Fic: It's a long way to Escobar (19/20)
It's a long way to Escobar
by jetta_e_rus aka Georgette
Vorkosiverse. Slash, PG-13. Drama, action, a detective story.
Translated from Russian.
The table of contents is here
Chapter Nineteen,
where Zarowski says the simple truth but he is nearly accused of the conspiracy
***
The door of the briefing room moved aside with a soft hiss, but this low sound was enough that everyone in the room stared at the incomers. There were annoyed, waiting, puzzled or glad glances; everybody responded to Vorkosigan's arrival in his own way. Illyan who hovered traditionally behind his shoulder didn't draw any attention.
Ges Vorrutyer took the seat at the head of the table, exactly facing the door. When the door opened, he was the first who saw them; then the slight irritation that made his face wry disappeared in a split second and gave place to open joy. The Vice Admiral sat back in the station chair, spreading his elbows wide, and patted the armchair softly. "Well," he said, "here is the hero of the occasion... Attention!" he bellowed suddenly with a well-trained voice.
Illyan subdued a brief temptation to salute automatically; some people at the table gave a start. By the way, Vorhalas wasn't here for any of several reasons; why? The Prince who sat in the station chair a bit behind from Vorrutyer's threw his palms together silently, applauding his friend. Aral squared his shoulders, slightly drooped with tiredness, and dutifully stood correctly for a moment.
"Did you want to see me, Commander-in-Chief?" His rumbled baritone voice was low but everybody in the room heard it clearly. Thank God, Aral's voice didn't drop to a furious and hardly audible whisper, Illyan thought with relief. Anger would be a problem now.
"See you?" Vorrutyer echoed with a dry irony. "During the last hour only, Commodore, you have managed to damage valuable equipment, cause a state of emergency and ruin the planned exercises, all due to your criminal irresponsibility. No, I don't want to see you further either aboard my flagship or in my fleet," Vorrutyer emphasized this 'my' expressively. "Such is indeed on the agenda of this extraordinary meeting, you see, Vorkosigan?"
The term 'military court' remained unspoken but there came a cold blast in the air. However Aral wasn't scared with the emphatic roar of the self-exciting Admiral and kept looking at the scene with patient curiosity.
"If you don't mind, Your Highness," Ges addressed Serg, who was keeping silence, with overdone respect. The Prince waved him away, making it clear that he was only a spectator of this show, not a participant or director. "Kindly approach... Commodore."
Aral strode toward the Admiral's chair without a word; the officers along the table were automatically turning and following him with their glances. Aral stood beside Vorrutyer who surely didn't offer him a seat.
They looked together utterly contrasting, the Commander-in-Chief, in his dress greens glittering with gold embroidery and awards, and the disgraced ex-Admiral, in his simple green fatigues which were distinguished from any trooper's uniform only by the low-key gray rectangles on their collar. Ges was well cared-for; Aral was tired, his crew-cut had become wet in the sweltering heat of the space suit, and he hardly had managed to comb it afterwards. From Illyan's point of view it was Vorrutyer who looked overdressed, but what was the opinion of other people in the room? What if this image proved to them once more that Vorkosigan was careless?
Vorrutyer looked his old antagonist up and down, snorted, and grimaced.
"Well," he began, "we are talking about a significant, but quite natural, misdeed." He raised his voice smoothly. "In the duration of his stay aboard my ship, Commodore," Vorrutyer made a brief deliberate pause in order to remind everybody about Aral's former high rank and the cause for which he had lost it, "Vorkosigan showed both a tendency to disobedience and a number of pernicious habits which have had a bad influence on the military morale. He has evident troubles with subordination; perhaps it was the former personal leadership that made him spoilt. By the way, his command every time finished with an incident, either on a whole fleet scale or a sole patrol cruiser. Gentlemen, you saw first-hand today's result. In battle this drunken foolhardiness would have cost us casualties or damage." He paused, looked at the chief engineer. "Was I wrong in using the conjunctive mood, Commander?"
The grim Lieutenant Commander wasn't glad that everybody's attention turned to him, but he informed them dryly and as exactly as it was possible, "Commodore Vorkosigan's vacuum suit is being delivered to the Repair Bay, sir; when its examination is done, I'll be able to report to you about the damage or malfunction. The portable beacon has a small mechanical failure; the ship's skin is intact."
