Fic: Aral Vorkosigan's Dog 2/15
Title: Aral Vorkosigan's Dog 2/15
Rating/warnings: R. Contains sexual assault and harrassment, off-screen rape and torture, violence and death, all at about the level of Shards of Honor. Gen (with canon pairings).
Word count: 70k. 15 chapters, complete; will be posted as I finish the final edit and polish on each chapter, probably a couple of times a week.
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.
Illyan followed Captain Vorkosigan into a handsomely appointed conference chamber, one Illyan had not seen before. The walls were hung with green silk tapestries, the trim a contrasting gold. Inside sat the Emperor and Captain Negri. There was a pile of unmarked files on the table before them, all closed. Both Vorkosigan and Illyan made formal salutes and stood to attention, Vorkosigan facing the Emperor across his desk, Illyan to one side, watching and listening.
"Lord Vorkosigan. You cause more trouble every day. Minister Grishnov is more upset than I have ever seen him before, and I have been put to a great deal of work to smooth his feathers."
"Yes, sire." Vorkosigan looked a little smug. "He did give Radnov those orders, I think it is clear."
"Clear to you, perhaps. But you have had your blood. Now I will have a ceasefire. I request and require you to drop it now."
"But--" Negri's eyes crossed Vorkosigan's, and he closed his mouth. "Yes, sire." Illyan replayed the way Negri had managed that. Something to practice.
"What about the treason accusation?" Vorkosigan asked after a silence. "I have the right to defend myself against it."
"That must wait. I have used up my credit with Grishnov for the present." Ezar looked at Illyan suddenly, and Illyan tensed. "In the meantime, you may return home. Lieutenant Illyan will see to it that you cause no more trouble."
Vorkosigan's face darkened as he too glanced at Illyan. "I thought he was only for this inquiry."
"Lieutenant Illyan serves me and will watch you as long as I require."
"Sire. If you really suspect me of treason, then have me arrested. Execute me, even. But don't make me hang in limbo with your ImpSec puppy following me around all day."
Negri now looked at Illyan, and the rebuke in his eyes was clear. Illyan heard his voice again, perfectly preserved on his chip. You must make peace with this man. Do not give him cause for anger against you. But Illyan could not see that he had given him any such cause. Vorkosigan would most likely have reacted the same way to any ImpSec agent. Negri, of course, would point out that he was not just any ImpSec agent.
"It is necessary. You are in limbo, Lord Vorkosigan. I understand, however, that limbo is not eternal."
Vorkosigan scowled and said nothing.
"I have more to say to you on that topic now. Thank you, Lieutenant. Please wait outside."
Illyan went out. What was the Emperor going to say to Captain Vorkosigan that he didn't want recorded in his private data bank? He leaned against the panelled wall and waited.
It was early evening when the door at last opened. Illyan rose from the bench he had seated himself on and came to attention. Captain Vorkosigan emerged alone and grim-faced. He jerked his head to Illyan but said nothing as he marched double-time down the corridor, Illyan hastening in his wake. Curiosity was the besetting sin of any intelligence agent, but Illyan had enough sense of self-preservation to refrain from enquiring about the meeting. Vorkosigan looked ready to shoot the first person to cross him. He stormed through the palace leaving a trail of offended security guards and servants behind him. Illyan tried to offer placating glances and gestures to the men and women he knocked off balance or ignored, but it was of little use. At last they reached the exit.
"I'm walking home," said Vorkosigan, the first words he had spoken. Illyan nodded. Perhaps the exertion would help work off whatever had made Vorkosigan so furious. Meetings with Negri and the Emperor could be unsettling, he knew full well, but Vorkosigan's mood was more than that. Replaying his memory of Vorkosigan's face as he emerged from the meeting room, Illyan recognised anger, misery and shame in his expression. Was this something to do with the treason charge? Or had Ezar been amusing himself by tweaking Vorkosigan's chain?
They set off through the snowy streets of Vorbarr Sultana, still at the same unrelenting pace. Vorkosigan charged around slower pedestrians and dashed between ground-cars with total disregard for his own life. Illyan swallowed his protests and followed hard at Vorkosigan's heel. He had not expected to be risking his life in watching Vorkosigan, but his instincts warned him that attempting to restrain the man from his near-suicidal behaviour would be as dangerous as the speeding ground-cars. Some of the closer calls made Illyan wonder if Vorkosigan was trying to get him killed. He could scarcely have done better himself if he'd been trying to shake off a tail.
It was not easy to keep alert in these conditions, but Illyan managed to scan the surroundings every few moments for danger. Hopefully Ezar's cease-fire would make Grishnov pull in his horns, but there were hundreds of ways to get into trouble in the streets of Vorbarr Sultana, if you were a Vor lord walking alone. Of course, there would be some outer perimeter guard who ought to keep trouble away, but Illyan had not survived almost ten years in ImpSec by relying on his outer perimeter.
