Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [277]
Miles exhaled slowly. "A fight . . . is exactly what Commander Cavilo wants. It's why she shipped me back gift-wrapped in that . . . undignified package. The Bod-pod of Discord. She doesn't care if I win or lose, as long as her enemy's forces are thrown into chaos just as she springs her surprise."
"Have you figured out what her surprise is, yet?"
"No. The Rangers were setting up for some sort of ground-attack, at one point. Sending me here suggests they're aiming for Aslund, against all strategic logic. Or something else? The woman's mind is incredibly twisted. Gah!" He slapped his fist gently into his palm in nervous rhythm. "I've got to talk to Oser. And he's got to listen this time. I've thought it over. Cooperation between us may be the one and only course of action Cavilo doesn't expect, doesn't have a half-sawn-through branch of her strategy-tree ready and waiting for me. . . . Are you willing to put it all on the line for me, Bel?"
Thorne pursed lips judiciously. "From here, yeah. The Ariel's the fleet's fastest ship. I can outrun retribution if I have to." Thorne grinned.
Should we run to Barrayar? No—Cavilo still held Gregor. Better appear to be following instructions. For a time yet.
* * *
Miles took a long breath, and settled himself firmly in the station chair in the Ariel's Nav and Com room. He'd cleaned up, and borrowed a mercenary's grey and white uniform from the smallest woman on the ship. The rolled-up pant cuffs were stuffed neatly out of sight down boots that almost fit. A belt covered the fastener gaping open at the too-narrow waistband. The loose jacket looked all right, sitting down. Permanent alterations later. He nodded to Thorne. "All right. Open your channel."
A buzz, a glitter, and Admiral Oser's hawk face materialized over the vid plate. "Yes, what is it—you!" His teeth shut with a beak's snap; his hand, a vague unfocused blur to the side, tapped on intercom keys and vid controls.
He can't throw me out the air lock this time, but he can cut me off. Time to talk fast.
Miles leaned forward and smiled. "Hello, Admiral Oser. I've completed my evaluation of Vervani forces in the Hegan Hub. And my conclusion is, you are in deep trouble."
"How did you get on this secured channel?" snarled Oser. "Tight-beam, double-encode—comm officer, trace this!"
"How, you will be able to determine in a few minutes. You'll have to keep me on-line till you do," said Miles. "But your enemy is at Vervain Station, not here. Not Pol, not Jackson's Whole. And most certainly not me. Note I said Vervain Station, not Vervain. You know Cavilo? Your opposite number, across-system?"
"I've encountered her once or twice." Oser's face was guarded now, waiting for his scrambling tech team to report.
"Face like an angel, mind like a rabid mongoose?"
Oser's lips twitched very slightly. "You've met her."
"Oh, yes. She and I had several heart-to-heart talks. They were . . . educational. Information is the most valuable trade-good in the Hub right now. At any rate, mine is. I want to deal."
Oser held up his hand for a pause, and keyed off-line briefly. When his face returned, its expression was black. "Captain Thorne, this is mutiny!"
Thorne leaned into the range of the vid pick-up, and said brightly, "No, sir, it's not. We are trying to save your ungrateful neck, if you will permit it. Listen to the man. He has lines we don't."
"He has lines, all right," and under his breath, "Damn Betans, sticking together. . . ."
"Whether you fight me, or I fight you, Admiral Oser, we both lose," said Miles rapidly.
"You can't win," said Oser. "You cannot take my fleet. Not with the Ariel."
"The Ariel's just a starter-set,