Fic: Aral Vorkosigan's Dog 12/15
Title: Aral Vorkosigan's Dog 12/15
Rating/warnings: R, Shards-level sexual and physical violence
Length: 70k (this chapter 6000 words)
Summary: Illyan is assigned to watch Aral Vorkosigan during the Escobaran war. Soon he has to choose between his duty and his conscience, and the consequences rapidly get beyond him.
Index Post
Previous Chapter
A few minutes later Illyan emerged from the cabin, Vorkosigan's rapid-fire instructions looping through his head. Mention Negri frequently. Suggest. Recommend. Doubt. Better not bribe or threaten, that's too obvious, although it may come to that. Slander their inspection procedures, make records evaporate-whatever is necessary... God. But his hands were between Vorkosigan's now, and he would follow Vorkosigan's orders and give him his forty-eight hours.
A voice in the back of his head was still screaming in panic that this was a disaster and they were going to be caught and killed and if he'd just obeyed Negri's orders in the first place everything would have been fine. If only that were true. Illyan walled that whole sequence of thought off in his mind, aware that the face he presented to the guards must be only naturally startled at what had just happened, not desperate and confused.
"Does he need anything, sir?" one of the guards asked him. Illyan was going to shake his head and pass by, but an idea struck him and instead he paused.
"No, he'll be fine. I'm sure he'll ask you if there's anything he wants."
"It's not like we'll be here long," the other guard said confidently. "As if he'd do anything like that." He looked at Illyan. "I mean, you were with him, weren't you, sir?"
"I was."
"There you are, then It's-" his voice lowered "-idiotic to lock him up just before things get interesting."
Illyan did not say anything, giving the guard time to worry about criticising his superiors before an ImpSec officer. Then he said, "I'm still required to watch him, so if anyone comes here to see him, you must call me before admitting them, no matter who it is."
"Yessir."
Illyan went on down the corridor, confident that the guards respected his authority and were favourably disposed towards their captive, and that he would have a chance to intervene if anyone tried to visit. Negri's voice echoed again in his mind, very faintly: Vorkosigan is not your commanding officer. He ignored it. Everything had changed now.
He was about to climb through the hatch away from the staff officers' corridor when voices behind him made him turn. The doors of two of the other cabins on the corridor had opened and two search teams emerged, under the direction of a young ensign. Illyan swallowed and turned back. Another second and he'd have missed them.
He recognised the ensign as Beauregard, evidently back on duty on the flagship. Perfect, a rare stroke of luck. But luck was only meaningful if you exploited it. He went over to join them.
Beauregard looked up from his report panel as Illyan appeared.
"Find anything?"
Beauregard hesitated, then said, "Not so far, sir." He turned back to his search teams and sent one into the cabin immediately beside Vorkosigan's, then stared at Vorkosigan's guarded door. "Need I search in there, do you think? The orders say every cabin, but they also say top speed."
"I went over the cabin just now, that's why I was in there so long. You can report it searched and clear."
"Oh. Good." Beauregard directed his second team into the cabin on the other side of Vorkosigan's. "Only there aren't any bug readings from in there, so I was worried…"
"No, that's right," Illyan answered instantly. "I get them directly, since monitoring Commodore Vorkosigan is my responsibility."
"Yes, yes, of course." Beauregard looked at Illyan's insignia with a hint of nervousness. "That's fine." His conscientiousness won out over his nerves enough to ask, "Then you can confirm there's nothing suspicious on the bug readouts?"
"Certainly. All clean." Illyan had always done well at telling outright lies with a perfect face. He watched as Beauregard jabbed at his report panel with a stylus.
"There's also your own cabin," Beauregard said, with stubborn persistence. "No bug readings and my override didn't get me past your palm-lock."
Illyan grimaced. "That was to keep Prince Serg's men out," he said, with a slightly conspiratorial look at Beauregard. "I'm sure you know why."
"Oh. Yes. I see, sir."
"I'll go over it myself and report back to you. Though if you couldn't get in I rather doubt anyone else could either."
Beauregard nodded and gave him a tentative smile at that, which Illyan returned cheerfully. He lingered a moment for certainty, and saw the search teams proceed on down the corridor. He felt like he was disarming grenades, and each time he made one safe, another was hurtled at him. What chance did Vorkosigan and his rescuees have?
Well, if they were to have any chance at all, he had to keep going. His blood was up now. A good spy had to have patience, for the watching and waiting that was an essential part of the job, but he also had to be quick when watching turned to action. Now Illyan had a shipful of men to con with his life and others' hanging in the balance. He bared his teeth in a quick flash of a grin as the adrenalin rush began to take over. This would be the most fun he'd had in months.
He hurried down to the bridge and strode in with his head at an arrogant angle. Commander Venne was attempting to keep control over the chaos that was sprouting amongst his officers as each man tried to demonstrate that he was doing his best to solve the mystery of their Admiral's assassination. Illyan stalked silent-footed up to the junior security officer's station and gazed over his shoulder with the air of an examiner considering a failing student's work. The JSO, Trent, was a man of his own rank, a little young for his position and uneasy around the ImpSec agent. Perfect.
"Why isn't anyone investigating the two shuttles that left from B Lock?" he demanded suddenly.
Trent jumped and spun in his station chair. "Shuttles?" he echoed, then stared at Illyan. "Er-what are you doing here, ah, sir?"
The final 'sir' had clearly been a judicious afterthought, and it pleased Illyan, all the more since they were nominally of equal rank. "Since there is no need for me to watch Commodore Vorkosigan whilst he's under guard, I am here to see how your investigation is going. I have some experience of such things, and I will need to provide a report on this along with the other information for Captain Negri."
"I see." Trent hesitated, then said, "You've done murder investigations before? We've never had one on this ship until now, just the usual little things that the military police deal with."
"Many times," Illyan assured him, untruthfully. He'd had the training, at least. Then he added, "But I don't want to interfere. What about Political Officer Dewitt?"
It was apparent that Trent had never had any training in subterfuge. He looked as if someone had put salt in his coffee bulb. "I--I'm sure your experience is more relevant, sir. Of course," he added hastily, and loudly, "the PO must do what he thinks best, but--do you want to have a look at the reports I've got so far?"
"Thank you." Illyan glanced at them, said, "Hmm," a few times for effect, and then after a time far too short for most people to have read the documents, said, "But you haven't got anything about the shuttles. If the hypothesis that the escaped prisoner killed him is true, she would be a fool not to make all haste to escape from the ship. After all, it's not possible to hide for long even on this class of ship."
"Yes, yes, I know. But how could she have gotten from the Admiral's cabin to the B locks? It's down three decks and across almost the whole ship, surely someone would have spotted her."
"Perhaps someone did," Illyan said grimly. "Is anyone else missing? Hasn't there been a complete roll-call of everyone aboard yet? I don't think we should assume that the Admiral was her only victim."
Trent scribbled some notes on his pad, and Illyan stood silently by. Commander Venne spotted their work and came over.
"Lieutenant Illyan? May I ask what you're doing here?"
Trent replied, "He's offered to help with the investigation, sir. He has, er, a lot of experience."
Illyan felt his stomach curl as Venne considered him thoughtfully for a moment. Venne was no fool, and he knew Illyan was not entirely impartial when it came to Vorkosigan. But then, neither was Venne himself. Illyan summoned Negri's shade to his back and said quietly, "I am required to keep aware of everything related to Commodore Vorkosigan's political activities. Whatever the outcome of this investigation, I must follow it closely." On Barrayar, he thought, assassination counted as a political activity.
"I see." Venne nodded. "Very well. You may consider yourself part of the investigative team, Lieutenant."
