Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [76]
Sprague paused. "You're quite right. But I prefer to keep things on a casual basis."
"No, you don't. You prefer to keep things looking like they're on a casual basis. I appreciate the difference."
"You are a very interesting person, Captain Naismith."
"Yes, well, there's more of you than there are of me. Suppose I agree to talk to you. Will you call off the rest of your dogs?"
"I'm here for you to talk to—but when you are ready."
"So, ask me what you want to know. Let's get this over with, so we can both relax." I could use a little therapy, at that, Cordelia thought wistfully. I feel so lousy. . . .
Sprague seated herself on the bed, a mild smile on her face and the utmost attention in her eyes. "I want to try and help you remember what happened during the time you were a prisoner aboard the Barrayaran flagship. Getting it into your consciousness, however horrible it was, is your first step to healing."
"Um, I think we may be at cross-purposes. I remember everything that happened during that time with the utmost clarity. I have no trouble getting it into my consciousness. What I would like is to get it out, at least long enough to sleep now and then."
"I see. Go on. Why don't you describe what happened?"
Cordelia gave an account of events, from the time of the wormhole jump from Beta Colony until after the murder of Vorrutyer, but ended it before Vorkosigan's entrance, saying vaguely, "I moved around to different hiding places on the ship for a couple of days, but they caught me in the end and put me back in the brig."
"So. You don't remember being tortured or raped by Admiral Vorrutyer, and you don't remember killing him."
"I wasn't. And I didn't. I thought I made that clear."
The doctor shook her head sorrowfully. "It's reported you were taken away from camp twice by the Barrayarans. Do you remember what happened during those times?"
"Yes, of course."
"Can you describe it?"
She balked. "No." The secret of the Prince's assassination would be nothing to the Escobarans—they could hardly dislike the Barrayarans any more than they did already—but the mere rumor of the truth could be devastating to civil order on Barrayar. Riots, military mutiny, the downfall of Vorkosigan's Emperor—those were just the beginnings of the possible consequences. If there was a civil war on Barrayar, could Vorkosigan be killed in it? God, please, thought Cordelia wearily, no more death . . .
Sprague looked tremendously interested. Cordelia felt pounced on. She amended herself. "There was an officer of mine, who was killed during the Betan survey of that planet—you know about that, I hope?" The doctor nodded. "They made arrangements to put a marker on his grave, at my request. That's all."
"I understand," Sprague sighed. "We had another case like yours. The girl had also been raped by Vorrutyer, or some of his men, and had it covered up by the Barrayaran medical people. I suppose they were trying to protect his reputation."
"Oh, I believe I met her, aboard the flagship. She was in my shelter, too, right?"
Sprague's surprised look confirmed it, although she made a little vague gesture indicating professional confidence.
"You're right about her," Cordelia went on. "I'm glad she's getting what she needs. But you're wrong about me. You're wrong about Vorrutyer's reputation, too. The whole reason they put out this stupid story about me was because they thought it would look worse for him to be killed by a weak woman than by one of his own combat soldiers."
"The physical evidence from your medical examination alone is enough to make me question that," said Sprague.
"What physical evidence?" asked Cordelia, momentarily bewildered.
"The evidence of torture," the doctor replied, looking grim, even a little angry. Not angry at her, Cordelia realized.
"What? I was never tortured!"
"Yes. An excellent cover-up. Outrageous—but they couldn't hide the physical traces. Are you aware that you had a broken arm, two broken ribs, numerous contusions on your neck, head, hands, arms—your whole body, in fact? And your biochemistry