I should think so! Illyan thought ironically. The armor plates of the ship's outer shell were supposed to stand hits of missiles running at enormous speed or plasma. Aral could never have made a dent in it; Vorrutyer's question was only a spiteful joke.
Vorrutyer crossly waved him away. "Such sluggishness; I need your report now, not later. The belated details won't be interesting to me, don't bother." Hm, was it possible that the idea of the space suit's expert examination seemed improper to him? "The proper statement of charge you could obtain from the Chief law officer. Something like '... damage to the Imperial property in a battle situation', and don't forget the aggravating circumstances of intoxication."
"I'm not drunk, Vorrutyer," Aral broke his silence; his remark was laconic, and his voice was injured.
Ges immediately caught up the line, "Not drunk?" he shouted expressively, half-turning to the defaulter. "Do you, Vorkosigan, dare to lie to your Commander's face? You reek of brandy, and you have the insolence to deny it, don't you? Zarowski!"
"Yes, sir?" The Chief surgeon answered; he had just twirled the light-pen and hadn't looked to his side advisedly.
"By the way, all the crew knows well what Vorkosigan's 'ulcer' is in actual fact," Vorrutyer said with a dangerous irony. "You'll answer, Zarowski, both for his concealment and your negligence; you didn't care to conduct his medical checkup before letting him go outside. Try to redeem your fault now at least and and quickly test his alcohol levels. Right here, not in your cubicle, so as to eliminate the possibility of any... fault. If he is afraid to admit his guilt of his own free will, he'll get a medical certificate for his file."
Vorrutyer stopped, sighed and added with a falsely soft voice, "Have you kept your old captain's tabs, Aral? If the military court will favor you, you'll deserve the right to wear them again. However, the lieutenant's ones more became you; you were so nice when..."
The silent Prince suddenly giggled.
However intense his diversion was, despite himself Illyan admired Vorrutyer's perfect self-assurance; Ges easily put the blame for the incident that he had cooked up by his own hands on all the people present. Did he count on the senior officers saving their files from a reprimand and actively wrecking Vorkosigan, their fellow officer who had been at fault?
However it looked so, technically. At least Vorrutyer had set the surgeon to energetic activity; Zarowsky immediately gave instructions via his wristcom and was waiting tensely, still twirling his damned light-pen. Illyan hoped vainly that he would drop this irritating glittering thing; the surgeon's fingers were skilful enough to hold the small metal stick. To Illyan's relief, the flashing lasted five minutes only. As this time passed, the breathless medic came to the briefing room; his hands were full with all sorts of things as the hypospray, the assay kit and even the translucent plastic pear of a gas analyzer. The latter was apparently borrowed from the equipment of the Army Security; the standard easy device was useful every now and then in order to bring in order uproarious privates. The Regulations inconsistently considered alcoholic intoxication as aggravation if the delinquency was committed in a battle situation and as extenuation if it happened during a crew rest period. This ambiguity could be interpreted loosely aboard the battleship.
Vorkosigan shrugged and breathed unquestioningly to the analyzer's tube. He looked worn out, and Illyan thought that Aral should talk to the doctors later about another matter than his supposed intoxication; they would have to examine if this incident had left him only bruises or worse. But this would be after a time; now it was the hour of battle, not of treatment. The long-expected culmination was going to come; the result for the sake of which they had risked (very unadvisedly, as Illyan saw now) to put him under threat and let become a mockery for his old enemy. If their booby trap would make now a harmless plop only, it would by very bad...
Zarowski read the indication, and spreaded his hands expressively. "The respiratory sample didn't reveal any traces of alcohol, Commander."
"Wha-at?!" Vorrutyer shouted. "This is a foolish mistake, of course. At least I believe that it's a mistake only, not the worst. Check once more. Don't you see that he's drunk?"
"Ges, what crap is this?" the uncomprehending Prince echoed. "Vorkosigan is drunk, I saw myself that his legs were giving out..."
Ges turned quickly and frowned Serg down; evidently, it had to be a solo part.