Finally Vorkosigan left the main roads and plunged into an alley. The noise of the ground-cars grew muffled behind them as they turned a corner, and the tall close-packed buildings blocked the last of the winter light. Consulting his chip, Illyan realised this was meant to be a shortcut to Vorkosigan House, which was in the old part of the city. It was not a route he had travelled before, so he searched for more data about it in his head, but could find nothing except some details of the old bomb shelters and underground passageways constructed during the wars against the Cetagandans. All these streets were tunnelled and there were entrances at every junction. He spotted one as they passed a darkened tavern, nothing more than a trapdoor in the pavement.
Abruptly Illyan's attention was drawn by movement in the corner of his eye. He reacted even before his conscious mind recognised what it was, whirling, drawing his nerve disruptor and taking aim as he jerked Vorkosigan aside. A disruptor beam crackled across where they had been standing a moment before. Illyan fired, and the attacker dropped.
"Take cover!" Illyan yelled as another beam hissed through the air. Vorkosigan ducked into a doorway, drawing his plasma arc and returning fire. Ducking and dodging, Illyan covered his retreat and brought down another of their attackers. Something exploded nearby and shrapnel ricocheted around. Illyan felt a burst of pain in his left arm as he turned. He ignored it. A second later he was in the doorway with Vorkosigan. Vorkosigan was scowling and pressing buttons on his wrist comm.
"Shit. No response. Something's jamming us."
Illyan tried his own, but had no more success. He pressed the panic button, which would send out a homing signal at dedicated ImpSec frequencies. But it would be some time before even the swiftest ImpSec flying squad could get to them, maybe five minutes. He doubted they had that.
"What happened to your fucking outer perimeter?" Vorkosigan demanded. Illyan flicked back to the memory of a few seconds ago and recognised the face of the first man he had shot.
"I'm afraid he's part of the problem."
"ImpSec." Vorkosigan's tone made the name a swear word. Illyan was inclined to agree. He'd thought Iackowitz was a reliable agent. Why was he shooting at them now? Heads were going to roll for this... assuming they survived long enough to report back.
A plasma beam streaked across their doorway and set light to the wooden frame of the bay window of the house, sending molten glass into the street and diverting Illyan's thoughts from the broader tactical situation to the present problem. They wouldn't be able to stay here much longer. Risking a glance, Illyan could see four men standing in the road ahead, and two fallen where he had shot them. From the other direction more were approaching.
"Got to move," he said, and his eye fell on the trapdoor entrance to the bomb shelters, blessedly close. He pointed to it. "In there. I can give you a minute of diversion. The trapdoor should be lockable from the inside."
Vorkosigan looked dubiously at the manhole and at Illyan. Another blast of fire hissed past their doorway. He nodded. Illyan reached into his holster, took out his stunner and began to work on its power pack. Observing his movements Vorkosigan grinned. Here in mortal peril with men shooting at him, his grim humour had melted and he looked more alive and happy than he had since Illyan had met him.
A moment later, Illyan gave a nod, stepped out of the doorway and threw the adapted power pack at the men ahead. As he did so he ducked back and whirled around, opening fire on the men from the other side. The improvised grenade exploded spectacularly and for a moment the street was filled with dust and smoke. Vorkosigan raced to the trapdoor and began to work it open.
Illyan kept one eye on him as he shot bolt after bolt at the men behind. Two fell, but the others were charging towards him now. The smoke was clearing. Vorkosigan had wrenched the trapdoor open. Illyan dashed towards him and reached the hole as Vorkosigan dropped inside. He hurled himself in immediately behind, a disruptor beam searing the air above his head, fell hard on the ground and rolled clear, his injured arm now screaming protest. Vorkosigan slammed the trapdoor shut and bolted it. All light vanished.
Illyan picked himself up, dizzy from the fall and the disorientation of sudden darkness. His arm throbbed wetly. From above came shouts and then running footsteps.
"Got to keep moving," he said. He replayed the fall on his chip to orient himself, and pulled out his handlight. The tunnels were damp and slippery, but at least they were out of the wind. He pulled up the old plan in his mind's eye.
"This way." He began to run, Vorkosigan following. The sounds of their attackers died away behind them. They ran for several minutes through the tunnels, past a number of junctions, before Illyan paused. His mental map told him that all the exits in this region came up in the same warren of alleys and back streets, and he had no intention of risking them again. Cautiously, he switched off the light. They stood under another trapdoor, and the darkness was a little less intense as light seeped through the cracks.
Vorkosigan stopped behind him. "Where are we going?" he demanded. "And do you know who was attacking?" He paused, and his voice was very dry as he added, "Other than ImpSec, that is."
