Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [217]
"Mm. So, Miles, tell me about the men on the other end of the guns."
"Techs, sir, mostly. A lot of greekies."
Illyan winced. "Good God, had the man no political sense at all?"
"None that I ever saw. I thought it would be a problem." Well, later he'd thought of it, lying awake on his cell cot after the med squad left. The other political ramifications had spun through his mind. Over half the slowly freezing techs had been of the Greek-speaking minority. The language separatists would have been rioting in the streets, had it become a massacre, sure to claim the general had ordered the greekies into the cleanup as racial sabotage. More deaths, chaos reverberating down the timeline like the consequences of the Solstice Massacre? "It . . . occurred to me, that if I died with them, at least it would be crystal clear that it hadn't been some plot of your government or the Vor oligarchy. So that if I lived, I won, and if I died, I won too. Or at least served. Strategy, of sorts."
Barrayar's greatest strategist of this century rubbed his temples, as if they ached. "Well . . . of sorts, yes."
"So," Miles swallowed, "what happens now, sirs? Will I be charged with high treason?"
"For the second time in four years?" said Illyan. "Hell, no. I'm not going through that again. I will simply disappear you, until this blows over. Where to, I haven't quite figured yet. Kyril Island is out."
"Glad to hear it." Miles's eyes narrowed. "What about the others?"
"The trainees?" said Illyan.
"The techs. My . . . fellow mutineers."
Illyan twitched at the term.
"It would be seriously unjust if I were to slither up some Vor-privileged line and leave them standing charges alone," Miles added.
"The public scandal of your trial would damage your father's Centrist coalition. Your moral scruples may be admirable, Miles, but I'm not sure I can afford them."
Miles stared steadily at Prime Minister Count Vorkosigan. "Sir?"
Count Vorkosigan sucked thoughtfully on his lower lip. "Yes, I could have the charges against them quashed, by Imperial fiat. That would involve another price, though." He leaned forward intently, eyes peeling Miles. "You could never serve again. Rumors will travel even without a trial. No commander would have you, after. None could trust you, trust you to be a real officer, not an artifact protected by special privilege. I can't ask anyone to command you with his head cranked over his shoulder all the time."
Miles exhaled, a long breath. "In a weird sense, they were my men. Do it. Kill the charges."
"Will you resign your commission, then?" demanded Illyan. He looked sick.
Miles felt sick, nauseous and cold. "I will." His voice was thin.
Illyan looked up suddenly from a blank brooding stare at his comconsole. "Miles, how did you know about General Metzov's questionable actions during the Komarr Revolt? That case was Security-classified."
"Ah . . . didn't Ivan tell you about the little leak in the ImpSec files, sir?"
"What?"
Damn Ivan. "May I sit down, sir?" said Miles faintly. The room was wavering, his head thumping. Without waiting for permission, he sat cross-legged on the carpet, blinking. His father made a worried movement toward him, then restrained himself. "I'd been checking upon Metzov's background because of something Lieutenant Ahn said. By the way, when you go after Metzov, I strongly suggest you fast-penta Ahn first. He knows more than he's told. You'll find him somewhere on the equator, I expect."
"My files, Miles."
"Uh, yes, well, it turns out that if you face a secured console to an outgoing console, you can read off Security files from anywhere in the vid net. Of course, you have to have somebody inside HQ who can and will aim the consoles and call up the files for you. And you can't flash-download. But I, uh, thought you should know, sir."
"Perfect security," said Count Vorkosigan in a choked voice. Chortling, Miles realized in startlement.
Illyan looked like a man sucking on a lemon. "How did you," Illyan began, stopped to glare at the Count, started again, "how did you figure this out?"
"It was