Memory

elbow, all over my building. I had to get rid of him before I strangled him, so I advanced the timetable on Galeni as much as I dared and delivered him gift-wrapped. And the little git still wouldn't give it up! So I gave him the bait he was hungry for, I was sure he'd swallow that one, I practically stuffed it down his throat but he was salivating so hard by that time, the next thing I turn around he's back in my office with that damned arrogant galactic biobird with those frigging filters apart, and I'm down here and he's . . . up.' Haroche paused for breath.

Gregor blinked. 'What bait?'

Aw, hell, Haroche, you don't have to go into that, really. . . .

When Haroche did not reply, Gregor's gaze turned to Miles. 'What bait?' he asked, with deceptive mildness.

Miles cleared his throat. 'He offered me the Dendarii. He said I could go back to work for him on the same terms I used to work for Simon. Oh, better. He threw in a captaincy.'

Three nearly identical astonished stares seemed to pin him to the wall.

'You did not mention this to me,' said Illyan at last.

'No.'

'You didn't mention it to me, either,' said Gregor.

'No.'

'You mean you didn't say yes?' asked Ivan, in a stunned voice.

'No. Yes. Whatever.'

'Why not?' said Illyan, after what seemed like a full minute.

'Didn't think I could prove it was a bribe.'

'No. I mean, I know what a bribe it is, God knows you don't have to demonstrate that to me' said Illyan. 'Why didn't you take it?'

'And give up Galeni to him as a goat? And let him run ImpSec for the next ten, twenty years, knowing what I knew about him? How long d'you think it would have been before he stopped just reporting to Gregor, and began manipulating him through his reports, or more directly? For his own good, of course, and the good of the Imperium.'

'I would not. I would have served you well, Sire,' Haroche insisted, his head bent, his voice low.

Gregor frowned, deeply.

Hell, let him have his denial. Miles would no more have tried to wrest it from him than he would have tried to take a log from a drowning man. He didn't want anything more from Haroche, not more confession, not even revenge. He didn't even need to hate him back. Miles might grieve for the honest Haroche of Midsummer, now lost; the Haroche of Winterfair had chosen his fate. You have no mass, and cannot move me. I'm tired, and I want my dinner. 'Are we done yet?' he sighed.

Gregor sat back. 'I'm afraid so.'

'You're acting like it was murder, and it wasn't. It wasn't treason,' Haroche insisted. 'You must see that, Sire.'

Try, 'I'm sorry.' Give up on justification, go for mercy. You'd be surprised what can happen.

'Simon wasn't even hurt!'

Very deliberately, Gregor rose and turned his back on him. Haroche's mouth opened on more desperate defenses, which did not emerge, but seemed to clot there. Illyan, famous for silken verbal venom, looked as if he couldn't think of anything to say scathing enough.

As soon as Gregor motioned the door open and ducked through, Ivan scooted out after him. Illyan waited for Miles, by sheer habit not letting him turn his back on a potential hazard unguarded, and followed him into the corridor. The door hissed closed on Haroche's last choked protests, cutting them off as abruptly as a blade to his throat.

They were all silent, until they reached the processing area again. Then Illyan remarked, 'I'd thought that crack about wrestling with temptation was a joke.'

'Best two falls out of three, Simon. It was that close. I … really don't want to talk about it.'

'He did try to bribe one of my Auditors, then,' said Gregor. 'It's a capital charge.'

'I don't think I want to try to explain it to a military court, Sire. Haroche has enough on his plate. He can scarcely be more ruined. Let it go. Please.'

'If you wish. My Lord Auditor.' Gregor had a strange look on his face, staring down at Miles; Miles shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't surprise or amazement, which would have unraveled to an insult, after all. Awe? Surely not. 'What stopped you? I too want to know why, you know. You owe me that much.'

'I don't . . . quite know how to put it.' He searched for, and rather to his surprise found, that odd calm place inside, still there. It helped. 'Some prices are just too high, no matter how much you may want the prize. The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart.'

'Oh,' said Gregor.

Illyan had estimated the time to compose the Auditor's report would be equal to the time it had taken to crack the case. This turned out to be optimistic; he hadn't factored in the interruptions. Miles spent most of the following week holed up in his bedroom, shoving masses of data files and words around on his comconsole. After identifying all the missing pieces, he trudged back and forth to ImpSec HQ to confer with Forensics, the clinic, and a half-dozen other departments, to record depositions, or to closet himself with General Allegre. He made one trip out of Vorbarr Sultana to collect extra medical testimony from Admiral Avakli. He rechecked everything. This was one report he didn't want to see floating back on a tide of clarification queries, even if they would lack Illyan's acerbic marginalia.

Miles was in deep concentration composing a brief, neutrally worded account of Haroche's stonewalling and misdirection during the peak of Illyan's medical crisis, and cursing himself for every clue he had missed—oh, Haroche had handled him all right, handled them all—when Ivan barged in, unannounced, to demand loudly, 'Do you realize what's been going on in your guest suite?'

Miles groaned, and ran his hands through his hair, waved Ivan to silence, tried and failed to remember the brilliant way he'd been going to finish that paragraph, gave up, and shut down his comconsole. 'You don't need to bellow.'

'I am not bellowing,' said Ivan. 'I'm being firm.'

'Could you please be firm at a lower volume?'

'No. Simon Illyan is sleeping with my mother, and it's your fault!'

'I … don't think it is, somehow.'

'It's happening in your house, anyway. You've got some kind of responsibility for the consequences.'

'What consequences?'

'I don't know what consequences! I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do about it. Should I start calling Illyan Da, or challenge him to a duel?'

'Well . . . you might start by considering the possibility that it's none of your business. They are grown-ups, last I checked.'

'They're old, Miles! It's, it's, it's . . . undignified. Or something. Scandalous. She's high Vor, and he's, he's . . . Illyan.'

'In a class by himself.' Miles grinned. 'I shouldn't anticipate much scandal, if I were you. I had the impression they were being reasonably, um, discreet. Your mother does everything in good taste. Besides, her being her, and him being him, who would dare comment?'

'Its embarrassing. After Gregor's betrothal ceremony, and before things start to gear up for the wedding, Mama told me they're going to take a vacation on the south coast for a half-month. Together. Some middle-class prole resort I never heard of, that Illyan picked because he'd never heard of it either, and any place that's never once come to the attention of ImpSec was all right by him. She says after the betrothal