The images in Illyan's head whirled as he called up the picture of the four men in the alley. He began to search through his other memories to find matches for the faces. Vorkosigan growled a little in his throat at the delay.
He'd been spending too long doing desk work lately, his ability to think and fight at the same time was starting to get rusty. But there was only one organisation with the power and the desire to organise this kind of attack on them, here and now. He found a match for a face. Got you.
"Well?"
"Grishnov's men," said Illyan. "One of them was an agent in the mob they incited at the Ministry of Justice eleven months ago."
He heard Vorkosigan's quick intake of breath and felt the tension growing in the other man.
"In the mob eleven months ago," Vorkosigan repeated disbelievingly. "I remember that business. There were about nine hundred people there. How do you really know him?"
Suddenly Vorkosigan shoved him against the wall of the tunnel, jamming a muzzle hard against his solar plexus. "How did you know these tunnels were here? Where are you leading me? Answer me!"
"Dammit!" Illyan gasped, the breath knocked out of him. "We don't have time for this! They won't be hanging around up there, they're committed to this now. Either you trust me or this will all go to hell."
"If I can't trust the outer perimeter," Vorkosigan said, "then I can't trust you either. And you know too much. How come you're so cosy with Grishnov's men?" He punctuated his words with another jab of the muzzle, then shook Illyan by his injured shoulder. "Explain yourself!"
Illyan choked on a gasp. "I don't... know why Iackowitz turned on us." He swallowed. "But I'm not cosy with Grishnov or his men! I just recognised them on my chip."
"Shit," said Vorkosigan in a different voice, and released him. A moment later Illyan was blinking in the beam of Vorkosigan's handlight, shining not on his face but his shoulder. He looked down and saw his entire sleeve was soaked in blood, and Vorkosigan's blood-smeared hand. "What chip?" Vorkosigan said, letting the pressure of his nerve disruptor slacken slightly.
Illyan blinked. Surely Vorkosigan had been briefed...
"My chip. Eidetic memory biochip implant," he said.
"You mean to tell me you're the one... God. Ezar mentioned his new toy, but I didn't know it was you." Vorkosigan gave him a long thoughtful stare. "I see why he stuck you on me now--well, never mind that." He holstered his nerve disruptor. "Why do you think it's Grishnov?"
Relieved of the pressure forcing him against the wall, Illyan slumped, feeling suddenly sick and dizzy. Shock. He must have lost more blood than he'd thought. He forced his mind into focus to answer the question.
"Who else is there? You must be right at the top of Grishnov's personal shit list now. And since your father's been staying out of it he'll think you're a safer target. Iackowitz must have been a deep-cover mole, and Grishnov is setting up ImpSec to take the fall for this. Which means he's got plans for me. Probably going to play off the chip, say that I've gone crazy at last, the bastard."
"What?" Vorkosigan stared at him like he'd grown another head. Then he shook himself. "You're right, we don't have time for this." He shrugged out of his uniform jacket, and sliced a sleeve off it with his knife. Illyan winced as Vorkosigan probed his shoulder, then tied the impromptu bandage around it tightly.
"Didn't Negri tell you?" Illyan asked.
"About your chip? No. He just said you were special and he would leave it to me as a surprise. I thought he meant he didn't trust you."
Despite himself Illyan gave a short laugh. A crash echoed through the tunnels, and they both jumped.
"They've got in," Vorkosigan said. "You know where you're going?"
"Map on the chip," Illyan answered. He straightened, blinking against the dizziness. "Best if we come up somewhere busy. Even Grishnov will find it hard to arrange another ambush in the middle of the rush hour in the business district."
"All right," Vorkosigan said. "Go."
There were more crashes, voices and the sound of heavy boots ringing through the tunnels. Illyan pushed himself on at a jog, tracking the wavering circle of Vorkosigan's light. "It's a warren down here," he breathed. "Heat sensors won't work outside a very short range, either. If we're quiet…"
He plotted out their course on the chip, looking for ways Grishnov's team might manage to overtake them. It took surprisingly long for his chip to respond to his thoughts, as if it was soaked with treacle. They jogged silently through several intersections, and the sounds of pursuit grew fainter behind them. Illyan stumbled, the last traces of the adrenaline that was keeping him upright wearing off, and Vorkosigan grabbed him.
"How much further is it?" he asked.
"Five more junctions," Illyan said in a strangely faint voice. "Forward, forward, right, forward, left. Then the third trapdoor after that junction."
"Good. Come on."
The rest of the way through the tunnels passed blurrily through Illyan's mind, in a whirl of pain and dizziness and the overwhelming desire to lie down and go to sleep, Vorkosigan's low voice echoing in his ears, words without meaning.
