Memory

beside the door, present but detached. As Illyan entered Haroche's expression grew embarrassed and even more closed, and Miles was suddenly reminded that the root word of mortification meant death.

Only when Emperor Gregor, tall and grave, ducked inside did Haroche's face escape control. Shock and dismay gave way to a flash of open anguish. Haroche took a breath, and tried to look cold and stern, but only succeeded in looking congealed. He scrambled to his feet—Ivan tensed—but only said, 'Sire,' in a cracked voice. He had either not enough nerve, or better sense, than to salute his commander-in-chief under these circumstances. Gregor did not look likely to return it.

Gregor motioned his pair of personal Armsmen to wait outside. Miles didn't expect to be of much direct use if Haroche exploded into some attack on the Emperor, but at least he might throw himself between the two men. By the time Haroche stopped to kill him, the reinforcements would arrive. The cell door slid closed. Miles imagined he felt pressure in his ears, like an air lock. The silence and sense of isolation in here were profound.

Miles, after a thoughtful calculation of the angles and forces, took up a stance like Ivan's on the opposite side of the cell door, on the extreme available edge of Haroche's personal space. They would be quiet as a mismatched pair of gargoyles, and in time Haroche would forget their presence. Gregor would see to that. Gregor seated himself on the bunk opposite Haroche; Illyan, arms folded, leaned against the wall as only he could do, an eye-of-Horus personified.

'Sit down, Lucas,' said Gregor, so quietly Miles had to strain to hear.

Haroche's hands opened, as if in anticipation of protest, but his knees buckled; he sat heavily. 'Sire,' he murmured again, and cleared his throat. Ah, yes. Gregor was right in his estimations.

'General Haroche,' Gregor went on, 'I wanted you to give me your last report in person. You owe me that, and for the thirty years of service you have given me—nearly my whole life, my whole reign—I owe you that.'

'What . . .' Haroche swallowed, 'do you want me to say?'

'Tell me what you have done. Tell me why. Begin at the beginning, go on to the end. Put in all the facts. Leave out all the defenses. Your time for that will come later.'

It could scarcely be simpler, or more overwhelming. Miles had seen Gregor quietly socially charming, quietly bravura-fey, quietly desperate, quietly determined. He'd never before seen him quietly angry. It was impressive, a weight all around like deep seawater. You could drown in it, still trying to strike upward to the air. Weasel out of that, Haroche, if you can. Gregor is not our master only in name.

Haroche sat silent for as long as he dared, then began, 'I … had known about the Komarran prokaryotes for a long time. Since the beginning. Diamant of Komarran Affairs told me; we were coordinating on the sweep of Ser Galen's little group of saboteurs, lending men and help back and forth in the crisis. I was with him the day he put the capsules away downstairs. Didn't think anything more about it for years. Then I won my promotion to head of Domestic Affairs, the Yarrow case, do you remember that . . . sir?' This to Illyan. 'You said my work on it was superb.'

'No, Lucas,' Illyan's voice was falsely pleasant. 'Can't say as I do.'

The silence after that threatened to extend itself for rather a long time. 'Continue,' said Gregor.

'I … began to be more and more aware of Vorkosigan, in and out of ImpSec HQ. There were rumors about him, some pretty wild stories, that he was some sort of galactic affairs hotshot, that he was being groomed as Illyan's successor. It was very clear that he was Illyan's pet. Then last year he was suddenly killed, though as it turned out . . . not quite dead enough.' A slight tic of his lip was all the expression Gregor allowed himself. After a glance at him, Haroche hurried on, 'For whatever reason, during that period Illyan reorganized his chain of command, clarified his line of succession. I was made second-in-command of ImpSec. He told me he was thinking of choosing a new successor, in case anyone actually succeeded in dropping him in his tracks, and I was it. Then Vorkosigan turned up alive again.

'Didn't hear anything more about him one way or another, till this last Midsummer. Then Illyan asked me if I thought I could stand to work with Vorkosigan as my second in Domestic Affairs. Warned me he was hyperactive, and insubordinate as hell, but that he got results. Said I'd either love him or hate him, though some people did both. He said Vorkosigan needed a dose of my experience. I said … I'd try. The implication was pretty clear. I wouldn't have minded training my replacement. Being asked to train my boss was a little hard to swallow. Thirty years of experience, jumped over . . . But I swallowed it.'