The two shuttles from B Lock were, as Illyan had hoped, a fruitful distraction. The fact that one had a malfunction of its tight-beam communication was even better than he had expected. All the suspicion in the room was instantly diverted. He did not relax, but sorted through data in his head, looking for more sources of distraction and confusion, and praying that nobody traced all the confusion back to him.
The night-cycle had passed and Illyan's smokescreen of diversions, lies and intimidation was still holding when he finally excused himself from the bridge. If he didn't show up soon with a meal for Vorkosigan, he feared the over-solicitous guards would start to offer help of their own. In the mess, he snagged two large portions of whatever they were offering for breakfast, one ostensibly for himself, and also palmed a ration bar into his pocket. Feeding two extra people wasn't going to be easy, and whilst he might stint himself for Vorkosigan, he wasn't about to go hungry for the sake of Sergeant Bothari.
He nodded to the guards and slid open the door of Vorkosigan's cabin, opening it as little as he could. Vorkosigan jumped and whirled as he entered, his hand reaching towards his empty holster, then relaxed.
"Oh. It's you."
"I brought your breakfast; thought I'd have mine here too," Illyan answered for the guards' benefit, and closed the door again.
Captain Naismith was asleep on the bunk, and Bothari lay in a corner, his eyes half-open but clearly unaware of anything that was happening. Illyan set the meals on the comconsole desk and perched on a corner wearily.
"It's holding so far," he reported. "They're busily trying to lock down every shuttle, skiff and repair tender that's passed through local space in the past day, which totals fifty-seven very busy vehicles, most of which seem to have made numerous unscheduled side-trips to do minor repairs or transport duty that hasn't got proper paperwork attached to it. There's going to be a console failure later today, whilst I'm on my sleep-cycle, which will destroy some important records, and someone's got to redo all the fast-penta interrogations of the other prisoners in the brig because they didn't follow procedure exactly."
Vorkosigan's tired face cracked a grin. "Excellent work."
The brief praise was almost as good as a full night's sleep. Illyan held his head up. He'd seen Vorkosigan at work as a leader of men before; now he was experiencing it. Knowing how the trick was worked, it seemed, didn't make him immune to it.
"It's not going to hold forever," he continued after a moment. "Sooner or later someone else will come in here and there will be nothing I can do about it. And once they realise what I've done, I won't be able to shelter you any longer."
"That doesn't matter." Vorkosigan glanced at the woman on the bed, then quickly away. "It doesn't matter. At least, it doesn't matter what happens to me, so long as you get back to Negri with a complete report. If they catch this, lie. Tell them I threatened you, I bribed you, I seduced you, whatever you like, just make sure it lands all the blame on me. The top priority is to preserve the true report for the Emperor." He paused. "If you can protect-" he looked at Captain Naismith again. Illyan nodded helplessly. He'd far rather protect Vorkosigan than this unknown lady soldier, but he was Vorkosigan's man now and would obey.
*
Illyan's work held, and the frenzy of the preparations for the planetary invasion fleet began to take priority in everyone's minds even above the question of how their admiral had died. But the Prince was still suspicious, and he dragged everyone together to hear a complete report of how their investigation had gone.
Serg looked as if he'd rather space Illyan than have to breathe the same air as his father's ImpSec agent. He did not look at Illyan as he spoke. "I want to hear his account of what happened. See if it corresponds to the evidence we have now."
Since every piece of pertinent evidence had passed through Illyan's hands, he was not particularly worried about this. Commander Venne's eyes widened slightly in the same realisation. Illyan tensed, preparing obfuscations as Venne opened his mouth, but then he closed it again and made a little carry-on gesture towards Illyan.
Illyan leaned back in his chair, a position of calm confidence, and said, "Certainly, sir. Where shall I begin?"
"I last saw Ges alive at the meeting when you got back from the Tau Cetan front. Start there."
"Very well." Illyan knew nobody present here had ever heard him making a full recall of anything, and so would be unable to recognise, as Ezar instantly would, that he was not actually replaying his chip. He described escorting Vorkosigan back to his cabin and leaving him there. The Prince leapt on this at once.
"He could have killed Ges then! You weren't there, how would you know?"
"He had the opportunity in theory," Illyan agreed, "but several witnesses saw Admiral Vorrutyer inspecting prisoners in the brig during this time. Later witnesses report bringing a female prisoner to his cabin; Commander Venne has the details."
Corporal Angelov had courageously described exactly how revolting the setup was. Admiral Vorhalas looked very grim as Venne repeated the story. Serg merely seemed bored.
"Very well, he was alive then. But there was still time for Vorkosigan to get there and kill him before you went back to him, wasn't there?"
"Possibly. But Commodore Vorkosigan's appearance makes this unlikely. The forensic report shows that it would not have been possible for Admiral Vorrutyer's killer to have avoided being soaked in his blood; his throat was cut from behind using the knife you've already seen. When I went to Commodore Vorkosigan's cabin he was wearing the same uniform he had earlier, and the rest of his kit had not yet been returned from the courier from the Tau Cetan front. His cabin has also been searched; no sign of any bloodstained clothing has been found." He did not add that his evidence alone gave details of this imaginary search.
Serg grunted. Illyan took this as permission to continue.
"Whilst I was in the mess, Corporal Angelov approached me with his concerns about Admiral Vorrutyer and the prisoner. He did not think the situation was very safe-" Illyan did not say for whom "-and he asked me if I would mention it to Commodore Vorkosigan. I went to Commodore Vorkosigan's cabin at once and repeated what Corporal Angelov had asked me to say, and Commodore Vorkosigan decided it would be wise to investigate."
"He had no business getting involved," Serg muttered. "Investigate, my ass! He wanted to interfere."
Illyan saw Vorhalas flinch. He continued blandly, "We went into Admiral Vorrutyer's cabin-the door was not secured-and found the scene which your forensic team has described. Their deductions you have already."
Serg glowered around the room, and focused his most furious frown at Illyan, who sat at bland attention. Venne also frowned at him, thoughtfully.
"It seems, sir, there's no reason to continue keeping Commodore Vorkosigan under guard," Vorhalas said. "He could not have killed the Admiral, it's impossible. And the rest of the Staff are already having to work flat out; if we had Aral it would make things that bit easier."
"Hardly," snorted the Prince. "He's more trouble than he's worth, always arguing and wanting to slow everything down. Besides, I'm not convinced we can trust Vorkosigan's lapdog to tell us the whole truth."
Illyan kept his face from showing surprise at this first sign of common sense from the Prince.
"I want him kept under arrest until we get back to Barrayar. Then we'll have some real experts in to figure out what happened." Grishnov and his men, Illyan thought, who would have no objection to manufacturing evidence wholesale to condemn Vorkosigan. And would Negri even back his errant subordinate against Grishnov, now? Well, that was a problem for another day.
Vorhalas sighed. "Yes, sir," he said. It was the only thing he could say, Illyan supposed. "But I'd like to speak with him myself, before we go, and make sure he has all the data. He can keep up with the analysis, at least, whilst he's under arrest."
Serg glared. "If you must. But I'll come with you. I'm not having you talking behind my back."
Illyan was dizzied with sudden panic as they both stood up. He thought he had won, but this would be the end. They would go to the cabin, they would find Naismith and Bothari, and then nothing would be able to save Vorkosigan.
His throat was so dry it took him two tries to speak. "I'll just go ahead of you, then, sir. I believe he may be asleep."
"Yes, get your master out of bed. Lying around whilst we do all the work…" Serg waved a hand at him. Illyan strode away, not breaking into a run until he was beyond their sight.