"Don't teach me my work, sir," the Colonel answered without piety; yes, medics never had over-respect for ranks. "The respiratory sample catches traces of alcohol for twelve hours afterwards; there isn't any."
"Then re-check it in another way, Zarowski! Don't bother your commander with every trifle," Ges snapped, irritated.
"... And a significant dose of alcoholic drinks that took place a few days ago can be found by the presence of ethyl-glucuronid in the urine," the surgeon added calmly. "However, that doesn't mean he's intoxicated at present."
"Do I have to piss right here so that the Commander doesn't suspect any forgery?" Aral asked too coolly that his irony was evident. Two of the officers snorted; Illyan did his very best to keep a stony face.
Vorrutyer was becoming furious. "Either you do all your available tests, Zarowski, or I put a question of your sabotage," he forced himself to speak through his teeth.
"It would be too radical a decision," the chief surgeon grinned without specifying to whoever's remark he answered. "The blood test also fits."
Vorkosigan rolled up his sleeve obediently and gave up a few millilitres of blood for the sake of the ascertainment of truth; in the meantime Zarowski explained with an academic tone, "I have here the chemicals for rapid analysis only. They reveal the decomposition products of ethanol that was in the body during the last week, not before." He described it in detail and glanced from time to time at his subordinate who was poring over the tests aside. "This will be enough; Vorkosigan had his first ulcer attack six days ago, and till this moment he shared the mess with other officers and openly drunk wine at the table, as far as I know. If you want earnestly to know whether my patient strongly obeyed the prescription it will be clear in five minutes.
The medic approached from behind and put the narrow band of listing results on the table before his chief, then modestly stepped aside. Colonel Zarowski traced the lines with his finger, hummed, "I have to disappoint you again, Vice Admiral; any decomposition products of ethanol aren’t revealed, he's cleared." The surgeon read the numbers aloud, underlined them with his nail and moved the flimsy politely toward Vorrutyer.
The Chief engineer who had spent this time listening and speaking intently but low to his comlink lifted his head. "I have already the preliminary results of the examination, sir," he said to the Commanders-in-Chief. Of course, he had been wounded by being blamed for slowness and now tried to improve the impression. "The space suit has a malfunction of the driving gear. It could look like its wearer, er, couldn't control his body but the real cause was the suit itself."
The engineer's testimony became the last straw. Vorrutyer jumped to his feet, his lips twitching with anger. "You too?! Your experts and your gadgets are fit only for dumping! Did you help to tune Zarowski's device so that it show... Clear?! Impossible. This is not sabotage alone] but a conspiracy!"
Ges became to pace the room quickly. Serg sat up in his chair, set his palms against the armrests and followed Vorrutyer with an uneasy glance. Ges spoke, hurriedly, unevenly, resorting to various subsidiary arguments when the main, the faultless one, had suddenly proved unworkable, "This is a falsification. I observed the exercises personally. Vorkosigan was so drunk that he wasn't be able to handle his own spacesuit. They had to dispatch the rescue team to catch him and drag him into the ship."
"The Commodore got back aboard on his own strength," the engineer corrected and broke off under the burning evil glance of the Vice Admiral.
"Don't mention. He was dead drunk anyway, right before the exercises, when I ordered him...." Vorrutuer ceased speaking briskly as if he had just bumped into a wall at full speed. Oh, yes, the experienced intriguer, Ges was so overwhelmed now that was caught in his own trap. If he had been any more carried away he would have said aloud something like 'when I kissed him, he reeked of brandy'. Anyway he had said too much; if the commander saw clearly his subordinate officer drunk but ignored it and even gave him a direct order, the consequences would be his fault only. The pause fell, awkward and hard. The officers kept silence and stony faces, but their eyes expressed an indulgent pity. Serg closed his eyes tight; Ges became flushed.
The Crown Prince's laugh broke the silence. It wasn't even a laugh but a short, light, almost scoffing snicker that made Vorrutyer turn out perplexedly.
"That's enough, gentlemen! When a joke becomes a farce it begins to irritate me. I believe, that any mentioning of conspiracy aboard my ship is a joke only, isn't it? Let them examine this incident and punish the guilty people. I'm tired of this. Go on, Ges." Serg rose and moved to the door.
