Fic: Aral Vorkosigan's Dog 7/15
Title: Aral Vorkosigan's Dog 7/15
Rating/warnings: R, Shards-level sexual and physical violence
Length: 70k (this chapter 5600 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
The buzzer sounded angrily in his ear, and Illyan jerked out of his nap, up and pulling his tunic on before it registered that this was not an emergency alarm but another summons from Vorkosigan. He called up the time from his chip. Vorkosigan's next meeting wasn't for another hour, what did he want now?
There had been a celebratory dinner last night for the senior staff, since after two weeks of fighting the Escobaran Outer Fleet was finally in retreat and their Home Fleet was digging in around the high planetary orbitals, leaving only a few task forces out marking the other wormhole exits. Illyan had endured six courses and Vor-style drinking afterwards--mercifully, Vorkosigan had only had a single drink at the toast to the Emperor's health--before finally escaping in Vorkosigan's wake at the change of shifts in the middle of the night cycle. As a result, Illyan had taken advantage of the fact that Vorkosigan was doing administrative work in his quarters all morning to take a nap in preparation for whatever this assignment was going to throw at him next. He stretched and straightened his tunic. The buzzer sounded again, and then a third time. Illyan frowned at it. Normally Vorkosigan was courteous about this, only buzzing once and then waiting. He keyed a code into his wrist comm.
"Commodore Vorkosigan?"
"Lieutenant. This is an emergency, I can't wait for you to get here."
"All right," Illyan said, sealing the collar of his tunic with one hand, then reaching for his boots. "What is it?" He had agreed with Vorkosigan that there might be emergency situations when Vorkosigan would have to deal with his colleagues without Illyan's watchful eye on him, and it had seemed reasonable enough to Illyan at the time. But there was no alarm sounding for fire or depressurisation or enemy attack, no noise from the corridors outside, no obvious emergency.
"There's no time to explain," Vorkosigan said. "Come to the Prince's quarters. Vorkosigan out."
Illyan glared at the comm, pulled on his boots and ran.
The Prince's quarters. An emergency. There was no way this could be good. He jumped down the hatch instead of climbing the ladder, sped through the security checkpoint at the end of the staff corridor where the Prince's ImpSec guards lurked, and hurried past Vorkosigan's door to the Prince's. It was half-open, and as he approached, he heard Vorkosigan's voice, in a low whisper that raised the hairs on Illyan's neck.
"I don't care if you're Emperor Dorca's ghost, you will not lay hands on any of my men."
Illyan hesitated, then decided against marching straight in. He moved carefully, positioning himself so that he had a clear line of sight but was concealed from those inside by the door-jamb. Inside the elegantly appointed cabin, Vorkosigan was standing bristling like a bulldog, face to face with the Prince. The Prince looked equally furious, his head tilted at an imperially arrogant angle.
Illyan scanned the rest of the cabin. Three of the Prince's armsmen were poised a few steps away. Illyan sighed inwardly. He might have been able to extract some help from the Prince's ImpSec men if necessary, but the armsmen would obey the Prince without hesitation. Then he saw what what Vorkosigan was upset about. Backed up against the wall, as far as he could get from the Prince, a white-faced young ensign stood. Illyan's eyes took him in carefully, head to toe and back again. The boy had been at the party last night with a few other junior officers, taking their turn breathing the rarefied air of their seniors. Now his dress greens were in disarray and a trickle of blood ran from his lip, marring otherwise blindingly handsome features. He could scarcely be a day over twenty, and he looked younger.
Illyan grimaced. Vorkosigan was within his rights to protest about this, but it wasn't going to be straightforward. He watched closely, unwilling to step in until he was sure he wasn't going to make matters worse.
"Your men?" the Prince echoed dangerously. "You have no men on this ship."
"If justice is done over this, neither will you."
The Prince growled deep in his throat. "Take your bourgeoise Betan morality somewhere else, Lord Vorkosigan," he said. "Unless you want to join in...?"
Vorkosigan's jaw clenched. "Ensign," he said, deliberately ignoring the Prince, "are you here of your own free will?"
The boy looked too frightened to speak, which seemed answer enough to Illyan.
"He's an officer of the Emperor," the Prince said. "He obeys his orders."
"Even from the Emperor," Vorkosigan shot back, "some orders are illegal."
Illyan flinched. It wasn't even true, at least, not in any clear-cut fashion. Maybe it ought to be true, maybe Vorkosigan wanted it to be true, but to debate the idea with the Prince was so far beyond the realm of sanity that Illyan began to contemplate stunning Vorkosigan to shut him up.
But the Prince was drawing breath to speak. "I have endured enough of your insolence," he said, and for a moment his face and voice were so like Ezar's that Illyan straightened involuntarily. The Prince made a gesture to his armsmen, and two of them seized Vorkosigan. Illyan saw Vorkosigan shift his weight as if to strike back, and began to lunge forwards. Resisting a Vorbarra armsman in the performance of his duty was very frequently fatal. But Vorkosigan controlled himself and permitted the armsmen to hold him. They moved to throw him out, and Illyan stepped aside. It was far from ideal, but at least this little drama would be over, the Prince would be satisfied that he had exerted his authority and would probably back off. It was a shame about the boy, but Illyan's responsibility was for Vorkosigan alone. And the Prince generally offered benefits to those who pleased him--promotion, favours for friends, and so on. Illyan had seen it often enough at the Imperial Residence. As salves to his conscience went, it wasn't very successful, but he knew his duty.
"You've gone too far," Vorkosigan said. "This is the First Fleet, not your private boudoir."
The Prince's face contorted. He approached until he was almost face to face with Vorkosigan. "Not far enough," he whispered. Quick as a snake striking, he pulled a shockstick from his belt and cracked Vorkosigan across the face, three times in rapid succession. Completely unprepared for the sudden violence, Illyan jumped. Vorkosigan fell back against the armsmen holding him, shaking with the aftershocks. Then he raised his head and said in a roughened voice, his breath coming in uncontrollable gasps, "That's r-right. Let him go and ... take it out on me."
Illyan swallowed. How the hell was he going to get Vorkosigan out of this now? But the Prince laughed, his mood shifting unpredictably. "Wouldn't that get a rise out of Ges? Might even distract him from that girl. I accept, my Lord Vorkosigan."
He had to do something, but his mind was blank. As he was drawing breath, the Prince continued, "Isn't it fortunate you came out without your watchdog?"
Blank mind or not, Illyan recognised his straight line. He stepped into the cabin.
"He didn't." He was pleased that his voice was perfectly impassive. I am a vid camera, I am the Emperor's eye, I am untouchable. His mental firewalls seemed a poor defence against the panic that had been flooding his chest since he came on this scene, but he kept his face blank and his body language unreadable.
Everyone turned to him save Vorkosigan who was unable to move. The ensign looked, if possible, more frightened, and he saw flashes of uncertainty cross the armsmen's eyes. For a split second Prince Serg looked like a little boy caught in some peccadillo by his schoolmaster.
"Enough of this absurdity," Illyan continued, keeping hold of his advantage. "Find some other amusement, sir. Everything I witness, I report to your father." He looked around the cabin, deliberately making the sweep of his gaze resemble the sweep of a vid-camera. "I might point out that it is your armsmen who obey your every order without complaint, not your father's officers."
