"Not much," he said, and resumed his running. Compulsively, too long, far past the optimum effect-for-time-spent trade-off. He sweated to fill time and kill thought, and Cordelia silently wished him luck.
She caught up on the details of the war from Aral and Kou and the controlled newsvids. What counts were allied, who was known hostage and where, what units were deployed on each side and which were ripped apart and scattered to both; where fighting had taken place, what damages, which commanders had renewed oath . . . knowledge without power. No more, she judged, than her intellectualized version of Bothari's endless running; and even less useful for distracting her mind from unbroken concentration on all the horrors and disasters, past or impending, that she could presently do nothing about.
She preferred her military history with more temporal displacement. A century or two in the past, say. She imagined some cool future scholar looking through a time-telescope at her, and gave him a mental rude gesture. Anyway, she now realized, the military histories she'd read had left out the most important part; they never told what happened to people's babies.
No—they were all babies, out there. Every mother's son in a black uniform. One of Aral's reminiscences floated up in her memory, velvet voice rumbling, "It was about that time that soldiers started looking like children to me. . . ."
She pushed away from the vidconsole, and went to search the bathroom for medication for pain.
* * *
On the third day she passed Lieutenant Koudelka in a corridor, stumping along at a near run, his face flushed with excitement.
"What's up, Kou?"
"Illyan's here. And he's brought Kanzian with him!"
Cordelia followed him to a briefing room. Droushnakovi had to lengthen even her long stride to keep up. Aral, flanked by two staffers, sat with his hands clasped on the table before him, listening with utmost attention. Commander Illyan sat on the edge of the table, swinging one leg in rhythm to his voice. A bandage on his left arm was stained with yellow seepage. He was pale and dirty, but his eyes shone in triumph, gilded with a touch of fever. He wore civilian gear that looked as if it had been stolen out of someone's laundry, and then rolled downhill in.
An older man was sitting beside Illyan—a staffer handed the man a drink, which Cordelia recognized as a potassium-salts-laced fruit-flavored pick-me-up for the metabolically depleted. He tasted it dutifully, and made a face, looking as if he would have preferred some more old-fashioned revivifier such as brandy. Overweight and undertall, greying where he was not balding, Admiral Kanzian was not a very martial-looking man. He looked grandfatherly—though only if one's grandfather was a research professor. His face was held together with an intensity of intellect that seemed to give the term "military science" real clout. Cordelia had met him in uniform; his air of quiet authority seemed unaffected by civilian shirt and slacks that might have come from the same laundry basket as Illyan's.
Illyan was saying, "—and then we spent the next night in the cellar. Vordarian's squad came back the next morning, but—Milady!"
His grin of greeting was blunted by a flash of guilt, as he glanced to and away from her waist. She'd rather he kept piffling on, excited, about his adventures, but her arrival seemed to deflate him, ghost of his most notable failure at his banquet of victory.
"Wonderful to see you both, Simon, Admiral." They exchanged nods; Kanzian made to rise, but was unanimously waved back to his seat, which made his lip twist in bemusement. Aral signed her to sit next to him.
Illyan continued in a more clipped fashion. His past two weeks of hide-and-seek with Vordarian's forces seemed to parallel Cordelia's, though in the far more complex setting of the seized capital. But Cordelia recognized the familiar terrors under his plain words. He brought his tale swiftly up to the present moment. Kanzian nodded an occasional confirmation.
"Well done, Simon," said Vorkosigan when Illyan concluded. He nodded toward Kanzian. "Extremely well done."
Illyan smiled. "Thought you'd like it, sir."
Vorkosigan turned to Kanzian. "As soon as you feel able, I would like to brief you in the tac room, sir."
"Thank you, my lord. I've been out of communications—except for Vordarian's newscasts—since I escaped Headquarters. Though there was much to be deduced from what we did see. By the way, I commend your strategy of restraint. Good so far. But you're close to its limits."
"So I've sensed, sir."
"What's Jolly Nolly doing at Jumppoint Station One?"
"Not answering his tightbeam. Last week his understaffers were offering an amazing array of excuses, but their ingenuity finally dried up."
"Ha. I can just picture it. His colitis must be in wonderful form. I'll bet not all of those 'indisposeds' were lies. I think I should begin with a private chat with Admiral Knollys, just the two of us."
