Lois Bujold - Barrayar

He looked the device over, checking key readouts. “Good. Good. Nutrient reservoir is very low, but not quite depleted yet. Filters still functioning, uric acid level high but not over tolerance—I think it’s all right, Milady. Alive, that is. What this interruption has done to my calcification treatments will take more time to determine. We’ll be in the infirmary. I should be able to begin servicing it within the hour.”

“Do you have everything you need there? Supplies?”

His white teeth flashed. “Lord Vorkosigan had me begin setting up a lab the day after you left. Just in case, he said.”

And, I love you. “Thank you. Go, go.” She surrendered the replicator into Vaagen’s hands, and he hurried out with it.

She sat back down like a marionette with the strings cut. Now she could allow herself to feel the full weight of her exhaustion. But she could not stop quite yet. She had one very important debriefing yet to accomplish. And not to these hovering ImpSec twits, who pestered her—she closed her eyes and pointedly ignored them, letting Drou stammer out answers to their foolish questions.

Desire warred with dread. She wanted Aral. She had defied Aral, most openly. Had it touched his honor, scorched his—admittedly, unusually flexible—Barrayaran male ego beyond tolerance? Would she be frozen out of his trust forever? No, that suspicion was surely unjust. But his public credibility among his peers, part of the delicate psychology of power—had she damaged it? Would some damnable unforseen political consequence rebound out of all this, back on their heads? Did she care? Yes, she decided sadly. It was hell to be so tired, and still care.

“Kou!”

Drou’s cry snapped Cordelias eyes open. Koudelka was limping into the main portal Security debriefing office. Good Lord, the man was back in uniform, shaved and sharp. Only the grey rings under his eyes were non-regulation.

Kou and Drou’s reunion, Cordelia was delighted to note, was not in the least military. The staff soldier was instantly plastered all over with tall and grubby blonde, exchanging muffled unregulation greetings like darling, love, thank God, safe, sweet… . The ImpSec men turned away uncomfortably from the blast of naked emotion radiating from their faces. Cordelia basked in it. A far more sensible way to greet a friend than all that moronic saluting.

They parted only to see each other better, still holding hands. “You made it,” chortled Droushnakovi. “How long have you—is Lady Vorpatril—?”

“We only made it in about two hours ahead of you,” Kou said breathlessly, reoxygenating after a heroic kiss. “Lady Vorpatril and the young lord are bedded down in the infirmary. The doctor says she’s suffering mainly from stress and exhaustion. She was incredible. We had a couple of bad moments, getting past Vordarian’s Security, but she never cracked. And you—you did it! I passed Vaagen in the corridor, with the replicator—you rescued m’lord’s son!”

Droushnakovi’s shoulders sagged. “But we lost Princess Kareen.”

“Oh.” He touched her lips. “Don’t tell me—Lord Vorkosigan instructed me to bring you all to him the instant you arrived. Debrief to him before anyone. I’ll take you to him now.” He waved away the ImpSec men like flies, something Cordelia had been longing to do.

Bothari had to help her rise. She gathered up the yellow plastic bag. She noted ironically that it bore the name and logo of one of the capital’s most exclusive women’s clothiers. Kareen encompasses you at last, you bastard.

“What’s that?” asked Kou.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” the urgent ImpSec man put in, “please—she’s refused to let us examine it in any way. By regulations, we shouldn’t let her carry it into the base.”

Cordelia pulled open the top of the bag and held it out for Kou’s inspection. He peered within.

“Shit.” The ImpSec men surged forward as Koudelka jumped back. He waved them down. “I … I see,” he swallowed. “Yes, Admiral Vorkosigan will certainly want to see that.”

“Lieutenant, what should I put on my inventory?” the ImpSec man—whined, Cordelia decided, was what he was doing. “I have to register it, if it’s going in.”

“Let him cover his ass, Kou,” Cordelia sighed.

Kou peeked again, his lips twisting into a very crooked grin. “It’s all right. Put it down as a Winterfair gift for Admiral Vorkosigan. From his wife.”

“Oh, Kou,” Drou held out his sword. “I saved this. But we lost the casing, I’m sorry.”

Kou took it, looked at the bag, made the connection, and carried it more carefully. “That’s … that’s all right. Thank you.”

“I’ll take it back to Siegling’s and get a duplicate casing made,” Cordelia promised.

The ImpSec men gave way before Admiral Vorkosigan’s top aide. Kou led Cordelia, Bothari, and Drou into the base. Cordelia pulled the drawstring tight, and let the bag swing from her hand.

“We’re going down to the Staff level. The admiral’s been in a sealed meeting for the last hour. Two of Vordarian’s top officers came in secretly last night. Negotiating to sell him out. The best hostage-rescue plan hinges on their cooperation.”

“Did they know about this yet?” Cordelia held up the bag.

“I don’t think so, Milady. You’ve just changed everything.” His grin grew feral, and his uneven stride lengthened.

“I expect that raid is still going to be required,” Cordelia sighed. “Even in collapse, Vordarian’s side is still dangerous. Maybe more dangerous, in their desperation.” She thought of that downtown Vorbarr Sultana hotel, where Bothari’s baby girl Elena was, as far as she knew, still housed. Lesser hostages. Could she persuade Aral to apportion a few more resources for lesser hostages? Alas, she had probably not put all the soldiers out of work even yet. I tried. God, I tried.

They went down, and down, to the nerve center of Tanery Base. They came to a highly secured conference chamber; a lethally armed squad stood ramrod-guard outside it. Koudelka wafted them past. The doors slid aside, and closed again behind them.

Cordelia took in the tableau, that paused to look back up at her from around the polished table. Aral was in the center, of course. Illyan and Count Piotr flanked him on either side. Prime Minister Vortala was there, and Kanzian, and some other senior staffers all in formal dress greens. The two double-traitors sat across, with their aides. Clouds of witnesses. She wanted to be alone with Aral, be rid of the whole bloody mob of them. Soon.

Aral’s eyes locked to hers in silent agony. His lips curled in an utterly ironic smile. That was all; and yet her stomach warmed with confidence again, sure of him. No frost. It was going to be all right. They were in step again, and a torrent of words and hard embraces could not have communicated it any better. Embraces would come, though, the grey eyes promised. Her own lips curved up for the first time since—when?

Count Piotr’s hand slapped down hard upon the table. “Good God, woman, where have you been?” he cried furiously.

A morbid lunacy overtook her. She smiled fiercely at him, and held up the bag. “Shopping.”

For a second, the old man nearly believed her; conflicting expressions whiplashed over his face, astonishment, disbelief, then anger as it penetrated he was being mocked.

“Want to see what I bought?” Cordelia continued, still floating. She yanked the bag’s top open, and rolled Vordarian’s head out across the table. Fortunately, it had ceased leaking some hours back. It stopped faceup before him, lips grinning, drying eyes staring.

Piotr’s mouth fell open. Kanzian jumped, the staffers swore, and one of Vordarian’s traitors actually fell out of his chair, recoiling. Vortala pursed his lips and raised his brows. Koudelka, grimly proud of his key role in stage-managing this historic moment in one-upsmanship, laid the swordstick on the table as further evidence. Illyan puffed, and grinned triumphantly through his shock.