Miles Errant - Lois McMaster Bujold [138]
"Why, sir?" said Miles, though he could damn well guess.
"For my peace of mind. When a simple precaution will prevent the slightest possibility of an accident, it's foolish not to take it. Do you understand?"
"Fully, sir."
"Very well. That's all. Destang out." The commodore's face dissolved in air.
Miles cursed out loud, with feeling. Destang's "precaution" could only mean that his Sector goons had spotted Mark already, before Miles's Dendarii had—and were moving in for the kill. How fast? Was there still a chance . . . ?
Miles slipped on his gray trousers, hung ready to hand, and dug the secured comm link from his pocket and keyed it on. "Ivan?" he spoke into it quietly. "You there?"
"Miles?" It was not Ivan's voice; it was Galeni's.
"Captain Galeni? I found the other half of the comm link . . . ah, are you alone?"
"At present." Galeni's voice was dry, conveying through no more than the tone his opinion of both the misplaced comm link story and those who invented it. "Why?"
"How'd you come by the comm link?"
"Your cousin handed it to me just before he departed on his duties."
"Left for where? What duties?" Was Ivan swept up for Destang's man-hunt? If so, Miles could happily throttle him for divesting Miles's ear on the proceedings just when it might have done the most good—skittish idiot!—if only—
"He's escorting the ambassador's lady to the World Botanical Exhibition and Ornamental Flower Show at the University of London's Horticulture Hall. She goes every year, to glad-hand the local social set. Admittedly, she is also interested in the topic."
Miles's voice rose slightly. "In the middle of a security crisis, you sent Ivan to a flower show?"
"Not I," denied Galeni. "Commodore Destang. I, ah—believe he felt Ivan could be most easily spared. He's not thrilled with Ivan."
"What about you?"
"He's not thrilled with me either."
"No, I mean, what are you doing? Are you directly involved with the . . . current operation?"
"Hardly."
"Ah. I'm relieved. I was a little afraid—somebody—might have gotten a short circuit in his head about requiring it of you as proof of loyalty or some damned thing."
"Commodore Destang is neither a sadist nor a fool." Galeni paused. "He's careful, however. I'm confined to quarters."
"You have no direct access to the operation, then. Like where they are, and how close, and when they plan to . . . make a move."
Galeni's voice was carefully neutral, neither offering nor denying help. "Not readily."
"Hm. He just ordered me confined to quarters too. I think he's had some sort of break, and things are coming to a head."
There was a brief silence. Galeni's words drifted out on a sigh. "Sorry to hear that . . ." His voice cracked. "It's so damned useless! The dead hand of the past goes on jerking the strings by galvanic reflex, and we poor puppets dance—nothing is served, not us, not him, not Komarr . . ."
"If I could make contact with your father," began Miles.
"It would be useless. He'll fight, and keep on fighting."
"But he has nothing, now. He blew his last chance. He's an old man, he's tired—he could be ready to change, to quit at last," Miles argued.
"I wish . . . no. He can't quit. Above life itself, he has to prove himself right. To be right redeems his every crime. To have done all that he's done, and be wrong—unbearable!"
"I . . . see. Well, I'll contact you again if I . . . have anything useful to say. There's, ah, no point in turning in the comm link till you have both halves, eh?"
"As you wish." Galeni's tone was not exactly fired with hope.
Miles shut down the comm link.
He called Thorne, who reported no visible progress.
"In the meantime," said Miles, "here's another lead for you. An unfortunate one. The team from the Barrayarans has evidently spotted our target within the last hour or so."
"Ha! Maybe we can follow them, and let them lead us to Galen."
"Afraid not. We have to get ahead of them, without treading on their toes. Their hunt is a lethal one."
"Armed and dangerous, eh? I'll pass the word." Thorne whistled thoughtfully.