Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [56]
Lieutenant Illyan frowned over this jesuitry. "The Emperor's intention—"
"Yes? Tell me all about the Emperor's intention." Vorkosigan looked savage.
"The Emperor's intention, as communicated to me, was that you be discouraged from incriminating yourself. I cannot edit my report, you know."
"That was your argument four weeks ago. You saw the result."
Illyan looked perturbed.
Vorkosigan spoke low and controlled. "Everything the Emperor requires of me will be accomplished. He's a great choreographer, and he shall have his dance of dreamers down to the last step." Vorkosigan's hand closed in a fist, and opened again. "I have withheld nothing that is mine from his service. Not my life. Not even my honor. Grant me this." He pointed at Cordelia. "You gave me your word on it then. Do you intend to take it back?"
"Will someone please tell me what you are talking about?" interrupted Cordelia.
"Lieutenant Illyan is having a little conflict at the moment between duty and conscience," said Vorkosigan, folding his arms and staring at the far wall. "It is not solvable without redefining one or the other, and he must now choose which."
"You see, there was another incident," Illyan jerked his thumb in the direction of Vorrutyer's quarters, "like that, with a prisoner, a few weeks ago. Commodore Vorkosigan wanted to, er, do something about it then. I talked him out of it. After—afterwards, I agreed that I would not interfere with any action he chose to take, should the situation come up again."
"Did Vorrutyer kill her?" asked Cordelia morbidly.
"No," said Illyan. He stared moodily at his boots.
"Come on, Illyan," said Vorkosigan wearily. "If they aren't discovered, you can give the Emperor your true report, and let him edit it. If they are found here—the public integrity of your reports is not going to be your most pressing worry, believe me."
"Damn! Captain Negri was right," said Illyan.
"He usually is—what was the instance?"
"He said that permitting private judgments to turn my duty in the smallest matter would be just like getting a little bit pregnant—that the consequences would very soon get beyond me."
Vorkosigan laughed. "Captain Negri is a very experienced man. But I can tell you that—very rarely—even he has been known to make a private judgment."
"But Security is tearing the place apart out there. They're going to arrive back here eventually just by process of elimination. The moment it occurs to someone to suspect my integrity, it's all over."
"In time," agreed Vorkosigan. "How much time, do you estimate?"
"They'll complete the search sweep of the ship in a few hours."
"Then you'll just have to re-direct their efforts. Widen their search area—didn't any ships depart the flag during the time window after Vorrutyer's death and before the security cordon was started?"
"Yes, two, but . . ."
"Good. Use your Imperial influence there. Volunteer all the assistance that you, as Captain Negri's most trusted aide, can supply. Mention Negri frequently. Suggest. Recommend. Doubt. Better not bribe or threaten, that's too obvious, although it may come to that. Slander their inspection procedures, make records evaporate—whatever is necessary to muddy the waters. Buy me forty-eight hours, Illyan. That's all I ask."
"All?" choked Illyan.
"Ah. Try to be sure it's you and no one else who brings meals and so on. And try to slip in some extra rations when you do."
* * *
Vorkosigan relaxed measurably when he had gone, and turned to her with a sad and awkward smile that was good as a touch. "Well met, lady."
She sketched him a salute, and returned the smile. "I hope I haven't messed things up for you too much. Personally, that is."
"By no means. In fact, you have simplified them enormously."
"East is west, up is down, and being falsely arrested for getting your C.O.'s throat cut is a simplification. I must be on Barrayar. I don't suppose you'd care to