Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [90]
"What mission!"
"Sh, not so loud. I'm on a secret mission for the President. Personally. It's so delicate, even the Department of War doesn't know about it. There'd be heavy political repercussions if it ever got out. I have to deliver a secret ultimatum to the Emperor of Barrayar. But no one must know I've left Beta Colony."
"Am I supposed to take you there?" he asked, amazed. "My freight run—"
I believe I could talk this kid into running me all the way to Barrayar on his employer's fuel, she thought. But it would be the end of his career. Conscience controlled soaring ambition.
"No, no. Your freight run must appear to be exactly the same as usual. I'm to meet a secret contact on Escobar. You'll simply be carrying one article of freight that isn't on the manifest. Me."
"I'm not cleared for passengers, ma'am."
"Good heavens, don't you think we know that? Why do you suppose you were picked over all the other candidates, by the President himself?"
"Wow. And I didn't even vote for him."
He took her aboard the freighter shuttle, and made her a seat among the last-minute cargo. "You know all the big names in Survey, don't you, ma'am? Lightner, Parnell . . . Do you suppose you could ever introduce me?"
"I don't know. But—you will get to meet a lot of the big names from the Expeditionary Force, and Security, when you get back from Escobar. I promise." Will you ever . . .
"May I ask you a personal question, ma'am?"
"Why not? Everyone else does."
"Why are you wearing slippers?"
She stared down at her feet. "I'm—sorry, Pilot Officer Mayhew. That's classified."
"Oh." He went forward to lift ship.
Alone at last, she leaned her forehead against the cool smooth plastic side of a packing case, and wept silently for herself.
Chapter Fourteen
It was about noon, local time, when the lightflyer she had rented in Vorbarr Sultana brought her over the long lake. The shore was bordered by vine-garlanded slopes backed in turn by steep, scrub-covered hills. The population here was thinly scattered, except around the lake, which had a village at its foot. A cliffed headland at the water's edge was crowned by the ruins of an old fortification. She circled it, rechecking her map on which it was a principle landmark. Counting northward from it past three large properties, she brought her flyer down on a driveway that wound up the slope to a fourth.
A rambling old house built of native stone blended with the vegetation into the side of the hill. She retracted the wings, killed the engine, pocketed the keys, and sat staring uncertainly at its sun-warmed front.
A tall figure in a strange brown and silver uniform ambled around the corner. He bore a weapon in a holster on his hip, and his hand rested on it caressingly. She knew then that Vorkosigan must be nearby, for it was Sergeant Bothari. He looked to be in good health, at least physically.
She hopped out of the lightflyer. "Uh, good afternoon, Sergeant. Is Admiral Vorkosigan at home?"
He stared at her, narrow-eyed, then his face seemed to clear, and he saluted her. "Captain Naismith. Ma'am. Yes."
"You're looking a lot better than when we last met."
"Ma'am?"
"On the flagship. At Escobar."
He looked troubled. "I—can't remember Escobar. Admiral Vorkosigan says I was there."
"I see." Took away your memory, did they? Or did you do it yourself? No telling now. "I'm sorry to hear that. You served bravely."
"Did I? I was discharged, after."
"Oh? What's the uniform?"
"Count Vorkosigan's livery, ma'am. He took me into his personal guard."
"I'm—sure you'll serve him well. May I see Admiral Vorkosigan?"
"He's around back, ma'am. You can go up." He wandered away, evidently making some kind of patrol circuit.
She trudged around the house, the sun warm on her back, kicking at the unaccustomed skirts of her dress and making them swirl about her knees. She had bought it yesterday in Vorbarr Sultana, partly for fun, mostly because her old tan Survey fatigues with the insignia taken off collected stares in the streets. Its dark floral pattern pleased her eye. Her hair hung