He controlled himself as he came to the guarded door of Vorkosigan's cabin. What on earth could be done to conceal the two fugitives? It was possible Vorhalas might stay quiet if he noticed something odd, given his friendship with Vorkosigan, but the Prince certainly would not, might even be looking for evidence. Illyan could hear his heart beating in his ears as he opened the door. Vorkosigan was sitting at his comconsole, Naismith lay dozing on the bed, and Bothari was sprawled on the floor. Vorkosigan took one look at his tense face and sprang up.
"Vorhalas and the Prince! Here! Now!"
The next few minutes were a flurry of desperate activity, as they gave Bothari another dose of sedative and hid him in the bathroom with Naismith. At least both Vorkosigan and Naismith had the combat experience to react instantly and intelligently to a threat. Illyan stood guard at the bathroom door, aware that danger could come at him from either side if Naismith or Bothari did something unwise. He watched Vorkosigan ready himself and marvelled at how calm he looked. Once the fugitives were safely out of sight, Vorkosigan gave him a quick glance.
"Don't step on my lines," he said quietly. "Just stand there, like you always do. I might have to say something... let me speak freely, Simon."
Illyan blinked. Vorkosigan's voice was serious and intent. He must have a plan. "All right," he said slowly. He was still trying to think through the implications of this when Admiral Vorhalas entered, followed by the Prince, evidently still arguing over what to do with Vorkosigan.
Vorhalas smiled at Vorkosigan, his usual cheer a little dented by the presence of the Prince glowering behind him. Illyan folded his arms and leaned back against the doorway, calling up past memories from his chip so that he could precisely imitate the detached stance he had perfected at the start of this campaign, before everything had been turned on its head.
Vorkosigan's plan seemed to involve him venting several months' pent-up criticism of the Prince's military techniques and strategies. Vorhalas, Illyan saw, looked as alarmed by this as he was, but there was something about Vorkosigan's tone of voice that kept Illyan from so much as twitching. Instead he listened, trying to understand. When Vorkosigan had been furious before, he'd whispered; now his voice was raised.
Then he heard a snort from the bathroom over the Prince's furious retort. Illyan choked, then turned his choke to a cough as the snoring continued. Abandoning Vorkosigan--who was just warming up his insults--in desperation, Illyan coughed violently and ducked into the bathroom, then closed the door. Bothari was snoring. Captain Naismith was trying to turn him over, but couldn't move his bulk in the confined space on her own. Her hands, he saw, were shaking. Between them they got Bothari turned onto his side, tilting his head back a little, and the snoring stopped.
Illyan dashed back, but whatever else Vorkosigan had said to the Prince, it had evidently been enough to drive him straight out of the cabin. Negri was going to be furious with him for missing that conversation, Illyan knew.
Vorhalas was still there, having a much calmer chat with Vorkosigan. From it, Illyan deduced that whatever Vorkosigan had said, it hadn't been enough to dissuade the Prince from leaving with the ground forces. Though, given the Prince's habit of doing precisely the opposite of what Vorkosigan wanted, perhaps that had been his goal. Getting the Prince off the flagship would make coping with their two fugitives much easier.
Vorhalas shook hands with Vorkosigan and began to make his way out. Illyan saw Vorkosigan's hand move to clap Vorhalas on the shoulder, a gesture, he thought, as much of benediction as friendship.
Then Vorhalas was gone. The door slid shut, and Illyan felt like collapsing onto the floor in a heap. They'd survived.
"Time to liberate Bothari," Vorkosigan said. "You did well there, Simon. Thanks."
Illyan straightened up, and went to get Bothari's feet as Vorkosigan went to his head. They'd just carried him out of the bathroom when Vorkosigan suddenly said, "Shit! He's stopped breathing."
The extra dose of sedative, Illyan realised. Vorkosigan, realising the same thing, immediately ordered him to get an antidote. There was no time for argument, though Illyan didn't even know if there was an antidote. A moment later he was racing through the ship's corridors, seconds ticking in his head. Even with Vorkosigan and Naismith's resuscitation attempts, if he took too long over this their time would run out. Irreversible brain damage.
He had to slow down, despite his urgent terror, whenever he came near any junctions or busier areas. The Commodore's watchdog tearing through the ship would spark the wildest curiosity from all quarters, and the Prince wasn't gone yet.
Eighty-seven seconds had passed by the time he reached sickbay. A medtech looked up in surprise at his entrance, and Illyan made a little don't-mind-me gesture to him. The Horus eyes on his collar did the rest, and the tech quickly turned back to servicing his equipment. Illyan went towards Lavalle's office, striding rapidly across the sickbay floor, and found him sitting over his console.
"Lieutenant? What--" Lavalle began.
"That stuff you gave me. That would stop a charging elephant. If there's an antidote, I need it, now."
Lavalle stared at him. "What on earth have you done?" he asked. "Do you want me to come?" He was getting up as he spoke, responding to the way Illyan was jittering from foot to foot in impatience.
"Just give it to me," Illyan said. "Right now." He couldn't have Lavalle in Vorkosigan's quarters, not with Bothari and Naismith there, he had no idea which way Lavalle would jump.
"If you would just read the directions on the packet..." Lavalle muttered under his breath as he unlocked a drugs cabinet, pulled out a packet of ampules and double-checked them. "If someone's overdosed on that sedative, use one of these--only one, no matter what--applied to the carotid artery."
Illyan snatched the ampules. "Thank you," he said, turned around and dashed out again before Lavalle could ask anything more.
As he reversed his steps through the ship, he found himself wondering morbidly if Vorkosigan would be fighting so desperately to save him if his and Bothari's roles had been reversed. Probably, in all likelihood. Vorkosigan was loyal to his people beyond any reason or sense. As he climbed up an access shaft in one smooth pull, Illyan felt that Vorkosigan's senseless loyalty must be catching, because nothing else could explain the situation he had got himself into.
He reached the cabin to find Vorkosigan and Naismith still at work with rescue breathing and chest compressions, faces pale and sweat-streaked. He shoved the door closed, grabbed one of the ampules and pressed it to Bothari's neck. It hissed under his fingers. Illyan watched, but nothing happened, and Naismith went on breathing into Bothari's mouth. Illyan was about to offer to take over for one of them when Bothari suddenly jerked, shuddered and began to breathe on his own.
Illyan realised he hadn't breathed for a while either, watching. He inhaled, and watched as Bothari's breathing steadied. Then Vorkosigan leapt for his console and began to type frantically. Illyan forced himself to follow, wondering how Vorkosigan was managing to be coherent enough to write. He read over Vorkosigan's shoulder. It was a very strongly worded protest of the Prince accompanying Admiral Vorhalas with the planetary invasion forces. Illyan raised his eyebrows at some of the language, but didn't argue. Whatever game Vorkosigan was playing now--and Illyan wasn't sure whether he was grateful or not that Vorkosigan was holding his cards so close to his chest, though he supposed with Naismith in here Vorkosigan could hardly start confiding military secrets in him--it would be best to let him play it alone.
"Do I pass the censor?" Vorkosigan asked drily as he attached his signature to the protest.
Illyan grimaced. "Send it," he said.
With that done, Vorkosigan went back to Bothari, who was breathing steadily now. "Is there anything else we should be doing?" he asked Illyan.
"Unless you'd like to invite Dr Lavalle in here--which I really do not recommend--I don't think there's anything else we can do."
Vorkosigan looked away. "He's alive. It's enough."