That remark made the armsmen holding Vorkosigan glower at him. Doubtless they preferred enforcing Prince Serg's whims on others to being his victim.
The Prince had taken a step back as Illyan entered. "I suppose you want him all for yourself," he said, but Illyan could sense that his heart had gone out of it. The Prince might be on the borders of insanity, but he still had a politician's eye for the main chance, and he couldn't defy his father so publicly yet.
Mercifully, Vorkosigan wasn't trying to join in. Illyan spared him a glance and saw that he was barely keeping on his feet after the Prince's attack. Time to move this along.
"We'll leave you in peace now," he said smoothly, a courtier's tone. He gave the ensign a jerk of the head, and the boy began to edge towards the door, shooting sidelong glances at the Prince as if he expected to be beaten with the shockstick too.
"Take your master, then, dog," the Prince snapped, bitter hatred in his eyes. "And that prudish boy. But remember," his voice dropped, "soon we will have victory. And then my father's name won't be much use to protect you or him."
He signalled to his armsmen, and they released Vorkosigan, who swayed and began to fall. Illyan caught him and propelled him out and along the corridor to his own cabin, herding the ensign before him. The door sealed securely behind them.
Illyan let Vorkosigan fall onto his bunk. The ensign was shaking almost as much as Vorkosigan, and Illyan pushed him towards the desk chair. Then he stood still for a minute, trying to regain his mental balance. What the Prince had said was true. When they defeated the Escobarans, the Prince's personal credit with the military and the ministers would skyrocket. And that meant that anyone who had annoyed him, much less humiliated him in front of witnesses, would be in trouble.
"Sir--the Prince said--do I have to go to the brig?" the ensign asked suddenly.
"I shouldn't have thought so," Illyan answered. "You'd better go clean up your face." Silently, the ensign went into the washroom to deal with his split lip.
Vorkosigan was trying to sit up, unsuccessfully. Illyan drew breath to tell him exactly what he thought of his rash words and the mess he'd embroiled them both in, but Vorkosigan spoke first. "Nice t-timing, Lieutenant," he said, half ironically. Then he met Illyan's eye. "Thank you."
Outmanoeuvred again, Illyan thought, trying for objectivity, but for an instant he felt like the dog the Prince had called him, given a pat on the head. He shook himself.
Vorkosigan drew his hand across his face, probing the red welts gingerly. "I think," he said, "it's safe to say you've d-drawn Serg's negative attention now. You'd better ... look out."
Illyan gave an involuntary snort. "Really?" he said. "I know how to take care of myself, sir."
"I can see that." Vorkosigan's strained face formed a grimace that Illyan supposed was meant for a smile. "You did very well."
They heard a clatter from the washroom, and Vorkosigan tried again to rise, but fell back.
"Go see he's all right," he ordered, waving a shaking hand in frustration at Illyan.
Illyan went in cautiously. The youth was sitting on the tiled floor, his face in his hands. At Illyan's entrance he jumped violently.
"It's only me," said Illyan inanely, doubting that would be any reassurance to the boy. The ensign wiped his face with his jacket sleeve and glanced up at him but did not meet his eye. Illyan half-filled a glass with water and offered it. The ensign rinsed his mouth and spat, then muttered something under his breath. In French, Illyan realised. He switched to that language himself, squatting down nearby.
"Are you hurt?"
The ensign shook his head.
"What are you called?"
"Beauregard. Sebastien Beauregard."
Illyan couldn't think of anything else to ask, and sat back on his heels, observing. After a moment Ensign Beauregard looked at him.
"Is it true that you have a--a computerised brain?"
"Merely a biochip to enhance my memory," said Illyan, not permitting his face to show any of his amusement at the question. Wilder rumours than that had gone round the ship; some people even whispered that he was an android despite the fact that perfect imitation-humans had never been developed even on Beta.
"And you remember everything you see and report it all to the Emperor?"
"Yes, that's true."
"Will you tell him about this? What the Prince, um, wanted me to do?"
"I cannot edit my report."
Beauregard looked at his feet. "I'm not--like that," he muttered. "I like girls. I have a girlfriend back home. If you report this, people will think…"
"I don't imagine the Emperor will wish to make this episode public," Illyan said blandly. "No blame will be attached to you. You would not be, ah, the first to have suffered in this fashion."
"But the Prince is married!"
Illyan nearly did laugh then, but remembered his own youthful romanticism at the Imperial Wedding. That had been before he had worked in the Residence and seen the Prince at close quarters. "An Imperial Prince must marry and beget an heir."
"She's beautiful, Princess Kareen. I saw her once, when I was working at HQ." The ensign appeared to be relaxing, his face changing from greenish-white to a more normal complexion. Then he looked up worriedly. "He wouldn't really have--done that. To Commodore Vorkosigan. Would he?"
Illyan smiled sourly at this innocence. "Fortunately, we were not in the position of having to find out."
"But--I mean, you wouldn't have let him."
Illyan's smile tightened. Did the boy think him all-powerful? But he heard his mouth forming a confident reply without consulting his brain. "No. I would not."
A thud from the main cabin accompanied by some muffled cursing interrupted them and Illyan went over to investigate. The light on Vorkosigan's comconsole was blinking and Vorkosigan himself was sprawled on the floor too far away to answer it.
"Shall I say you're indisposed?" Illyan asked, uncertain which to go to first.
"No, I'll deal with it. Probably Rulf." He got to his knees, and Illyan helped him up into the desk chair, pressed the button to receive the call, then stepped backwards out of the view.
"Aral, we've been waiting ten minutes--shit, what have you been doing to yourself?" Admiral Vorhalas' face appeared on the display, his frustrated expression changing to alarm as he took in Vorkosigan's appearance.
"Having fun with the Prince. I daresay you'll hear all about it sooner or later. Caught him feeling up this poor ensign. He didn't like being interfered with."
"Not again," Vorhalas groaned.
"He's done it before? You said nothing to me."
"I found out too late to do anything about it." Vorhalas shook his head. "Is the boy all right?"
"He's in here right now. I think he'd better be transferred to another ship, to keep him out of the Prince's way for a while."
"Yes, all right. Shall I cancel this meeting until you're fit to be seen?"
"I can manage." In the background, Illyan muttered objections, but Vorkosigan waved him down. "The captains of the Revenge and the Count Selig need to be briefed on the latest Contingency Blue plans."
Vorhalas' lips twitched. "Aral, you look like you're about to fall out of your chair. I can do the briefing. Did I see that lieutenant of yours there?"
Vorkosigan nodded and Illyan stepped fully into the view of the com pickup.
"Ah, good man. Make sure he stays out of sight until he's fit to be seen, please, Lieutenant. I know it's an uphill struggle with him."
Vorhalas and Vorkosigan exchanged ironic looks as Illyan said as blandly as he could, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Go rest, Aral. I don't want rumours about you being shock-sticked spreading all over the fleet."
Vorkosigan nodded slowly, appreciating this argument, and cut the comm. He leaned back and shut his eyes for a moment, lips pressed tight as another tremor went over him. Then he straightened and turned to the ensign.
"Beauregard, isn't it? As you heard, I'm going to arrange for you to be posted to one of the other ships."
