Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [288]
Tung's face was a study in appalled enlightenment. "That skinny neurasthenic git you had in tow before—that wasn't him, was it?"
"Yes, it was. And between us, you and I managed to deliver him straight to Commander Cavilo."
"Oh. Shit." Tung rubbed his burr-haired skull. "She'll sell him straight to the Cetagandans."
"No. She means to collect her reward from Barrayar."
Tung opened his mouth, closed it, held up a finger. "Wait a minute. . . ."
"It's complicated," Miles conceded helplessly. "That's why I'm going to delegate the simple part, holding the wormhole, to you. The hostage-rescue part will be my responsibility."
"Simple. The Dendarii mercenaries. All five thousand of us. Singlehanded. Against the Cetagandan Empire. Have you forgotten how to count in the last four years?"
"Think of the glory. Think of your reputation. Think how great it'll look on your next resume."
"On my cenotaph, you mean. Nobody will be able to collect enough of my scattered atoms to bury. You going to cover my funeral expenses, son?"
"Splendidly. Banners, dancing girls, and enough beer to float your coffin to Valhalla."
Tung sighed. "Make it plum wine to float the boat, eh? Drink the beer. Well." He stood silent a moment, rubbing his lips. "The first step is to put the fleet on one-hour-alert status instead of twenty-four."
"They're not already?" Miles frowned.
"We were defensive. We figured we had at least thirty-six hours to study anything coming at us across the Hub. Or so Oser figured it. It'll take about six hours to bring us up to one-hour readiness."
"Right . . . that's the second step, then. Your first step will be to kiss and make up with Captain Auson."
"Kiss my ass!" cried Tung. "That vacuumhead—"
"Is needed to command the Triumph while you run Fleet Tac. You can't do both. I can't reorganize the fleet this close to the action. If I had a week to weed out—well, I don't. Oser's people must be persuaded to stay on their jobs. If I have Auson," Miles's upheld hand closed cage-like, "I can run the rest. One way or another."
Tung growled frustrated acquiescence. "All right." His glower faded to a slow grin. "I'd pay money to watch you make him kiss Thorne, though."
"One miracle at a time."
* * *
Captain Auson, a big man four years ago, had put on a little more weight but seemed otherwise unchanged. He stepped into Oser's cabin, took in the stunners aimed his way, and stood, hands clenching. When he saw Miles, sitting on the edge of Oser's com-console desk (a psychological ploy to put his head level with everyone else's; in the station chair Miles feared he looked like a child in need of a booster seat at the dinner table), Auson's expression melted from anger to horror. "Oh, hell! Not you again!"
"But of course," shrugged Miles. The stunner-armed flies on the wall, Chodak and his man, suppressed grins of happy anticipation. "The action's about to start."
"You can't take this—" Auson broke off to peer at Oser. "What did you do to him?"
"Let's just say, we adjusted his attitude. As for the fleet, it's already mine." Well, he was working on it, anyway. "The question is, will you choose to be on the winning side? Pocket a combat bonus? Or shall I give command of the Triumph to—"
Auson bared his teeth to Tung in a silent snarl.
"—Bel Thorne?"
"What?" Auson yelped. Tung flinched, wincing. "You can't—"
Miles cut over him, "Do you happen to recall how you graduated from command of the Ariel to command of the Triumph? Yes?"
Auson pointed to Tung. "What about him?"
"My contractor will contribute value equal to the Triumph, which will become Tung's vested share in the fleet corporation. In return Commodore Tung will relinquish all claim on the ship itself. I will confirm Tung's rank as Chief of Staff/Tactical, and yours as captain of the flagship Triumph. Your original contribution, equal to the value of the Ariel less liens, will be confirmed as your vested share in the fleet corporation. Both ships will be listed as owned by the fleet."
"Do you go along with this?" Auson demanded