Miles in Love - Lois McMaster Bujold [159]
Soudha snorted. One corner of Miles's mouth tilted up in unwilling response. Yeah, Soudha knows all about that one, too.
Foscol leaned forward. "This is all a smoke screen. Captain Vorgier said they were sending for a jumpship. Where is it?"
"Vorgier was lying for time, which was his clear duty. There will not be a jumpship." Shit, that did it. There were only two ways this could go now. There were only two ways it could go before.
"We have a pair of hostages. Do we have to space one of them to prove we're serious?"
"I believe you are deathly serious. Which one gets to watch, the aunt or the niece?" Miles asked softly, settling back again. "You claim to not be mad terrorists, and I believe you. You're not. Yet. You are also not murderers; I actually accept that all the deaths you've left in your wake were accidents. So far. But I also know that line gets easier to slip over with practice. Please observe that you have now gone as far as you can without turning yourselves into a perfect replica of enemy you set out to oppose."
He let those last words hang in the air for a time, for emphasis.
"Vorkosigan's right, I think," said Soudha unexpectedly. "We've come to the end of our choices. Or to the beginning of another set. One that isn't the set I signed up for."
"We have to stick together, or it's no good," said Foscol urgently. "If we have to space one of them, I vote for that hell-cat Vorsoisson."
"Would you do it with your own hands?" said Soudha slowly. "Because I think I decline."
"Even after what she did to us?"
What in God's name did gentle Ekaterin do to you? Miles kept his expression as blank as he could, his body still.
Soudha hesitated. "Seems it made no difference after all."
Cappell and Madame Radovas both began to speak at once, but Soudha held up a restraining hand. He blew out his breath like a man in pain. "No. Let us continue as we began. The choice is plain. Stop now—unconditional surrender—or call Vorkosigan's bluff. Now, it's no secret to you I thought the time to go into hiding for a later try was before we ever left Komarr."
"I'm sorry I voted against you the last time," Cappell said to Soudha.
Soudha shrugged. "Yeah, well . . . If we're going to quit, the time's come."
No, it hasn't, Miles thought frantically. This was too abrupt. There was time for another ten hours of chit chat at the very least. He wanted to slide them to surrender, not stampede them to suicide. Or murder. If they believed him about the defects of their device, as they appeared to, it must soon occur to them that they could hold the whole station hostage, if they didn't mind the self-immolating aspect. Well, if they weren't going to think of that themselves, far be it from him to point it out. He leaned back in his station chair, and chewed on the side of his finger, and watched, and listened.
"There's no benefit in waiting, either way," Soudha went on. "The risk increases every minute. Lena?"
"No surrender," said Foscol sturdily. "We go on." And more bleakly, "Somehow."
"Cappell?"
The mathematician hesitated a long time. "I can't stand that Marie died for nothing. Hold out."
"Myself . . ." Soudha let his big square hand fall open. "Stop. Now that we've lost surprise, this goes nowhere. The only question is how long it takes to arrive." He turned to Madame Radovas.
"Oh. My turn already? I didn't want to go last."
"Yours would be the tie-breaking vote in any case," said Soudha.
Madame Radovas fell silent, staring out the control booth's glass—at the airlock door, across the bay? Miles's gaze could not help following hers; her turn back caught him at it, and he flinched.
You've done it now, boy. Ekaterin's life and your soul's oath ride on a frigging Komarran shareholders' debate. How did you let this happen? This wasn't in the plans . . . . His eye relocated, and ignored, the code on his comconsole that would launch Vorgier and his waiting troops.
Madame Radovas's gaze returned to window. She said, to no one in particular, "Our safety before always depended on secrecy. Now even if we