Beauregard looked less than thrilled at this news--the flagship was the plum posting in the fleet--but only said in a muted voice, "Yes, sir."
"I'm sorry about this. If--when this is over, I will try to arrange some kind of justice. There should be something..." A strange expression flickered in Vorkosigan's eyes. "Once this is over," he repeated. Then he seemed to shake himself, or perhaps it was just another shockstick tremor. "Return to your quarters, Ensign. I'll cut your orders for this evening's bulletin. Do you need to see a medic?"
"I'm all right." Ensign Beauregard saluted and went to the door. He paused. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly but in heartfelt tones. Vorkosigan gave him a nod. He was silent for a while, and Illyan watched the expression on his face change from anger to frustration to weariness.
"How much did you witness?" he asked.
"I came just before the Prince ordered him arrested."
"You didn't actually see the Prince assaulting him, then?"
"No." Illyan called up the memory. "The circumstantial evidence from what I saw was pretty strong, though." He paused. "And, of course, I witnessed the assault on you."
Vorkosigan shook his head impatiently. "That was just Serg being Serg. He wouldn't have followed through."
Illyan raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Didn't look like that from where I was standing."
"Maybe, but Ges doesn't like anyone but him--" Vorkosigan cut himself off abruptly and changed tack. "I would have hoped Ges could at least keep the Prince from chasing every pretty boy on the ship."
"The Prince mentioned a girl," Illyan said slowly. "I don't know how even Admiral Vorrutyer could have a girl on the flagship, though."
Vorkosigan's frown deepened. "You're the spy. Look into it." His frown changed to a grimace as another convulsion went over him, and he nearly did fall out of the chair. Illyan caught him and propelled him back to the bunk. Ignoring Vorkosigan's protests he pulled off his boots and spread a blanket over him.
"If your career as a spy comes to a sticky end you can always retrain as a nursemaid," Vorkosigan grumbled. Illyan only smiled.
"Admiral Vorhalas gave me a very strongly worded order, sir."
"Yes, I'll probably have him in here soon with a bunch of flowers." Despite his ironic words Vorkosigan looked better lying down. Illyan had been shock-sticked himself more than once, and knew exactly how unpleasant it was for several hours afterwards. Personally he preferred stunning, since the hangover could be mitigated with synergine. There wasn't much that could be done for shocked nerves except wait.
"At least let me have something to read, if you're keeping me imprisoned here."
Illyan fetched a sheaf of reports and waved on the reading light by the bunk. Vorkosigan took them in still-trembling hands and began to riffle through them.
"May I use your comconsole, sir? To investigate the matter of the girl?"
"Go ahead." Vorkosigan suddenly grinned. "I'm sure you already know all my access codes."
Illyan flushed but did not deny it. He entered the password to activate the console and started by examining the personnel data for everyone aboard. He doubted this would bring anything to light, but he had to start somewhere. There had been cases, in the past, of women joining the Service disguised as men, though the more recent physicals tended to make this difficult without bribery. He read through about fifty records before boredom overtook him and he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Women were not permitted in the Imperial Service, except in some of the auxiliary medical units and among ImpSec's deep cover agents. Certainly not in the invasion fleet. He doubted that even the Prince's influence could have got a civilian woman on board.
For a moment his mind was distracted with wondering what it would be like to serve in a mixed service, like galactics did. How on earth did they deal with relationships between soldiers? What if the women got pregnant? How could they justify having women as front-line troops anyway? The idea of ordering women into battle made Illyan feel faintly nauseated. Even if they could fight--and Illyan knew enough of the history of the Cetagandan wars not to doubt their courage when necessary--what man could endure watching a woman be shot at his side without breaking rank? It occurred to his sense of justice that this was hardly the women's fault, but nonetheless it was the truth about Barrayaran men.
But there were women out there, in the enemy ships, firing on them and mustering to defend Escobar, so it must be possible. Probably not for Barrayarans, not this generation. A sudden horrible thought entered his head as he realised where Admiral Vorrutyer might have found a woman. He called up the records from the brig. They had captured various prisoners on three separate occasions, and there were eleven enemy soldiers still in the flagship's brig, well guarded, he hoped, awaiting transfer to the POW camp on the newly discovered planet. And amongst them was one woman. Only an ensign, the same age as Ensign Beauregard. He called up her data, and blinked at the face that blossomed on the screen. She was amazingly beautiful. But her records showed she was still in the brig. There was no mention of Admiral Vorrutyer, no suggestion that she was not locked in a cell beside the other enemy combatants. She had been captured in the very first group of prisoners.
Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Perhaps there wasn't really any girl. Perhaps it was a joke, perhaps the Admiral had some boy playing dress-up, perhaps… Illyan could not shake his gut-level conviction that he had found a lead. But there wasn't anything more the comconsole records could tell him. He closed it down and turned to share his suspicions with Commodore Vorkosigan. But when he looked, he saw that Vorkosigan had fallen asleep, the files still piled around him.
After a moment's reflection Illyan decided that was for the best. If Vorkosigan thought Admiral Vorrutyer had taken a woman prisoner for his own amusement, he would be up and charging through the door brandishing his nerve disruptor before Illyan had even managed to confirm the situation, much less formulate a plan. And there was no way that would end well for anyone. No, this needed cautious investigating. First, the brig. Illyan dimmed the lights in the cabin and withdrew, meditating on cover stories as he went. It was a pleasant change to have something to do on his own terms, something that used his abilities other than those of a vid recorder.
The brig was quiet. The duty guard looked at him in surprise as he entered. It was one of the men whose profiles Illyan had just read, and he produced a name.
"Corporal Angelov."
"Sir?" Angelov gazed apprehensively at him. Illyan was glad of the rumours about his status that floated around the ship.
"How many POWs do you have at present?" he asked. Never give explanations unless you have to, that was the best rule in this situation. Most of the time people would think up explanations for themselves, or be too worried to even wonder why. This proved no exception to the rule.
"Eleven, sir," Angelov said at once.
"Any trouble with any of them?"
"No, sir." Angelov paused, and Illyan waited, his eyes fixed on the guard. "Well, I don't know. It's a little… difficult. Um." He fell silent again. Illyan judged it time for an encouraging noise, and was rewarded with further explanation. "Admiral Vorrutyer took one of them--for interrogation, he said, and he never brought her back. But, I mean, I would have heard if she'd escaped or something. I--well, it's not my place to criticise the Admiral. But I don't like it." He turned half-frightened, half-defiant eyes on Illyan.
"I see. For interrogation, you say? To sickbay, perhaps, or one of the interrogation rooms?"
"Um--to his quarters, I heard."
Illyan gave a slow nod. "When was this?" he enquired mildly.
"Ten days ago, sir, right after we took the first batch of prisoners."
"Hmm. I shall look into it, Corporal. Is there anything else?" The most vital question, at least when dealing with an apparently friendly witness.
"He sent for one of the medics yesterday, sir, but I don't know what for. It was Stefan--Senior MedTech Ioannides, that is--and I haven't seen him recently."
"Ah. Thank you for your co-operation, Corporal Angelov."
Angelov hesitated again, then said, "Are you going to--can you get her back here, sir? Only if something happens, it'll be me who takes the blame for it all."
