Miles, Mystery & Mayhem - Lois McMaster Bujold [74]
"A personal failing."
"And . . . do you have any supporting evidence for your explanation of yourself?"
"Certainly." Miles stared thoughtfully into the air, as if about to pull his words from the thinnest part. "Consider, sir. All other ImpSec courier officers have an implanted allergy to fast-penta. It renders them interrogation-proof to illicit questioners, at fatal cost. Due to my rank and relations, that was judged too dangerous a procedure to do to me. Therefore, I am qualified for only the lowest-security sort of missions. It's all nepotism."
"Very . . . convincing."
"It wouldn't be much good if it weren't, sir."
"True." Another long pause. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me—Lieutenant?"
"When I return to Barrayar, I will be giving a complete report of my m— excursion to Simon Illyan. I'm afraid you'll have to apply to him. It is definitely not within my authority to try to guess what he will wish to tell you."
There, whew. He'd told no lies at all, technically, even by implication. Yeah. Be sure and point that out when they play a transcript of this conversation at your future court-martial. But if Vorreedi chose to construe that Miles was a covert ops agent working on the highest levels and in utmost secrecy, it was no less than perfectly true. The fact that his mission here was spontaneously self-appointed and not assigned from above was . . . another order of problem altogether.
"I . . . could add a philosophical observation."
"Please do, my lord."
"You don't hire a genius to solve the most intractable imaginable problem, and then hedge him around with a lot of rules, nor try to micro-manage him from two weeks' distance. You turn him loose. If all you need is somebody to follow orders, you can hire an idiot. In fact, an idiot would be better suited."
Vorreedi's fingers drummed lightly on his comconsole desk. Miles felt the man might have tackled an intractable problem or two himself, in his past. Vorreedi's brows rose. "And do you consider yourself a genius, Lord Vorkosigan?" he asked softly. Vorreedi's tone of voice made Miles's skin crawl, it reminded him so much of his father's when Count Vorkosigan was about to spring some major verbal trap.
"My intelligence evaluations are in my personnel file, sir."
"I've read it. That's why we're having this conversation." Vorreedi blinked, slowly, like a lizard. "No rules at all?"
"Well, one rule, maybe. Deliver success or pay with your ass."
"You have held your current post for almost three years, I see, Lieutenant Vorkosigan. . . .Your ass is still intact, is it?"
"Last time I checked, sir." For the next five days, maybe.
"This suggests astonishing authority and autonomy."
"No authority at all. Just responsibility."
"Oh, dear." Vorreedi pursed his lips very thoughtfully indeed. "You have my sympathy, Lord Vorkosigan."
"Thank you, sir. I need it." Into the all-too-meditative silence that followed Miles added, "Do we know if Lord Yenaro survived the night?"
"He disappeared, so we think he has. He was last seen leaving the Moon Garden Hall with a roll of carpet over his shoulder." Vorreedi cocked an inquiring eye at Miles. "I have no explanation for the carpet."
Miles ignored the broad hint, responding instead with, "Are you so sure that disappearance equates with his survival? What about his stalker?"
"Hm." Vorreedi smiled. "Shortly after we left him he was picked up by the Cetagandan Civil Police, who still have him in close custody."
"They did this on their own?"
"Let's say they received an anonymous tip. It seemed the socially responsible thing to do. But I must say, the Civils responded to it with admirable efficiency. He appears to be of interest to them for some previous work."
"Did he have time to report in to his employers, before he was canned?"
"No."
So, Lord X was in an information vacuum this morning. He wouldn't like that one bit. The mis-fire of yesterday's plot must make him