[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]Ivan relaxed slightly, obviously relieved at this professional analysis. After a
minute he added, "Yenaro's done you now, and he's done me. Third time's a
charm. What's next, do you suppose? And can we do him first?"
Miles was silent for a long time. "That depends," he said at last, "on whether
Yenaro's merely amusing himself, or whether he too is being . . . set up. And
on whether there's any connection between Yenaro's backer and the death of
Ba Lura."
"Connection? What possible connection?"
"We are the connection, Ivan. A couple of Barrayaran backcountry boys come
to the big city, and ripe for the plucking. Somebody is using us. And I think
somebody . . . has just made a major mistake in his choice of tools." Or fools.
Ivan stared at his venomous tone. "Have you got rid of that little toy you're
packing yet?" he demanded suspiciously.
"Yes . . . and no."
"Oh, shit. I knew better than to trust-what the hell do you mean by Yes and
no? Either you have or you haven't, right?"
"The object has been returned, yes."
"That's that, then."
"No. Not quite."
"Miles . . . You had better start talking to me."
"Yes, I think I better had," Miles sighed. They were approaching the legation
district. "After you're done in the infirmary, I have a few confessions to make.
But if-when-you talk to the ImpSec night-duty officer about Yenaro, don't
mention the other. Yet."
"Oh?" drawled Ivan in a tone of deep suspicion.
"Things have gotten . . . complex."
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"You think they were simple before?"
"I mean complex beyond the scope of mere security concerns, into genuine
diplomatic ones. Of extreme delicacy. Maybe too delicate to submit to the sort
of booted paranoids who sometimes end up running local ImpSec offices.
That's a judgment call . . . that I'll have to make myself. When I'm sure I'm
ready. But this isn't a game anymore, and it's no longer feasible for me to run
without backup." I need help, God help me.
"We knew that yesterday."
"Oh, yes. But it's even deeper than I first thought."
"Over our heads?"
Miles hesitated, and smiled sourly. "I don't know, Ivan. How good are you at
treading water?"
Alone in his suite's bathroom, Miles slowly peeled off his black House
uniform, now in desperate need of attention from the embassy's laundry. He
glanced at himself sideways in the mirror, then resolutely looked away. He
considered the problem, as he stood in the shower. To the haut, all normal
humans doubtless looked like some lower life-form. From the haut Rian
Degtiar's foreshortened perspective, perhaps there was little to choose
between him and, say, Ivan.
And ghem-lords did win haut wives, from time to time, for great deeds. And
the Vor and the ghem-lords were very much alike. Even Maz had said so.
How great a deed? Very great. Well . . . he'd always wanted to save the
Empire. The Cetagandan just wasn't the empire he'd pictured, was all. Life
was like that, always throwing you curveballs.
You've gone mad, you know. To hope, to even think it . . .
If he defeated the late Dowager Empress's plot, might the Cetagandan
emperor be grateful enough to ... give him Rian's hand? If he advanced the
late Dowager Empress's plot, might the haut Rian Degtiar be grateful enough
to ... give him her love? To do both simultaneously would be a tactical feat of
supernatural scope.
Barrayar's interests lay, unusually, squarely with the interests of the
Cetagandan emperor. Obviously, it was his clear ImpSec duty to foil the girl
and save the villain.
Right. My head hurts.
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Reason was returning to him, slowly, the astonishing effect of the haut Rian
Degtiar wearing off. Wasn't it? She hadn't exactly tried to suborn him, after
all. Even if Rian was as ugly as the witch Baba Yaga, he'd still have to be
following up on this. To a point. He needed to prove Barrayar had not filched
the Great Key, and the only certain way of doing that was to find its real thief.
He wondered if one could get a hangover from excess passion. If so, his was
apparently starting while he was still drunk, which did not seem quite fair.
Eight Cetagandan satrap governors had been led into treason by the late
empress. Optimistic, to think that only one could be a murderer. But only one
possessed the real Great Key.
Lord X? Seven chances of guessing wrong, against one of guessing right. Not
favorable odds.
I'll . . . figure something out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ivan was taking a long time, downstairs in the infirmary. Miles shucked on
his black fatigues and, barefoot, fired up his comconsole for a quick review of
the eight haut-lord satrap governors.
The satrap governors were all chosen from a pool of men who were close
Imperial relations, half-brothers and uncles and great-uncles, in both
paternal and maternal lines. Two current office-holders were of the Degtiar
constellation. Each ruled his satrapy for a set term of only five years, then he
was required to shift-sometimes to permanent retirement back at the capital
on Eta Ceta, sometimes to another satrapy. A couple of the older and more
experienced men had cycled this way through the entire empire. The purpose
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