped to drink his water, and then mused, "I'm not sure who I'd tell. Your mother, perhaps."
"God."
"Or maybe an anonymous note to Illyan. But it's a moot point -- you're not a threat to our fair citizens. The point is to get you out of ship duty, short of suicide or career-limiting disclosures."
"Right. And how do you propose to do that?"
"Damned if I know. We could rough you up. You couldn't ship out with enough physical damage."
"One, it's three weeks; two, Aunt Cordelia has the best clinics on the planet; three, they'd just find another ship posting." He'd considered that, too.
By nodded. "So they would. Ok, beating the shit out of you is a non-starter. Pity, that."
His look of mock-regret -- and it was sham, Ivan was sure -- was really funny, somehow. "I thought your only fetish was consent," Ivan said, mimicking By's tone from the previous evening.
His expression was downright cherubic. "You'd be consenting, wouldn't you? Except you're not. Next option. Hmm, could you tell His Majesty? Privately? He doesn't seem the sort to kill your career for it."
Ivan had thought of that, too. Gregor would fix it. He did not want Gregor to fix it. The Emperor did not need to have his distant cousins asking him to fix things for them. "That is...a last resort. The last resort. So we have one. A last resort, I mean."
"Ah," By breathed. "It's good to have one," he agreed, then looked at Ivan expectantly.
Ivan tried to think of something. "I could prove myself incompetent at...something."
By shook his head. "You had ship duty before, right? No one would believe it, not enough to get you out of the post. And that's too close to career-limiting...." He trailed off in a way that indicated some thought was blossoming inside his twisty brain.
It was unsettlingly close to one of Cousin Miles' expressions. Ivan hoped the impetus wasn't like one of Cousin Miles' notions. "You have an idea," he said, his voice going flat, but By didn't seem to notice.
"What you need is a posting that has to stay on-planet. On this planet, because you couldn't exactly travel to any of the other ones easily."
"I made it here from Earth -- " Ivan protested.
By flapped his arms to shush him; his face had the beatific expression of the newly enlightened. "What you need, Lieutenant Lord Vorpatril, is a promotion."