Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [267]
206 bones in the human body. 206 days. Illyan ought to be able to catch up with us in 206 days. Miles smiled bleakly.
Metzov looked too comfortable to arise and initiate this plan immediately, though. This speculative conversation scarcely constituted a serious interrogation. But if not for interrogation, nor revenge-tortures, why was the man here?
His lover threw him out, he felt lonely and strange and wanted someone familiar to talk to. Even a familiar enemy. It was weirdly understandable. But for the Komarr invasion, Metzov had probably never set foot off Barrayar in his life. A life spent mostly in the constrained, ordered, predictable world-within-a-world of the Imperial military. Now the rigid man was adrift, and faced with more free-will choices than he'd ever imagined. God. The maniac's homesick. Chilling insight.
"I'm beginning to think I may have accidentally done you a good turn," Miles began. If Metzov was in a talking mood, why not encourage him? "Cavilo's certainly better-looking than your last commander."
"She is that."
"Is the pay higher?"
"Everyone pays more than the Imperial Service," Metzov snorted.
"Not boring, either. On Kyril Island, every day was like every other day. Here, you don't know what's going to happen next. Or does she confide in you?"
"I'm essential to her plans." Metzov practically smirked.
"As a bedroom warrior? Thought you were infantry. Switching specialties, at your age?"
Metzov merely smiled. "Now you're getting obvious, Vorkosigan."
Miles shrugged. If so, I'm the only obvious thing here. "As I recall, you didn't think much of women soldiers. Cavilo seems to have made you change your tune."
"Not at all." Metzov sat back smugly. "I expect to be in command of Randall's Rangers in six months."
"Isn't this cell monitored?" Miles asked, startled. Not that he cared how much trouble Metzov's mouth bought him, but still. . . .
"Not at present."
"Cavilo planning to retire, is she?"
"There are a number of ways her retirement might be expedited. The fatal accident Cavilo arranged for Randall might easily be repeated. Or I might even work out a way to charge her with it, since she was stupid enough to brag about murder in bed."
That was no boast, that was a warning, dunderhead. Miles's eyes nearly crossed, imagining pillow-talk between Metzov and Cavilo. "You two must have a lot in common. No wonder you get on so well."
Metzov's amusement thinned. "I have nothing in common with that mercenary slut. I was an Imperial officer." Metzov glowered. "Thirty-five years. And they wasted me. Well, they'll discover their mistake."
Metzov glanced at his chrono. "I still don't understand your presence here. Are you sure there isn't something else you want to say to me now, privately, before you say everything tomorrow to Cavilo under fast-penta?"
Cavilo and Metzov, Miles decided, had set up the old interrogation game of good-guy-bad-guy. Except they'd gotten their signals mixed, and both accidentally taken the part of bad-guy. "If you really want to be helpful, get Gregor to the Barrayaran Consul. Or even just get out a message that he's here."
"In good time, we may. Given suitable terms." Metzov's eyes were narrowed, studying Miles. As puzzled by Miles as Miles by him? After a stretched silence, Metzov called the guard on his wrist comm, and withdrew, with no more violent parting threat than "See you tomorrow, Vorkosigan." Sinister enough.
I don't understand your presence here either, Miles thought as the door hissed closed and the lock beeped. Clearly, some kind of planetary ground-attack was in the planning stage. Were Randall's Rangers to spearhead a Vervani invasion force? Cavilo had met secretly with a high-ranking Jackson's Consortium representative. Why? To guarantee Consortium neutrality during the coming attack? That made excellent sense, but why hadn't the Vervani dealt directly? So they could disavow Cavilo's arrangements if the balloon went up too early?
And who, or what, was the target? Not the Consortium Station,