Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [233]
"Why have you been gone so long, sir?" Chodak's tone was almost accusatory.
"It wasn't my intention," Miles temporized. "For a portion of the time I was a prisoner in a . . . place I'd rather not describe. I only escaped about three months back." Well, that was one way of describing Kyril Island.
"You, sir! We could have rescued—"
"No, you couldn't have," Miles said sharply. "The situation was one of extreme delicacy. It was resolved to my satisfaction. But I was then faced with . . . considerable clean-up in areas of my operations other than the Dendarii fleet. Far-flung areas. Sorry, but you people are not my only concern. Nevertheless, I'm worried. I should have heard more from Commodore Jesek." Indeed, he should have.
"Commodore Jesek no longer commands. There was a financial reorganization and command restructuring, about a year ago, through the committee of captain-owners and Admiral Oser. Spearheaded by Admiral Oser."
"Where is Jesek?"
"He was demoted to fleet engineer."
Disturbing, but Miles could see it. "Not necessarily a bad thing. Jesek was never as aggressive as, say, Tung. And Tung?"
Chodak shook his head. "He was demoted from chief-of-staff to personnel officer. A nothing-job."
"That seems . . . wasteful."
"Oser doesn't trust Tung. And Tung doesn't love Oser, either. Oser's been trying to force him out for a year, but he hangs on, despite the humiliation of . . . um. It's not easy to get rid of him. Oser can't afford—yet—to decimate his staff, and too many key people are personally loyal to Tung."
Miles's eyebrow rose. "Including yourself?"
Chodak said distantly, "He got things done. I considered him a superior officer."
"So did I."
Chodak nodded shortly. "Sir . . . the thing is . . . the man who was with me in the cafeteria is my senior here. And he's one of Oser's. I can't think of any way short of killing him to stop him reporting our encounter."
"I have no desire to start a civil war in my own command structure," said Miles mildly. Yet. "I think it's more important that he not suspect you spoke to me privately. Let him report. I've struck deals with Admiral Oser before, to our mutual benefit."
"I'm not sure Oser thinks so, sir. I think he thinks he was screwed."
Miles barked a realistic laugh. "What, I doubled the size of the fleet during the Tau Verde war. Even as third officer, he ended up commanding more than he had before, a smaller slice of a bigger pie."
"But the side he originally contracted us to lost."
"Not so. Both sides gained from that truce we forced. It was a win-win result, except for a little lost face. What, can't Oser feel he's won unless somebody else loses?"
Chodak looked grim. "I think that may be the case, sir. He says—I've heard him say—you ran a scam on us. You were never an admiral, never an officer of any kind. If Tung hadn't double-crossed him, he'd have kicked your ass to hell." Chodak's gaze on Miles was broodingly thoughtful. "What were you really?"
Miles smiled gently. "I was the winner. Remember?"
Chodak snorted, half-amused. "Yee-ah."
"Don't let poor Oser's revisionist history fog your mind. You were there."
Chodak shook his head ruefully. "You didn't really need my warning, did you." He moved to stand up.
"Never assume anything. And, ah . . . take care of yourself. That means, cover your ass. I'll remember you, later."
"Sir." Chodak nodded. Overholt, waiting in the corridor in a quasi-Imperial Guardsman pose, escorted him firmly to the shuttle hatch.
Miles sat in the wardroom, and nibbled gently on the rim of his coffee cup, considering certain surprising parallels between command restructuring in a free mercenary fleet and the internecine wars of the Barrayaran Vor. Might the mercenaries be thought of as a miniature, simplified, or laboratory version of the real thing? Oser should have been around during the Vordarian's Pretendership, and seen how the big boys operate. Still, Miles had best not underestimate the potential dangers and complexities of the situation. His death in a miniature conflict