"Here we are. Right, I'll go on up and get the cavalry, and we'll come back for you," Vorkosigan was saying, and Illyan was finally allowed to lie down. Horizontal, his head felt a little clearer, clear enough for him to realise that they weren't out of danger yet and he had to stay alert.
"Right," he whispered. In the darkness he couldn't see Vorkosigan, but he could hear him nearby, evidently doing something to the trapdoor. But there was no burst of daylight from the roof, and a few moments later Vorkosigan was back.
"Where are we? The trapdoor seems to be shut from above."
Illyan dragged himself into focus enough to answer. "Outside Vorbohn Station," he said. "Just in front of the main concourse. There shouldn't be anything on top of it."
"Can I open it with my plasma arc?"
Illyan processed the question. "There'll be civilians walking about up there. Lots of them, at this hour. Listen." He could hear voices, footsteps, and the low rumble of the monorail train reverberating through the ground. Another thought came up in his mind. "Comm links ought to work here. Call again. ImpSec will be alert."
Vorkosigan hesitated. "And can I trust them when they show up?"
"The attackers," Illyan said with some frustration, "were not ImpSec. They were Grishnov's."
"Yes," Vorkosigan said, "I accept you're right about that. But you had one mole. There could be others."
"Of course there are others. Perhaps even some unknowns like Iackowitz. But not a whole squad at once. We're not stupid." Illyan reached for his comm link and fumbled with the buttons.
"Lieutenant!" came the voice of the duty officer. "What's your status?"
"We need a pick-up," Illyan said. "We're in the old sewers, just outside Vorbohn Station--you should be able to get a fix on my homing beacon now. There's something jamming or blocking the trapdoor here."
"Yes... got you, sir. You got company?"
"Not yet, but our attackers are still in here somewhere."
"Understood. We'll be with you in five minutes."
Illyan let his hand fall and tried to catch his breath. Five more minutes, he told his body sternly, just keep going for five more minutes.
"What about the other trapdoors in this area?" Vorkosigan asked.
"No good. They've been built over in the redevelopment. The next good exit is..." he ran through the map again wearily, "about half a kilometre away."
Vorkosigan was fidgety, pacing around, trying new ways to attack the trapdoor. "I don't like being trapped," he growled under his breath.
"Nor do I," Illyan said. "But I don't see a lot of choice here." His eyes drifted shut, and he forced them open again. Vorkosigan stopped beside him and shone the light over him, making him blink. Then he squatted down alongside.
"What did you mean, earlier?" he asked. "Why would Grishnov make it look like you'd gone crazy and turned on me?"
Illyan hesitated. He shouldn't really be answering that sort of question, but perhaps it would help him gain Vorkosigan's trust. Also, he didn't have the energy for an argument about it. "It's the chip," he said. "Ezar sent seven of us, you know, and the Illyricans had thirty other volunteers. Only four of the group were still functioning a year later, and I don't know what happened to the others after that." He paused to catch his breath. "It tries to drive you crazy, all the time. People aren't supposed to ... to have this much data in their heads."
"Seven," Vorkosigan said. "A guy I knew from the Academy went. Olaf Voraronberg. Never saw him again."
"He killed himself," Illyan said flatly, and that stopped Vorkosigan asking more questions. Illyan listened to the distant bustle above them, hoping to hear the sound of the ImpSec flyer landing. He heard more voices, footsteps...
"Shit," he said. "I think that's inside. Lights out."
The tunnel went dark, and Illyan listened hard. Yes. Those were military boots, and they were not coming from above. Then he heard the sound he'd been waiting for, the distinctive whine of an emergency flyer making a hot landing, and lots of alarmed voices and rapid footsteps overhead. His comm link chimed, a bright, cheerful echo in the tunnel, and both he and Vorkosigan swore.
"Sir? We're here," the tinny voice announced.
"Shut that off--" Vorkosigan unceremoniously grabbed his wrist and killed the comm link, but they both heard the voices in the tunnel, words indistinct but getting louder.
Illyan moved his good arm, drawing his disruptor and twisting as much as he could to face the direction of the voices. Above he could hear ImpSec approaching, bangs on the trapdoor and the whine of some kind of power tool. Vorkosigan dropped into a firing crouch alongside him. They waited.
Everything happened at once. A disruptor beam crackled from around the corner of the tunnel. The trapdoor crashed open and sent a blast of cold air and a pile of wet snow down on top of Illyan and Vorkosigan. Cold evening light shone in. Vorkosigan gave a warning shout to the ImpSec men, one of Grishnov's team dodged around the corner into his line of sight and Illyan fired.
"Nice one," Vorkosigan said as the man fell. Then the first combat-armoured ImpSec agent dropped into the tunnel, and another monorail train must have been passing, because Illyan couldn't hear anything except the roaring, and the light from the trapdoor seemed to recede, as if he was sinking deeper and deeper into the ground, and blackness.
