Lois Bujold - Mirror Dance

“Let me talk to Lilly,” said Fell.

“No. You come here and talk to Lilly,” said Mark petulantly. “Anyway, you want to talk to me.” He nailed Fell’s eye with a direct look. “I promise you will find it profitable.”

“I believe I do want to talk with you,” murmured Fell. “Very well.”

“Miles. You’re there in Ryoval’s study, where I was.” Mark searched his face, for what Miles could not guess, but then Mark nodded quietly to himself, as if satisfied. “Is Elena there?”

“Yes …”

Elena leaned forward on Miles’s other side. “What do you need, Mark?”

“I want to talk to you a moment. Armswoman. Privately. Would you clear the room of everyone else, please? Everyone.”

“You can’t,” Miles began. ”… Armswoman? Not—not leige-sworn? You can’t be.”

“Technically, I suppose she’s not, now that you’re alive again,” said Mark. He smiled sadly. “But I want a service. My first and last request, Elena. Privately.”

Elena looked around. “Everybody out. Please, Miles. This is between Mark and me.”

“Armswoman?” Miles muttered, allowing himself to be thrust back out into the corridor. “How can—” Elena shut the door on them all. Miles called Iverson to arrange transport, and other things. It was still a polite race with Fell, but it was clearly a race.

Elena emerged after a few minutes. Her face was strained. “You go on to Durona’s. Mark has asked me to find something for him here. I’ll catch up.”

“Collect all the data you can for ImpSec while you’re at it, then,” said Miles, feeling bewildered by the pace of events. Somehow, he seemed not to be in charge here. “I’ll tell Iverson to give you a free hand. But—Armswoman? Does that mean what I think it does? How can—”

“It means nothing, now. But I owe Mark. We all do. He killed Ryoval, you know.”

“I was beginning to realize it had to be so. I just didn’t see how.”

“With both hands tied behind his back, he says. I believe him.” She turned again toward Ryoval’s suite.

“That was Mark?” Miles muttered, heading reluctantly in the opposite direction. He couldn’t have acquired some other clone-brother while he was dead, could he? “It didn’t sound like Mark. For one thing, he sounded like he was glad to see me. That’s Mark?”

“Oh, yes,” said Quinn. “That was Mark all right.”

He quickened his pace. Even Taura had to lengthen her stride to keep up.

The Dendarii’s little personnel shuttle kept pace with Baron Fell’s larger drop shuttle; they arrived at the Durona Group’s clinic almost simultaneously. A House Dyne shuttle belonging temporarily to ImpSec was waiting politely across the street from the entrance, by the little park. Just waiting.

As they were circling for a landing, Miles asked Quinn, who was piloting, “Elli—if we were flying along, in a lightflyer or an aircar or something, and I suddenly ordered you to crash it, would you?”

“Now?” asked Quinn, startled. The shuttle lurched.

“No! Not now. I mean theoretically. Obey, instantly, no questions asked.”

“Well, sure, I suppose so. I’d ask questions afterward though. Probably with my hands wrapped around your neck.”

“That’s what I thought.” Miles sat back, satisfied.

They rendezvoused with Baron Fell at the front entrance, where the gate guards prepared to code open a portal in the force screen. Fell frowned at the three Dendarii in their half-armor, Quinn and Bel and Taura, trailing Miles in his grey knits.

“This is my facility,” Fell pointed out. His own pair of green-clad men eyed them without favor.

“These are my bodyguards,” said Miles, “for whom I have a demonstrated need. Your force screen appears to have a malfunction.”

“ He was taken care of,” said Fell grimly. “That won’t happen again.”

“Nevertheless.” By way of concession, Miles jerked his thumb at the shuttle by the park. “My other friends can wait outside.”

Fell frowned, thinking it over. “All right,” he said at last. They followed him inside. Hawk met them, bowed to the Baron, and escorted them formally up through the series of lift tubes to Lilly Durona’s penthouse. .

The word for it, Miles thought, rising past the chromium railing, was “tableau.” It was all arranged as perfectly as any stage setting.

Mark was the centerpiece. He sat back comfortably in Lilly Durona’s own chair, his bandaged right foot propped on a silk pillow on the low round tea table. Surrounded by Duronas. Lilly herself, her white hair braided today like a crown wreathing her head, stood at Mark’s right hand, leaning bemusedly on the upholstered chair back, smiling down beneficently upon the top of his head. Hawk took up position on Mark’s left side. Dr. Chrys, Dr. Poppy, and Dr. Rose clustered admiringly around them. Dr. Chrys had a large fire-extinguisher by her knee. Rowan was not here. The window had been repaired.

On the center of the table sat a transparent cold-box. Within it lay a severed hand wearing a big silver ring set with what appeared to be a square black onyx.

Mark’s physical appearance disturbed Miles. He had been braced to witness traumas of unnamed tortures, but Mark was covered neck to ankle in concealing grey knits like his own. Only the bruises on his face and the bandage on his foot hinted at the past five days’ activities. But his face and body were strangely and unhealthily bloated, his stomach shockingly so, more than the stoutly-balanced figure he’d seen here in Dendarii uniform just a few days ago, and far beyond the almost-duplicate of himself he’d tried to rescue from the raid on the clone creche four months ago. In another person, Baron Fell for example, the near-obesity wouldn’t have made him even blink, but Mark … could this be Miles himself, someday, if he slowed down? He had a sudden urge to swear off desserts. Elli was frankly staring, horrified and repelled.

Mark was smiling. A little control box lay under his right hand. His index finger kept pressure on a button.

Baron Fell saw the cold-box containing the hand, and started for it, crying, “Ah!”

“Stop,” said Mark.

The Baron stopped, and cocked his head at him. “Yes?” he said warily.

“The object you are interested in is sitting in that sealed box on top of a small thermal grenade. Controlled,” he lifted his hand with the remote in it, “by this dead-man switch. There is a second, positive-control switch in the hands of another person, outside of this room. Stun me or jump me, and it will go off. Frighten me, and my hand might slip. Tire me out, and my finger might give way. Annoy me enough, and I might just let go for the hell of it.”

“The fact that you have made such an arrangement,” said Fell slowly, “tells me you know the value of what you hold. You wouldn’t. You’re bluffing.” He stared piercingly at Lilly.

“Don’t try me,” said Mark, still smiling. “After five days of your half-brother’s hospitality, I’m in a real hostile mood. What’s in that box is valuable to you. Not to me. However,” he took a breath, “you do have some things that are valuable to me. Baron, let’s Deal.”

Fell sucked on his lower lip, and stared into Mark’s glittering eyes. “I’ll listen,” he said at last.

Mark nodded. A couple of Duronas hurried to bring chairs for Baron Fell and Miles; the bodyguards arranged themselves standing. Fell’s guards looked like they were thinking hard, watching the box and their master; the Dendarii watched the green-clad guards in turn. Fell settled himself with a formal air, half-smiling, eyes intent.

“Tea?” inquired Lilly.