"Perhaps." Illyan left it nicely ambiguous as to which statement he was answering. "I will look into it." He left the brig before Angelov could start asking more questions.
It seemed that his intuition was proved correct. He wished fervently that it had not been. Now what to do? The next stop must be sickbay, to find out what Senior MedTech Stefan Ioannides had to say.
On arriving at the sickbay, he found that Ioannides was off-duty today, reason unexplained. He was considering his options when the senior surgeon, Captain Lavalle, walked by, and Illyan gave him a nod. He'd only exchanged a few words with Negri's other man with the fleet, but he knew he could trust Lavalle.
Lavalle came over. "Everything all right, Lieutenant?"
"I would like a word, if I may, sir."
Lavalle led him to his private office and closed the door. "What is it?" he asked.
"Your man Ioannides," Illyan began. A look of comprehension crossed Lavalle's face.
"Ah, you've heard about that already. It is a nasty business, I must say. I gave him today off to get his balance back. He's young and didn't quite realise what goes on here."
"What exactly did he encounter?" Illyan asked blandly, as if he already knew the outline of the incident Lavalle was referring to. Various possibilities whirled in his mind, but he set them aside. A phrase from his childhood surfaced in his mind: it is a capital mistake to theorise ahead of one's data.
"He was asked to remove that prisoner's contraceptive implant," Lavalle explained. "It's not a very complicated procedure--it's a tiny thing, barely takes a scratch to extract it. But--well, I don't know what Admiral Vorrutyer gets up to in his cabin and I don't want to, but the poor guy spent half an hour being sick afterwards."
"I see." Illyan certainly did see, far too much. "I think I'd better get back to my duties now. That's all I wanted to find out about."
Lavalle gave him a sly smile. "I understand."
Illyan returned the smile mechanically and hurried out of sickbay. An extraordinarily beautiful young woman. Her contraceptive implant removed. He knew too much about the Prince's proclivities to misunderstand what was going on, though his mind shied away from considering the implications in detail. He was beginning to wish he'd never started this. It wasn't his job to investigate things for Commodore Vorkosigan. Vorkosigan is not your commanding officer. He could imagine all too vividly what Negri would say when he learned that Illyan had been inveigled into spying for Vorkosigan instead of spying on him. Not that he had even been inveigled. Vorkosigan had commanded, and Illyan had obeyed, as if by reflex. Not good.
And that wasn't even the worst of it. Flashes from the scene with the Prince kept replaying themselves in his mind as he walked. He had succeeded in getting Vorkosigan out of dangerous trouble, but only by deflecting that trouble onto himself instead. His duty here depended on his ability to melt into the walls and observe without influencing events, and now he'd turned himself into a player in these games. He would be a fool to think this was over.
He turned his mind back to the present problem. Whether he should have investigated it or not, now he had found it. He considered lying to Vorkosigan, telling him he had found nothing, it was just some mistake. No. Vorkosigan had a suspicious mind, he would probably look himself and then he'd never trust another word Illyan said. But how would Vorkosigan respond? Illyan feared his initial thought was correct: Vorkosigan would do something rash. And it was his job to prevent that. He squelched the part of his mind that tried to argue that Vorkosigan's probable reaction was the right one, that such viciousness should be burned out. His orders were clear. This loss of objectivity with Vorkosigan must go no further.
He reached Vorkosigan's cabin and let himself in. The lights were up again, and Vorkosigan was sitting up on his bunk, looking rather better than he had before.
"There you are. Have you found anything?"
Illyan took a casual perch on the table beside Vorkosigan's bunk. "He does have a girl. A prisoner, an Escobaran ensign we captured in the first attack."
Vorkosigan spat a single expletive.
"Quite." Illyan paused, and refrained from mentioning what Lavalle had told him about the contraceptive implant. There was no way Vorkosigan would find out about that on his own, and he needed to keep every card he could in his hand now. Anger was wicking up through Vorkosigan's expression already, a terrible anger that made Illyan quail. He wiped all emotion from his own features. What he was about to do would divide Vorkosigan from him as absolutely as Radnov could, and he hated the very thought of it. But it was necessary: it was his duty, and otherwise Vorkosigan would get himself killed for nothing.
Vorkosigan began to push himself upright. He was still shaky on his feet, but Illyan deliberately did not offer him any help. Vorkosigan gave him a look of surprise that changed to exasperation as he saw Illyan's blank, unmoved expression.
"You can't imagine I'm going to leave her in his hands!"
"I can't imagine what you can hope to achieve except get yourself in worse trouble this time."
"You helped me with Beauregard."
"You mean I got you out of the mess you made of it." Illyan made his voice cold, passionless. He had faced down the Prince, surely he could manage this. It was a thousand times harder than their sparring sessions, because it was real. "And that was cutting it very close. I cannot permit you to incriminate yourself, sir. You have a duty to fulfil here. What will be served by handing Vorrutyer a chance to charge you with mutiny? There is already one treason charge hanging over your head."
"Then two won't make matters any worse. They can only starve me to death once."
"I cannot edit my report. It will be clear that this charge is not as empty as the other."
Vorkosigan's eyes burned. "I do not leave prisoners to be tortured," he whispered. Illyan had a sudden dizzying glimpse of an abyss of anger and pain behind his words. He remained quite still, feeling his stunner heavy against his hip. The report on Vorkosigan's murder of the political officer at Komarr spooled through his head.
As Vorkosigan took an angry step towards him, he swayed and nearly fell. Illyan crushed the instinct to move to his assistance and tried a different approach.
"Sir, you're barely back on your feet. Even if you did try to do something, you're not fit right now. Admiral Vorrutyer could knock you down without even trying." He let the concern he felt bleed into his voice, and some of the red fury left Vorkosigan's eyes. He grunted, a sound halfway between agreement and anger.
Then it was Vorkosigan's turn to change tack. "Why are you arguing with me, Illyan? You're no Ministry man, you can't have any sympathy for Vorrutyer. And I know you don't think raping and torturing prisoners is acceptable."
"He's already had her ten days. What's done is done. But you're needed, sir, for this invasion. You keep saying it's going to fail, and if it does your duty is to run the retreat. Should I let you throw it all away on this?"
"Duty?" Vorkosigan's tone was bitter. "What do you know of what my duty is here?"
"Very little, sir, but I do know your duty here is important enough that Negri assigned me to make sure nothing prevents you from fulfilling it. I cannot let anything get in the way of that, not even your conscience." Hypocrite, he thought to himself as he spoke.
Vorkosigan sat down abruptly. "You remind me of Negri sometimes," he said. "A real cold-blooded bastard. Damn you." But his expression had changed.
There was a silence, and Illyan surveyed his cold triumph. Vorkosigan looked more defeated than he had after the Prince had finished with him. But he needed to push this all the way.
"Your word, sir," said Illyan quietly.
A last ember of anger flared in Vorkosigan's eyes, then died. "You already hold my word," he said in a leaden voice. "I won't meet with anyone without your presence. Not even Ges. Not even for this."
Illyan let out his breath slowly and nodded. Then, not waiting to be dismissed, he turned to the door. It was done. He had done his duty. Vorkosigan was safe.
