Oser was beginning to look convinced, and worried. “Do you think the Cetagandans plan to punch through into the Hub? Or will they stop at Vervain?"
“Of course they'll punch through. The Hub is the strategic target; Vervain is just a stepping stone to it. Hence the ‘bad mercenary’ setup. The Cetagandans want to expend as little energy as possible pacifying Vervani. They'll probably label them an ‘allied satrapy,’ hold the space routes, and barely touch down on the planet. Absorb them economically over a generation. The question is, will the Cetagandans stop at Pol? Will they try to take it on this one move, or leave it as a buffer between them and Barrayar? Conquest or wooing? If they can bait the Barrayarans into attacking through Pol without permission, it might even drive the Polians into a Cetagandan alliance—agh!” He paced again.
Oser looked like he'd bitten into something nasty. With half a worm in it. “I wasn't hired to take on the Cetagandan Empire. I expected to be fighting the Vervani's mercenaries, at most, if the whole thing didn't just fizzle out. If the Cetagandans arrive here, in force in the Hub, we'll be ... trapped. Penned up with a cul-de-sac at our backs.” And in a trailing mutter, “Maybe we ought to think about getting out while the getting's good...."
“But Admiral Oser, don't you realize,” Miles pointed to Metzov, “she'd never have let him out of her sight with all this in his head if it was still an active plan. She may have meant him to die trying to kill me, but there was always the chance he might not—that just this sort of interrogation might result. All this is the old plan. There must be a new plan.” And I think I know what it is. “There is ... another factor. A new X in the equation.” Gregor. “Unless I miss my guess, the Cetagandan invasion is now a considerable embarrassment to Cavilo."
“Admiral Naismith, I would believe that Cavilo would double-cross anyone you care to name—except the Cetagandans. They'd spend a generation, pursuing their revenge. She couldn't run far enough. She wouldn't live to spend her profits. Incidentally, what conceivable profit outweighs triple pay?"
But if she expects to have the Barrayaran Empire to defend her from retribution—all our Security resources ... “I see one way she could expect to get away with it,” said Miles. “If it works out like she wants, she'll have all the protection she wants. And all the profits."
It could work, it really could. If Gregor were indeed under her spell. And if two embarrassingly hostile character witnesses, Miles and General Metzov, conveniently killed each other. Abandoning her fleet, she could take Gregor and flee before the oncoming Cetagandans, presenting herself to Barrayar as Gregor's “rescuer” at great personal cost; if in addition a smitten Gregor urged her as his fiancee, worthy mother to a future scion of the military caste—the romantic appeal of the drama could swing popular support enough to overwhelm cooler advisors’ judgments. God knew Miles's own mother had laid the groundwork for that scenario. She could really bring this off. Empress Cavilo of Barrayar. It even scans. And she could cap her career by betraying absolutely everybody, even her own forces....
“Miles, the look on your face...” said Elena in worry.
“When?” said Oser. “When will the Cetagandans attack?” He got Metzov's wandering attention, and repeated the question.
“Only Cavie knows.” Metzov snickered. “Cavie knows everything."
“It has to be imminent,” Miles argued. “It may even be starting now. Guessing from Cavilo's timing of my return here. She meant the De—the Fleet to be paralyzed with our infighting right now."
“If that's true,” murmured Oser, “what to do...?"
“We're too far away. A day and a half from the action. Which will be at the Vervain Station wormhole. And beyond, in Vervani local space. We have to get closer. We have to move the Fleet across-system—pin Cavilo up against the Cetagandans. Blockade her—"
“Whoa! I'm not mounting a headlong attack against the Cetagandan Empire!” interrupted Oser sharply.
“You must. You'll have to fight them sooner or later. You pick the time, or they will. The only chance of stopping them is at the wormhole. Once they're through, it will be impossible."
“If I moved my fleet away from Aslund, the Vervani would think we were attacking them."
“And mobilize, go on the alert. Good. But in the wrong direction—not good. We would end up being a feint for Cavilo. Damn! No doubt another branch of her strategy-tree."
“Suppose—if the Cetagandans are now such an embarrassment to Cavilo as you claim—she doesn't send her code?"
