Lois Bujold - Barrayar

“Always.” Now what?

“Man came up to me yesterday. In the gym. Not in uniform, no rank or nametag. He offered me Elena. Elena’s life, if I would assassinate Count Piotr.”

“How tempting,” Cordelia choked, before she could stop herself. “What, uh, guarantees did he offer?”

“That question came to me, pretty shortly. There I would be, in deep shit, maybe executed, and who would care for a, a dead man’s bastard then? I figured it for a cheat, just another cheat. I went back to look for him, been on the lookout, but I never spotted him since.” He sighed. “It almost seems like a hallucination, now.”

The expression on Drou’s face was a study in the deepest unreassurance, but fortunately Bothari was turned away from her and did not notice. Cordelia shot her a small quelling frown.

“Have you been having hallucinations?” Cordelia asked.

“I don’t think so. Just bad dreams. I try not to sleep.”

“I … have a dilemma of my own,” Cordelia said. “As you heard me tell Piotr.”

“Yes, Milady.”

“Had you heard about the time limit?”

“Time limit?”

“If it’s not serviced, the replicator will start to fail to support Miles in less than six days. Aral argues that Miles is in no more danger than any of his staffers’ families. I disagree.”

“Behind his back, I’ve heard some say otherwise.”

“Ah?”

“They say it’s a cheat. The admiral’s son is some sort of mutant, non-viable, while they risk whole children.”

“I don’t think he realizes … anyone says that.”

“Who would repeat it to his face?”

“Very few. Maybe not even Illyan.” Though Piotr probably wouldn’t fail to pass it on, if he picked it up. “Dammit! No one, on either side, would hesitate to dump that replicator.” She brooded, and began again. “Sergeant. Who do you work for?”

“I am oath-sworn Armsman to Count Piotr,” Bothari recited the obvious. He was watching her closely now, a weird smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Let me rephrase that. I know the official penalties for an armsman going AWOL are fearsome. But suppose—”

“Milady.” He held up a hand; she paused in mid-breath. “Do you remember, back on the front lawn at Vorkosigan Surleau when we were loading Negri’s body into the lightflyer, when my Lord Regent told me to obey your voice as his own?”

Cordelias brows went up. “Yes … ?”

“He never countermanded that order.”

“Sergeant,” she breathed at last, “I’d never have guessed you for a barracks-lawyer.”

His smile grew a millimeter tighter. “Your voice is as the voice of the Emperor himself. Technically.”

“Is it, now,” she whispered in delight. Her nails dug into her palms.

He leaned forward, his hands now held rock-still between his knees. “So, Milady. What were you saying?”

The motor pool staging bay was an echoing low vault, its shadows slashed by the lights from a glass-walled office. Cordelia stood waiting in the darkened lift tube portal, Drou at her shoulder, and watched through the distant rectangle of glass as Bothari negotiated with the transport officer. General Vorkosigan’s Armsman was signing out a vehicle for his oath-lord. The passes and IDs Bothari had been issued apparently worked just fine. The motor pool man fed Bothari’s cards to his computer, took Bothari’s palm print on his sensor-pad, and dispatched orders with snap and hustle.

Would this simple plan work? Cordelia wondered desperately. And if it didn’t, what alternative had they? Their planned route sketched itself in her mind, red light-lines snaking over a map. Not north toward their goal, but due south first, by groundcar into the next loyal District. Ditch the distinctive government vehicle, take the monorail west to yet another District, then northwest to another; then due east into Count Vorinnis’s neutral zone, focus of so much diplomatic attention from both sides. Piotr’s comment echoed in her memory, “I swear, Aral, if Vorinnis doesn’t quit trying to play both ends against the middle, you ought to hang him higher than Vordarian when this is over.” Then into the capital District itself, then, somehow, into the sealed city. A daunting number of kilometers to cover. Three times the distance of the direct route.

So much time. Her heart swung north like a compass needle.

The first and last Districts would be the worst. Aral’s forces could be almost more inimical to this excursion than Vordarian’s. Her head spun with the cumulative impossibility of it all.

Step by step, she told herself firmly. One step at a time. Just get off Tanery Base; that, they could do. Divide the infinite future into five-minute blocks, and take them one by one.

There, the first five minutes down already, and a swift and shining general staff car appeared from underground storage. A small victory, in reward for a little patience and daring. What might great patience and daring yet bring?

Judiciously, Bothari inspected the vehicle, as if in doubt that it was quite fit for his master. The transport officer waited anxiously, and seemed to deflate with relief when the great general’s Armsman, after running his hand over the canopy and frowning at some minute speck of dust, gave it a grudging acceptance. Bothari brought the vehicle around to the lift tube portal and parked it, neatly blocking the office’s view of the entering passengers.

Drou bent to pick up their satchel, packed with a very odd variety of clothing including Bothari’s and Cordelia’s mountain souvenirs, and their thin assortment of weapons. Bothari set the polarization on the rear canopy to mirror-reflection, and raised it.

“Milady!” Lieutenant Koudelka’s anxious voice called from the lift tube entry behind them. “What are you doing?”

Cordelia’s teeth closed on vile words. She converted her savage expression to a light, surprised smile, and turned. “Hello, Kou. What’s up?”

He frowned, looking at her, at Droushnakovi, at the satchel. “I asked first.” He was out of breath; he must have been chasing them down for some minutes, after not finding her in Aral’s quarters. An ill—timed errand.

Cordelia kept her smile fixed, as her mind blinked on a vision of a Security team piling out of the lift tube to arrest her, or at least her plans. “We’re … going into town.”

His lips thinned in skepticism. “Oh? Does the Admiral know? Where’s Illyan’s outer-perimeter team, then?”

“Gone on ahead,” said Cordelia blandly.

The vague plausibility actually raised a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Alas, only for a moment. “Now, wait just a bloody minute—”

“Lieutenant,” Sergeant Bothari interrupted. “Take a look at this.” He gestured toward the rear passenger compartment of the staff car.

Koudelka leaned to look. “What?” he said impatiently.

Cordelia winced as Bothari’s open hand chopped down across the back of Koudelka’s neck, and winced again at the heavy thud of Koudelka’s head hitting the far side of the compartment’s interior after a powerful boost-assist to neck and belt by Bothari. His swordstick clattered to the pavement.

“In.” Bothari’s voice was a strained low growl, accompanied by a quick glance across the bay toward the glass-walled transport office.

Droushnakovi flung the satchel into the compartment and dove in after Koudelka, shoving his long loose limbs out of the way. Cordelia grabbed up the stick and piled in after. Bothari stood back, saluted, closed the mirrored canopy, and entered the driver’s compartment.

They started smoothly. Cordelia had to control irrational panic as Bothari stopped at the first checkpoint. She could see and hear the guards so clearly, it was difficult to remember they saw only the reflections of their own hard eyes. But apparently General Piotr could indeed pass anywhere at will. How pleasant, to be General Piotr. Though in these trying times, probably not even Piotr could have entered Tanery Base without that rear canopy being opened and scanned. The final gate crew that waved them out was busily engaged in just such an inspection of a large incoming convoy of freight haulers. Their timing was just as Cordelia had planned and prayed.