A Civil Campaign

necessary.'

'If it's a leak, it's your call. If it's pure slander . . .' What the hell am I going to do about it?

'If I may ask, what do you plan to do next?'

'Immediately? Call Madame Vorsoisson, and let her know what's coming down.' The anticipation made him cold and sick. He could scarcely imagine anything farther from the simple affection he'd ached to give her than this nauseating news. 'This concerns—this damages—her as much as it does me.'

'Hm.' Allegre rubbed his chin. 'To avoid muddying already murky waters, I would request you put that off until my analyst has had a chance to evaluate her place in all this.'

'Her place? Her place is innocent victim!'

'I don't disagree,' Allegre said soothingly. 'I'm not so much concerned with disloyalty as with possible carelessness.'

ImpSec had never been happy to have Ekaterin, an oath-free civilian not under their control in any way, standing in the heart of the hottest secret of the year, or maybe the century. Despite the fact that she'd personally hand-delivered it to them, the ingrates. 'She is not careless. She is in fact extremely careful.'

'In your observation.'

'In my professional observation.'

Allegre gave him a placating nod. 'Yes, m'lord. We would be pleased to prove that. You don't, after all, want ImpSec to be . . . confused.'

Miles blew out his breath in dry appreciation of this last dead-pan remark. 'Yeah, yeah,' he conceded.

'I'll have my analyst call you with clearance just as soon as possible,' Allegre promised.

Miles's fist clenched in frustration, and unfolded reluctantly. Ekaterin didn't go about much; it might be several days before this came to her ears from other sources. 'Very well. Keep me informed.'

'Will do, my lord.'

Miles cut the com.

The queasy realization was dawning on him that, in his reflexive fear for the secrets behind the disasters on Komarr, he'd handled Richars Vorrutyer exactly backwards. Ten years of ImpSec habits, argh. Miles judged Richars a bully, not a psychotic. If Miles had stood up to him instantly, he might have folded, backed down, shied from deliberately pissing off a potential vote.

Well, it was way too late to go running after him now and try to replay the conversation. Miles's vote against Richars would demonstrate the futility of trying to blackmail a Vorkosigan.

And leave each other permanent enemies in Council . . . Would calling his bluff force Richars to make good his threat or be forsworn? Shit, he'll have to.

In Ekaterin's eyes, Miles had barely climbed out of the last hole he'd dug. He wanted to be thrown together with her, but not, dear God, at a murder trial for the death of her late husband, however aborted. She was just starting to leave the nightmare of her marriage behind her. A formal charge and its aftermath, regardless of the ultimate verdict, must drag her back through its traumas in the most hideous imaginable manner, plunge her into a maelstrom of stress, distress, humiliation, and exhaustion. A power struggle in the Council of Counts was not a garden in which love was like to bloom.

Of course, the entire ghastly vision could be neatly short-circuited if Richars lost his bid for the Vorrutyer Countship.

But Dono hasn't got a chance.

Miles gritted his teeth. He does now.

A second later, he tapped in another code, and waited impatiently.

'Hello, Dono,' Miles purred, as a face formed over the vid plate. The somber, if musty, splendor of one of Vorrutyer House's salons receded dimly in the background. But the figure wavering into focus wasn't Dono; it was Olivia Koudelka, who grinned cheerfully at him. She had a smudge of dust on her cheek, and three rolled-up parchments under her arm. 'Oh—Olivia. Excuse me. Is, um, Lord Dono there?'

'Sure, Miles. He's in conference with his lawyer. I'll get him.' She bounced out of range of the pickup; he could hear her voice calling Hey, Dono! Guess who's on the com! in the distance.

In a moment, Dono's bearded face popped up; he cocked an inquiring eyebrow at his caller. 'Good afternoon, Lord Vorkosigan. What can I do for you?'

'Hello, Lord Dono. It has just occurred to me that, for one reason and another, we never finished our conversation the other night. I wanted to let you know, in case there was any doubt, that your bid for the Vorrutyer Countship has my full support, and the vote of my District.'

'Why, thank you, Lord Vorkosigan. I'm very pleased to hear that.' Dono hesitated. 'Though . . . a little surprised. You gave me the impression you preferred to remain above all this in-fighting.'

'Preferred, yes. But I've just had a visit from your cousin Richars. He managed to bring me down to his level in astonishingly short order.'

Dono pursed his lips, then tried not to smile too broadly. 'Richars does have that effect on people sometimes.'

'If I may, I'd like to schedule a meeting with you and Ren? Vorbretten. Here at Vorkosigan House, or where you will. I think a little mutual strategizing could be very beneficial to you both.'

'I'd be delighted to have your counsel, Lord Vorkosigan. When?'

A few minutes of schedule comparison and shifting, and a side-call to Ren? at Vorbretten House, resulted in a meeting set for the day after tomorrow. Miles could have been happy with tonight, or instantly, but had to admit this gave him time to study the problem in more rational detail. He bid a tightly cordial good-bye to both his, he trusted, future colleagues.

He reached for the next code on his comconsole; then his hand hesitated and fell back. He'd hardly known how to begin again before this mine had blown up in his face. He could say nothing to Ekaterin now. If he called her to try to talk of other things, ordinary kindly trivial things, while knowing this and not speaking it, he'd be lying to her again. Hugely.

But what the hell was he going to say when Allegre had cleared him?

He rose and began to pace his chambers.

Ekaterin's requested year of mourning would have served for more than the healing of her own soul. At a year's distance, memory of Tien's mysterious death would have been softened in the public mind; his widow might have gracefully rejoined society without comment, and been gracefully courted by a man she'd known a decent interval. But no. On fire with impatience, sick with dread of losing his chance with her, he'd had to push and push, till he'd pushed it right over the edge.

Yes, and if he hadn't babbled his intentions all over town, Illyan would never have been confused and blurted out his disastrous small-talk, and the highly-misinterpretable incident at the dinner party would never have occurred. I want a time machine, so's I can go back and shoot