Next Chapter
Rating/warnings: R. Contains sexual assault and harrassment, off-screen rape and torture, violence and death, all at about the level of Shards of Honor. Gen (with canon pairings).
Word count: 70k. 15 chapters, complete; will be posted as I finish the final edit and polish on each chapter, probably a couple of times a week.
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.
Illyan followed Captain Vorkosigan into a handsomely appointed conference chamber, one Illyan had not seen before. The walls were hung with green silk tapestries, the trim a contrasting gold. Inside sat the Emperor and Captain Negri. There was a pile of unmarked files on the table before them, all closed. Both Vorkosigan and Illyan made formal salutes and stood to attention, Vorkosigan facing the Emperor across his desk, Illyan to one side, watching and listening.
"Lord Vorkosigan. You cause more trouble every day. Minister Grishnov is more upset than I have ever seen him before, and I have been put to a great deal of work to smooth his feathers."
"Yes, sire." Vorkosigan looked a little smug. "He did give Radnov those orders, I think it is clear."
"Clear to you, perhaps. But you have had your blood. Now I will have a ceasefire. I request and require you to drop it now."
"But--" Negri's eyes crossed Vorkosigan's, and he closed his mouth. "Yes, sire." Illyan replayed the way Negri had managed that. Something to practice.
"What about the treason accusation?" Vorkosigan asked after a silence. "I have the right to defend myself against it."
"That must wait. I have used up my credit with Grishnov for the present." Ezar looked at Illyan suddenly, and Illyan tensed. "In the meantime, you may return home. Lieutenant Illyan will see to it that you cause no more trouble."
Vorkosigan's face darkened as he too glanced at Illyan. "I thought he was only for this inquiry."
"Lieutenant Illyan serves me and will watch you as long as I require."
"Sire. If you really suspect me of treason, then have me arrested. Execute me, even. But don't make me hang in limbo with your ImpSec puppy following me around all day."
Negri now looked at Illyan, and the rebuke in his eyes was clear. Illyan heard his voice again, perfectly preserved on his chip. You must make peace with this man. Do not give him cause for anger against you. But Illyan could not see that he had given him any such cause. Vorkosigan would most likely have reacted the same way to any ImpSec agent. Negri, of course, would point out that he was not just any ImpSec agent.
"It is necessary. You are in limbo, Lord Vorkosigan. I understand, however, that limbo is not eternal."
Vorkosigan scowled and said nothing.
"I have more to say to you on that topic now. Thank you, Lieutenant. Please wait outside."
Illyan went out. What was the Emperor going to say to Captain Vorkosigan that he didn't want recorded in his private data bank? He leaned against the panelled wall and waited.
It was early evening when the door at last opened. Illyan rose from the bench he had seated himself on and came to attention. Captain Vorkosigan emerged alone and grim-faced. He jerked his head to Illyan but said nothing as he marched double-time down the corridor, Illyan hastening in his wake. Curiosity was the besetting sin of any intelligence agent, but Illyan had enough sense of self-preservation to refrain from enquiring about the meeting. Vorkosigan looked ready to shoot the first person to cross him. He stormed through the palace leaving a trail of offended security guards and servants behind him. Illyan tried to offer placating glances and gestures to the men and women he knocked off balance or ignored, but it was of little use. At last they reached the exit.
"I'm walking home," said Vorkosigan, the first words he had spoken. Illyan nodded. Perhaps the exertion would help work off whatever had made Vorkosigan so furious. Meetings with Negri and the Emperor could be unsettling, he knew full well, but Vorkosigan's mood was more than that. Replaying his memory of Vorkosigan's face as he emerged from the meeting room, Illyan recognised anger, misery and shame in his expression. Was this something to do with the treason charge? Or had Ezar been amusing himself by tweaking Vorkosigan's chain?
They set off through the snowy streets of Vorbarr Sultana, still at the same unrelenting pace. Vorkosigan charged around slower pedestrians and dashed between ground-cars with total disregard for his own life. Illyan swallowed his protests and followed hard at Vorkosigan's heel. He had not expected to be risking his life in watching Vorkosigan, but his instincts warned him that attempting to restrain the man from his near-suicidal behaviour would be as dangerous as the speeding ground-cars. Some of the closer calls made Illyan wonder if Vorkosigan was trying to get him killed. He could scarcely have done better himself if he'd been trying to shake off a tail.
It was not easy to keep alert in these conditions, but Illyan managed to scan the surroundings every few moments for danger. Hopefully Ezar's cease-fire would make Grishnov pull in his horns, but there were hundreds of ways to get into trouble in the streets of Vorbarr Sultana, if you were a Vor lord walking alone. Of course, there would be some outer perimeter guard who ought to keep trouble away, but Illyan had not survived almost ten years in ImpSec by relying on his outer perimeter.
