Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [255]
"I tried," muttered Elena. "Although . . . I suppose, I couldn't help hoping a bit myself. Maybe you'd . . . quit your other project, come back to us."
If I flunked out of the Academy, eh? "It wasn't a project I could quit, short of death."
"I know that now."
"In five minutes, max," put in Arde Mayhew, "I've either got to lock into the transfer station traffic control for docking, or else cut for the Ariel. Which is it going to be, folks?"
"I can put over a hundred loyal officers and non-coms at your back at a word," said Tung to Miles. "Four ships."
"Why not at your own back?"
"If I could, I would have already. But I'm not going to tear the fleet apart unless I can be certain of putting it back together again. All of it. But with you as leader, with your reputation—which has grown in the retelling—"
"Leader? Or figurehead?" The image of that pike bobbed in Miles's mind's eye again.
Tung's hands opened noncommittally. "As you wish. The bulk of the officer cadre will go for the winning side. That means we must appear to be winning quickly, if we move at all. Oser has about another hundred personally loyal to himself, who we're going to have to physically overpower if he insists on holding out—which suggests to my mind that a well-timed assassination could save a lot of lives."
"Jolly. I think you and Oser have been working together too long, Ky. You're starting to think alike. Again. I did not come here to seize command of a mercenary fleet. I have other priorities." He schooled himself not to glance at Gregor.
"What higher priorities?"
"How about, preventing a planetary civil war? Maybe an interstellar one?"
"I have no professional interest in that." It almost succeeded in being a joke.
Indeed, what were Barrayar's agonies to Tung? "You do if you're on the doomed side. You only get paid for winning, and only get to spend your pay if you live, mercenary."
Tung's narrow eyes narrowed further. "What do you know that I don't? Are we on the doomed side?"
I am, if I don't get Gregor back. Miles shook his head. "Sorry. I can't talk about that. I've got to get to—" Pol closed to him, the Consortium station blocked, and now Aslund become even more dangerous, "Vervain." He glanced at Elena. "Get us both to Vervain."
"You working for the Vervani?" Tung asked.
"No."
"Who, then?" Tung's hands twitched, so tense with his curiosity they seemed to want to squeeze out information by main force.
Elena noticed the unconscious gesture too. "Ky, back off," she said sharply. "If Miles wants Vervain, Vervain he shall have."
Tung looked at Elena, at Mayhew. "Do you back him, or me?"
Elena's chin lifted. "We're both oath-sworn to Miles. Baz too."
"And you have to ask why I need you?" said Tung in exasperation to Miles, gesturing at the pair. "What is this larger game, that you all seem to know all about, and I, nothing?"
"I don't know anything," chirped Mayhew. "I'm just going by Elena."
"Is this a chain of command, or a chain of credulity?"
"There's a difference?" Miles grinned.
"You've exposed us, by coming here," Tung argued. "Think! We help you, you leave, we're left naked to Oser's wrath. There's too many witnesses already. There might be safety in victory, none in half-measures."
Miles looked with anguish at Elena, picturing her, quite vividly in light of his recent experiences, being shoved out an air lock by evil, witless goons. Tung noted with satisfaction the effect of his plea on Miles and sat smugly back. Elena glared at Tung.
Gregor stirred uneasily. "I think . . . should you become refugees on Our behalf," (Elena, Miles saw, heard that official capital O too, as Tung and Mayhew of course could not) "We can see that you do not suffer. Financially, at least."
Elena nodded understanding and acceptance. Tung leaned toward Elena, jerking his thumb at Gregor. "All right, who is this guy?" Elena shook her head mutely.
Tung vented a small hiss. "You've no means of support visible to me, son. What if we become corpses on your behalf?"