Considering that a part of Illyan's awareness had never left the door, and that he was constantly running scenarios for how he might save Vorkosigan, possibly from himself, if they were all discovered, he thought it was more than enough. He said as much to Vorkosigan, but after sending his protest, Vorkosigan seemed entirely uninterested in what might happen to them here, his entire attention focused on the planetary invasion.
After a few more minutes in which no further disasters erupted, Illyan went to get a meal for them all. It wasn't until he was halfway to the mess that he managed to collect his thoughts sufficiently even to work out which meal it should be.
*
As Vorkosigan had argued, things did improve after the main body of the invasion force left. Commander Venne still watched Illyan suspiciously, like a man in the audience of a magic show trying to understand how the trick was done, but he let it be known that he thought the assassin had escaped and called the search off. Illyan had barely had to push at all for this; he was starting to feel redundant. Not to mention tired and hungry.
But there were still two fugitives in Vorkosigan's cabin, and there was still the constant risk of discovery. Illyan had enumerated all the possible ways this could implode; he had listed twenty-three disasters including an emergency drill, a real emergency aboard the ship, Bothari becoming out of control and that Naismith was somehow playing them all and had some sabotage or escape planned. She seemed tense whenever Illyan saw her, but then Illyan was tense too, and Vorkosigan was tenser than either of them.
It was Vorkosigan's behaviour that unsettled Illyan. He was tracking the progress of the planetary invasion fleet obsessively, far more so than he had any of the previous space battles. Illyan would bring a meal and leave it beside the comconsole, and when he returned at the next mealtime Vorkosigan would still be sitting at the comconsole, staring at it as if he expected it to burst into flames.
When he came again to find Vorkosigan in full dress uniform, still at his station, Illyan decided to stay a while, regardless of what the guards outside thought. Something was going to happen. The ground troops were landing, and Vorkosigan, it seemed, was expecting disaster. Why now, Illyan thought, when they'd come so far with so much success? But the Prince was in charge down there. Perhaps Vorkosigan was waiting for him to make a fatal misstep, without Admiral Vorrutyer's sounder tactical vision to keep the plan on track.
He waited. Captain Naismith too was watching the reports expectantly, though Illyan supposed her reasons for being concerned were precisely the opposite of Vorkosigan's. Their tension, though, was identical.
"Half a league onwards," Vorkosigan muttered, staring at the display like a man watching a road accident, horrified but unable to pull away. Gazing over his shoulder, Illyan saw the Escobaran defence preparing, but nothing to suggest that the Barrayaran ground troops were going into the valley of death.
Then Commander Venne called through with an extra update. Illyan moved to Vorkosigan's elbow to watch. Every transmission Vorkosigan selected was worse than the one before. The Escobaran defence was unpredictable, incomprehensible, with overwhelming firepower coming from ships that simply couldn't contain the weapons they were using. Transmissions cut out abruptly, the reason hideously apparent. Vorkosigan seemed close to despair as he looked at the overall display, and Illyan found himself growing sick and frightened, as much by Vorkosigan's obvious pain as at the military disaster they could see on the screen. Surely there was something that could be done? Admiral Vorhalas would pull it off. But one of the transmissions that had ended so disturbingly had been from the flagship itself.
Illyan felt cold, beginning to understand what he was seeing. Their invasion would not be able to land. Ship after ship vanished from the display, each one bearing hundreds of Barrayaran soldiers. It was almost relief when the screen split again and Venne's face appeared. He confirmed Illyan's growing suspicion: the Prince and Admiral Vorhalas had been killed.
"You're in command now, sir," Venne said shakily to Vorkosigan.
Illyan turned to Vorkosigan and watched, hoping against hope that Vorkosigan would have some trick up his sleeve, some way to make this disaster into a victory. Vorkosigan could do it, Illyan was sure. But instead, he heard Vorkosigan order a full retreat in a leaden voice. His explanation about the new plasma mirror field baffled Illyan, but in front of Captain Naismith he could do nothing but congratulate Vorkosigan inanely and bear up under Vorkosigan's withering look.
They left the cabin and made for the tac room. Vorkosigan said nothing as they walked, and Illyan simply watched him. With each step, Vorkosigan seemed to change, the overwound tension finally breaking forth in action, swift and efficient. Illyan was almost jogging to keep up by the time they arrived.
In the tac room, Vorkosigan was transfigured, his full command presence let loose at last. The officers there all looked stunned and horrified by the disasters they'd just witnessed. Commodore Couer was ashen. Vorkosigan strode in and looked around.
"We're going to get our boys home," he told the room. "Couer, Venne--" he jerked his head, and they both came to flank him at the commanding officer's console. Illyan took a seat to one side, and Vorkosigan began to go through his orders. As Illyan watched, the fear in the tac room began to change to activity and purpose.
He sat back as a realisation swept over him. His work was over. Vorrutyer and the Prince were both dead. There was nothing further he had to do to keep Vorkosigan from compromising himself. He had not dared to let himself think this could be a possibility, even when Serg went to the front. But now the Prince was no threat to Vorkosigan, could not destroy Illyan's career, and there would be no more assassination attempts from him on the Emperor. His job was going to be much, much easier now. Even the terrible military problem Vorkosigan faced seemed to shrink.
Underneath his relief, something was clamouring for attention. Illyan reluctantly allowed his attention to be drawn. Isn't it odd, said the small part of his head that was charged with such niggling doubts, isn't it odd that Vorkosigan didn't say anything, even to him, about the intelligence about the plasma mirror shields until he was in command? Admittedly it would have been hard to explain without revealing Naismith's presence, but Illyan could have found a way to get the word out for something as big as that. There had been time to pull the troop ships back, rethink their plans, find a way to cope with the new weapon system.
And where had Vorkosigan been keeping those interrogation drugs, anyway? Illyan had searched every cubic centimetre of that cabin almost every day, looking for bugs. He knew its contents as certainly as the contents of his own cabin. More certainly. And one thing he knew was that there were no secret caches of drugs anywhere. There were only a few rare interrogation drugs that would work on a subject in her sleep and leave no trace, and Illyan wasn't even sure they had any in the flagship's laboratories.
So how had Vorkosigan found out? Had Captain Naismith told him willingly, perhaps to speed the retreat, and Vorkosigan made up the story to shield her honour? But if that were so she must be a remarkably good actress. Illyan was starting to regret letting Vorkosigan spend unguarded time with his … prisoner, and wished he had insisted on following the letter of his orders. And what if Naismith hadn't been the source of the intelligence? How had Vorkosigan found out? And when?
There was probably some obvious explanation, Illyan thought, but it worried him all the same. He stared around the tac room. The ship was moving at full power now, possibly into the emergency extra boost, and he could feel the vibrations from the strained engines. Vorkosigan was tight-beaming orders out to the planetary assault group. Illyan attended consciously to what was being said.
"… and these are the formations and positions." Vorkosigan scrolled through screens of diagrams and numbers. "Make sure they stick to them, it's the only chance they'll have of covering the retreat against those damned plasma mirrors." A big overall plan showed briefly on the vid display. Illyan stared at it, holding the image on his chip as Vorkosigan moved on. The chip was insistently pushing a matching schematic to the forefront of his mind. He attended to the memory. He had seen that diagram for the retreating ships before, over a month ago when he had happened to glance at Vorkosigan's private contingency planning.
Cold realisation stopped his breath. A month ago, Vorkosigan had been designing retreat plans around the plasma mirrors. A month ago, Vorkosigan had known of this new Escobaran weapon. But he had told nobody, until an accident put him in command of the fleet.
There was only one name for such behaviour, only one reason Vorkosigan had sent thousands of men off unprotected whilst keeping secret the knowledge that might have saved them. Instinctively, automatically, his hand moved to his nerve disruptor.