Vorrutyer's utter surprise grew more if it was possible; the sabotage occured in his own ranks. Nobody knew whether the Prince considered that he was helping him overcome the stupid deadlock or His capricious Highness had really become tired. But he spoiled all Ges's plan. After the august words about jokes it was impossible to accuse Vorkosigan further. Vorrutyer's face expressed the agonizing fury, but he had to follow the First Commander. Probably, he had now a futile wish to strangle both Aral and Serg, it didn't matter whoever the first.
"I await from you all written reports on account of today's incident, at the latest this evening," Vorrutyer ordered gloomily in the end.
Serg turned and added, "Vorkosigan, you look like a prole. Make yourself presentable, and I will permit you to drink," he laughed at his own joke, embraced Vorrutyer and exited.
The automatic door was impossible to slam, but it closed with a snake-like hiss.
Illyan suddenly realised that he had tried not to breathe during all this time.
Aral pulled up the station chair and sank wearily into it. Was it just chance that it was the Commander's chair at the head of the table? Perhaps. During all the trial he had had to stand at attention near the seated Vorrutyer, after all. He rubbed his face intently as if he heartened, then said, "Gentlemen, I make my apologies that I caused involuntarily this... extraordinary meeting. I thank you for your opportune actions that have helped to clear up the mess." He smiled at his own formal words. "Indeed, I deserved it all. I should never relax and remember that exercises always harbour surprises. My lieutenant year passed a long time ago, and I have had time to forget the instructors' mean tricks."
Oh, right. The Chief engineer surely took the hint and now he was able to choose whether it had been a tuning defect (because they had had to get the space suit quickly from the storage) or a planned trouble, part of the emulated emergency situation. But the matter never concerned sabotage.
"Well, and Commander Vorrutyer," Aral suddenly stretched himself and yawned, "shouldn't be so biased."
… And spread the idiotic panic, Illyan continued in his mind. It seemed he wasn't the single person who thought it.
"Now," Aral rose, "we are all dismissed. Alas, we have to spend this evening writing our reports."
by jetta_e_rus aka Georgette
Vorkosiverse. Slash, PG-13. Drama, action, a detective story.
Translated from Russian.
The table of contents is here
Chapter Nineteen,
where Zarowski says the simple truth but he is nearly accused of the conspiracy
***
The door of the briefing room moved aside with a soft hiss, but this low sound was enough that everyone in the room stared at the incomers. There were annoyed, waiting, puzzled or glad glances; everybody responded to Vorkosigan's arrival in his own way. Illyan who hovered traditionally behind his shoulder didn't draw any attention.
Ges Vorrutyer took the seat at the head of the table, exactly facing the door. When the door opened, he was the first who saw them; then the slight irritation that made his face wry disappeared in a split second and gave place to open joy. The Vice Admiral sat back in the station chair, spreading his elbows wide, and patted the armchair softly. "Well," he said, "here is the hero of the occasion... Attention!" he bellowed suddenly with a well-trained voice.
Illyan subdued a brief temptation to salute automatically; some people at the table gave a start. By the way, Vorhalas wasn't here for any of several reasons; why? The Prince who sat in the station chair a bit behind from Vorrutyer's threw his palms together silently, applauding his friend. Aral squared his shoulders, slightly drooped with tiredness, and dutifully stood correctly for a moment.
"Did you want to see me, Commander-in-Chief?" His rumbled baritone voice was low but everybody in the room heard it clearly. Thank God, Aral's voice didn't drop to a furious and hardly audible whisper, Illyan thought with relief. Anger would be a problem now.
"See you?" Vorrutyer echoed with a dry irony. "During the last hour only, Commodore, you have managed to damage valuable equipment, cause a state of emergency and ruin the planned exercises, all due to your criminal irresponsibility. No, I don't want to see you further either aboard my flagship or in my fleet," Vorrutyer emphasized this 'my' expressively. "Such is indeed on the agenda of this extraordinary meeting, you see, Vorkosigan?"
The term 'military court' remained unspoken but there came a cold blast in the air. However Aral wasn't scared with the emphatic roar of the self-exciting Admiral and kept looking at the scene with patient curiosity.
