Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [218]
"Airtight security, you said," murmured Count Vorkosigan, unsuccessfully suppressing a wheezing laugh. "The most expensive yet devised. Proof against the cleverest viruses, the most sophisticated eavesdropping equipment. And two ensigns waft right through it?"
Goaded, Illyan snapped, "I didn't promise it was idiot-proof!"
Count Vorkosigan wiped his eyes and sighed. "Ah, the human factor. We will correct the defect, Miles. Thank you."
"You're a bloody loose cannon, boy, firing in all directions," Illyan growled to Miles, craning his neck to see over his desk to where Miles sat in a slumping heap. "This, on top of your earlier escapade with those damned mercenaries, on top of it all—house arrest isn't enough. I won't sleep through the night till I have you locked in a cell with your hands tied behind your back."
Miles, who thought he might kill for a decent hour's sleep right now, could only shrug. Maybe Illyan could be persuaded to let him go to that nice quiet cell soon.
Count Vorkosigan had fallen silent, a strange thoughtful glow starting in his eye. Illyan noticed the expression too, and paused.
"Simon," said Count Vorkosigan, "there's no doubt ImpSec will have to go on watching Miles. For his sake, as well as mine."
"And the Emperor's," put in Illyan dourly. "And Barrayar's. And the innocent bystanders'."
"But what better, more direct and efficient way for security to watch him than if he is assigned to Imperial Security?"
"What?" said Illyan and Miles together, in the same sharp horrified tone. "You're not serious," Illyan went on, as Miles added, "Security was never on my top-ten list of assignment choices."
"Not choice. Aptitude. Major Cecil discussed it with me at one time, as I recall. But as Miles says, he didn't put it on his list."
He hadn't put Arctic Weatherman on his list either, Miles recalled.
"You had it right the first time," said Illyan. "No commander in the Service will want him now. Not excepting myself."
"None that I could, in honor, lean on to take him. Excepting yourself. I have always," Count Vorkosigan flashed a peculiar grin, "leaned on you, Simon."
Illyan looked faintly stunned, as a top tactician beginning to see himself outmaneuvered.
"It works on several levels," Count Vorkosigan went on in that same mild persuasive voice. "We can put it about that it's an unofficial internal exile, demotion in disgrace. It will buy off my political enemies, who would otherwise try to stir profit from this mess. It will tone down the appearance of our condoning a mutiny, which no military service can afford."
"True exile," said Miles. "Even if unofficial and internal."
"Oh yes," Count Vorkosigan agreed softly. "But, ah—not true disgrace."
"Can he be trusted?" said Illyan doubtfully.
"Apparently." The count's smile was like the gleam off a knife blade. "Security can use his talents. Security more than any other department needs his talents."
"To see the obvious?"
"And the less obvious. Many officers may be trusted with the Emperor's life. Rather fewer with his honor."
Illyan, reluctantly, made a vague acquiescent gesture. Count Vorkosigan, perhaps prudently, did not troll for greater enthusiasm from his Security chief at this time, but turned to Miles and said, "You look like you need an infirmary."
"I need a bed."
"How about a bed in an infirmary?"
Miles coughed, and blinked blearily. "Yeah, that'd do."
"Come on, we'll find one."
He stood, and staggered out on his father's arm, his feet squishing in their plastic bags.
"Other than that, how was Kyril Island, Ensign Vorkosigan?" inquired the Count. "You didn't vid home much, your mother noticed."
"I was busy. Lessee. The climate was ferocious, the terrain was lethal, a third of the population including my immediate superior was dead drunk most of the time. The average IQ equalled the mean temperature in degrees cee, there wasn't a woman for five hundred kilometers in any direction, and the base commander was a homicidal psychotic. Other than that, it was lovely."
"Doesn't sound like it's changed in the smallest detail