“Oh, she still needs them. But for a different purpose. She needs them to flee from. And to mass-murder her witnesses for her. But she doesn't need them to succeed. In fact, she now needs their invasion to bog down. If she's really thinking as long-term as she should be, in her new plan."
Oser shook his head, as if to clear it. “Why?"
“Our only hope—Aslund's only hope—is to capture Cavilo, and fight the Cetagandans to a standstill at the Vervain Station wormhole. No, wait—we have to hold both sides of the Hub-Vervain jump. Until reinforcements arrive."
“What reinforcements?"
“Aslund, Pol—once the Cetagandans actually materialize in force, they'll see their threat. And if Pol comes in on Barrayar's side instead of Cetaganda's, Barrayar can pour forces through via them. The Cetagandans can be stopped, if everything occurs in the right order.” But could Gregor be rescued alive? Not a path to victory, but all paths....
“Would the Barrayarans come in?"
“Oh, I think so. Your counter-intelligence must keep track of these things—haven't they noticed a sudden increase in Barrayaran Intelligence activity here in the Hub the last few days?"
“Now that you mention it, yes. Their coded traffic has quadrupled."
Thank God. Maybe relief was closer than he'd dared hope. “Have you broken any of their codes?” Miles asked brightly, while he was at it.
“Only the least sensitive one, so far."
“Ah. Good. That is, too bad."
Oser stood with his arms folded, gnawing at his lip, intensely inward for a full minute. It reminded Miles uncomfortably of the meditative expression the admiral'd had just before ordering him shoved out the nearest airlock, barely more than a week back. “No,” Oser said at last. “Thanks for the information. In return, I suppose I will spare your life. But we're pulling out. It's not a fight we can possibly win. Only some propaganda-blinded planetary force, with a planet's resources behind it, can afford that sort of insane self-sacrifice. I designed my fleet to be a fine tactical tool, not a, a damn doorstop made of dead bodies. I'm not a—as you say—goat."
“Not a goat, a spearhead."
“Your ‘spearhead’ has no spear behind it. No."
“Is that your last word, sir?” asked Miles in a thin voice.
“Yes.” Oser reached to key his wristcom, to call in the waiting guards. “Corporal, this party's going to the brig. Call down and notify them."
The guard saluted through the glass as Oser keyed off.
“But sir,” Elena approached him, her arms raised in pleading. With a snake-strike sideways flick of her wrist, she jabbed the hypospray against the side of Oser's neck. His eyes widened, his pulse beat once, twice, three times, as his lips drew back in rage. He tensed to strike her. His blow sagged in mid-arc.
The guards beyond the glass snapped alert at Oser's sudden movement, drawing their stunners. Elena caught Oser's hand and kissed it, smiling gratefully. The guards relaxed; one nudged the other and said something pretty nasty, judging from their grins, but Miles's wits were too momentarily scattered to try and read lips.
Oser swayed and panted, fighting the drug. Elena sidled up the captured arm and slipped a hand cozily around his waist, half-turning him so they stood with their backs to the door. The sterotypical stupid fast-penta smile slipped across and receded from Oser's face, then fixed itself at last.
“He acted like I was unarmed.” Elena shook her head in exasperation, and slipped the hypospray into her jacket poc
ket.
“Now what?” Miles hissed frantically as the guard-corporal bent over the door's code-lock.
“We all go to the brig, I guess. Tung's there,” said Elena.
“Ah...” Oh-hell-we'll-never-bring-this-off. Had to try. Miles smiled cheerily at the entering guards, and helped them release Metzov, largely getting in their way and keeping their attention off the peculiarly happy-looking Oser. At a moment when their eyes were elsewhere, he tripped Metzov, who staggered.
“You'd better each take one of his arms, he's not too steady,” Miles told the guards. He was none too steady himself, but he managed to block the doorway so the guards and Metzov led the way, himself second, and Elena, arm-in-arm with Oser, followed last. “Come, love, come,” he heard Elena intone behind him, like a woman coaxing a cat to her lap.
It was the longest short walk he'd ever taken. He dropped back to growl out of the corner of his mouth to Elena. “All right, we get to the brig, it will be stocked with Oser's finest. What then?"
She bit her lip. “Don't know."
“That's what I was afraid of. Turn right here.” They swung around the next corner.
