Memory

'Except me?'

'He forgot to except you, for some reason,' said Galeni dryly. 'So you didn't get this from me. You didn't get this, period.'

'Quite. I understand. I assume he's reported this to Gregor by now.'

'One hopes.'

'Dammit, Haroche should have had Illyan under medical care before quitting time last night!'

'He looked pretty scared. We all did. Arresting the Chief of Imperial Security in the middle of ImpSec HQ is … not an easy task.'

'No. No … I shouldn't criticize the man who's in the line of fire, I suppose. He would have had to take enough time to make sure. It's not the sort of thing you dare make a mistake on, if you value your career. Which Haroche does.' Taking Illyan down in such a public arena seemed needlessly cruel. At least Illyan fired me in private. But on the other hand it was absolutely clear, no ambiguity about it, no room for confusion or rumor or innuendo. Or argument.

'Bad timing for this,' Miles went on. 'Though I don't suppose there is such a thing as a good time to have a biocybernetic breakdown. I wonder … if the strain of all these upcoming, um, Imperial demands was causal? It hardly seems possible. Illyan's weathered much worse crises than a wedding.'

'A strain doesn't have to be the worst, to be the last,' Galeni pointed out. 'This thing could have been hanging by a thread since who knows when.' Galeni hesitated. 'I don't suppose this could have already been underway when he fired you? I mean . . . might you argue that his judgment was already impaired?'

Miles swallowed, not certain he was grateful to Galeni for saying out loud something he scarcely dared think. 'I wish I could say so. But no. There was nothing wrong with his judgment then. It followed quite logically from his principles.'

'So when did this start? It's a critical question.'

'Yes. I've asked it of myself. Everyone else will be asking too, I'm sure. We'll all have to wait on the ImpSec physicians to tell us, I guess. Speaking of which, was there any word yet as to exactly what did cause this thing?'

'Nothing that trickled down to me. But they can hardly have started to examine the problem yet. I suppose they'll have to fly in obscure experts.'

Martin appeared at last with their drinks, and Galeni elected to stay to dinner, a bit of news that made Martins face fall. Since Ma Kosti served the two men elegantly and abundantly on zero notice, Miles could only assume Martin had been forced to give up his portion to the guest, and been required to subsist on sandwiches. Having seen Ma Kosti's idea of a quick snack, Miles did not feel overly guilty about this, though her art tonight was somewhat wasted on his and Galeni's distraction.

Still . . . the worst was over, with Illyan, and the larger dangers averted. The rest would just be cleanup.

The pressed gargoyles on the lintel over the side door to ImpSec HQ were looking particularly suffused this morning, Miles thought, as if weighed down with sorrow and about to burst from the internal pressure of their sinister secrets. And the expressions on the faces of some of the men he passed bore a subtle resemblance to those of their granite mascots. The clerk at the security desk in the lobby looked up at him with a harried blink. 'May I help you, sir?'

'I'm Lord Vorkosigan. I'm here to see Simon Illyan.'

The clerk checked his comconsole. 'You aren't on my roster, my lord.'

'No. I just dropped by to visit him.' The clerk, and everyone else, had to at least know that Illyan was off duty, if only because they had to have been informed that Haroche was now their acting chief. 'In the clinic. Give me a tag and let me in, please.'

'I can't do that, my lord.'

'Of course you can. It's your job. Who's duty officer today?'

'Major Jarlais, my lord.'

'Good. He knows me. Call him for your authorization, then.'

Jarlais's face appeared on the clerk's comconsole within a couple of minutes. 'Yes?'

The clerk explained Miles's request.

'I don't think that's possible, my lord,' Jarlais said uncertainly to Miles, who was leaning into range of the vid pickup over the clerk's shoulder.

Miles sighed. 'Call your boss . . . no, hell, it's going to take thirty minutes to work my way up the entire chain of command. Let's cut out the middlemen, eh? I hate to bother him when he's as busy as he undoubtedly is this morning, but just call General Haroche.'

Jarlais, obviously, was equally reluctant to interrupt his superior, but a Vor lord in one's lobby was hard to dismiss, and impossible to ignore. They got through to Haroche's comconsole in a mere ten minutes, good work under the circumstances, Miles thought.

'Good morning, General,' Miles said to Haroche s image over the desk clerk's vid plate. 'I came in to see Simon.'

'Impossible,' rumbled Haroche.

Miles's voice grew edged. 'It's impossible only if he's dead. I think you are trying to say that you don't wish to allow it. Why not?'

Haroche hesitated. 'Corporal, set your cone of silence and give up your comconsole seat to Lord Vorkosigan for a moment, please.'

The clerk obediently slid aside; a shadow fell around Miles and Haroche's image from the security generator over the station chair.

'Where did you hear about this?' Haroche demanded suspiciously, as soon as their privacy was assured.

Miles raised his brows, and switched gears without a moment's pause. 'I was worried. When you didn't call me back after my call to you of day before yesterday, and didn't return any of my other messages, I finally called Gregor.'

'Oh,' said Haroche. His suspicion faded into mere irritation.

That was a close one, Miles realized. If Haroche hadn't reported to Gregor yet, it could have been a major stumble, potentially very damaging to Galeni. He'd better be carefully vague about when he'd supposedly talked to the Emperor, until he actually did. 'I want to see Illyan.'

'Illyan may not even be able to recognize you,' said Haroche, after a long pause. 'He's babbling classified material at a meter a minute. I had to assign guards of the highest security levels.'

'So what? I'm cleared at the highest security levels.' Hell, he was classified material.

'Surely not. Your clearance must have been revoked when you were . . . discharged.'

'Check it.' Ah, hell. Haroche had access to all of Illyan's files, now; he could look up the full true story of Miles's termination any time he had a minute. Miles hoped he hadn't had too many spare minutes to devote to such inquiries in the last day.

Haroche, after a narrow-eyed look at Miles, tapped out a code on his comconsole. 'Your clearance is still on file,' he said in some surprise.

'There you go.'

'Illyan must have forgotten to alter it. Was he growing confused as early as that? Well …' His hand tapped on. 'I revoke it now.'

You can't do that! Miles bit back the outraged scream. Haroche most certainly could. Miles stared at him, frustrated. So what was he going to do? Flounce out of ImpSec with an angry cry of, We'll just see about that! I'm going to tell my big brother on you! No. Gregor was a card he dared only play once, and only in the direst emergency. He let out his breath, and his anger, in a carefully controlled sigh. 'General. Prudence is one thing. Paranoia that can't tell friend from foe is quite another.'

'Lord Vorkosigan,' said Haroche, equally tightly. 'We don't yet know what we have here. I don't have time to spend entertaining idly curious civilians this morning, friendly or not. Please do not