"If you don't mind, Your Highness," Ges addressed Serg, who was keeping silence, with overdone respect. The Prince waved him away, making it clear that he was only a spectator of this show, not a participant or director. "Kindly approach... Commodore."
Aral strode toward the Admiral's chair without a word; the officers along the table were automatically turning and following him with their glances. Aral stood beside Vorrutyer who surely didn't offer him a seat.
They looked together utterly contrasting, the Commander-in-Chief, in his dress greens glittering with gold embroidery and awards, and the disgraced ex-Admiral, in his simple green fatigues which were distinguished from any trooper's uniform only by the low-key gray rectangles on their collar. Ges was well cared-for; Aral was tired, his crew-cut had become wet in the sweltering heat of the space suit, and he hardly had managed to comb it afterwards. From Illyan's point of view it was Vorrutyer who looked overdressed, but what was the opinion of other people in the room? What if this image proved to them once more that Vorkosigan was careless?
Vorrutyer looked his old antagonist up and down, snorted, and grimaced.
"Well," he began, "we are talking about a significant, but quite natural, misdeed." He raised his voice smoothly. "In the duration of his stay aboard my ship, Commodore," Vorrutyer made a brief deliberate pause in order to remind everybody about Aral's former high rank and the cause for which he had lost it, "Vorkosigan showed both a tendency to disobedience and a number of pernicious habits which have had a bad influence on the military morale. He has evident troubles with subordination; perhaps it was the former personal leadership that made him spoilt. By the way, his command every time finished with an incident, either on a whole fleet scale or a sole patrol cruiser. Gentlemen, you saw first-hand today's result. In battle this drunken foolhardiness would have cost us casualties or damage." He paused, looked at the chief engineer. "Was I wrong in using the conjunctive mood, Commander?"
The grim Lieutenant Commander wasn't glad that everybody's attention turned to him, but he informed them dryly and as exactly as it was possible, "Commodore Vorkosigan's vacuum suit is being delivered to the Repair Bay, sir; when its examination is done, I'll be able to report to you about the damage or malfunction. The portable beacon has a small mechanical failure; the ship's skin is intact."
I should think so! Illyan thought ironically. The armor plates of the ship's outer shell were supposed to stand hits of missiles running at enormous speed or plasma. Aral could never have made a dent in it; Vorrutyer's question was only a spiteful joke.
Vorrutyer crossly waved him away. "Such sluggishness; I need your report now, not later. The belated details won't be interesting to me, don't bother." Hm, was it possible that the idea of the space suit's expert examination seemed improper to him? "The proper statement of charge you could obtain from the Chief law officer. Something like '... damage to the Imperial property in a battle situation', and don't forget the aggravating circumstances of intoxication."
"I'm not drunk, Vorrutyer," Aral broke his silence; his remark was laconic, and his voice was injured.
Ges immediately caught up the line, "Not drunk?" he shouted expressively, half-turning to the defaulter. "Do you, Vorkosigan, dare to lie to your Commander's face? You reek of brandy, and you have the insolence to deny it, don't you? Zarowski!"
"Yes, sir?" The Chief surgeon answered; he had just twirled the light-pen and hadn't looked to his side advisedly.
"By the way, all the crew knows well what Vorkosigan's 'ulcer' is in actual fact," Vorrutyer said with a dangerous irony. "You'll answer, Zarowski, both for his concealment and your negligence; you didn't care to conduct his medical checkup before letting him go outside. Try to redeem your fault now at least and and quickly test his alcohol levels. Right here, not in your cubicle, so as to eliminate the possibility of any... fault. If he is afraid to admit his guilt of his own free will, he'll get a medical certificate for his file."
Vorrutyer stopped, sighed and added with a falsely soft voice, "Have you kept your old captain's tabs, Aral? If the military court will favor you, you'll deserve the right to wear them again. However, the lieutenant's ones more became you; you were so nice when..."
The silent Prince suddenly giggled.