***
Next Chapter
Rating/warnings: R, Shards-level sexual and physical violence
Length: 70k (this chapter 6000 words)
Summary: Illyan is assigned to watch Aral Vorkosigan during the Escobaran war. Soon he has to choose between his duty and his conscience, and the consequences rapidly get beyond him.
Index Post
Previous Chapter
A few minutes later Illyan emerged from the cabin, Vorkosigan's rapid-fire instructions looping through his head. Mention Negri frequently. Suggest. Recommend. Doubt. Better not bribe or threaten, that's too obvious, although it may come to that. Slander their inspection procedures, make records evaporate-whatever is necessary... God. But his hands were between Vorkosigan's now, and he would follow Vorkosigan's orders and give him his forty-eight hours.
A voice in the back of his head was still screaming in panic that this was a disaster and they were going to be caught and killed and if he'd just obeyed Negri's orders in the first place everything would have been fine. If only that were true. Illyan walled that whole sequence of thought off in his mind, aware that the face he presented to the guards must be only naturally startled at what had just happened, not desperate and confused.
"Does he need anything, sir?" one of the guards asked him. Illyan was going to shake his head and pass by, but an idea struck him and instead he paused.
"No, he'll be fine. I'm sure he'll ask you if there's anything he wants."
"It's not like we'll be here long," the other guard said confidently. "As if he'd do anything like that." He looked at Illyan. "I mean, you were with him, weren't you, sir?"
"I was."
"There you are, then It's-" his voice lowered "-idiotic to lock him up just before things get interesting."
Illyan did not say anything, giving the guard time to worry about criticising his superiors before an ImpSec officer. Then he said, "I'm still required to watch him, so if anyone comes here to see him, you must call me before admitting them, no matter who it is."
"Yessir."
Illyan went on down the corridor, confident that the guards respected his authority and were favourably disposed towards their captive, and that he would have a chance to intervene if anyone tried to visit. Negri's voice echoed again in his mind, very faintly: Vorkosigan is not your commanding officer. He ignored it. Everything had changed now.
He was about to climb through the hatch away from the staff officers' corridor when voices behind him made him turn. The doors of two of the other cabins on the corridor had opened and two search teams emerged, under the direction of a young ensign. Illyan swallowed and turned back. Another second and he'd have missed them.
He recognised the ensign as Beauregard, evidently back on duty on the flagship. Perfect, a rare stroke of luck. But luck was only meaningful if you exploited it. He went over to join them.
Beauregard looked up from his report panel as Illyan appeared.
"Find anything?"
Beauregard hesitated, then said, "Not so far, sir." He turned back to his search teams and sent one into the cabin immediately beside Vorkosigan's, then stared at Vorkosigan's guarded door. "Need I search in there, do you think? The orders say every cabin, but they also say top speed."
"I went over the cabin just now, that's why I was in there so long. You can report it searched and clear."
"Oh. Good." Beauregard directed his second team into the cabin on the other side of Vorkosigan's. "Only there aren't any bug readings from in there, so I was worried…"
"No, that's right," Illyan answered instantly. "I get them directly, since monitoring Commodore Vorkosigan is my responsibility."
"Yes, yes, of course." Beauregard looked at Illyan's insignia with a hint of nervousness. "That's fine." His conscientiousness won out over his nerves enough to ask, "Then you can confirm there's nothing suspicious on the bug readouts?"
"Certainly. All clean." Illyan had always done well at telling outright lies with a perfect face. He watched as Beauregard jabbed at his report panel with a stylus.
"There's also your own cabin," Beauregard said, with stubborn persistence. "No bug readings and my override didn't get me past your palm-lock."
Illyan grimaced. "That was to keep Prince Serg's men out," he said, with a slightly conspiratorial look at Beauregard. "I'm sure you know why."
"Oh. Yes. I see, sir."
"I'll go over it myself and report back to you. Though if you couldn't get in I rather doubt anyone else could either."
Beauregard nodded and gave him a tentative smile at that, which Illyan returned cheerfully. He lingered a moment for certainty, and saw the search teams proceed on down the corridor. He felt like he was disarming grenades, and each time he made one safe, another was hurtled at him. What chance did Vorkosigan and his rescuees have?
Well, if they were to have any chance at all, he had to keep going. His blood was up now. A good spy had to have patience, for the watching and waiting that was an essential part of the job, but he also had to be quick when watching turned to action. Now Illyan had a shipful of men to con with his life and others' hanging in the balance. He bared his teeth in a quick flash of a grin as the adrenalin rush began to take over. This would be the most fun he'd had in months.
He hurried down to the bridge and strode in with his head at an arrogant angle. Commander Venne was attempting to keep control over the chaos that was sprouting amongst his officers as each man tried to demonstrate that he was doing his best to solve the mystery of their Admiral's assassination. Illyan stalked silent-footed up to the junior security officer's station and gazed over his shoulder with the air of an examiner considering a failing student's work. The JSO, Trent, was a man of his own rank, a little young for his position and uneasy around the ImpSec agent. Perfect.
"Why isn't anyone investigating the two shuttles that left from B Lock?" he demanded suddenly.
Trent jumped and spun in his station chair. "Shuttles?" he echoed, then stared at Illyan. "Er-what are you doing here, ah, sir?"
The final 'sir' had clearly been a judicious afterthought, and it pleased Illyan, all the more since they were nominally of equal rank. "Since there is no need for me to watch Commodore Vorkosigan whilst he's under guard, I am here to see how your investigation is going. I have some experience of such things, and I will need to provide a report on this along with the other information for Captain Negri."
"I see." Trent hesitated, then said, "You've done murder investigations before? We've never had one on this ship until now, just the usual little things that the military police deal with."
"Many times," Illyan assured him, untruthfully. He'd had the training, at least. Then he added, "But I don't want to interfere. What about Political Officer Dewitt?"
It was apparent that Trent had never had any training in subterfuge. He looked as if someone had put salt in his coffee bulb. "I--I'm sure your experience is more relevant, sir. Of course," he added hastily, and loudly, "the PO must do what he thinks best, but--do you want to have a look at the reports I've got so far?"
"Thank you." Illyan glanced at them, said, "Hmm," a few times for effect, and then after a time far too short for most people to have read the documents, said, "But you haven't got anything about the shuttles. If the hypothesis that the escaped prisoner killed him is true, she would be a fool not to make all haste to escape from the ship. After all, it's not possible to hide for long even on this class of ship."
"Yes, yes, I know. But how could she have gotten from the Admiral's cabin to the B locks? It's down three decks and across almost the whole ship, surely someone would have spotted her."
"Perhaps someone did," Illyan said grimly. "Is anyone else missing? Hasn't there been a complete roll-call of everyone aboard yet? I don't think we should assume that the Admiral was her only victim."
Trent scribbled some notes on his pad, and Illyan stood silently by. Commander Venne spotted their work and came over.
"Lieutenant Illyan? May I ask what you're doing here?"
Trent replied, "He's offered to help with the investigation, sir. He has, er, a lot of experience."
Illyan felt his stomach curl as Venne considered him thoughtfully for a moment. Venne was no fool, and he knew Illyan was not entirely impartial when it came to Vorkosigan. But then, neither was Venne himself. Illyan summoned Negri's shade to his back and said quietly, "I am required to keep aware of everything related to Commodore Vorkosigan's political activities. Whatever the outcome of this investigation, I must follow it closely." On Barrayar, he thought, assassination counted as a political activity.
"I see." Venne nodded. "Very well. You may consider yourself part of the investigative team, Lieutenant."