Finally Vorkosigan left the main roads and plunged into an alley. The noise of the ground-cars grew muffled behind them as they turned a corner, and the tall close-packed buildings blocked the last of the winter light. Consulting his chip, Illyan realised this was meant to be a shortcut to Vorkosigan House, which was in the old part of the city. It was not a route he had travelled before, so he searched for more data about it in his head, but could find nothing except some details of the old bomb shelters and underground passageways constructed during the wars against the Cetagandans. All these streets were tunnelled and there were entrances at every junction. He spotted one as they passed a darkened tavern, nothing more than a trapdoor in the pavement.
Abruptly Illyan's attention was drawn by movement in the corner of his eye. He reacted even before his conscious mind recognised what it was, whirling, drawing his nerve disruptor and taking aim as he jerked Vorkosigan aside. A disruptor beam crackled across where they had been standing a moment before. Illyan fired, and the attacker dropped.
"Take cover!" Illyan yelled as another beam hissed through the air. Vorkosigan ducked into a doorway, drawing his plasma arc and returning fire. Ducking and dodging, Illyan covered his retreat and brought down another of their attackers. Something exploded nearby and shrapnel ricocheted around. Illyan felt a burst of pain in his left arm as he turned. He ignored it. A second later he was in the doorway with Vorkosigan. Vorkosigan was scowling and pressing buttons on his wrist comm.
"Shit. No response. Something's jamming us."
Illyan tried his own, but had no more success. He pressed the panic button, which would send out a homing signal at dedicated ImpSec frequencies. But it would be some time before even the swiftest ImpSec flying squad could get to them, maybe five minutes. He doubted they had that.
"What happened to your fucking outer perimeter?" Vorkosigan demanded. Illyan flicked back to the memory of a few seconds ago and recognised the face of the first man he had shot.
"I'm afraid he's part of the problem."
"ImpSec." Vorkosigan's tone made the name a swear word. Illyan was inclined to agree. He'd thought Iackowitz was a reliable agent. Why was he shooting at them now? Heads were going to roll for this... assuming they survived long enough to report back.
A plasma beam streaked across their doorway and set light to the wooden frame of the bay window of the house, sending molten glass into the street and diverting Illyan's thoughts from the broader tactical situation to the present problem. They wouldn't be able to stay here much longer. Risking a glance, Illyan could see four men standing in the road ahead, and two fallen where he had shot them. From the other direction more were approaching.
"Got to move," he said, and his eye fell on the trapdoor entrance to the bomb shelters, blessedly close. He pointed to it. "In there. I can give you a minute of diversion. The trapdoor should be lockable from the inside."
Vorkosigan looked dubiously at the manhole and at Illyan. Another blast of fire hissed past their doorway. He nodded. Illyan reached into his holster, took out his stunner and began to work on its power pack. Observing his movements Vorkosigan grinned. Here in mortal peril with men shooting at him, his grim humour had melted and he looked more alive and happy than he had since Illyan had met him.
A moment later, Illyan gave a nod, stepped out of the doorway and threw the adapted power pack at the men ahead. As he did so he ducked back and whirled around, opening fire on the men from the other side. The improvised grenade exploded spectacularly and for a moment the street was filled with dust and smoke. Vorkosigan raced to the trapdoor and began to work it open.
Illyan kept one eye on him as he shot bolt after bolt at the men behind. Two fell, but the others were charging towards him now. The smoke was clearing. Vorkosigan had wrenched the trapdoor open. Illyan dashed towards him and reached the hole as Vorkosigan dropped inside. He hurled himself in immediately behind, a disruptor beam searing the air above his head, fell hard on the ground and rolled clear, his injured arm now screaming protest. Vorkosigan slammed the trapdoor shut and bolted it. All light vanished.
Illyan picked himself up, dizzy from the fall and the disorientation of sudden darkness. His arm throbbed wetly. From above came shouts and then running footsteps.
"Got to keep moving," he said. He replayed the fall on his chip to orient himself, and pulled out his handlight. The tunnels were damp and slippery, but at least they were out of the wind. He pulled up the old plan in his mind's eye.
"This way." He began to run, Vorkosigan following. The sounds of their attackers died away behind them. They ran for several minutes through the tunnels, past a number of junctions, before Illyan paused. His mental map told him that all the exits in this region came up in the same warren of alleys and back streets, and he had no intention of risking them again. Cautiously, he switched off the light. They stood under another trapdoor, and the darkness was a little less intense as light seeped through the cracks.
Vorkosigan stopped behind him. "Where are we going?" he demanded. "And do you know who was attacking?" He paused, and his voice was very dry as he added, "Other than ImpSec, that is."
