Chapter Text
No one looked at servants.
These were proper, modern Vor, so they pretended. Their parents and grandparents would have treated Hanna as if she was invisible, taking a drink from the tray without a word of thanks or acknowledgement. The new Vor made the right noises when she came by, expressing gratitude as automatically as they breathed, but they didn’t really see her.
Only other servants noticed Hanna, and they were too busy to care. The lobby of the Prince Xav Hotel was packed with guests, gossiping and arguing and drinking. Especially drinking. A small Betan woman in a sarong was taking shots of maple mead with an enormous Service commander in formal red-and-blues, somehow staying upright even though he had to be twice her weight.
Hanna was dressed in a simple black skirt and white blouse, an outfit that almost matched the hotel uniform. The guests could assume that she worked for the Prince Xav, while the hotel staff would assume that she worked for a guest. She moved briskly, a woman on a mission, and no one looked at her twice. Not even the man in a plain grey suit, who stood quietly against the wall with his hands clasped behind his back. There was a bubble of space around him, as even the drunken guests seemed to steer away before they got too close.
She had spotted him the moment she walked in the door, and she suspected that he wanted to be noticed. A useful reminder that the Eyes of the Emperor were always upon his subjects. The undercover agents would be hidden among the crowd, waiting and watching, alert for any sign of treason. Long practice kept a polite, meaningless smile on her face, the fixed expression of a professional servant.
Her smile didn’t waver when a drunken major staggered by, nearly spilling a glass of red wine over her blouse. She simply stepped to the side, allowing him to sprawl gracelessly across the floor. A hotel servant ran over to check his pulse, but the steady babble of conversation continued. It wouldn’t be a proper Barrayaran party until at least half of the guests were falling down drunk.
The man in the corner was most of the way there. He was older than most of the crowd, with thinning white hair and pale blue eyes. As she watched, he took a deep drink directly from a bottle in his hand, staggered, and braced himself against the table at his side.
Careful not to hurry, Hanna made her way towards General Tobias Vorkramer. His face was flushed and red, and for a moment Hanna was afraid that he would simply fall over. She breathed a sigh of relief when he finally straightened up. He was an old Vor, a man from Emperor Ezar’s generation, and so he did not even pretend to look at her when she placed a glass of water on the table.
She drew out a small box. The most conservative Vor could appreciate Betan anti-intoxicants, the delightful drugs that let them spend twice as long drinking themselves into unconsciousness. Every proper hotel had a supply for parties like this. Hanna selected her pill carefully, held it up to the light to confirm the color, and turned back to the glass of water.
The first notes of the Imperial Anthem sounded through the room, and the enormous vidscreen hanging on the wall came to life. Hanna automatically closed her fist around the pill and gave her full attention to the display. Around her, the babble of conversation died away, and rulers and servants turned to face the man upon the screen.
“People of Barrayar.” Lord Regent Vorkosigan was dressed in full military uniform, the formal red-and-blues with the rank tabs of an admiral. “Today we celebrate the birthday of our Emperor. Let us remember our duty to the Emperor, the sacred oaths of fealty that unite our Imperium…”
She listened with half an ear. Hanna had taken sacred oaths long ago, when she was only a child, and she intended to keep them. The speech went on and on, praising the young Emperor, the loyalty of Barrayar’s soldiers, the honor of the Vor, and the hard work and obedience of the proles. Hanna thought it was remarkably similar to last year’s speech.
The Lord Regent discussed the Cetagandan Threat and Our Brave Soldiers and The Duty of the Vor. He claimed that Emperor Gregor was a truly great and wise Emperor, though it was the Lord Regent who ruled the Imperium and Vorkosigan would have said the same things if Gregor Vorbarra was completely insane. Hanna clapped at the right times, and if ImpSec’s watchers detected a lack of enthusiasm, it had been a long night. She was tired. One of the hotel servants, an old man with a truly enormous mustache, yawned and then immediately broke into applause, as if he was making up for his lack of patriotism.
“...and let us march forward, united as our Emperor’s people, into a bright future!” The national anthem began to play, and Hanna sang along for all twelve stanzas, or at least the eight that she remembered. The Lord Regent’s image faded from the screen, replaced by Emperor Gregor’s, and Hanna cheered at the top of her lungs for a child she had never met. The noise around her was deafening, and now that the speech had ended, people had begun to move again, going to the bar for fresh drinks to toast their Emperor.
General Vorkramer hadn’t moved. He was standing still with one hand over his heart, staring at Gregor Vorbarra. Hanna dropped the pill in the glass, waited for it to dissolve, and stood by patiently. When the old man finally turned away from the display, she offered it to him. He drank half the glass with one swallow, and Hanna faded away, off to help another guest.
The seconds seemed to creep by, but she made herself wait four minutes. She fetched a drink of whiskey from the bar, collected a hundred-mark tip from a man wearing a formal suit and a happy, drunken smile, brought a tray of snacks to a side table, and slowly made her way back towards General Vorkramer. The glass was still sitting on his table, but it was empty now. The General was drinking from a bottle, looking at something very far away. He did not seem to notice her when she brushed by the table and picked up the glass.
There was a line at the exit, a crowd of people struggling to get through the doors. Some of the guests were already walking home- or being carried- and she took her place at the back, never pushing or shoving. One woman in an elaborate red gown stumbled into her, mumbling apologies, and Hanna supported her with one gloved hand while the other gripped the glass.
The woman in the red gown was already falling asleep when Hanna deposited her in the cushioned armchair in front of the reception desk. An older woman with graying hair stood behind the desk, looking both extremely professional and immensely weary, and Hanna returned her wan smile. Then she was off again, walking steadily down the hall, not too fast. Never too fast. A proper servant never hurried.
And Hanna Bremer was always a proper servant.