"I would appreciate that, sir."
"We will discuss the inevitabilities of time. And the defects of a potential commander who bases an entire strategy on an assassination he then does not succeed in carrying out." Kanzian frowned judgmentally. "Not well constructed, to let your whole war turn on one event. Vordarian always did have a tendency to pop off."
Cordelia, aside, caught Illyan's eye. "Simon. Did you pick up any information at all, while you were trapped in Vorbarr Sultana, about the Imperial Military Hospital? Vaagen and Henri's lab?" My baby?
Regretfully, he shook his head. "No, Milady." Illyan glanced in turn at Vorkosigan. "My lord, is it true about Captain Negri's death? We'd only had it from rumor, and Vordarian's propaganda broadcasts. Thought it might have been a lie."
"Negri is dead. Unfortunately." Vorkosigan grimaced.
Illyan sat upright in alarm. "And the Emperor, too?"
"Gregor is safe and well."
Illyan slumped again. "Thank God. Where?"
"Elsewhere," said Vorkosigan dryly.
"Oh. Quite, sir. Beg pardon."
"As soon as you've hit sickbay and the showers, Simon, I have some housecleaning chores for you," Vorkosigan continued. "I want to know just exactly how ImpSec was blindsided by Vordarian's coup. I have no wish to malign the dead—and God knows the man paid for his mistakes—but Negri's old personal system for running ImpSec, with all his little secret compartments shared only with Ezar, has to be taken completely apart. Every component, every man re-examined, before it's all put back together. That will be your first job as the new Chief of Imperial Security. Captain Illyan."
Illyan's face went from pale-tired to green-white. "Sir—you want me to step into Negri's shoes?"
"Shake them out, first," Vorkosigan advised dryly. "And with dispatch, if you please. I cannot produce the Emperor until ImpSec is again fit to guard him."
"Yes, sir." Illyan's voice was thin with his staggerment.
Kanzian levered out of his seat, shrugging off the help of an anxious staff officer. Aral squeezed Cordelia's hand under the table, and rose to accompany the nucleus of his new General Staff. As they all exited, Kou grinned over his shoulder at Cordelia and whispered, "Things are looking up, eh?"
She smiled bleakly back at him. Vorkosigan's words echoed in her head. When the shift in men and loyalties reaches the critical point, and Vordarian starts to panic . . .
* * *
The trickle of refugees appearing at Tanery Base became a steady stream, as the week wore on. The most spectacular after Kanzian was the breakout of Prime Minister Vortala from Vordarian's house arrest. He arrived with several wounded liveried men and a hair-raising tale of bribery, trickery, chase, and exchange-of-fire. Two lesser Imperial Ministers also turned up, one on foot. Morale rose with each notable addition; the base's atmosphere grew electric with anticipation of action. The question exchanged by staffers in corridors became not, "Who's come in?" but "Who's come in this morning?" Cordelia tried to appear cheered by it all, hugging her dread to her private mind. Vorkosigan grew both pleased and tenser.
As instructed, Cordelia rested a lot in Vorkosigan's quarters. All too soon she felt
re-energized enough to start beating on the walls. She then tried varying the prescription with a few experimental push-ups and knee-bends (but not sit-ups). She was just contemplating the merits and drawbacks of going to join Bothari in the gym, when the comconsole chimed.
Koudelka's apprehensive face appeared over the vid plate. "Milady, m'lord requests you join him now in Briefing Room Seven. Something's come in he wants you to see."
Cordelia's stomach twisted. "All right. On my way."
An array of men were waiting in Briefing Room Seven, clustered around a vidconsole in low-voiced debate. Staffers, Kanzian, Minister Vortala himself. Vorkosigan looked up and gave her a brief, unfelt smile.
"Cordelia. I'd like your opinion on something that's come in."
Flattering, but, "What sort of something?"
"Vordarian's latest special report has a new twist. Kou, replay the vid, please."
Vordarian's propaganda broadcasts from the capital were mostly subjects for derision, among Vorkosigan's men. Their faces looked rather more serious, this time.
Vordarian appeared in what was recognizably one of the state rooms of the Imperial Residence, the formal and serene Blue Room. Ezar Vorbarra used to make his rare public pronouncements from that background. Vorkosigan frowned.