The images in Illyan's head whirled as he called up the picture of the four men in the alley. He began to search through his other memories to find matches for the faces. Vorkosigan growled a little in his throat at the delay.
He'd been spending too long doing desk work lately, his ability to think and fight at the same time was starting to get rusty. But there was only one organisation with the power and the desire to organise this kind of attack on them, here and now. He found a match for a face. Got you.
"Well?"
"Grishnov's men," said Illyan. "One of them was an agent in the mob they incited at the Ministry of Justice eleven months ago."
He heard Vorkosigan's quick intake of breath and felt the tension growing in the other man.
"In the mob eleven months ago," Vorkosigan repeated disbelievingly. "I remember that business. There were about nine hundred people there. How do you really know him?"
Suddenly Vorkosigan shoved him against the wall of the tunnel, jamming a muzzle hard against his solar plexus. "How did you know these tunnels were here? Where are you leading me? Answer me!"
"Dammit!" Illyan gasped, the breath knocked out of him. "We don't have time for this! They won't be hanging around up there, they're committed to this now. Either you trust me or this will all go to hell."
"If I can't trust the outer perimeter," Vorkosigan said, "then I can't trust you either. And you know too much. How come you're so cosy with Grishnov's men?" He punctuated his words with another jab of the muzzle, then shook Illyan by his injured shoulder. "Explain yourself!"
Illyan choked on a gasp. "I don't... know why Iackowitz turned on us." He swallowed. "But I'm not cosy with Grishnov or his men! I just recognised them on my chip."
"Shit," said Vorkosigan in a different voice, and released him. A moment later Illyan was blinking in the beam of Vorkosigan's handlight, shining not on his face but his shoulder. He looked down and saw his entire sleeve was soaked in blood, and Vorkosigan's blood-smeared hand. "What chip?" Vorkosigan said, letting the pressure of his nerve disruptor slacken slightly.
Illyan blinked. Surely Vorkosigan had been briefed...
"My chip. Eidetic memory biochip implant," he said.
"You mean to tell me you're the one... God. Ezar mentioned his new toy, but I didn't know it was you." Vorkosigan gave him a long thoughtful stare. "I see why he stuck you on me now--well, never mind that." He holstered his nerve disruptor. "Why do you think it's Grishnov?"
Relieved of the pressure forcing him against the wall, Illyan slumped, feeling suddenly sick and dizzy. Shock. He must have lost more blood than he'd thought. He forced his mind into focus to answer the question.
"Who else is there? You must be right at the top of Grishnov's personal shit list now. And since your father's been staying out of it he'll think you're a safer target. Iackowitz must have been a deep-cover mole, and Grishnov is setting up ImpSec to take the fall for this. Which means he's got plans for me. Probably going to play off the chip, say that I've gone crazy at last, the bastard."
"What?" Vorkosigan stared at him like he'd grown another head. Then he shook himself. "You're right, we don't have time for this." He shrugged out of his uniform jacket, and sliced a sleeve off it with his knife. Illyan winced as Vorkosigan probed his shoulder, then tied the impromptu bandage around it tightly.
"Didn't Negri tell you?" Illyan asked.
"About your chip? No. He just said you were special and he would leave it to me as a surprise. I thought he meant he didn't trust you."
Despite himself Illyan gave a short laugh. A crash echoed through the tunnels, and they both jumped.
"They've got in," Vorkosigan said. "You know where you're going?"
"Map on the chip," Illyan answered. He straightened, blinking against the dizziness. "Best if we come up somewhere busy. Even Grishnov will find it hard to arrange another ambush in the middle of the rush hour in the business district."
"All right," Vorkosigan said. "Go."
There were more crashes, voices and the sound of heavy boots ringing through the tunnels. Illyan pushed himself on at a jog, tracking the wavering circle of Vorkosigan's light. "It's a warren down here," he breathed. "Heat sensors won't work outside a very short range, either. If we're quiet…"
He plotted out their course on the chip, looking for ways Grishnov's team might manage to overtake them. It took surprisingly long for his chip to respond to his thoughts, as if it was soaked with treacle. They jogged silently through several intersections, and the sounds of pursuit grew fainter behind them. Illyan stumbled, the last traces of the adrenaline that was keeping him upright wearing off, and Vorkosigan grabbed him.
"How much further is it?" he asked.
"Five more junctions," Illyan said in a strangely faint voice. "Forward, forward, right, forward, left. Then the third trapdoor after that junction."
"Good. Come on."
The rest of the way through the tunnels passed blurrily through Illyan's mind, in a whirl of pain and dizziness and the overwhelming desire to lie down and go to sleep, Vorkosigan's low voice echoing in his ears, words without meaning.
