A Civil Campaign

Ekaterin nodded wry agreement. 'When I was twenty, I chose my life. It wasn't this one.'

Illyan laughed painfully. 'Oh, twenty. God. Yes. When I took oath at twenty to Emperor Ezar, I had my military career all sketched out. Ship duty, eh, and ship captain by thirty, and admiral by fifty, and retirement at sixty, a twice-twenty-years man. I did allow for being killed, of course. All very neat. My life began to diverge from the plan the following day, when I was assigned to ImpSec instead. And diverged again, when I found myself promoted to chief of ImpSec in the middle of a war I'd never foreseen, serving a boy emperor who hadn't even existed a decade earlier. My life has been one long chain of surprises. A year ago, I could not have even imagined myself today. Or dreamed myself happy. Of course, Lady Alys . . .' His face softened at the mention of her name, and he paused, an odd smile playing on his lips. 'Lately, I have come to believe that the principal difference between heaven and hell is the company you keep there.'

Could one judge a man by his company? Could she judge Miles that way? Ivan was charming and funny, Lady Alys fine and formidable, Illyan, despite his sinister history, strangely kind. Miles's clone brother Mark, for all his bitter bite, seemed a brother in truth. Kareen Koudelka was pure delight. The Vorbrettens, the rest of the Koudelka clan, Duv Galeni, Tsipis, Ma Kosti, Pym, even Enrique . . . Miles seemed to collect friends of wit and distinction and extraordinary ability around himself as casually and unselfconsciously as a comet trailed its banner of light.

Looking back, she realized how very few friends Tien had ever made. He'd despised his coworkers, scorned his scattered relations. She'd told herself that he hadn't the knack for socializing, or was just too busy. Once past his school days, Tien had never made a new good friend. She'd come to share his isolation; alone together was a perfect summation of their marriage.

'I think you are very right, sir.'

From the house, Nikki's voice rose suddenly in volume and pitch, yanking her maternal ear: 'No! No!' Was he defying his uncle over something? Ekaterin raised her head, listening, and frowned uneasily.

'Um . . . excuse me.' She flashed a brief smile at Illyan. 'I think I'd better go check something out. I'll be right back . . .'

Illyan nodded understanding, and politely pretended to fix his attention on the surrounding garden.

Ekaterin entered the kitchen, her eyes slow to adjust from the glare outside, and quietly rounded the corner through the dining room to the parlor. She stopped in the archway in surprise. The voice she'd heard was not her uncle's; it was Alexi Vormoncrief's.

Nikki was sitting scrunched up in Uncle Vorthys's big chair in the corner. Vormoncrief loomed over him, his face tense, his hands anxiously crooked.

'Back to these bandages you saw on Lord Vorkosigan's wrists the day after your father was killed,' Vormoncrief was saying, in an urgent voice. 'What kind were they? How big?'

'I dunno.' Nikki gave a trapped shrug. 'They were just bandages.'

'What kind of wounds did they conceal, though?'

'Dunno.'

'Well, sharp slashes? Burns, blisters, like from a plasma arc? Can you remember seeing them later?'

Nikki shrugged again, his face stiff. 'I dunno. They were raggedy, all the way around, I guess. He still has the red marks.' His voice was constricted, on the verge of tears.

An arrested look crossed Vormoncrief's face. 'Hadn't noticed that. He's very careful to wear long sleeves, isn't he? In high summer, huh. But did he have any other marks, on his face perhaps? Bruises, scratches, maybe a black eye?'

'Dunno . . .'

'Are you sure ?'

'Lieutenant Vormoncrief!' Ekaterin interrupted this sharply. Vormoncrief jerked upright, and lurched around. Nikki looked up, his lips parting in relief. 'What are you doing ?'

'Ah! Ekaterin, Madame Vorsoisson. I came to see you.' He waved vaguely around the book-lined parlor.

'Then why didn't you come out to where I was?'

'I seized the chance to talk to Nikki, and I'm very glad I did.'

'Mama,' Nikki gulped from his chair-barricade, 'he says Lord Vorkosigan killed Da!'

'What? ' Ekaterin stared at Vormoncrief, for a moment almost too stunned to breathe.

Vormoncrief gestured helplessly, and gave her an earnest look. 'The secret is out. The truth is known.'

'What truth? By whom ?'

'It's being whispered all over town, not that anyone dares—or cares—to do anything about it. Gossips and cowards, the lot of them. But the picture's getting plainer. Two men went out into the Komarran wilderness. One returned, and with some pretty strange injuries, apparently. Accident with a breath mask , indeed. But I realized at once that you couldn't have suspected foul play, till Vorkosigan dropped his guard and proposed to you at his dinner. No wonder you ran out crying.'

Ekaterin opened her mouth. Nightmare memories flashed. Your accusation is physically impossible, Alexi; I know. I found them, out in that wilderness, alive and dead both. A cascade of security considerations poured through her head. It was a direct chain of very few links from the details of Tien's death to the persons and objects that no one dared mention. 'It was not like that at all.' That sounded weaker than she'd intended. . . .

'I'll wager Vorkosigan was never questioned under fast-penta. Am I right?'

'He's ex-ImpSec. I doubt he could be.'

'How convenient.' Vormoncrief grimaced ironically.

'I was questioned under fast-penta.'

'They cleared you of complicity, yes! I was sure of it!'

'What . . . complicity?' The words caught in her throat. The embarrassing details of the relentless interrogation under the truth drug she'd endured on Komarr after Tien's death boiled up in her memory. Vormoncrief was late with his lurid accusation. ImpSec had thought of that scenario before Tien's body was cold. 'Yes, I was asked all the questions you'd expect a conscientious investigator to ask a close relative in a mysterious death.' And more . 'So?'

'Mysterious death, yes, you suspected something even then, I knew it!' With a wave of his hand, he overrode her hasty attempt to interject an accidental in place of that ill-chosen mysterious. 'Believe me, I understand your hideous dilemma perfectly. You don't dare accuse the all-powerful Vorkosigan, the mutie lord.' Vormoncrief scowled at the name. 'God knows what retaliation he could inflict on you. But Ekaterin, I have powerful relatives too! I came to offer you—and Nikki—my protection. Take my hand—trust me—' he opened his arms, reaching for her '—and together, I swear we can bring this little monster to justice!'

Ekaterin sputtered, momentarily beyond words, and looked around frantically for a weapon. The only one that suggested itself was the fireplace poker, but whether to whap it on his skull or jam it up his ass . . . ? Nikki was crying openly now, thin strained sobs, and Vormoncrief stood between them. She began to dodge around him; ill-advisedly, Vormoncrief tried to wrap her lovingly in his arms.

'Ow!' he cried, as the heel of her hand crunched into his nose, with all the strength of her arm behind it. It didn't drive his nasal bone up into his brain and kill him on the spot the way