A Civil Campaign

myself.

He had to admit, the whole extended scenario lent itself beautifully to political disinformation. In his covert ops days, he'd fallen with chortles of joy on lesser slips by his enemies. If he were ambushing himself, he'd regard it as a godsend.

You did ambush yourself, you idiot.

If he'd only kept his mouth shut, he might have gotten away clean with that elaborate half-lie about the garden, too. Ekaterin would still be lucratively employed, and—he stopped, and contemplated this thought with extremely mixed emotions. Cross-ball . Would a certain miserable period of his youth have been a shade less miserable if he'd never learned of that benign deceit? Would you rather feel a fool, or be one? He knew the answer he'd give for himself; was he to grant Ekaterin any less respect?

You did. Fool.

In any case, the accusation seemed to have fallen on him alone. If Richars spoke truth, hah, the back-splash had missed her altogether. And if you don't go after her again, it will stay that way.

He stumbled to his chair, and sat heavily. How long would he have to stay away from her, for this delicious whisper to be forgotten? A year? Years and years? Forever?

Dammit, the only crime he'd committed was to fall in love with a brave and beautiful lady. Was that so wrong? He'd wanted to give her the world, or at least, as much of it as was his to give. How had so much good intention turned into this . . . tangle ?

He heard Pym down in the foyer, and voices again. He heard a single pair of boots climbing the stairs, and gathered himself to tell Pym that he was Not At Home to any more visitors this afternoon. But it wasn't Pym who popped breezily through the door to his suite, but Ivan. Miles groaned.

'Hi, coz,' said Ivan cheerily. 'God, you still looked wrecked.'

'You're behind the times, Ivan. I'm wrecked all over again.'

'Oh?' Ivan looked at him inquiringly, but Miles waved it away. Ivan shrugged. 'So, what's on? Wine, beer? Ma Kosti snacks?'

Miles pointed to the recently-restocked credenza by the wall. 'Help yourself.'

Ivan poured himself wine, and asked, 'What are you having?'

Let's not start that again. 'Nothing. Thanks.'

'Eh, suit yourself.' Ivan wandered back over to the bay window, swirling his drink in his glass. 'You didn't pick up my comconsole messages, earlier?'

'Oh, yeah, I saw them. Sorry. It's been a busy day.' Miles scowled. 'I'm afraid I'm not much company right now. I've just been blindsided by Richars Vorrutyer, of all people. I'm still digesting it.'

'Ah. Hm.' Ivan glanced at the door, and took a gulp of wine. He cleared his throat. 'If it was about the murder rumor, well, if you'd answer your damned messages, you wouldn't get blindsided. I tried.'

Miles stared up at him, appalled. 'Good God, not you too ? Does everybody in bloody Vorbarr Sultana know about this goddamn crap?'

Ivan shrugged. 'I don't know about everybody. M'mother hasn't mentioned it yet, but she might think it was too crude to take notice of. Byerly Vorrutyer passed it on to me to pass on to you. At dawn, note. He adores gossip like this. Just too excited to keep it to himself, I guess, unless he's stirring things up for his own amusement. Or else he's playing some kind of sneaky underhanded game. I can't even begin to guess which side he's on.'

Miles massaged his forehead with the heels of his hands. 'Gah.'

'Anyway, the point is, it wasn't me who started this . You grasp?'

'Yeah.' Miles sighed. 'I suppose. Do me a favor, and quash it when you encounter it, eh?'

'As if anyone would believe me? Everybody knows I've been your donkey since forever. It's not like I was an eyewitness anyway. I don't know any more than anyone else.' He asserted after a moment's thought, 'Less.'

Miles considered the alternatives. Death? Death would be much more peaceful, and he wouldn't have this pounding headache. But there was always the risk some misguided person would revive him again, in worse shape than ever. Besides, he had to live at least long enough to cast his vote against Richars. He studied his cousin thoughtfully. 'Ivan . . .'

'It wasn't my fault,' Ivan recited promptly, 'it's not my job, you can't make me, and if you want any of my time you'll have to wrestle m'mother for it. If you dare.' He nodded satisfaction at this clincher.

Miles sat back, and regarded Ivan for a long moment. 'You're right,' he said at last. 'I have abused your loyalty too many times. I'm sorry. Never mind.'

Ivan, caught with a mouthful of wine, stared at him in shock, his brows drawing down. He finally managed to swallow. 'What do you mean, never mind ?'

'I mean, never mind. There's no reason to draw you into this ugly mess, and every reason not to.' Miles doubted there'd be much honor for Ivan to win in his vicinity this time, not even the sort that sparked so briefly before being buried forever in ImpSec files. Besides, he couldn't think offhand of anything Ivan could do for him.

'No need ? Never mind ? What are you up to?'

'Nothing, I'm afraid. You can't help me on this one. Thanks for offering, though,' Miles added conscientiously.

'I didn't offer anything,' Ivan pointed out. His eyes narrowed. 'You're up to something.'

'Not up. Just down.' Down to nothing but the certainty that the next weeks were going to be unpleasant in ways he'd never experienced before. 'Thank you, Ivan. I'm sure you can find your own way out.'

'Well . . .' Ivan tilted up his glass, drained it, and set it down on the table. 'Yeah, sure. Call me if you . . . need anything.'

Ivan trod out, with a disgruntled backward look over his shoulder. Miles heard his indignant mutter, fading down the stairs: 'No need . Never mind . Who the hell does he think he is . . . ?'

Miles smiled crookedly, and slumped in his seat. He had a great deal to do. He was just too tired to move.

Ekaterin. . . .

Her name seemed to stream through his fingers, as impossible to hold as smoke whipped away by the wind.