Miles Errant - Lois McMaster Bujold [382]
Miles swallowed, and broke it. "I can't let you go back to command of the Ariel," he said.
"I know," said Bel.
"It would be bad for fleet discipline."
"I know," said Bel.
"It's . . . not just. If you had been a dishonest herm, and kept your mouth shut, and kept on pretending to have been fooled by Mark, no one would ever have known."
"I know," said Bel. It added after a moment, "I had to get my command back, in the emergency. I didn't think I could let Mark go on giving orders. Too dangerous."
"To those who'd followed you."
"Yes. And . . . I would have known," added Bel.
"Captain Thorne," Admiral Naismith sighed, "I must request your resignation."
"You have it, sir."
"Thank you." And that was done. So fast. He thought back over the scattered pictures in his head of Mark's raid. There were still pieces missing, he was pretty sure. But there had been deaths; too many deaths had made it irredeemable. "Do you know . . . what happened to Phillipi? She'd had a chance, I thought."
Mark and Bel exchanged a look. Bel answered. "She didn't make it."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."
"Cryo-revival is a chancy business," sighed Bel. "We all undertake the risks, when we sign on."
Mark frowned. "It doesn't seem fair. Bel loses its career, and I get off free."
Bel stared a moment at Mark's beaten, bloated body, huddled down in Lilly's big chair; its brows rose slightly.
"What do you plan to do, Bel?" asked Miles carefully. "Go home to Beta Colony? You've talked about it."
"I don't know," said Bel. "It's not for lack of thinking. I've been thinking for weeks. I'm not sure I'd fit in at home anymore."
"I've been thinking myself," said Miles. "A prudent thought. It strikes me that certain parties on my side would be less paranoid about the idea of you running around the wormhole nexus with a head full of Barrayaran classified secrets if you were still on Illyan's payroll. An informant—perhaps an agent?"
"I don't have Elli Quinn's talents for scam," Bel said. "I was a shipmaster."
"Shipmasters get to some interesting places. They are in position to pick up all kinds of information."
Bel tilted its head. "I will . . . seriously consider it."
"I assume you don't want to cash out here on Jackson's Whole?"
Bel laughed outright. "No shit."
"Think about it, then, on the way back to Escobar. Talk to Quinn. Decide by the time you get there, and let her know."
Bel nodded, rose, and looked around Lilly Durona's quiet living room. "I'm not altogether sorry, you know," it said to Mark. "One way or another, we've pulled almost ninety people out of this stinking gravity well. Out of certain death or Jacksonian slavery. Not a bad score, for an aging Betan. You can bet I'll remember them, too, when I remember this."
"Thank you," whispered Mark.
Bel eyed Miles. "Do you remember the first time we ever saw each other?" it asked.
"Yes. I stunned you."
"You surely did." It walked over to his chair, and bent, and took his chin in its hand. "Hold still. I've been wanting to do this for years." It kissed him, long and quite thoroughly. Miles thought about appearances, thought about the ambiguity of it, thought about sudden death, thought the hell with it all, and kissed Bel back. Straightening again, Bel smiled.
Voices floated from the lift tube, some Durona directing, "Right upstairs, ma'am."
Elena Bothari-Jesek rose behind the chromium railing, and swept the room with her gaze. "Hello, Miles, I have to talk with Mark," she said, all in a breath. Her eyes were dark and worried. "Can we go somewhere?" she asked Mark.
" 'D rather not get up," Mark said. His voice was so tired it slurred.
"Quite. Miles, Bel, please go away," she said straightly.
Puzzled, Miles rose to his feet. He gave her a look of inquiry; her return look said, Not now. Later. He shrugged. "Come on, Bel. Let's go see if we can lend anyone a hand." He wanted to find Rowan. He watched them as he descended