He did not look at the closed door of Admiral Vorrutyer's cabin.
***
Next Chapter
Rating/warnings: R, Shards-level sexual and physical violence
Length: 70k (this chapter 5600 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
The buzzer sounded angrily in his ear, and Illyan jerked out of his nap, up and pulling his tunic on before it registered that this was not an emergency alarm but another summons from Vorkosigan. He called up the time from his chip. Vorkosigan's next meeting wasn't for another hour, what did he want now?
There had been a celebratory dinner last night for the senior staff, since after two weeks of fighting the Escobaran Outer Fleet was finally in retreat and their Home Fleet was digging in around the high planetary orbitals, leaving only a few task forces out marking the other wormhole exits. Illyan had endured six courses and Vor-style drinking afterwards--mercifully, Vorkosigan had only had a single drink at the toast to the Emperor's health--before finally escaping in Vorkosigan's wake at the change of shifts in the middle of the night cycle. As a result, Illyan had taken advantage of the fact that Vorkosigan was doing administrative work in his quarters all morning to take a nap in preparation for whatever this assignment was going to throw at him next. He stretched and straightened his tunic. The buzzer sounded again, and then a third time. Illyan frowned at it. Normally Vorkosigan was courteous about this, only buzzing once and then waiting. He keyed a code into his wrist comm.
"Commodore Vorkosigan?"
"Lieutenant. This is an emergency, I can't wait for you to get here."
"All right," Illyan said, sealing the collar of his tunic with one hand, then reaching for his boots. "What is it?" He had agreed with Vorkosigan that there might be emergency situations when Vorkosigan would have to deal with his colleagues without Illyan's watchful eye on him, and it had seemed reasonable enough to Illyan at the time. But there was no alarm sounding for fire or depressurisation or enemy attack, no noise from the corridors outside, no obvious emergency.
"There's no time to explain," Vorkosigan said. "Come to the Prince's quarters. Vorkosigan out."
Illyan glared at the comm, pulled on his boots and ran.
The Prince's quarters. An emergency. There was no way this could be good. He jumped down the hatch instead of climbing the ladder, sped through the security checkpoint at the end of the staff corridor where the Prince's ImpSec guards lurked, and hurried past Vorkosigan's door to the Prince's. It was half-open, and as he approached, he heard Vorkosigan's voice, in a low whisper that raised the hairs on Illyan's neck.
"I don't care if you're Emperor Dorca's ghost, you will not lay hands on any of my men."
Illyan hesitated, then decided against marching straight in. He moved carefully, positioning himself so that he had a clear line of sight but was concealed from those inside by the door-jamb. Inside the elegantly appointed cabin, Vorkosigan was standing bristling like a bulldog, face to face with the Prince. The Prince looked equally furious, his head tilted at an imperially arrogant angle.
Illyan scanned the rest of the cabin. Three of the Prince's armsmen were poised a few steps away. Illyan sighed inwardly. He might have been able to extract some help from the Prince's ImpSec men if necessary, but the armsmen would obey the Prince without hesitation. Then he saw what what Vorkosigan was upset about. Backed up against the wall, as far as he could get from the Prince, a white-faced young ensign stood. Illyan's eyes took him in carefully, head to toe and back again. The boy had been at the party last night with a few other junior officers, taking their turn breathing the rarefied air of their seniors. Now his dress greens were in disarray and a trickle of blood ran from his lip, marring otherwise blindingly handsome features. He could scarcely be a day over twenty, and he looked younger.
Illyan grimaced. Vorkosigan was within his rights to protest about this, but it wasn't going to be straightforward. He watched closely, unwilling to step in until he was sure he wasn't going to make matters worse.
"Your men?" the Prince echoed dangerously. "You have no men on this ship."
"If justice is done over this, neither will you."
The Prince growled deep in his throat. "Take your bourgeoise Betan morality somewhere else, Lord Vorkosigan," he said. "Unless you want to join in...?"
Vorkosigan's jaw clenched. "Ensign," he said, deliberately ignoring the Prince, "are you here of your own free will?"
The boy looked too frightened to speak, which seemed answer enough to Illyan.
"He's an officer of the Emperor," the Prince said. "He obeys his orders."
"Even from the Emperor," Vorkosigan shot back, "some orders are illegal."
Illyan flinched. It wasn't even true, at least, not in any clear-cut fashion. Maybe it ought to be true, maybe Vorkosigan wanted it to be true, but to debate the idea with the Prince was so far beyond the realm of sanity that Illyan began to contemplate stunning Vorkosigan to shut him up.
But the Prince was drawing breath to speak. "I have endured enough of your insolence," he said, and for a moment his face and voice were so like Ezar's that Illyan straightened involuntarily. The Prince made a gesture to his armsmen, and two of them seized Vorkosigan. Illyan saw Vorkosigan shift his weight as if to strike back, and began to lunge forwards. Resisting a Vorbarra armsman in the performance of his duty was very frequently fatal. But Vorkosigan controlled himself and permitted the armsmen to hold him. They moved to throw him out, and Illyan stepped aside. It was far from ideal, but at least this little drama would be over, the Prince would be satisfied that he had exerted his authority and would probably back off. It was a shame about the boy, but Illyan's responsibility was for Vorkosigan alone. And the Prince generally offered benefits to those who pleased him--promotion, favours for friends, and so on. Illyan had seen it often enough at the Imperial Residence. As salves to his conscience went, it wasn't very successful, but he knew his duty.
"You've gone too far," Vorkosigan said. "This is the First Fleet, not your private boudoir."
The Prince's face contorted. He approached until he was almost face to face with Vorkosigan. "Not far enough," he whispered. Quick as a snake striking, he pulled a shockstick from his belt and cracked Vorkosigan across the face, three times in rapid succession. Completely unprepared for the sudden violence, Illyan jumped. Vorkosigan fell back against the armsmen holding him, shaking with the aftershocks. Then he raised his head and said in a roughened voice, his breath coming in uncontrollable gasps, "That's r-right. Let him go and ... take it out on me."
Illyan swallowed. How the hell was he going to get Vorkosigan out of this now? But the Prince laughed, his mood shifting unpredictably. "Wouldn't that get a rise out of Ges? Might even distract him from that girl. I accept, my Lord Vorkosigan."
He had to do something, but his mind was blank. As he was drawing breath, the Prince continued, "Isn't it fortunate you came out without your watchdog?"
Blank mind or not, Illyan recognised his straight line. He stepped into the cabin.
"He didn't." He was pleased that his voice was perfectly impassive. I am a vid camera, I am the Emperor's eye, I am untouchable. His mental firewalls seemed a poor defence against the panic that had been flooding his chest since he came on this scene, but he kept his face blank and his body language unreadable.
Everyone turned to him save Vorkosigan who was unable to move. The ensign looked, if possible, more frightened, and he saw flashes of uncertainty cross the armsmen's eyes. For a split second Prince Serg looked like a little boy caught in some peccadillo by his schoolmaster.
"Enough of this absurdity," Illyan continued, keeping hold of his advantage. "Find some other amusement, sir. Everything I witness, I report to your father." He looked around the cabin, deliberately making the sweep of his gaze resemble the sweep of a vid-camera. "I might point out that it is your armsmen who obey your every order without complaint, not your father's officers."