The two shuttles from B Lock were, as Illyan had hoped, a fruitful distraction. The fact that one had a malfunction of its tight-beam communication was even better than he had expected. All the suspicion in the room was instantly diverted. He did not relax, but sorted through data in his head, looking for more sources of distraction and confusion, and praying that nobody traced all the confusion back to him.
The night-cycle had passed and Illyan's smokescreen of diversions, lies and intimidation was still holding when he finally excused himself from the bridge. If he didn't show up soon with a meal for Vorkosigan, he feared the over-solicitous guards would start to offer help of their own. In the mess, he snagged two large portions of whatever they were offering for breakfast, one ostensibly for himself, and also palmed a ration bar into his pocket. Feeding two extra people wasn't going to be easy, and whilst he might stint himself for Vorkosigan, he wasn't about to go hungry for the sake of Sergeant Bothari.
He nodded to the guards and slid open the door of Vorkosigan's cabin, opening it as little as he could. Vorkosigan jumped and whirled as he entered, his hand reaching towards his empty holster, then relaxed.
"Oh. It's you."
"I brought your breakfast; thought I'd have mine here too," Illyan answered for the guards' benefit, and closed the door again.
Captain Naismith was asleep on the bunk, and Bothari lay in a corner, his eyes half-open but clearly unaware of anything that was happening. Illyan set the meals on the comconsole desk and perched on a corner wearily.
"It's holding so far," he reported. "They're busily trying to lock down every shuttle, skiff and repair tender that's passed through local space in the past day, which totals fifty-seven very busy vehicles, most of which seem to have made numerous unscheduled side-trips to do minor repairs or transport duty that hasn't got proper paperwork attached to it. There's going to be a console failure later today, whilst I'm on my sleep-cycle, which will destroy some important records, and someone's got to redo all the fast-penta interrogations of the other prisoners in the brig because they didn't follow procedure exactly."
Vorkosigan's tired face cracked a grin. "Excellent work."
The brief praise was almost as good as a full night's sleep. Illyan held his head up. He'd seen Vorkosigan at work as a leader of men before; now he was experiencing it. Knowing how the trick was worked, it seemed, didn't make him immune to it.
"It's not going to hold forever," he continued after a moment. "Sooner or later someone else will come in here and there will be nothing I can do about it. And once they realise what I've done, I won't be able to shelter you any longer."
"That doesn't matter." Vorkosigan glanced at the woman on the bed, then quickly away. "It doesn't matter. At least, it doesn't matter what happens to me, so long as you get back to Negri with a complete report. If they catch this, lie. Tell them I threatened you, I bribed you, I seduced you, whatever you like, just make sure it lands all the blame on me. The top priority is to preserve the true report for the Emperor." He paused. "If you can protect-" he looked at Captain Naismith again. Illyan nodded helplessly. He'd far rather protect Vorkosigan than this unknown lady soldier, but he was Vorkosigan's man now and would obey.
*
Illyan's work held, and the frenzy of the preparations for the planetary invasion fleet began to take priority in everyone's minds even above the question of how their admiral had died. But the Prince was still suspicious, and he dragged everyone together to hear a complete report of how their investigation had gone.
Serg looked as if he'd rather space Illyan than have to breathe the same air as his father's ImpSec agent. He did not look at Illyan as he spoke. "I want to hear his account of what happened. See if it corresponds to the evidence we have now."
Since every piece of pertinent evidence had passed through Illyan's hands, he was not particularly worried about this. Commander Venne's eyes widened slightly in the same realisation. Illyan tensed, preparing obfuscations as Venne opened his mouth, but then he closed it again and made a little carry-on gesture towards Illyan.
Illyan leaned back in his chair, a position of calm confidence, and said, "Certainly, sir. Where shall I begin?"
"I last saw Ges alive at the meeting when you got back from the Tau Cetan front. Start there."
"Very well." Illyan knew nobody present here had ever heard him making a full recall of anything, and so would be unable to recognise, as Ezar instantly would, that he was not actually replaying his chip. He described escorting Vorkosigan back to his cabin and leaving him there. The Prince leapt on this at once.
"He could have killed Ges then! You weren't there, how would you know?"
"He had the opportunity in theory," Illyan agreed, "but several witnesses saw Admiral Vorrutyer inspecting prisoners in the brig during this time. Later witnesses report bringing a female prisoner to his cabin; Commander Venne has the details."
Corporal Angelov had courageously described exactly how revolting the setup was. Admiral Vorhalas looked very grim as Venne repeated the story. Serg merely seemed bored.
"Very well, he was alive then. But there was still time for Vorkosigan to get there and kill him before you went back to him, wasn't there?"
"Possibly. But Commodore Vorkosigan's appearance makes this unlikely. The forensic report shows that it would not have been possible for Admiral Vorrutyer's killer to have avoided being soaked in his blood; his throat was cut from behind using the knife you've already seen. When I went to Commodore Vorkosigan's cabin he was wearing the same uniform he had earlier, and the rest of his kit had not yet been returned from the courier from the Tau Cetan front. His cabin has also been searched; no sign of any bloodstained clothing has been found." He did not add that his evidence alone gave details of this imaginary search.
Serg grunted. Illyan took this as permission to continue.
"Whilst I was in the mess, Corporal Angelov approached me with his concerns about Admiral Vorrutyer and the prisoner. He did not think the situation was very safe-" Illyan did not say for whom "-and he asked me if I would mention it to Commodore Vorkosigan. I went to Commodore Vorkosigan's cabin at once and repeated what Corporal Angelov had asked me to say, and Commodore Vorkosigan decided it would be wise to investigate."
"He had no business getting involved," Serg muttered. "Investigate, my ass! He wanted to interfere."
Illyan saw Vorhalas flinch. He continued blandly, "We went into Admiral Vorrutyer's cabin-the door was not secured-and found the scene which your forensic team has described. Their deductions you have already."
Serg glowered around the room, and focused his most furious frown at Illyan, who sat at bland attention. Venne also frowned at him, thoughtfully.
"It seems, sir, there's no reason to continue keeping Commodore Vorkosigan under guard," Vorhalas said. "He could not have killed the Admiral, it's impossible. And the rest of the Staff are already having to work flat out; if we had Aral it would make things that bit easier."
"Hardly," snorted the Prince. "He's more trouble than he's worth, always arguing and wanting to slow everything down. Besides, I'm not convinced we can trust Vorkosigan's lapdog to tell us the whole truth."
Illyan kept his face from showing surprise at this first sign of common sense from the Prince.
"I want him kept under arrest until we get back to Barrayar. Then we'll have some real experts in to figure out what happened." Grishnov and his men, Illyan thought, who would have no objection to manufacturing evidence wholesale to condemn Vorkosigan. And would Negri even back his errant subordinate against Grishnov, now? Well, that was a problem for another day.
Vorhalas sighed. "Yes, sir," he said. It was the only thing he could say, Illyan supposed. "But I'd like to speak with him myself, before we go, and make sure he has all the data. He can keep up with the analysis, at least, whilst he's under arrest."
Serg glared. "If you must. But I'll come with you. I'm not having you talking behind my back."
Illyan was dizzied with sudden panic as they both stood up. He thought he had won, but this would be the end. They would go to the cabin, they would find Naismith and Bothari, and then nothing would be able to save Vorkosigan.
His throat was so dry it took him two tries to speak. "I'll just go ahead of you, then, sir. I believe he may be asleep."
"Yes, get your master out of bed. Lying around whilst we do all the work…" Serg waved a hand at him. Illyan strode away, not breaking into a run until he was beyond their sight.
