The Real Values

When we met for the first time in Vorbarr Sultana, the young Barrayaran lord stared at me with so much open greed and amazement that I hardly suppressed a smile. You could easy read in his face that he has never expected to see such a view when dealing with businessmen from Jackson's Whole. Look well, my dear, I thought; we carefully selected the model from our House' catalogues who best fits the taste that you aren't advertising in society.

Oh, you poor barbarians. All your sixty noble families are listed down to the last member in the "Who's Who," and that becomes an excellent aid for an espionage deal. Whenever the Baron had checked out this backcountry planet for any reason, his Head of Security had needed only to thumb through the luxuriously printed guide to choose the right man. In this case, it was a young rich bachelor who likes space travels and, hm, pretty boys.

I'm pretty enough, and I look like a boy ten years younger that I actually am. Not that I don't fit the image of Mr. Tarpan's modest secretary. My boss is an enterprising businessman who interprets the terms of customs and smuggling rather more freely than the laws of some retrograde planets do.

Of course Lord Henrie (as I have right to call him) made a Deal with my boss not only for my beautiful eyes, although my looks increased his enjoyment of the business dinner in the good local restaurant where the Barrayaran Vor and the Jacksonian businessman ratified their Deal. As the level of wine in the bottle went down, the Barrayaran cast sidelong looks at me more frequently. I did my best so that it would be a nice sight. It was not by chance that my Vor saw the unfastened collar of the snow-white shirt under the modest dark suit, the barely noticeable smile, and the silver earring that attracted glances by the twinkling of its tiny diamond. I explained to him later that I liked jewelry, but a secretary was too minor a person for such expensive things. My wages are as scanty as my status is low, and Jackson’s Whole's social etiquette doesn't permit me to wear jewelry except when it is a gift from a man of high position. Oh, no. Unfortunately, nobody has marked me theirs in this way. It was a very straight hint to the poor sod that I was free and he could choose. And he took it.

I came to him when we were aboard the yacht. The vessel was going into the planet's orbit after taking my Vor Lord from the Transit Station; it was a delicate calculation and I didn't try to bribe the suspicious Barrayaran with an intimate affair before the job was done. Of course, he had kept clear of the bloody space liner. So I was curled up in the padded velvet armchair in the luxurious, natural wood decorated cabin, sipping my third glass of wine and talking some sweet nonsense. It had been calculated nicely, just like my relieved and glad look of a man who had got a great burden off his back. I knew accurately within one minute when Henrie - oh yes, he was Henrie for me by the time - would step to me from behind and slip his hands under my shirt to loosen the buttons from the white silk, and I would gasp, arch my back nicely and throw back my head for his kiss...

I'm a good psychologist and not in the least a fool. According to the local standards, a Count's Heir is a well-to-do man; therefore Henrie's motives for participating in our business were adventurism and romantic appeal, as much as financial gain. And so the young lord received his romanticism as the love of a youthful Jacksonian with a profoundly tragic story, who was passionate but decent to the very depths of his soul. And after we had rumpled all the bed linens by trying various impossible love positions, and prostrated ourselves, sweaty, on the bed for some rest, I found the precise moment to whisper in his ear how thrilled a modest galactic orphan was to receive the attentions of a genuine aristocrat. And I swear he swallowed this rubbish. As readily as I had swallowed… well, perhaps the recent champagne.

We kept up our pleasant relations on the surface. It was an exemplary love affair. The Barrayaran was a passionate lover, but a not too experienced one. I kept on sighing periodically that our parting would be inevitable when Mr. Tarpan returned to take me away to Jackson's Whole; these declarations roused pleasantly my Vor's belief that I wouldn't become a permanent burden on him, living at his expense. He joked at my fascinaite interest in the aristocracy and my not quite masculine passion for precious luxury. I lowered my gaze as any decent man would, and said that beautiful things embellish anybody's life and would inspire a recollection of happy memories. Then he laughed and put onto me the heavy ancient jewels from his family collection, meant evidently for women. I blushed neatly and hinted that some white jewelry would suit my tawny skin more than these vinous rubies. And then I usually found myself in bed without any jewelry or clothes, but with the certainty that my modest desire was implanted firmly in the brain of this horny Vor.

I wasn't wrong. When it neared my time to depart from Barrayar, my dear Lord gave me a keepsake, showing that avarice wasn't among his vices, unlike lust. It was the best imported thing supplied from the galaxy to the local jewelry shop to satisfy the refined taste of Vors and their Ladies. The triple threading of natural pearls, large and shimmering, sat high, exactly below the dimples of my collar-bones, and shone on my bronzed skin, just as the credulous Vor liked.

"Oh, thanks!" I breathed out my delight, fake but so convincing. "How splendid!"

Of course it was too splendid for a poor Jacksonian. But this necklace would look wonderful on an ivory woman's neck, especially once decorated with small, quite imperceptible chemical additives not provided in the original design.

Yes, Mr. Tarpan works for Baron Bharaputra, but my job came directly from the Baronna. And I did it. Lady Lotus has waited for a long time but her revenge will be worthy: she will be satisfied with a wedding gift destined for Vorkosigan's bride by the New Year.

But there is no need that the actual grantor of the pearls, Lord Vorbataille, should know about its further destination.