Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [278]
Miles waited, breathless. Oser's jaw worked, chewing over this impassioned argument. "What's your profit?" he asked at last.
"Ah. I'm afraid I'm the dangerous variable in that calculation, Admiral. I'm not in it for profit." Miles grinned. "So I don't care what I wreck."
"Any information you had from Cavilo is worth shit," said Oser.
He begins to barter—he's hooked, he's hooked. . . . Miles tamped down exultation, cultivated a serious expression. "Anything Cavilo says must certainly be sifted with great care. But, ah . . . beauty is as beauty does. And I've found her vulnerable side."
"Cavilo has no vulnerable side."
"Yes, she does. Her passion for utility. Her self-interest."
"I fail to see how that makes her vulnerable."
"Precisely why you need to add me to your staff at once. You need my vision."
"Hire you!" Oser recoiled in astonishment.
Well, he'd achieved surprise, anyway. A military objective of sorts. "I understand the post of Chief-of-Staff/Tactical is now empty."
Oser's expression flowed from astonished to stunned to a kind of amused fury. "You're insane."
"No, just in a tearing hurry. Admiral, there's nothing irrevocable gone wrong between us. Yet. You attacked me—not the other way around—and now you expect me to attack you back. But I'm not on holiday, and I don't have time to waste on personal amusements like revenge."
Oser's eyes narrowed. "What about Tung?"
Miles shrugged. "Keep him locked up, for now, if you insist. Unharmed, of course." Just don't tell him I said so.
"Suppose I hang him."
"Ah . . . that would be irrevocable." Miles paused. "I will point out, jailing Tung is like cutting off your right hand before heading into battle."
"What battle? With whom?"
"It's a surprise. Cavilo's surprise. Though I've developed an idea or two on the problem, that I'd be willing to share."
"Would you?" Oser had that same man-sucking-a-lemon expression Miles had now and then surprised on Illyan's face. It seemed almost homey.
Miles continued, "As an alternative to my becoming your employee, I'm willing to become your employer. I'm authorized to offer a bona fide contract, all the usual perqs, equipment replacement, insurance, from my . . . sponsor." Illyan, hear my plea. "Not in conflict with Aslund's interests. You can collect twice for the same fight, and you don't even have to switch sides. A mercenary's dream."
"What guarantees can you offer up front?"
"It seems to me that I'm the one who's owed a guarantee, sir. Let us begin with small steps. I won't start a mutiny; you stop trying to thrust me out air locks. I will join you openly—everyone to know I've arrived—I will make my information available to you." How thin his "information" seemed, in the breeze of these airy promises. No numbers, no troop movements; all intentions, shifting mental topographies of loyalty, ambition, and betrayal. "We will confer. You may even have an angle I lack. Then we go on from there."
Oser thinned his lips, bemused, half-persuaded, deeply suspicious.
"The risk, I would point out," said Miles, "the personal risk, is more mine than yours."
"I think—"
Miles hung suspended on the mercenary's words.
"I think I'm going to regret this." Oser sighed.
* * *
The detailed negotiations just to bring the Ariel into dock took another half day. As the initial excitement wore off, Thorne became more thoughtful. As the Ariel actually maneuvered into its clamps, Thorne grew positively meditative.
"I'm still not exactly sure what's supposed to keep Oser from bringing us in, stunning us, and hanging us at leisure," Thorne said, buckling on a sidearm. Thorne kept the complaint