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"Lieutenant, what should I put on my inventory?" the ImpSec man-whined,
Cordelia decided, was what he was doing. "I have to register it, if it's going
in."
"Let him cover his ass, Kou," Cordelia sighed.
Kou peeked again, his lips twisting into a very crooked grin. "It's all
right. Put it down as a Winterfair gift for Admiral Vorkosigan. From his
wife."
"Oh, Kou," Drou held out his sword. "I saved this. But we lost the casing,
I'm sorry."
Kou took it, looked at the bag, made the connection, and carried it more
carefully. "That's . . . that's all right. Thank you."
"I'll take it back to Siegling's and get a duplicate casing made,"
Cordelia promised.
The ImpSec men gave way before Admiral Vorkosigan's top aide. Kou led
Cordelia, Bothari, and Drou into the base. Cordelia pulled the drawstring
tight, and let the bag swing from her hand.
"We're going down to the Staff level. The admiral's been in a sealed
meeting for the last hour. Two of Vordarian's top officers came in secretly
last night. Negotiating to sell him out. The best hostage-rescue plan hinges
on their cooperation."
"Did they know about this yet?" Cordelia held up the bag.
"I don't think so, Milady. You've just changed everything." His grin grew
feral, and his uneven stride lengthened.
"I expect that raid is still going to be required," Cordelia sighed. "Even
in collapse, Vordarian's side is still dangerous. Maybe more dangerous, in
their desperation." She thought of that downtown Vorbarr Sultana hotel, where
Bothari's baby girl Elena was, as far as she knew, still housed. Lesser
hostages. Could she persuade Aral to apportion a few more resources for lesser
hostages? Alas, she had probably not put all the soldiers out of work even
yet. I tried. God, I tried.
They went down, and down, to the nerve center of Tanery Base. They came to
a highly secured conference chamber; a lethally armed squad stood ramrod-guard
outside it. Koudelka wafted them past. The doors slid aside, and closed again
behind them.
Cordelia took in the tableau, that paused to look back up at her from
around the polished table. Aral was in the center, of course. Illyan and Count
Piotr flanked him on either side. Prime Minister Vortala was there, and
Kanzian, and some other senior staffers all in formal dress greens. The two
double-traitors sat across, with their aides. Clouds of witnesses. She wanted
to be alone with Aral, be rid of the whole bloody mob of them. Soon.
Aral's eyes locked to hers in silent agony. His lips curled in an utterly
ironic smile. That was all; and yet her stomach warmed with confidence again,
sure of him. No frost. It was going to be all right. They were in step again,
and a torrent of words and hard embraces could not have communicated it any
better. Embraces would come, though, the grey eyes promised. Her own lips
curved up for the first time since-when?
Count Piotr's hand slapped down hard upon the table. "Good God, woman,
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where have you been?" he cried furiously.
A morbid lunacy overtook her. She smiled fiercely at him, and held up the
bag. "Shopping."
For a second, the old man nearly believed her; conflicting expressions
whiplashed over his face, astonishment, disbelief, then anger as it penetrated
he was being mocked.
"Want to see what I bought?" Cordelia continued, still floating. She
yanked the bag's top open, and rolled Vordarian's head out across the table.
Fortunately, it had ceased leaking some hours back. It stopped faceup before
him, lips grinning, drying eyes staring.
Piotr's mouth fell open. Kanzian jumped, the staffers swore, and one of
Vordarian's traitors actually fell out of his chair, recoiling. Vortala pursed
his lips and raised his brows. Koudelka, grimly proud of his key role in
stage-managing this historic moment in one-upsmanship, laid the swordstick on
the table as further evidence. Illyan puffed, and grinned triumphantly through
his shock.
Aral was perfect. His eyes widened only briefly, then he rested his chin
on his hands and gazed over his father's shoulder with an expression of cool
interest. "But of course," he breathed. "Every Vor lady goes to the capital to
shop."
"I paid too much for it," Cordelia confessed.
"That, too, is traditional." A sardonic smile quirked his lips.
"Kareen is dead. Shot in the melee. I couldn't save her."
He Opened his hand, as if to let the nascent black humor fall through his
fingers. "I see." He raised his eyes again to hers, as if asking Are you all
right?, and apparently finding the answer, No.
"Gentlemen. If you will be pleased to excuse yourselves for a few minutes.
I wish to be alone with my wife."
In the shuffle of the men rising to their feet, Cordelia caught a mutter,
"Brave man ..."
She nailed Vordarian's men by eye, as they backed from the table.
"Officers. I recommend that when this conference resumes, you surrender
unconditionally upon Lord Vorkosigan's mercy. He may still have some." I
certainly don't, was the unspoken cap to that. "I'm tired of your stupid war.
End it."
Piotr edged past her. She smiled bitterly at him. He grimaced uneasily
back. "It appears I underestimated you," he murmured.
"Don't you ever . . . cross me again. And stay away from my son."
A look from Vorkosigan held back her outpouring of rage, quivering on the
lip of her cup. She and Piotr exchanged wary nods, like the vestigial bows of
two duelists.
"Kou," said Vorkosigan, staring bemusedly at the grisly object lying by
his elbow. "Will you please arrange for this thing to be removed to the base
morgue. I don't fancy it as a table decoration. It will have to be stored till
it can be buried with the rest of him. Wherever that may be."
"Sure you don't want to leave it there to inspire Vordarian's staffers to
come to terms?" said Kou.
"No," said Vorkosigan firmly. "It's had a sufficiently salutary effect
already."
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