That remark made the armsmen holding Vorkosigan glower at him. Doubtless they preferred enforcing Prince Serg's whims on others to being his victim.
The Prince had taken a step back as Illyan entered. "I suppose you want him all for yourself," he said, but Illyan could sense that his heart had gone out of it. The Prince might be on the borders of insanity, but he still had a politician's eye for the main chance, and he couldn't defy his father so publicly yet.
Mercifully, Vorkosigan wasn't trying to join in. Illyan spared him a glance and saw that he was barely keeping on his feet after the Prince's attack. Time to move this along.
"We'll leave you in peace now," he said smoothly, a courtier's tone. He gave the ensign a jerk of the head, and the boy began to edge towards the door, shooting sidelong glances at the Prince as if he expected to be beaten with the shockstick too.
"Take your master, then, dog," the Prince snapped, bitter hatred in his eyes. "And that prudish boy. But remember," his voice dropped, "soon we will have victory. And then my father's name won't be much use to protect you or him."
He signalled to his armsmen, and they released Vorkosigan, who swayed and began to fall. Illyan caught him and propelled him out and along the corridor to his own cabin, herding the ensign before him. The door sealed securely behind them.
Illyan let Vorkosigan fall onto his bunk. The ensign was shaking almost as much as Vorkosigan, and Illyan pushed him towards the desk chair. Then he stood still for a minute, trying to regain his mental balance. What the Prince had said was true. When they defeated the Escobarans, the Prince's personal credit with the military and the ministers would skyrocket. And that meant that anyone who had annoyed him, much less humiliated him in front of witnesses, would be in trouble.
"Sir--the Prince said--do I have to go to the brig?" the ensign asked suddenly.
"I shouldn't have thought so," Illyan answered. "You'd better go clean up your face." Silently, the ensign went into the washroom to deal with his split lip.
Vorkosigan was trying to sit up, unsuccessfully. Illyan drew breath to tell him exactly what he thought of his rash words and the mess he'd embroiled them both in, but Vorkosigan spoke first. "Nice t-timing, Lieutenant," he said, half ironically. Then he met Illyan's eye. "Thank you."
Outmanoeuvred again, Illyan thought, trying for objectivity, but for an instant he felt like the dog the Prince had called him, given a pat on the head. He shook himself.
Vorkosigan drew his hand across his face, probing the red welts gingerly. "I think," he said, "it's safe to say you've d-drawn Serg's negative attention now. You'd better ... look out."
Illyan gave an involuntary snort. "Really?" he said. "I know how to take care of myself, sir."
"I can see that." Vorkosigan's strained face formed a grimace that Illyan supposed was meant for a smile. "You did very well."
They heard a clatter from the washroom, and Vorkosigan tried again to rise, but fell back.
"Go see he's all right," he ordered, waving a shaking hand in frustration at Illyan.
Illyan went in cautiously. The youth was sitting on the tiled floor, his face in his hands. At Illyan's entrance he jumped violently.
"It's only me," said Illyan inanely, doubting that would be any reassurance to the boy. The ensign wiped his face with his jacket sleeve and glanced up at him but did not meet his eye. Illyan half-filled a glass with water and offered it. The ensign rinsed his mouth and spat, then muttered something under his breath. In French, Illyan realised. He switched to that language himself, squatting down nearby.
"Are you hurt?"
The ensign shook his head.
"What are you called?"
"Beauregard. Sebastien Beauregard."
Illyan couldn't think of anything else to ask, and sat back on his heels, observing. After a moment Ensign Beauregard looked at him.
"Is it true that you have a--a computerised brain?"
"Merely a biochip to enhance my memory," said Illyan, not permitting his face to show any of his amusement at the question. Wilder rumours than that had gone round the ship; some people even whispered that he was an android despite the fact that perfect imitation-humans had never been developed even on Beta.
"And you remember everything you see and report it all to the Emperor?"
"Yes, that's true."
"Will you tell him about this? What the Prince, um, wanted me to do?"
"I cannot edit my report."
Beauregard looked at his feet. "I'm not--like that," he muttered. "I like girls. I have a girlfriend back home. If you report this, people will think…"
"I don't imagine the Emperor will wish to make this episode public," Illyan said blandly. "No blame will be attached to you. You would not be, ah, the first to have suffered in this fashion."
"But the Prince is married!"
Illyan nearly did laugh then, but remembered his own youthful romanticism at the Imperial Wedding. That had been before he had worked in the Residence and seen the Prince at close quarters. "An Imperial Prince must marry and beget an heir."
"She's beautiful, Princess Kareen. I saw her once, when I was working at HQ." The ensign appeared to be relaxing, his face changing from greenish-white to a more normal complexion. Then he looked up worriedly. "He wouldn't really have--done that. To Commodore Vorkosigan. Would he?"
Illyan smiled sourly at this innocence. "Fortunately, we were not in the position of having to find out."
"But--I mean, you wouldn't have let him."
Illyan's smile tightened. Did the boy think him all-powerful? But he heard his mouth forming a confident reply without consulting his brain. "No. I would not."
A thud from the main cabin accompanied by some muffled cursing interrupted them and Illyan went over to investigate. The light on Vorkosigan's comconsole was blinking and Vorkosigan himself was sprawled on the floor too far away to answer it.
"Shall I say you're indisposed?" Illyan asked, uncertain which to go to first.
"No, I'll deal with it. Probably Rulf." He got to his knees, and Illyan helped him up into the desk chair, pressed the button to receive the call, then stepped backwards out of the view.
"Aral, we've been waiting ten minutes--shit, what have you been doing to yourself?" Admiral Vorhalas' face appeared on the display, his frustrated expression changing to alarm as he took in Vorkosigan's appearance.
"Having fun with the Prince. I daresay you'll hear all about it sooner or later. Caught him feeling up this poor ensign. He didn't like being interfered with."
"Not again," Vorhalas groaned.
"He's done it before? You said nothing to me."
"I found out too late to do anything about it." Vorhalas shook his head. "Is the boy all right?"
"He's in here right now. I think he'd better be transferred to another ship, to keep him out of the Prince's way for a while."
"Yes, all right. Shall I cancel this meeting until you're fit to be seen?"
"I can manage." In the background, Illyan muttered objections, but Vorkosigan waved him down. "The captains of the Revenge and the Count Selig need to be briefed on the latest Contingency Blue plans."
Vorhalas' lips twitched. "Aral, you look like you're about to fall out of your chair. I can do the briefing. Did I see that lieutenant of yours there?"
Vorkosigan nodded and Illyan stepped fully into the view of the com pickup.
"Ah, good man. Make sure he stays out of sight until he's fit to be seen, please, Lieutenant. I know it's an uphill struggle with him."
Vorhalas and Vorkosigan exchanged ironic looks as Illyan said as blandly as he could, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Go rest, Aral. I don't want rumours about you being shock-sticked spreading all over the fleet."
Vorkosigan nodded slowly, appreciating this argument, and cut the comm. He leaned back and shut his eyes for a moment, lips pressed tight as another tremor went over him. Then he straightened and turned to the ensign.
"Beauregard, isn't it? As you heard, I'm going to arrange for you to be posted to one of the other ships."