A guard looked back over his shoulder. “Sir?"
“Carry on, boys,” Miles called. “When you've got that spy locked up, report back to us at the Admiral's cabin."
“Very good, sir."
“Keep walking,” breathed Miles. “Keep smiling...."
The guards’ footsteps faded. “Where now?” asked Elena. Oser stumbled. “This is untenable."
“Admiral's cabin, why not?” Miles decided. His grin was fixed and fey. Elena's inspired mutinous gesture had given him the best break of the day. He had the momentum now. He wouldn't stop till he was brought down bodily. His head spun with the unutterable relief of at last getting the shifting, writhing, chittering might-be-might-be-might-be nailed to a fixed is. This time is now. The word is go.
Maybe. If.
They passed a few Oseran techs. Oser was sort of nodding, Miles hoped it would pass as casual acknowledgment of their salutes. Nobody turned and cried Hey!, anyway. Two levels and another turn brought them to the well-remembered corridors of officer's country. They passed the Captain's cabin (God, he'd have to deal with Auson, and soon); Oser's palm, pressed by Elena against the lock, admitted them to the quarters Oser had made his flag office. When the door slipped shut behind them Miles realized he'd been holding his breath.
“We're in it now,” said Elena, sagging for a moment with her back to the door. “You going to run out on us again?"
“Not this time,” Miles replied grimly. “You may have noticed one item I didn't bring up for discussion, down in sickbay."
“Gregor."
“Just so. Cavilo holds him hostage aboard her flagship right now.” Elena's neck bent in dismay. “She means to sell him to the Cetagandans for a bonus, then?"
“No. Weirder than that. She means to marry him.” Elena's lip curled in astonishment. “What? Miles, there's no way she could have got such an impossible notion in her head, unless—"
“Unless Gregor planted it. Which, I believe, he did. Watered and fertilized it, too. What I don't know is whether he was serious, or playing for time. She was very careful to keep us separated. You knew Gregor almost as well as I do. What do you think?"
“It's hard to imagine Gregor love-struck to idiocy. He was always ... rather quiet. Almost, well, undersexed. Compared to, say, Ivan."
“I'm not sure that's a fair comparison."
“No, you're right. Well, compared to you, then."
Miles wondered just how to take that. “Gregor never had much in the way of opportunities, when we were younger. I mean, no privacy. Security always in his back pocket. That ... that can inhibit a man, unless he's a bit of an exhibitionist."
Her hand turned, as if measuring out Gregor's smooth gripless surface. “He was not that."
“Certainly Cavilo must be taking care to present only her most attractive side."
Elena licked her lips in thought. “Is she pretty?"
“Yeah, if you happen to like blonde power-mad homicidal maniacs, I suppose she could be quite overwhelming.” His hand closed, the texture of Cavilo's pelted hair remembered like an itch on his palm. He rubbed it on his trouser seam.
Elena brightened slightly. “Ah. You don't like her."
Miles gazed up at Elena's Valkyrie face. “She's too short for my taste."
Elena grinned. “That, I believe.” She guided the shambling Oser to a chair and sat him down. “We're going to have to tie him up soon. Or something."
The comm buzzed. Miles went to Oser's desk console to answer it. “Yes?” he said in his calmest bored voice.
“Corporal Meddis here, sir. We've put the Vervani agent in Cell Nine."
“Thank you, Corporal. Ah ... “It was worth a try, “We still have some fast-penta left. Would you two please bring Captain Tung up here for questioning?"
Beyond range of the vid pick-up, Elena's dark brows rose in hope.
“Tung, sir?” The guard's voice was doubtful. “Uh, may I add a couple of reinforcements to my squad, then?"
“Sure ... see if Sergeant Chodak's around, he may have some people up for extra duties. In fact, isn't he on the extra-duty roster himself?” He glanced up to see Elena hold up her thumb and forefinger in an O.
“I think so, sir."
“Fine, whatever. Carry on. Naismith out.” He keyed off the comm and stared at it, as if it had transmuted into Aladdin's lamp. “I don't think I'm destined to die today. I must be being saved for day after tomorrow."
“You think?"
“Oh, yes. I'll have a much bigger, more public and spectacular chance to blow it all away then. Be able to take thousands more lives down with me."