Vordarian, in full dress greens, was seated on an ivory silk sofa, Princess Kareen at his side. Her dark hair was pulled back severely from her oval face with jeweled combs. She wore a striking black gown, somber and formal.
Vordarian spoke only a few earnest words, invoking the viewers' attention. Then the vid cut away to the great chamber of the Council of Counts at Vorhartung Castle. The vid zoomed in on the Lord Guardian of the Speaker's circle, dressed in his full regalia. The vid did not show what, besides its own pickup, was aimed at the Lord Guardian's head, but something in his repeated looks, just to one side instead of directly at the focus, made Cordelia place a lethally armed man, or maybe a squad, in that unseen position.
The Lord Guardian raised a plastic flimsy, and began, "I quote—due to the—"
"Ah, slick!" murmured Vortala, and Koudelka paused the vid to say, "I beg your pardon, Minister?"
"The I-quote—he's just legally distanced himself from the words about to come off that flimsy and out his mouth. Didn't catch that, the first time. Good, Georgos, good," Vortala addressed the paralyzed figure. "Go on, Lieutenant, I didn't mean to interrupt."
The holovid image continued, "—vile murder of the child-Emperor Gregor Vorbarra, and betrayal of his sacred oaths by the would-be usurper Vorkosigan, the Council of Counts declares the false Regent faithless, outcast, stripped of powers and outlawed. This day the Council of Counts confirms Commodore Count Vidal Vordarian as Prime Minister and acting Regent for Dowager-Princess Kareen Vorbarra, forming an emergency caretaker government until such time as a new heir may be found and confirmed by the Council of Counts and Council of Ministers in full council assembled."
He continued with further legalities, as the vid panned the chamber. "Freeze it, Koudelka," Vortala demanded. His lips moved as he counted. "Ha! Not even one-third present. He doesn't have near a quorum. Who does he think he's fooling?"
"Desperate man, desperate measures," Kanzian murmured as the holo continued at Koudelka's touch.
"Watch Kareen," Vorkosigan said to Cordelia.
The holo cut back to Vordarian and the Princess. Vordarian went on in such mealy terms, it took Cordelia a moment to unravel the fact that in the phrase "personal protector," Vordarian was announcing an engagement of marriage. His hand closed earnestly over Kareen's, though his eye contact was reserved for the holovid. Kareen lifted her hand to receive a ring without changing her calm expression in the slightest. The vid closed with solemn music. The End. They were thankfully spared Betan-style post-mortem commentary; apparently, nobody ever asked the Barrayaran-in-the-street much of anything, at least until major rioting raised the volume to a level no one dared ignore.
"How would you analyze Kareen's reaction?" Aral asked Cordelia.
Cordelia's brows rose. "What reaction? How, analyze? She never said a word!"
"Just so. Does she looked drugged to you? Or under compulsion? Or was that real assent? Is she duped by Vordarian's propaganda, or what?" Frustrated, Vorkosigan eyed the space where the woman's image had lately been. "She's always been reserved, but that was the most unreadable performance I've ever seen."
"Run it again, Kou," said Cordelia. She had him stop at the best views of Kareen. She studied the frozen face, scarcely less animate than when the holo was running. "She doesn't look woozy or sedated. And her eyes don't look aside the way the Speaker's did."
"Nobody threatening her with a weapon?" Vortala guessed.
"Or perhaps she simply doesn't care," Cordelia suggested grimly.
"Assent, or compulsion?" Vorkosigan repeated.
"Maybe neither. She's been dealing with this sort of nonsense all her adult life . . . what do you expect of her? She survived three years of marriage with Serg, before Ezar sheltered her. She must be a bona fide expert in guessing what not to say and when not to say it."
"But to publicly submit to Vordarian—if she thinks he's responsible for Gregor's death . . ."
"Yes, what does she believe? If she truly thinks her son is dead—even if she doesn't believe you killed him—then all she has left to look out for is her own survival. Why risk that survival for some dramatic futility, if it won't help Gregor? What does she owe you, owe us, after all? We've all failed her, as far as she knows."
Vorkosigan winced.