However intense his diversion was, despite himself Illyan admired Vorrutyer's perfect self-assurance; Ges easily put the blame for the incident that he had cooked up by his own hands on all the people present. Did he count on the senior officers saving their files from a reprimand and actively wrecking Vorkosigan, their fellow officer who had been at fault?
However it looked so, technically. At least Vorrutyer had set the surgeon to energetic activity; Zarowsky immediately gave instructions via his wristcom and was waiting tensely, still twirling his damned light-pen. Illyan hoped vainly that he would drop this irritating glittering thing; the surgeon's fingers were skilful enough to hold the small metal stick. To Illyan's relief, the flashing lasted five minutes only. As this time passed, the breathless medic came to the briefing room; his hands were full with all sorts of things as the hypospray, the assay kit and even the translucent plastic pear of a gas analyzer. The latter was apparently borrowed from the equipment of the Army Security; the standard easy device was useful every now and then in order to bring in order uproarious privates. The Regulations inconsistently considered alcoholic intoxication as aggravation if the delinquency was committed in a battle situation and as extenuation if it happened during a crew rest period. This ambiguity could be interpreted loosely aboard the battleship.
Vorkosigan shrugged and breathed unquestioningly to the analyzer's tube. He looked worn out, and Illyan thought that Aral should talk to the doctors later about another matter than his supposed intoxication; they would have to examine if this incident had left him only bruises or worse. But this would be after a time; now it was the hour of battle, not of treatment. The long-expected culmination was going to come; the result for the sake of which they had risked (very unadvisedly, as Illyan saw now) to put him under threat and let become a mockery for his old enemy. If their booby trap would make now a harmless plop only, it would by very bad...
Zarowski read the indication, and spreaded his hands expressively. "The respiratory sample didn't reveal any traces of alcohol, Commander."
"Wha-at?!" Vorrutyer shouted. "This is a foolish mistake, of course. At least I believe that it's a mistake only, not the worst. Check once more. Don't you see that he's drunk?"
"Ges, what crap is this?" the uncomprehending Prince echoed. "Vorkosigan is drunk, I saw myself that his legs were giving out..."
Ges turned quickly and frowned Serg down; evidently, it had to be a solo part.
"Don't teach me my work, sir," the Colonel answered without piety; yes, medics never had over-respect for ranks. "The respiratory sample catches traces of alcohol for twelve hours afterwards; there isn't any."
"Then re-check it in another way, Zarowski! Don't bother your commander with every trifle," Ges snapped, irritated.
"... And a significant dose of alcoholic drinks that took place a few days ago can be found by the presence of ethyl-glucuronid in the urine," the surgeon added calmly. "However, that doesn't mean he's intoxicated at present."
"Do I have to piss right here so that the Commander doesn't suspect any forgery?" Aral asked too coolly that his irony was evident. Two of the officers snorted; Illyan did his very best to keep a stony face.
Vorrutyer was becoming furious. "Either you do all your available tests, Zarowski, or I put a question of your sabotage," he forced himself to speak through his teeth.
"It would be too radical a decision," the chief surgeon grinned without specifying to whoever's remark he answered. "The blood test also fits."
Vorkosigan rolled up his sleeve obediently and gave up a few millilitres of blood for the sake of the ascertainment of truth; in the meantime Zarowski explained with an academic tone, "I have here the chemicals for rapid analysis only. They reveal the decomposition products of ethanol that was in the body during the last week, not before." He described it in detail and glanced from time to time at his subordinate who was poring over the tests aside. "This will be enough; Vorkosigan had his first ulcer attack six days ago, and till this moment he shared the mess with other officers and openly drunk wine at the table, as far as I know. If you want earnestly to know whether my patient strongly obeyed the prescription it will be clear in five minutes.
The medic approached from behind and put the narrow band of listing results on the table before his chief, then modestly stepped aside. Colonel Zarowski traced the lines with his finger, hummed, "I have to disappoint you again, Vice Admiral; any decomposition products of ethanol aren’t revealed, he's cleared." The surgeon read the numbers aloud, underlined them with his nail and moved the flimsy politely toward Vorrutyer.
