Miles, Mutants and Microbes - Lois McMaster Bujold [292]
"I'll"—Corbeau swallowed—"think about it. My lord."
"Excellent." And not readily stampeded, either, good. "Do so." Miles smiled and waved dismissal; warily, Corbeau withdrew. As soon as he was out of earshot, Miles murmured a code into his wrist com.
"Ekaterin, love? Where are you?"
"In my cabin on the Prince Xav. The nice young yeoman is getting ready to help carry my things to the shuttle. Yes, thank you, that too . . ."
"Right. I've just about cracked us loose from Quaddiespace. Greenlaw was reasonable, or at least, too exhausted to argue any more."
"She has all my sympathy. I don't think I have a functional nerve left, right now."
"Don't need your nerves, just your usual grace. The moment you can get to a comconsole, call up Garnet Five. I want to appoint that heroic young idiot Corbeau to be Barrayaran consul here, and make him clean up all this mess I have to leave in my wake. It's only fair; he certainly helped create it. Gregor did specifically ask that I assure that Barrayaran ships could dock here again someday. The boy is wobbling, however. So pitch it to Garnet Five, and make sure that she makes sure Corbeau says yes."
"Oh! What a splendid idea, love. They would make a good team, I think."
"Yep. Her for beauty, and um . . . her for brains."
"And him for courage, surely. I think it might work out. I must think what to send them for a wedding present, to convey my personal thanks."
"Partnering present? I don't know, ask Nicol. Oh. Speaking of Nicol." Miles glanced aside at the sheeted figure in the next bunk. Crucial message delivered, Thorne had fallen back into what Miles hoped was sleep and not incipient coma. "I'm thinking that Bel really ought to have someone to ride along and take care of it. Or of things for it. Some kind of support trooper, anyway. I expect the Star Crèche will have a fix for their own weapon—they'd have to, lab accidents, after all." If we get there in time. "But this looks like something that's going to involve a certain amount of really unpleasant convalescence. I'm not exactly looking forward to it myself." But consider the alternative . . . "Ask her if she's willing. She could ride in the Kestrel with you, be some company, anyway." And if neither he nor Bel got out of this alive, mutual support.
"Certainly. I'll call her from here."
"Call me again when you're safe aboard the Kestrel, love." Often and often.
"Of course." Her voice hesitated. "Love you. Get some rest. You sound like you need it. Your voice has that down-in-a-well sound it gets when . . . There will be time." Determination flashed through her own audible fatigue.
"I wouldn't dare die. There's this fierce Vor lady who threatened she'd kill me if I did." He grinned weakly and cut the com.
He drowsed for a time in dizzy exhaustion, fighting the sleep that tried to overtake him, because he couldn't be sure it wasn't the ba's hell-disease gaining on him, and he might not wake up. He marked a subtle change in the sounds and voices that penetrated from the outer chamber, as the medical team switched over to evacuation-mode. In time, a tech came and took Bel away on a float pallet. In a little more time, the pallet was returned, and Clogston himself and another medtech shifted the Imperial Auditor and all his growing array of life-support trappings aboard.
One of the intelligence officers reported to Miles, during a brief delay in the outer chamber.
"We finally found the remains of Lieutenant Solian, my Lord Auditor. What there was of them. A few kilograms of . . . well. Inside a bod pod, folded up and put back in its wall locker in