"Here we are. Right, I'll go on up and get the cavalry, and we'll come back for you," Vorkosigan was saying, and Illyan was finally allowed to lie down. Horizontal, his head felt a little clearer, clear enough for him to realise that they weren't out of danger yet and he had to stay alert.
"Right," he whispered. In the darkness he couldn't see Vorkosigan, but he could hear him nearby, evidently doing something to the trapdoor. But there was no burst of daylight from the roof, and a few moments later Vorkosigan was back.
"Where are we? The trapdoor seems to be shut from above."
Illyan dragged himself into focus enough to answer. "Outside Vorbohn Station," he said. "Just in front of the main concourse. There shouldn't be anything on top of it."
"Can I open it with my plasma arc?"
Illyan processed the question. "There'll be civilians walking about up there. Lots of them, at this hour. Listen." He could hear voices, footsteps, and the low rumble of the monorail train reverberating through the ground. Another thought came up in his mind. "Comm links ought to work here. Call again. ImpSec will be alert."
Vorkosigan hesitated. "And can I trust them when they show up?"
"The attackers," Illyan said with some frustration, "were not ImpSec. They were Grishnov's."
"Yes," Vorkosigan said, "I accept you're right about that. But you had one mole. There could be others."
"Of course there are others. Perhaps even some unknowns like Iackowitz. But not a whole squad at once. We're not stupid." Illyan reached for his comm link and fumbled with the buttons.
"Lieutenant!" came the voice of the duty officer. "What's your status?"
"We need a pick-up," Illyan said. "We're in the old sewers, just outside Vorbohn Station--you should be able to get a fix on my homing beacon now. There's something jamming or blocking the trapdoor here."
"Yes... got you, sir. You got company?"
"Not yet, but our attackers are still in here somewhere."
"Understood. We'll be with you in five minutes."
Illyan let his hand fall and tried to catch his breath. Five more minutes, he told his body sternly, just keep going for five more minutes.
"What about the other trapdoors in this area?" Vorkosigan asked.
"No good. They've been built over in the redevelopment. The next good exit is..." he ran through the map again wearily, "about half a kilometre away."
Vorkosigan was fidgety, pacing around, trying new ways to attack the trapdoor. "I don't like being trapped," he growled under his breath.
"Nor do I," Illyan said. "But I don't see a lot of choice here." His eyes drifted shut, and he forced them open again. Vorkosigan stopped beside him and shone the light over him, making him blink. Then he squatted down alongside.
"What did you mean, earlier?" he asked. "Why would Grishnov make it look like you'd gone crazy and turned on me?"
Illyan hesitated. He shouldn't really be answering that sort of question, but perhaps it would help him gain Vorkosigan's trust. Also, he didn't have the energy for an argument about it. "It's the chip," he said. "Ezar sent seven of us, you know, and the Illyricans had thirty other volunteers. Only four of the group were still functioning a year later, and I don't know what happened to the others after that." He paused to catch his breath. "It tries to drive you crazy, all the time. People aren't supposed to ... to have this much data in their heads."
"Seven," Vorkosigan said. "A guy I knew from the Academy went. Olaf Voraronberg. Never saw him again."
"He killed himself," Illyan said flatly, and that stopped Vorkosigan asking more questions. Illyan listened to the distant bustle above them, hoping to hear the sound of the ImpSec flyer landing. He heard more voices, footsteps...
"Shit," he said. "I think that's inside. Lights out."
The tunnel went dark, and Illyan listened hard. Yes. Those were military boots, and they were not coming from above. Then he heard the sound he'd been waiting for, the distinctive whine of an emergency flyer making a hot landing, and lots of alarmed voices and rapid footsteps overhead. His comm link chimed, a bright, cheerful echo in the tunnel, and both he and Vorkosigan swore.
"Sir? We're here," the tinny voice announced.
"Shut that off--" Vorkosigan unceremoniously grabbed his wrist and killed the comm link, but they both heard the voices in the tunnel, words indistinct but getting louder.
Illyan moved his good arm, drawing his disruptor and twisting as much as he could to face the direction of the voices. Above he could hear ImpSec approaching, bangs on the trapdoor and the whine of some kind of power tool. Vorkosigan dropped into a firing crouch alongside him. They waited.
Everything happened at once. A disruptor beam crackled from around the corner of the tunnel. The trapdoor crashed open and sent a blast of cold air and a pile of wet snow down on top of Illyan and Vorkosigan. Cold evening light shone in. Vorkosigan gave a warning shout to the ImpSec men, one of Grishnov's team dodged around the corner into his line of sight and Illyan fired.
"Nice one," Vorkosigan said as the man fell. Then the first combat-armoured ImpSec agent dropped into the tunnel, and another monorail train must have been passing, because Illyan couldn't hear anything except the roaring, and the light from the trapdoor seemed to recede, as if he was sinking deeper and deeper into the ground, and blackness.
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