Cetaganda

'Thank you, sir. I need it.' Into the all-too-meditative silence that followed Miles added, 'Do we know if Lord Yenaro survived the night?'

'He disappeared, so we think he has. He was last seen leaving the Moon Garden Hall with a roll of carpet over his shoulder.' Vorreedi cocked an inquiring eye at Miles. 'I have no explanation for the carpet.'

Miles ignored the broad hint, responding instead with, 'Are you so sure that disappearance equates with his survival? What about his stalker?'

'Hm.' Vorreedi smiled. 'Shortly after we left him he was picked up by the Cetagandan Civil Police, who still have him in close custody.'

'They did this on their own?'

'Let's say they received an anonymous tip. It seemed the socially responsible thing to do. But I must say, the Civils responded to it with admirable efficiency. He appears to be of interest to them for some previous work.'

'Did he have time to report in to his employers, before he was canned?'

'No.'

So, Lord X was in an information vacuum this morning. He wouldn't like that one bit. The misfire of yesterday's plot must make him frantically frustrated. He wouldn't know what had gone wrong, or if Yenaro had realized his intended fate, though Yenaro's disappearance and subsequent non-communication would surely be a fat clue. Yenaro was now as loose a cannon as Miles and Ivan. Which of them would be first on Lord X's hit list after this? Would Yenaro go seeking protection to some authority, or would the rumor of treason frighten him off?

And what method could Lord X come up with for disposing of the Barrayaran envoys one-half so baroque and perfect as Yenaro had been? Yenaro was a masterpiece, as far as the art of assassination went, beautifully choreographed in three movements and a crescendo. Now all that elaborate effort was wasted. Lord X would be as livid at the spoiling of his lovely pattern as at the failure of his plot, Miles swore. And he was an anxious impatient artist who couldn't leave well enough alone, who had to add those clever little touches. The kind of person who, as a child given his first garden, would dig up the seeds to see if they'd sprouted yet. (Miles felt a tiny twinge of sympathy for Lord X.) Yes, indeed, Lord X, playing for great stakes and losing both time and his inhibitions, was now well and classically primed to make a major mistake.

Why am I not so sure that's such a great idea?

'More to add, Lord Vorkosigan?' said Vorreedi.

'Hm? No. Just, uh, thinking.' Besides, it would only upset you.

'I would request, as the embassy officer ultimately responsible for your personal safety as an official envoy, that you and Lord Vorpatril end your social contacts with a man who is apparently involved in a lethal Cetagandan vendetta.'

'Yenaro is of no further interest to me. I wish him no harm. My real priority is in identifying the man who supplied him with that fountain.'

Vorreedi's brows rose in mild reproach. 'You might have said so earlier.'

'Hindsight,' said Miles, 'is always better.'

'That's for damned sure,' sighed Vorreedi, in a voice of experience. He scratched his nose, and sat back. 'There is another reason I called you here this morning, Lord Vorkosigan. Ghem-Colonel Benin has requested a second interview with you.'

'Has he? Same as before?' Miles kept his voice from squeaking.

'Not quite. He specifically requested to speak with both you and Lord Vorpatril. In fact, he's on his way now. But you can refuse the interview if you wish.'

'No, that's . . . that's fine. In fact, I'd like to talk to Benin again. I, ah … shall I go fetch Ivan, then, sir?' Miles rose to his feet. Bad, bad idea to let the two suspects consult before the interrogation, but then, this wasn't Vorreedi's case. How fully had Miles convinced the man of his secret clout?

'Go ahead,' said Vorreedi affably. 'Though I must say . . .'

Miles paused.

'I do not see how Lord Vorpatril fits into this. He's no courier officer. And his records are as transparent as glass.'

'A lot of people are baffled by Ivan, sir. But … sometimes, even a genius needs someone who can follow orders.'

Miles tried not to scamper, hustling down the corridor to Ivan's quarters. The luxury of privacy their status had bought them was about to come to a screeching halt, he suspected. If Vorreedi didn't turn on the bugs in both their rooms after this, the man either had supernatural self-control or was brain dead. And the protocol officer was the voraciously curious type; it went with his job.

Ivan unlocked his door with a drawl of 'Enter,' at Miles's impatient knock. Miles found his cousin sitting up in bed, half-dressed in green trousers and cream shirt, leafing through a pile of hand-calligraphed colored papers with an abstracted and not particularly happy air.

'Ivan. Get up. Get dressed. We're about to have an interview with Colonel Vorreedi and ghem-Colonel Benin.'

'Confession at last, thank God!' Ivan tossed the papers up in the air and fell backward on his bed with a woof of relief.

'No. Not exactly. But I need you to let me do most of the talking, and confirm whatever I assert.'

'Oh, damn.' Ivan frowned up at the ceiling. 'What now? '

'Benin has to have been investigating Ba Lura's movements, the day before its death. I'm guessing he's traced the Ba to our little encounter at the pod dock. I don't want to screw up his investigation. In fact, I want it to succeed, at least as far as identifying the

Ba's murderer. So he needs as many real facts as possible.'

'Real facts. As opposed to what other kind of facts?'

'We absolutely can't bring up any mention of the Great Key, or the haut Rian. I figure we can tell events exactly as they happened, just leave out that one tiny detail.'

'You figure, do you? You must be using a different kind of math than the rest of the universe does. Do you realize how pissed Vorreedi and the Ambassador are going to be about our concealing that little incident?'

'I've got Vorreedi under control, temporarily. He thinks I'm on a mission from Simon Illyan.'

'That means you aren't. I knew it!' Ivan groaned, and pulled a pillow over his face, and squashed it tight.

Miles pulled it out of his grasp. 'I am now. Or I would be, if Illyan knew what I know. Bring that nerve disrupter. But don't pull it out unless I tell you to.'

'I am not shooting your commanding officer for you.'

'You're not shooting anybody. And anyway, Vorreedi's not my commander.' That could be an important legal point, later. 'I may want it for evidence. But not unless the subject comes up. We volunteer nothing.'

'Never volunteer, yes, that's the ticket! You're catching on at last, coz!'

'Shut up. Get up.' Miles threw Ivan's undress uniform jacket across his prostrate form. 'This is important! But you have to stay absolutely cool. I may be completely off-base, and panicking prematurely.'

'I don't think so. I think you're panicking post-maturely. In fact, if you were panicking any later it would be practically posthumously. I've been panicking for days.'

Miles tossed Ivan his half-boots, with ruthless finality. Ivan shook his head, sat up, and began pulling them on.

'Do you remember,' Ivan sighed, 'that time in the back garden at Vorkosigan House, when you'd been reading all those military histories about the Cetagandan prison camps during the invasion, and you decided we had to dig an escape tunnel? Except it was you who did all the designing, and me and Elena who did all the digging?'

'We were about eight,' said Miles defensively. 'The medics were still working on my bones. I was still pretty friable then.'

'—and the tunnel collapsed on me?' Ivan went on dreamily. 'And I was under there for hours?'