He controlled himself as he came to the guarded door of Vorkosigan's cabin. What on earth could be done to conceal the two fugitives? It was possible Vorhalas might stay quiet if he noticed something odd, given his friendship with Vorkosigan, but the Prince certainly would not, might even be looking for evidence. Illyan could hear his heart beating in his ears as he opened the door. Vorkosigan was sitting at his comconsole, Naismith lay dozing on the bed, and Bothari was sprawled on the floor. Vorkosigan took one look at his tense face and sprang up.
"Vorhalas and the Prince! Here! Now!"
The next few minutes were a flurry of desperate activity, as they gave Bothari another dose of sedative and hid him in the bathroom with Naismith. At least both Vorkosigan and Naismith had the combat experience to react instantly and intelligently to a threat. Illyan stood guard at the bathroom door, aware that danger could come at him from either side if Naismith or Bothari did something unwise. He watched Vorkosigan ready himself and marvelled at how calm he looked. Once the fugitives were safely out of sight, Vorkosigan gave him a quick glance.
"Don't step on my lines," he said quietly. "Just stand there, like you always do. I might have to say something... let me speak freely, Simon."
Illyan blinked. Vorkosigan's voice was serious and intent. He must have a plan. "All right," he said slowly. He was still trying to think through the implications of this when Admiral Vorhalas entered, followed by the Prince, evidently still arguing over what to do with Vorkosigan.
Vorhalas smiled at Vorkosigan, his usual cheer a little dented by the presence of the Prince glowering behind him. Illyan folded his arms and leaned back against the doorway, calling up past memories from his chip so that he could precisely imitate the detached stance he had perfected at the start of this campaign, before everything had been turned on its head.
Vorkosigan's plan seemed to involve him venting several months' pent-up criticism of the Prince's military techniques and strategies. Vorhalas, Illyan saw, looked as alarmed by this as he was, but there was something about Vorkosigan's tone of voice that kept Illyan from so much as twitching. Instead he listened, trying to understand. When Vorkosigan had been furious before, he'd whispered; now his voice was raised.
Then he heard a snort from the bathroom over the Prince's furious retort. Illyan choked, then turned his choke to a cough as the snoring continued. Abandoning Vorkosigan--who was just warming up his insults--in desperation, Illyan coughed violently and ducked into the bathroom, then closed the door. Bothari was snoring. Captain Naismith was trying to turn him over, but couldn't move his bulk in the confined space on her own. Her hands, he saw, were shaking. Between them they got Bothari turned onto his side, tilting his head back a little, and the snoring stopped.
Illyan dashed back, but whatever else Vorkosigan had said to the Prince, it had evidently been enough to drive him straight out of the cabin. Negri was going to be furious with him for missing that conversation, Illyan knew.
Vorhalas was still there, having a much calmer chat with Vorkosigan. From it, Illyan deduced that whatever Vorkosigan had said, it hadn't been enough to dissuade the Prince from leaving with the ground forces. Though, given the Prince's habit of doing precisely the opposite of what Vorkosigan wanted, perhaps that had been his goal. Getting the Prince off the flagship would make coping with their two fugitives much easier.
Vorhalas shook hands with Vorkosigan and began to make his way out. Illyan saw Vorkosigan's hand move to clap Vorhalas on the shoulder, a gesture, he thought, as much of benediction as friendship.
Then Vorhalas was gone. The door slid shut, and Illyan felt like collapsing onto the floor in a heap. They'd survived.
"Time to liberate Bothari," Vorkosigan said. "You did well there, Simon. Thanks."
Illyan straightened up, and went to get Bothari's feet as Vorkosigan went to his head. They'd just carried him out of the bathroom when Vorkosigan suddenly said, "Shit! He's stopped breathing."
The extra dose of sedative, Illyan realised. Vorkosigan, realising the same thing, immediately ordered him to get an antidote. There was no time for argument, though Illyan didn't even know if there was an antidote. A moment later he was racing through the ship's corridors, seconds ticking in his head. Even with Vorkosigan and Naismith's resuscitation attempts, if he took too long over this their time would run out. Irreversible brain damage.
He had to slow down, despite his urgent terror, whenever he came near any junctions or busier areas. The Commodore's watchdog tearing through the ship would spark the wildest curiosity from all quarters, and the Prince wasn't gone yet.
Eighty-seven seconds had passed by the time he reached sickbay. A medtech looked up in surprise at his entrance, and Illyan made a little don't-mind-me gesture to him. The Horus eyes on his collar did the rest, and the tech quickly turned back to servicing his equipment. Illyan went towards Lavalle's office, striding rapidly across the sickbay floor, and found him sitting over his console.
"Lieutenant? What--" Lavalle began.
"That stuff you gave me. That would stop a charging elephant. If there's an antidote, I need it, now."
Lavalle stared at him. "What on earth have you done?" he asked. "Do you want me to come?" He was getting up as he spoke, responding to the way Illyan was jittering from foot to foot in impatience.
"Just give it to me," Illyan said. "Right now." He couldn't have Lavalle in Vorkosigan's quarters, not with Bothari and Naismith there, he had no idea which way Lavalle would jump.
"If you would just read the directions on the packet..." Lavalle muttered under his breath as he unlocked a drugs cabinet, pulled out a packet of ampules and double-checked them. "If someone's overdosed on that sedative, use one of these--only one, no matter what--applied to the carotid artery."
Illyan snatched the ampules. "Thank you," he said, turned around and dashed out again before Lavalle could ask anything more.
As he reversed his steps through the ship, he found himself wondering morbidly if Vorkosigan would be fighting so desperately to save him if his and Bothari's roles had been reversed. Probably, in all likelihood. Vorkosigan was loyal to his people beyond any reason or sense. As he climbed up an access shaft in one smooth pull, Illyan felt that Vorkosigan's senseless loyalty must be catching, because nothing else could explain the situation he had got himself into.
He reached the cabin to find Vorkosigan and Naismith still at work with rescue breathing and chest compressions, faces pale and sweat-streaked. He shoved the door closed, grabbed one of the ampules and pressed it to Bothari's neck. It hissed under his fingers. Illyan watched, but nothing happened, and Naismith went on breathing into Bothari's mouth. Illyan was about to offer to take over for one of them when Bothari suddenly jerked, shuddered and began to breathe on his own.
Illyan realised he hadn't breathed for a while either, watching. He inhaled, and watched as Bothari's breathing steadied. Then Vorkosigan leapt for his console and began to type frantically. Illyan forced himself to follow, wondering how Vorkosigan was managing to be coherent enough to write. He read over Vorkosigan's shoulder. It was a very strongly worded protest of the Prince accompanying Admiral Vorhalas with the planetary invasion forces. Illyan raised his eyebrows at some of the language, but didn't argue. Whatever game Vorkosigan was playing now--and Illyan wasn't sure whether he was grateful or not that Vorkosigan was holding his cards so close to his chest, though he supposed with Naismith in here Vorkosigan could hardly start confiding military secrets in him--it would be best to let him play it alone.
"Do I pass the censor?" Vorkosigan asked drily as he attached his signature to the protest.
Illyan grimaced. "Send it," he said.
With that done, Vorkosigan went back to Bothari, who was breathing steadily now. "Is there anything else we should be doing?" he asked Illyan.
"Unless you'd like to invite Dr Lavalle in here--which I really do not recommend--I don't think there's anything else we can do."
Vorkosigan looked away. "He's alive. It's enough."
Considering that a part of Illyan's awareness had never left the door, and that he was constantly running scenarios for how he might save Vorkosigan, possibly from himself, if they were all discovered, he thought it was more than enough. He said as much to Vorkosigan, but after sending his protest, Vorkosigan seemed entirely uninterested in what might happen to them here, his entire attention focused on the planetary invasion.
