Miles, Mutants and Microbes - Lois McMaster Bujold [212]
Danger to us all indeed. "I don't know what's going on, here," said Miles. He let his voice sharpen. "And clearly, neither do you. This is no diplomatic chess game any more. Someone seems to be trying to start a damned war in here. They nearly succeeded."
She took a deep breath. "I am certain the person was acting alone."
Miles frowned thoughtfully. The hotheads are always with us, true. He lowered his voice. "For what? Retaliation? Did any of the quaddies injured by Vorpatril's strike force suddenly die last night?" He'd thought they all were on the recovering list. It was hard to imagine a quaddie relative or lover or friend taking bloody revenge for anything short of a fatality, but . . .
"No," said Greenlaw, her voice slowing as she considered this hypothesis. Regretfully, her voice firmed. "No. I would have been told."
So, Greenlaw was wishing for a simple explanation, too. But honest enough not to fool herself, at least.
His wrist com gave its high priority beep; he slapped it. "Yes?"
"My Lord Vorkosigan?" It was Admiral Vorpatril's voice, strained.
Not Ekaterin or Roic after all. Miles's heart climbed back down out of his throat. He tried not to let his voice go irritable. "Yes, Admiral?"
"Oh, thank God. We received a report that you were attacked."
"All over now. They missed. Station Security is here now."
There was a brief pause. Vorpatril's voice returned, fraught with implication: "My Lord Auditor, my fleet is on full alert, ready at your command."
Oh, crap. "Thank you, Admiral, but stand down, please," Miles said hastily. "Really. It's under control. I'll get back to you in a few minutes. Do nothing without my direct, personal orders!"
"Very well, my lord," said Vorpatril stiffly, still in a very suspicious tone. Miles cut the channel.
Greenlaw was staring at him. He explained to her, "I'm Gregor's Voice. To the Barrayarans, it's as if that quaddie had fired on the Emperor, almost. When I said someone had nearly started a war, it wasn't a figure of speech, Sealer Greenlaw. At home, this place would be crawling with ImpSec's best by now."
She cocked her head, her frown sharpening. "And how would an attack on an ordinary Barrayaran subject be treated? More casually, I daresay?"
"Not more casually, but on a lower organizational level. It would be a matter for their Count's District guard."
"So on Barrayar, what kind of justice you receive depends on who you are? Interesting. I do not regret to inform you, Lord Vorkosigan, that on Graf Station you will be treated like any other victim—no better, no worse. Oddly enough, this is no loss for you."
"How salutary for me," said Miles dryly. "And while you're proving how unimpressed you are with my Imperial authority, a dangerous killer remains at large. What will it be to lovely, egalitarian Graf Station if he goes for a less personal method of disposing of me next time, such as a large bomb? Trust me—even on Barrayar, we all die the same. Shall we continue this discussion in private?" The vidcams, evidently finished with Bel, were zooming back toward him.
His head swiveled around at a breathless cry of, "Miles!" Also zooming toward him was Ekaterin, Roic lumbering at her shoulder. Nicol and Garnet Five followed in floaters. Pale of face and wide of eye, Ekaterin strode across the detritus in the lobby, gripped his hands, and, at his crooked smile, hugged him fiercely. Fully conscious of the vidcams avidly circling, he hugged her back, making sure that no journalists alive, no matter how many arms or legs they possessed, could resist putting this one up front and center. A human-interest shot, yeah.
Roic said apologetically, "I tried to stop her, m'lord, but she insisted on coming here."
"It's all right," said Miles in a muffled voice.
Ekaterin murmured unhappily in his ear, "I thought this was a