Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [64]
Venne's face interrupted again. He was pale, with peculiar lines of tension running down to the corners of his mouth.
"Sir, I think you'd better come to the Tactics Room."
"I can't, Venne, without breaking arrest. Where's Commodore Helski, or Commodore Couer?"
"Helski went forward with the Prince and Admiral Vorhalas, sir. Commodore Couer is here now. You're the ranking flag officer aboard now."
"The Prince was quite explicit."
"The Prince—I believe the Prince is dead, sir."
Vorkosigan closed his eyes, and a sigh went out of him, joylessly. He opened them again, and leaned forward. "Is that confirmed? Do you have any new orders from Admiral Vorhalas?"
"It's—Admiral Vorhalas was with the Prince, sir. Their ship was hit." Venne turned away to view something over his shoulder, then turned back. "It's," he had to clear his throat, "it's confirmed. The Prince's flagship has been—obliterated. There's nothing left but debris. You're in command now, sir."
Vorkosigan's face was cold and unhappy. "Then transmit Contingency Blue orders at once. All ships cease firing immediately. Put all power into shields. This ship to make course for Escobar now at maximum boost. We've got to cut down on our transmission time lag."
"Contingency Blue, sir? That's full retreat!"
"I know, Commander. I wrote it."
"But full retreat . . ."
"Commander Venne, the Escobarans have a new weapon system. It's called a plasma mirror field. It's a new Betan development. It turns the attacker's burst back on itself. Our ships are shooting themselves down with their own firepower."
"My God! What can we do?"
"Not a damn thing, unless we want to start boarding their ships and strangling the bastards by hand, one at a time. Attractive, but impractical. Transmit those orders! And order the Commander of Engineers and the Chief Pilot Officer to the Tactics Room. And get the guard commander down here to relieve his men. I don't care to be stunned on the way out the door."
"Yes, sir!" Venne broke off.
"Got to get those troopships turned around first," muttered Vorkosigan, rising from his swivel chair. He turned to find both Cordelia and Illyan staring at him.
"How did you know—" began Illyan.
"—about the plasma mirrors?" finished Cordelia.
Vorkosigan was quite expressionless. "You told me, Cordelia, in your sleep, while Illyan was out. Under the influence of one of the surgeon's potions, of course. You'll suffer no ill effects from it."
She stood upright, aghast. "That—you miserable—torture would have been more honorable!"
"Oh, smooth, sir!" congratulated Illyan. "I knew you were all right!"
Vorkosigan shot him a look of dislike. "It doesn't matter. The information was confirmed too late to do us any good."
There was a knock on the door.
"Come on, Illyan. It's time to take my soldiers home."
Chapter Ten
Illyan came back promptly for Bothari, barely an hour later. This was followed for Cordelia by twelve hours alone. She considered escaping the room, as her soldierly duty, and engaging in a little one-woman sabotage. But if Vorkosigan was indeed directing a full retreat, it would hardly do to interfere.
She lay on his bed in a black weariness. He had betrayed her; he was no better than the rest of them. "My perfect warrior, my dear hypocrite"—and it appeared Vorrutyer had known him better than she, after all—no. That was unjust. He had done his duty, in extracting that information; she had done the same, in concealing it for as long as possible. And as one soldier to another, even if an ersatz one—five hours active service, was it?—she had to agree with Illyan, it had been smooth. She could detect no aftereffects at all in herself