After a few more minutes in which no further disasters erupted, Illyan went to get a meal for them all. It wasn't until he was halfway to the mess that he managed to collect his thoughts sufficiently even to work out which meal it should be.
*
As Vorkosigan had argued, things did improve after the main body of the invasion force left. Commander Venne still watched Illyan suspiciously, like a man in the audience of a magic show trying to understand how the trick was done, but he let it be known that he thought the assassin had escaped and called the search off. Illyan had barely had to push at all for this; he was starting to feel redundant. Not to mention tired and hungry.
But there were still two fugitives in Vorkosigan's cabin, and there was still the constant risk of discovery. Illyan had enumerated all the possible ways this could implode; he had listed twenty-three disasters including an emergency drill, a real emergency aboard the ship, Bothari becoming out of control and that Naismith was somehow playing them all and had some sabotage or escape planned. She seemed tense whenever Illyan saw her, but then Illyan was tense too, and Vorkosigan was tenser than either of them.
It was Vorkosigan's behaviour that unsettled Illyan. He was tracking the progress of the planetary invasion fleet obsessively, far more so than he had any of the previous space battles. Illyan would bring a meal and leave it beside the comconsole, and when he returned at the next mealtime Vorkosigan would still be sitting at the comconsole, staring at it as if he expected it to burst into flames.
When he came again to find Vorkosigan in full dress uniform, still at his station, Illyan decided to stay a while, regardless of what the guards outside thought. Something was going to happen. The ground troops were landing, and Vorkosigan, it seemed, was expecting disaster. Why now, Illyan thought, when they'd come so far with so much success? But the Prince was in charge down there. Perhaps Vorkosigan was waiting for him to make a fatal misstep, without Admiral Vorrutyer's sounder tactical vision to keep the plan on track.
He waited. Captain Naismith too was watching the reports expectantly, though Illyan supposed her reasons for being concerned were precisely the opposite of Vorkosigan's. Their tension, though, was identical.
"Half a league onwards," Vorkosigan muttered, staring at the display like a man watching a road accident, horrified but unable to pull away. Gazing over his shoulder, Illyan saw the Escobaran defence preparing, but nothing to suggest that the Barrayaran ground troops were going into the valley of death.
Then Commander Venne called through with an extra update. Illyan moved to Vorkosigan's elbow to watch. Every transmission Vorkosigan selected was worse than the one before. The Escobaran defence was unpredictable, incomprehensible, with overwhelming firepower coming from ships that simply couldn't contain the weapons they were using. Transmissions cut out abruptly, the reason hideously apparent. Vorkosigan seemed close to despair as he looked at the overall display, and Illyan found himself growing sick and frightened, as much by Vorkosigan's obvious pain as at the military disaster they could see on the screen. Surely there was something that could be done? Admiral Vorhalas would pull it off. But one of the transmissions that had ended so disturbingly had been from the flagship itself.
Illyan felt cold, beginning to understand what he was seeing. Their invasion would not be able to land. Ship after ship vanished from the display, each one bearing hundreds of Barrayaran soldiers. It was almost relief when the screen split again and Venne's face appeared. He confirmed Illyan's growing suspicion: the Prince and Admiral Vorhalas had been killed.
"You're in command now, sir," Venne said shakily to Vorkosigan.
Illyan turned to Vorkosigan and watched, hoping against hope that Vorkosigan would have some trick up his sleeve, some way to make this disaster into a victory. Vorkosigan could do it, Illyan was sure. But instead, he heard Vorkosigan order a full retreat in a leaden voice. His explanation about the new plasma mirror field baffled Illyan, but in front of Captain Naismith he could do nothing but congratulate Vorkosigan inanely and bear up under Vorkosigan's withering look.
They left the cabin and made for the tac room. Vorkosigan said nothing as they walked, and Illyan simply watched him. With each step, Vorkosigan seemed to change, the overwound tension finally breaking forth in action, swift and efficient. Illyan was almost jogging to keep up by the time they arrived.
In the tac room, Vorkosigan was transfigured, his full command presence let loose at last. The officers there all looked stunned and horrified by the disasters they'd just witnessed. Commodore Couer was ashen. Vorkosigan strode in and looked around.
"We're going to get our boys home," he told the room. "Couer, Venne--" he jerked his head, and they both came to flank him at the commanding officer's console. Illyan took a seat to one side, and Vorkosigan began to go through his orders. As Illyan watched, the fear in the tac room began to change to activity and purpose.
He sat back as a realisation swept over him. His work was over. Vorrutyer and the Prince were both dead. There was nothing further he had to do to keep Vorkosigan from compromising himself. He had not dared to let himself think this could be a possibility, even when Serg went to the front. But now the Prince was no threat to Vorkosigan, could not destroy Illyan's career, and there would be no more assassination attempts from him on the Emperor. His job was going to be much, much easier now. Even the terrible military problem Vorkosigan faced seemed to shrink.
Underneath his relief, something was clamouring for attention. Illyan reluctantly allowed his attention to be drawn. Isn't it odd, said the small part of his head that was charged with such niggling doubts, isn't it odd that Vorkosigan didn't say anything, even to him, about the intelligence about the plasma mirror shields until he was in command? Admittedly it would have been hard to explain without revealing Naismith's presence, but Illyan could have found a way to get the word out for something as big as that. There had been time to pull the troop ships back, rethink their plans, find a way to cope with the new weapon system.
And where had Vorkosigan been keeping those interrogation drugs, anyway? Illyan had searched every cubic centimetre of that cabin almost every day, looking for bugs. He knew its contents as certainly as the contents of his own cabin. More certainly. And one thing he knew was that there were no secret caches of drugs anywhere. There were only a few rare interrogation drugs that would work on a subject in her sleep and leave no trace, and Illyan wasn't even sure they had any in the flagship's laboratories.
So how had Vorkosigan found out? Had Captain Naismith told him willingly, perhaps to speed the retreat, and Vorkosigan made up the story to shield her honour? But if that were so she must be a remarkably good actress. Illyan was starting to regret letting Vorkosigan spend unguarded time with his … prisoner, and wished he had insisted on following the letter of his orders. And what if Naismith hadn't been the source of the intelligence? How had Vorkosigan found out? And when?
There was probably some obvious explanation, Illyan thought, but it worried him all the same. He stared around the tac room. The ship was moving at full power now, possibly into the emergency extra boost, and he could feel the vibrations from the strained engines. Vorkosigan was tight-beaming orders out to the planetary assault group. Illyan attended consciously to what was being said.
"… and these are the formations and positions." Vorkosigan scrolled through screens of diagrams and numbers. "Make sure they stick to them, it's the only chance they'll have of covering the retreat against those damned plasma mirrors." A big overall plan showed briefly on the vid display. Illyan stared at it, holding the image on his chip as Vorkosigan moved on. The chip was insistently pushing a matching schematic to the forefront of his mind. He attended to the memory. He had seen that diagram for the retreating ships before, over a month ago when he had happened to glance at Vorkosigan's private contingency planning.
Cold realisation stopped his breath. A month ago, Vorkosigan had been designing retreat plans around the plasma mirrors. A month ago, Vorkosigan had known of this new Escobaran weapon. But he had told nobody, until an accident put him in command of the fleet.
There was only one name for such behaviour, only one reason Vorkosigan had sent thousands of men off unprotected whilst keeping secret the knowledge that might have saved them. Instinctively, automatically, his hand moved to his nerve disruptor.
***
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