Beauregard looked less than thrilled at this news--the flagship was the plum posting in the fleet--but only said in a muted voice, "Yes, sir."
"I'm sorry about this. If--when this is over, I will try to arrange some kind of justice. There should be something..." A strange expression flickered in Vorkosigan's eyes. "Once this is over," he repeated. Then he seemed to shake himself, or perhaps it was just another shockstick tremor. "Return to your quarters, Ensign. I'll cut your orders for this evening's bulletin. Do you need to see a medic?"
"I'm all right." Ensign Beauregard saluted and went to the door. He paused. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly but in heartfelt tones. Vorkosigan gave him a nod. He was silent for a while, and Illyan watched the expression on his face change from anger to frustration to weariness.
"How much did you witness?" he asked.
"I came just before the Prince ordered him arrested."
"You didn't actually see the Prince assaulting him, then?"
"No." Illyan called up the memory. "The circumstantial evidence from what I saw was pretty strong, though." He paused. "And, of course, I witnessed the assault on you."
Vorkosigan shook his head impatiently. "That was just Serg being Serg. He wouldn't have followed through."
Illyan raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Didn't look like that from where I was standing."
"Maybe, but Ges doesn't like anyone but him--" Vorkosigan cut himself off abruptly and changed tack. "I would have hoped Ges could at least keep the Prince from chasing every pretty boy on the ship."
"The Prince mentioned a girl," Illyan said slowly. "I don't know how even Admiral Vorrutyer could have a girl on the flagship, though."
Vorkosigan's frown deepened. "You're the spy. Look into it." His frown changed to a grimace as another convulsion went over him, and he nearly did fall out of the chair. Illyan caught him and propelled him back to the bunk. Ignoring Vorkosigan's protests he pulled off his boots and spread a blanket over him.
"If your career as a spy comes to a sticky end you can always retrain as a nursemaid," Vorkosigan grumbled. Illyan only smiled.
"Admiral Vorhalas gave me a very strongly worded order, sir."
"Yes, I'll probably have him in here soon with a bunch of flowers." Despite his ironic words Vorkosigan looked better lying down. Illyan had been shock-sticked himself more than once, and knew exactly how unpleasant it was for several hours afterwards. Personally he preferred stunning, since the hangover could be mitigated with synergine. There wasn't much that could be done for shocked nerves except wait.
"At least let me have something to read, if you're keeping me imprisoned here."
Illyan fetched a sheaf of reports and waved on the reading light by the bunk. Vorkosigan took them in still-trembling hands and began to riffle through them.
"May I use your comconsole, sir? To investigate the matter of the girl?"
"Go ahead." Vorkosigan suddenly grinned. "I'm sure you already know all my access codes."
Illyan flushed but did not deny it. He entered the password to activate the console and started by examining the personnel data for everyone aboard. He doubted this would bring anything to light, but he had to start somewhere. There had been cases, in the past, of women joining the Service disguised as men, though the more recent physicals tended to make this difficult without bribery. He read through about fifty records before boredom overtook him and he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Women were not permitted in the Imperial Service, except in some of the auxiliary medical units and among ImpSec's deep cover agents. Certainly not in the invasion fleet. He doubted that even the Prince's influence could have got a civilian woman on board.
For a moment his mind was distracted with wondering what it would be like to serve in a mixed service, like galactics did. How on earth did they deal with relationships between soldiers? What if the women got pregnant? How could they justify having women as front-line troops anyway? The idea of ordering women into battle made Illyan feel faintly nauseated. Even if they could fight--and Illyan knew enough of the history of the Cetagandan wars not to doubt their courage when necessary--what man could endure watching a woman be shot at his side without breaking rank? It occurred to his sense of justice that this was hardly the women's fault, but nonetheless it was the truth about Barrayaran men.
But there were women out there, in the enemy ships, firing on them and mustering to defend Escobar, so it must be possible. Probably not for Barrayarans, not this generation. A sudden horrible thought entered his head as he realised where Admiral Vorrutyer might have found a woman. He called up the records from the brig. They had captured various prisoners on three separate occasions, and there were eleven enemy soldiers still in the flagship's brig, well guarded, he hoped, awaiting transfer to the POW camp on the newly discovered planet. And amongst them was one woman. Only an ensign, the same age as Ensign Beauregard. He called up her data, and blinked at the face that blossomed on the screen. She was amazingly beautiful. But her records showed she was still in the brig. There was no mention of Admiral Vorrutyer, no suggestion that she was not locked in a cell beside the other enemy combatants. She had been captured in the very first group of prisoners.
Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Perhaps there wasn't really any girl. Perhaps it was a joke, perhaps the Admiral had some boy playing dress-up, perhaps… Illyan could not shake his gut-level conviction that he had found a lead. But there wasn't anything more the comconsole records could tell him. He closed it down and turned to share his suspicions with Commodore Vorkosigan. But when he looked, he saw that Vorkosigan had fallen asleep, the files still piled around him.
After a moment's reflection Illyan decided that was for the best. If Vorkosigan thought Admiral Vorrutyer had taken a woman prisoner for his own amusement, he would be up and charging through the door brandishing his nerve disruptor before Illyan had even managed to confirm the situation, much less formulate a plan. And there was no way that would end well for anyone. No, this needed cautious investigating. First, the brig. Illyan dimmed the lights in the cabin and withdrew, meditating on cover stories as he went. It was a pleasant change to have something to do on his own terms, something that used his abilities other than those of a vid recorder.
The brig was quiet. The duty guard looked at him in surprise as he entered. It was one of the men whose profiles Illyan had just read, and he produced a name.
"Corporal Angelov."
"Sir?" Angelov gazed apprehensively at him. Illyan was glad of the rumours about his status that floated around the ship.
"How many POWs do you have at present?" he asked. Never give explanations unless you have to, that was the best rule in this situation. Most of the time people would think up explanations for themselves, or be too worried to even wonder why. This proved no exception to the rule.
"Eleven, sir," Angelov said at once.
"Any trouble with any of them?"
"No, sir." Angelov paused, and Illyan waited, his eyes fixed on the guard. "Well, I don't know. It's a little… difficult. Um." He fell silent again. Illyan judged it time for an encouraging noise, and was rewarded with further explanation. "Admiral Vorrutyer took one of them--for interrogation, he said, and he never brought her back. But, I mean, I would have heard if she'd escaped or something. I--well, it's not my place to criticise the Admiral. But I don't like it." He turned half-frightened, half-defiant eyes on Illyan.
"I see. For interrogation, you say? To sickbay, perhaps, or one of the interrogation rooms?"
"Um--to his quarters, I heard."
Illyan gave a slow nod. "When was this?" he enquired mildly.
"Ten days ago, sir, right after we took the first batch of prisoners."
"Hmm. I shall look into it, Corporal. Is there anything else?" The most vital question, at least when dealing with an apparently friendly witness.
"He sent for one of the medics yesterday, sir, but I don't know what for. It was Stefan--Senior MedTech Ioannides, that is--and I haven't seen him recently."
"Ah. Thank you for your co-operation, Corporal Angelov."
Angelov hesitated again, then said, "Are you going to--can you get her back here, sir? Only if something happens, it'll be me who takes the blame for it all."