Gregor's attention was wholly on Haroche, and Haroche's, perforce, wholly on Gregor. It was as if Gregor generated his own little personal force-bubble, just like those used by a Cetagandan haut-lady, with only the two of them inside. Haroche grew more intense, leaning forward, his knee almost touching Gregor's.

'Then Vorkosigan . . . shot his foot off. So to speak. Good and proper. I didn't have to do him, he did himself, better than I could ever have imagined. He was out, I was in. I had my chance back, but . . . Illyan was good for another five years, maybe ten. There's more young hotshots coming up all the time. Now, while I was still at my peak, I wanted my chance. Illyan was getting stale, you could see it, feel it. Getting tired. He kept talking about retiring, but he never did anything. I wanted to serve the Imperium, serve you, Sire! I knew I could, if I got my chance. In time, in my time. And then … I thought of that damned Komarran powder.'

'Just when did you think of it?'

'That afternoon, when Vorkosigan came stumbling out of Illyan's office with his eyes torn off. I went down to the Evidence Rooms on another matter, walked right by that shelf, as I'd done a hundred times before, but this time … I opened the box, and pocketed two capsules. It was no trouble walking out with them; it was the box that was screamer-tagged, not its contents. Of course I wasn't searched. I knew I'd have to do something about the monitors, eventually, but even if someone had visually checked them, all they would see was me, authorized to take anything I wanted.'

'We know where. When did you administer the prokaryotes to Illyan?'

'It was … a few days later. Three, four days.' Haroche's hand jerked in air; Miles could imagine the stream of tan smoke spinning from his fingers. 'He was always popping into my office, to check out facts, to get my opinion.'

'Did you use both capsules then?'

'Not then. Nothing seemed to be happening for about a week, so I dosed him again. I hadn't realized how slowly the symptoms were going to show. Or … how severely. But I knew it wouldn't kill him. I thought it wouldn't, anyway. I wanted to be sure. It was an impulse. And then it was too late to back out.'

'An impulse?' Gregor raised his eyebrows, devastatingly. 'After three days of premeditation?'

'Impulse,' Miles broke his own long silence, 'does work as slowly as that sometimes. Particularly when you're having a really bad idea.' I should know.

Gregor motioned him to desist; Miles bit his tongue. 'When did you decide to frame Captain Galeni?' Gregor asked sternly.

'I didn't, not then. I didn't want to frame anyone, but if I had to, I wanted to get Vorkosigan. He was perfect for it. There was a kind of justice in it. He'd damn near got away with murder, in that business with the courier. I'd have court-martialed the hyper little dwarf, but he was still Illyan's pet, even after all that mess. Then he turned up on my front doorstep with that damned Auditors chain around his neck, and I realized he wasn't just Illyan's pet.' Haroche's eyes, meeting Gregor's at last, were accusing.

Gregor's eyes were very, very cool. 'Go on,' he said, utterly neutral.

'The little git wouldn't leave it alone. He pushed and pushed—if I'd been able to hold him off one more week, I'd never have had to frame anyone at all. It was Vorkosigan forced my hand. But it was clear by then Vorkosigan was fireproof; I'd never make it stick to him. Galeni was around him, he caught my attention, I realized his suspect profile was even better than Vorkosigan's. He wasn't my first choice, but … he was a lot more disposable. He was a potential embarrassment to the Empress-to-be, if nothing else. Who would miss him?'

Gregor had grown so neutral as to seem almost gray. So, that's what rage looks like on him. Miles wondered if Haroche realized what Gregor's extreme lack of expression meant. The general seemed caught up in his own words, indignant, speaking faster now.

'The little git still wouldn't give it up. Three days—he found those capsules in the evidence room in three days. It was supposed to have taken him three months. I couldn't believe it. I thought I could get him to run all the way to Jackson's Whole and back, but he stuck tight to me, all hours of the day or night I'd turn around and there he'd be, under my