The Chief engineer who had spent this time listening and speaking intently but low to his comlink lifted his head. "I have already the preliminary results of the examination, sir," he said to the Commanders-in-Chief. Of course, he had been wounded by being blamed for slowness and now tried to improve the impression. "The space suit has a malfunction of the driving gear. It could look like its wearer, er, couldn't control his body but the real cause was the suit itself."
The engineer's testimony became the last straw. Vorrutyer jumped to his feet, his lips twitching with anger. "You too?! Your experts and your gadgets are fit only for dumping! Did you help to tune Zarowski's device so that it show... Clear?! Impossible. This is not sabotage alone] but a conspiracy!"
Ges became to pace the room quickly. Serg sat up in his chair, set his palms against the armrests and followed Vorrutyer with an uneasy glance. Ges spoke, hurriedly, unevenly, resorting to various subsidiary arguments when the main, the faultless one, had suddenly proved unworkable, "This is a falsification. I observed the exercises personally. Vorkosigan was so drunk that he wasn't be able to handle his own spacesuit. They had to dispatch the rescue team to catch him and drag him into the ship."
"The Commodore got back aboard on his own strength," the engineer corrected and broke off under the burning evil glance of the Vice Admiral.
"Don't mention. He was dead drunk anyway, right before the exercises, when I ordered him...." Vorrutuer ceased speaking briskly as if he had just bumped into a wall at full speed. Oh, yes, the experienced intriguer, Ges was so overwhelmed now that was caught in his own trap. If he had been any more carried away he would have said aloud something like 'when I kissed him, he reeked of brandy'. Anyway he had said too much; if the commander saw clearly his subordinate officer drunk but ignored it and even gave him a direct order, the consequences would be his fault only. The pause fell, awkward and hard. The officers kept silence and stony faces, but their eyes expressed an indulgent pity. Serg closed his eyes tight; Ges became flushed.
The Crown Prince's laugh broke the silence. It wasn't even a laugh but a short, light, almost scoffing snicker that made Vorrutyer turn out perplexedly.
"That's enough, gentlemen! When a joke becomes a farce it begins to irritate me. I believe, that any mentioning of conspiracy aboard my ship is a joke only, isn't it? Let them examine this incident and punish the guilty people. I'm tired of this. Go on, Ges." Serg rose and moved to the door.
Vorrutyer's utter surprise grew more if it was possible; the sabotage occured in his own ranks. Nobody knew whether the Prince considered that he was helping him overcome the stupid deadlock or His capricious Highness had really become tired. But he spoiled all Ges's plan. After the august words about jokes it was impossible to accuse Vorkosigan further. Vorrutyer's face expressed the agonizing fury, but he had to follow the First Commander. Probably, he had now a futile wish to strangle both Aral and Serg, it didn't matter whoever the first.
"I await from you all written reports on account of today's incident, at the latest this evening," Vorrutyer ordered gloomily in the end.
Serg turned and added, "Vorkosigan, you look like a prole. Make yourself presentable, and I will permit you to drink," he laughed at his own joke, embraced Vorrutyer and exited.
The automatic door was impossible to slam, but it closed with a snake-like hiss.
Illyan suddenly realised that he had tried not to breathe during all this time.
Aral pulled up the station chair and sank wearily into it. Was it just chance that it was the Commander's chair at the head of the table? Perhaps. During all the trial he had had to stand at attention near the seated Vorrutyer, after all. He rubbed his face intently as if he heartened, then said, "Gentlemen, I make my apologies that I caused involuntarily this... extraordinary meeting. I thank you for your opportune actions that have helped to clear up the mess." He smiled at his own formal words. "Indeed, I deserved it all. I should never relax and remember that exercises always harbour surprises. My lieutenant year passed a long time ago, and I have had time to forget the instructors' mean tricks."
Oh, right. The Chief engineer surely took the hint and now he was able to choose whether it had been a tuning defect (because they had had to get the space suit quickly from the storage) or a planned trouble, part of the emulated emergency situation. But the matter never concerned sabotage.
"Well, and Commander Vorrutyer," Aral suddenly stretched himself and yawned, "shouldn't be so biased."
… And spread the idiotic panic, Illyan continued in his mind. It seemed he wasn't the single person who thought it.
"Now," Aral rose, "we are all dismissed. Alas, we have to spend this evening writing our reports."