Cordelia went on, "Vordarian's been controlling her access to information, surely. She may even be convinced he's winning. She's a survivor; she's survived Serg and Ezar, so far. Maybe she means to survive you and Vordarian both. Maybe the only revenge she thinks she'll ever get is to live long enough to spit on all your graves."
One of the staff officers muttered, "But she's Vor. She should have defied him."
Cordelia favored him with a glittery grin. "Oh, but you never know what any Barrayaran woman thinks by what she says in front of Barrayaran men. Honesty is not exactly rewarded, you know."
The staffer gave her an unsettled look. Drou smiled sourly. Vorkosigan blew out his breath. Koudelka blinked.
"So, Vordarian gets tired of waiting and appoints himself Regent," Vortala murmured.
"And Prime Minister," Vorkosigan pointed out in return.
"Indeed, he swells."
"Why not go straight for the Imperium?" asked the staff officer.
"Testing the waters," said Kanzian.
"It's coming, later in the script," opined Vortala.
"Or maybe sooner, if we force his hand a bit," suggested Kanzian. "The last and fatal step. We must consider how to rattle him just a little more."
"Not much longer," Vorkosigan said firmly.
* * *
The ghostly mask of Kareen's face hung before Cordelia's mind's eye all that day, and returned at her waking the next morning. What did Kareen think? What did Kareen feel, for that matter? Perhaps she was as numb as the evidence suggested. Perhaps she was biding her time. Perhaps she was all for Vordarian. If I knew what she believed, I'd know what she was doing. If I knew what she was doing, I'd know what she believed.
Too many unknowns in this equation. If I were Kareen . . . Was this a valid analogy? Could Cordelia reason from herself to another? Could anyone? They had likenesses, Kareen and herself, both women, near in age, mothers of endangered sons. . . . Cordelia took Gregor's shoe from her meager pile of mountain souvenirs, and turned it in her hand. Mama grabbed me back, but my shoe came off in her hand. I should have fastened it tighter. . . . Maybe she should trust her own judgment. Maybe she knew exactly what Kareen was thinking.
When the comconsole chimed, close to the time of yesterday's call, Cordelia shot to answer it. A new broadcast from the capital, new evidence, something to break that circle of unreason? But the face that materialized over the vidplate was not Koudelka, but a stranger wit
h Intelligence insignia on his collar.
"Lady Vorkosigan?" he began deferentially.
"Yes?"
"I'm Major Sircoj, duty-officer at the main portal. It's my job to screen everyone new reporting in, men who've left traitor-units and so on, and to collect any new intelligence they've brought with them. We had a man turn up half an hour ago who says he escaped the capital, who refuses to voluntarily debrief. We've confirmed his claim that he's had anti-interrogation conditioning—if we try to fast-penta him, it'll kill him. He keeps asking—actually, insisting—to speak with you. He could be an assassin."
Cordelia's heart pounded. She leaned into the holovid as if she might climb through it. "Did he bring anything with him?" she demanded breathlessly. "Like a canister, about half a meter high—lots of blinking lights, and big red letters on top that say This End Up? Looks mysterious as hell, guaranteed to send any security guard into fits—his name, Major!"
"He brought nothing but the clothes he's standing in. He's not in good shape. His name is Vaagen, Captain Vaagen."
"I'll be right there."
"No, Milady! The man is practically raving. Could be dangerous, I can't let you—"
She left him talking to an empty room. Droushnakovi had to break into a run to catch up with her. Cordelia made it to the main portal Security offices in less than seven minutes, and paused in the corridor to catch her breath. To catch her soul, that wanted to fly out her mouth. Calm. Calm. Raving apparently cut no ice with Sircoj.
She lifted her chin and entered the office. "Tell Major Sircoj that Lady Vorkosigan is here to see him," she told the clerk, who raised impressed brows and obediently bent to his comconsole.
Sircoj appeared in a few endless minutes—through that door, Cordelia mentally marked his route. "I must see Captain Vaagen."
"Milady, he could be dangerous," Sircoj began exactly where she'd cut him off before. "He could be programmed in some unexpected way."
Cordelia considered unexpectedly grabbing Sircoj by the throat and attempting to squeeze reason into him. Impractical. She took a deep breath. "What will you let me do? Can I at least see him on vid?"
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