“Don't you fall into one of your stupid funks now, you haven't got time for it.” She rapped the hypospray smartly across his knuckles. “You've got to think us out of this hole."
“Yes, ma'am,” Miles said meekly, rubbing his hand. Whatever happened to “my lord"? No respect, none.... But he was strangely comforted. “By the way, when Oser arrested Tung for arranging my getaway, why didn't he go on to take you and Arde and Chodak, and the rest of your cadre?"
“He didn't arrest Tung for that. At least, I don't think so. He was baiting Tung, which is his habit, they were both on the bridge at the same time—that was unusual—and Tung finally lost his temper and tried to deck him. Did deck him, I heard, and was part way to strangling him when security pulled him off."
“It had nothing to do with us, then?” That was a relief.
“I'm ... not sure. I wasn't there. It might have been an emergency diversion, to get Oser's attention away from making just that connection.” Elena nodded to the still-blandly-smiling Oser. “And now?"
“Leave him loose, till Tung is delivered. We're all just happy allies here.” Miles grimaced. “But for the love of God don't let anybody try to talk to him."
The door comm buzzed. Elena went to stand behind Oser's chair with one hand on his shoulder, trying to look as allied as possible. Miles went to the door and keyed the lock. The door slid open.
Six nervous squadmen surrounded a hostile-looking Ky Tung. Tung wore prisoner's bright yellow pajamas, and radiated malice like a small pre-nova sun. His teeth clenched in utter confusion when he saw Miles.
“Ah, thank you, Corporal,” said Miles. “We will be having a little informal staff conference after this interrogation. I'd appreciate it if you and your squad would stand guard out here. And in case Captain Tung gets violent again, we'd better have—oh, Sergeant Chodak and a couple of your people inside.” He emphasized the your with no change of voice, but only a direct look into Chodak's eyes.
Chodak made the catch. “Yes, sir. You, Private, come with me."
I'm promoting you to lieutenant, Miles thought, and stood aside to let the sergeant and his chosen man guide Tung within. Oser, looking cheerful, was quite clearly visible to the squad for a moment before the door hissed
closed again.
Oser was clearly visible to Tung, too. Tung shrugged off his guards and stalked toward the admiral. “What now, you son-of-a-bitch, do you think you—” Tung paused, as Oser continued to smile dimly up at him. “What's wrong with him?"
“Nothing,” shrugged Elena. “I think that dose of fast-penta made a real improvement in his personality. Too bad it's only temporary."
Tung threw back his head and barked a laugh, and whirled to shake Miles by the shoulders. “You did it, you little—you came back! We're in business!"
Chodak's man twitched, as if uncertain which way, or whom, to jump. Chodak caught him by the arm, shook his head silently, and indicated the wall by the door. Chodak holstered his stunner and leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded; after a startled moment, his man followed suit, flanking the other side. “Fly on the wall,” Chodak grinned out of the corner of his mouth to him. “Consider it a gift."
“It wasn't exactly voluntary,” said Miles through his teeth to Tung, only in part to keep from biting his tongue in the blast of the Eurasian's enthusiasm. “And we're not in business yet.” Sorry, Ky. I can't be your front man this time. You've got to follow me. Miles kept his face stern, and removed Tung's hands from his shoulders with icy deliberation. “That Vervani freighter captain you found delivered me straight to Commander Cavilo. And I've been wondering ever since if it was an accident."
“Ah!” Tung fell back, looking as if Miles had just hit him in the stomach.
Miles felt like he had. No, Tung was no traitor. But Miles dared not give up the only edge he had. “Betrayal, or botchery, Ky?” And have you stopped beating your wife?
“Botchery,” whispered Tung, gone sallow-pale. “Dammit, I'm going to kill the triple-crossing—"
“That's already been done,” said Miles coldly. Tung's brows rose in surprised respect.
“I came to the Hegen Hub on a contract,” continued Miles, “which is now in disarray almost beyond repair. I haven't come back here to put you in operational combat command of the Dendarii—” a beat, as Tung's worried features attempted to settle on an expression, “unless you are prepared to serve my ends. Priorities and targets are to be my choice. Only the how is yours.” And just who was going to put whom in command of the Dendarii? As long as that question didn't occur to Tung.