"Perhaps." Illyan left it nicely ambiguous as to which statement he was answering. "I will look into it." He left the brig before Angelov could start asking more questions.
It seemed that his intuition was proved correct. He wished fervently that it had not been. Now what to do? The next stop must be sickbay, to find out what Senior MedTech Stefan Ioannides had to say.
On arriving at the sickbay, he found that Ioannides was off-duty today, reason unexplained. He was considering his options when the senior surgeon, Captain Lavalle, walked by, and Illyan gave him a nod. He'd only exchanged a few words with Negri's other man with the fleet, but he knew he could trust Lavalle.
Lavalle came over. "Everything all right, Lieutenant?"
"I would like a word, if I may, sir."
Lavalle led him to his private office and closed the door. "What is it?" he asked.
"Your man Ioannides," Illyan began. A look of comprehension crossed Lavalle's face.
"Ah, you've heard about that already. It is a nasty business, I must say. I gave him today off to get his balance back. He's young and didn't quite realise what goes on here."
"What exactly did he encounter?" Illyan asked blandly, as if he already knew the outline of the incident Lavalle was referring to. Various possibilities whirled in his mind, but he set them aside. A phrase from his childhood surfaced in his mind: it is a capital mistake to theorise ahead of one's data.
"He was asked to remove that prisoner's contraceptive implant," Lavalle explained. "It's not a very complicated procedure--it's a tiny thing, barely takes a scratch to extract it. But--well, I don't know what Admiral Vorrutyer gets up to in his cabin and I don't want to, but the poor guy spent half an hour being sick afterwards."
"I see." Illyan certainly did see, far too much. "I think I'd better get back to my duties now. That's all I wanted to find out about."
Lavalle gave him a sly smile. "I understand."
Illyan returned the smile mechanically and hurried out of sickbay. An extraordinarily beautiful young woman. Her contraceptive implant removed. He knew too much about the Prince's proclivities to misunderstand what was going on, though his mind shied away from considering the implications in detail. He was beginning to wish he'd never started this. It wasn't his job to investigate things for Commodore Vorkosigan. Vorkosigan is not your commanding officer. He could imagine all too vividly what Negri would say when he learned that Illyan had been inveigled into spying for Vorkosigan instead of spying on him. Not that he had even been inveigled. Vorkosigan had commanded, and Illyan had obeyed, as if by reflex. Not good.
And that wasn't even the worst of it. Flashes from the scene with the Prince kept replaying themselves in his mind as he walked. He had succeeded in getting Vorkosigan out of dangerous trouble, but only by deflecting that trouble onto himself instead. His duty here depended on his ability to melt into the walls and observe without influencing events, and now he'd turned himself into a player in these games. He would be a fool to think this was over.
He turned his mind back to the present problem. Whether he should have investigated it or not, now he had found it. He considered lying to Vorkosigan, telling him he had found nothing, it was just some mistake. No. Vorkosigan had a suspicious mind, he would probably look himself and then he'd never trust another word Illyan said. But how would Vorkosigan respond? Illyan feared his initial thought was correct: Vorkosigan would do something rash. And it was his job to prevent that. He squelched the part of his mind that tried to argue that Vorkosigan's probable reaction was the right one, that such viciousness should be burned out. His orders were clear. This loss of objectivity with Vorkosigan must go no further.
He reached Vorkosigan's cabin and let himself in. The lights were up again, and Vorkosigan was sitting up on his bunk, looking rather better than he had before.
"There you are. Have you found anything?"
Illyan took a casual perch on the table beside Vorkosigan's bunk. "He does have a girl. A prisoner, an Escobaran ensign we captured in the first attack."
Vorkosigan spat a single expletive.
"Quite." Illyan paused, and refrained from mentioning what Lavalle had told him about the contraceptive implant. There was no way Vorkosigan would find out about that on his own, and he needed to keep every card he could in his hand now. Anger was wicking up through Vorkosigan's expression already, a terrible anger that made Illyan quail. He wiped all emotion from his own features. What he was about to do would divide Vorkosigan from him as absolutely as Radnov could, and he hated the very thought of it. But it was necessary: it was his duty, and otherwise Vorkosigan would get himself killed for nothing.
Vorkosigan began to push himself upright. He was still shaky on his feet, but Illyan deliberately did not offer him any help. Vorkosigan gave him a look of surprise that changed to exasperation as he saw Illyan's blank, unmoved expression.
"You can't imagine I'm going to leave her in his hands!"
"I can't imagine what you can hope to achieve except get yourself in worse trouble this time."
"You helped me with Beauregard."
"You mean I got you out of the mess you made of it." Illyan made his voice cold, passionless. He had faced down the Prince, surely he could manage this. It was a thousand times harder than their sparring sessions, because it was real. "And that was cutting it very close. I cannot permit you to incriminate yourself, sir. You have a duty to fulfil here. What will be served by handing Vorrutyer a chance to charge you with mutiny? There is already one treason charge hanging over your head."
"Then two won't make matters any worse. They can only starve me to death once."
"I cannot edit my report. It will be clear that this charge is not as empty as the other."
Vorkosigan's eyes burned. "I do not leave prisoners to be tortured," he whispered. Illyan had a sudden dizzying glimpse of an abyss of anger and pain behind his words. He remained quite still, feeling his stunner heavy against his hip. The report on Vorkosigan's murder of the political officer at Komarr spooled through his head.
As Vorkosigan took an angry step towards him, he swayed and nearly fell. Illyan crushed the instinct to move to his assistance and tried a different approach.
"Sir, you're barely back on your feet. Even if you did try to do something, you're not fit right now. Admiral Vorrutyer could knock you down without even trying." He let the concern he felt bleed into his voice, and some of the red fury left Vorkosigan's eyes. He grunted, a sound halfway between agreement and anger.
Then it was Vorkosigan's turn to change tack. "Why are you arguing with me, Illyan? You're no Ministry man, you can't have any sympathy for Vorrutyer. And I know you don't think raping and torturing prisoners is acceptable."
"He's already had her ten days. What's done is done. But you're needed, sir, for this invasion. You keep saying it's going to fail, and if it does your duty is to run the retreat. Should I let you throw it all away on this?"
"Duty?" Vorkosigan's tone was bitter. "What do you know of what my duty is here?"
"Very little, sir, but I do know your duty here is important enough that Negri assigned me to make sure nothing prevents you from fulfilling it. I cannot let anything get in the way of that, not even your conscience." Hypocrite, he thought to himself as he spoke.
Vorkosigan sat down abruptly. "You remind me of Negri sometimes," he said. "A real cold-blooded bastard. Damn you." But his expression had changed.
There was a silence, and Illyan surveyed his cold triumph. Vorkosigan looked more defeated than he had after the Prince had finished with him. But he needed to push this all the way.
"Your word, sir," said Illyan quietly.
A last ember of anger flared in Vorkosigan's eyes, then died. "You already hold my word," he said in a leaden voice. "I won't meet with anyone without your presence. Not even Ges. Not even for this."
Illyan let out his breath slowly and nodded. Then, not waiting to be dismissed, he turned to the door. It was done. He had done his duty. Vorkosigan was safe.
He did not look at the closed door of Admiral Vorrutyer's cabin.
***
Next Chapter