Miles Errant - Lois McMaster Bujold [321]
"You know I don't think that!"
"Good. Then your argument annihilates itself."
"You tie me in knots." Illyan rubbed his neck. "Milady," he said at last, "I didn't want to have to say this to you. But have you considered the possible dangers of letting Lord Mark get to Lord Miles before anyone else?"
She leaned back in her chair, smiling, her fingers lightly drumming. "No, Simon. What dangers are you thinking of?"
"The temptation to promote himself," Illyan bit out.
"Murder Miles. Say what you damn mean." Her eyes glinted dangerously. "So you'll just have to make sure your people get to Miles first. Won't you. I've no objection."
"Damn it, Cordelia," he cried, harried, "you realize, that if they get into trouble, the first thing they're going to do is cry to ImpSec for rescue!"
The Countess grinned. "You live to serve, I believe you fellows say in your oath. Don't you?"
"We'll see," snapped Illyan, and cut the comm.
"What's he going to do?" asked Mark anxiously.
"At a guess, go over my head. Since I've already cut him out with Aral, that leaves only one choice. I don't think I'll bother getting up. I expect I'll get another call here shortly."
Distracted, Mark and Bothari-Jesek attempted to carry on with the ship specs. Mark jumped when the comm chimed again.
An anonymous young man appeared, nodded to the Countess, stated, "Lady Vorkosigan. Emperor Gregor," and vanished. Gregor's face appeared in his place, looking bemused.
"Good morning, Lady Cordelia. You really ought not to stir up poor Simon that way, you know."
"He deserved it," she said equably. "I admit, he has far too much on his mind at the moment. Suppressed panic turns him into a prick every time; it's what he does instead of running in circles screaming. A way of coping, I suppose."
"While others of us cope by becoming over-analytical," Gregor murmured. The Countess's lip twitched, and Mark suddenly thought he knew who might shave the barber.
"His security concerns are legitimate," Gregor continued. "Is this Jackson's Whole venture wise?"
"A question that can only be answered by empirical testing. So to speak. I grant you, Simon argues sincerely. But—how do you consider Barrayar's concerns will best be served, Sire? That's the question you must answer."
"I'm divided in mind."
"Are you divided in heart?" Her question was a challenge. She opened her hands, half-placation, half-pleading. "One way or another, you're going to be dealing with Lord Mark Vorkosigan for a long time to come. This excursion, if it does nothing else, will test the validity of all doubts. If they are not tested, they will always remain with you, an unanswered itch. And that's not fair to Mark."
"How very scientific," he breathed. They regarded each other with equal dryness.
"I thought it might appeal to you."
"Is Lord Mark with you?"
"Yes." The Countess gestured him to her side.
Mark entered the range of the vid pick-up. "Sire."
"So, Lord Mark." Gregor studied him gravely. "It seems your mother wants me to give you enough rope to hang yourself."
Mark swallowed. "Yes, Sire."
"Or save yourself . . ." Gregor nodded. "So be it. Good luck and good hunting."
"Thank you, Sire."
Gregor smiled and cut the comm.
They did not hear from Illyan again.
In the afternoon, the Countess took Mark with her to the Imperial Military Hospital on her daily visit to her husband. Mark had made that journey in her company twice before, since the Count's collapse. He didn't much care for it. For one thing, the place smelled entirely too much like the clinics that had helped make a torment of his Jacksonian youth; he found himself remembering details of early surgeries and treatments that he thought he'd altogether forgotten. For another, the Count