Mirror Dance

She nodded pointedly toward his cabin door. “Stay there.”

He slept at last, for a long time, though when Quinn came to wake him it seemed like not long enough. Mark wasn’t sure if Quinn had slept at all, though she had finally cleaned up and changed back into her officer’s undress greys. He’d been starting to imagine her planning to wear the bloodstained fatigues till they retrieved the cryo-chamber, as some sort of vow. Even without the fatigues she radiated an unsettling edginess, red-eyed and strained.

“Come on,” she growled. “I need you to talk to Fell again. He’s been giving me a run-around. I’m starting to wonder if he could be in collusion with Bharaputra. I don’t understand, it doesn’t add up.”

She hauled him off to the tac room again, though this time she did not rely on the ear-bug, but stood aggressively at his elbow. To the outside eye, she’d ranged herself as bodyguard and chief assistant; all Mark could think of was how conveniently placed she was to grab him by the hair and slit his throat.

Captain Bothari-Jesek sat in, occupying a spare station chair as before, watching quietly. She eyed Quinn’s frazzled demeanor with a look of concern, but said nothing.

When Fell’s face appeared above the vid plate again, its pinkness was decidedly more irate than jolly. “Admiral Naismith, I told Captain Quinn that when I had firm information, / would contact you.”

“Baron, Captain Quinn … serves me. Please forgive any importunity on her part. She only, ah, faithfully reflects my own anxieties.” Miles’s typical overflowing vocabulary filled his mouth like flour. Quinn’s fingers bit into his shoulder, silent painful warning that he had better not let his invention carry him too far. “What, shall we say, less-than-firm information can you give us?”

Fell settled back, frowning but placated. “To put it bluntly, the Bharaputrans say they cannot find your cryo-chamber.”

“It has to be there,” hissed Quinn.

“Now, now, Quinnie.” Mark patted her hand. It clamped like a vise. Her nostrils flared murderously, but she achieved a faint false smile for the holovid. Mark turned back to Fell. “Baron—in your best judgment—are the Bharaputrans lying?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you have some independent corroboration for your opinion? Agents on site, or anything of the sort?”

The Baron’s lips twisted. “Really, Admiral, I cannot say.”

Naturally not. He rubbed his face, a Naismith-thoughtful gesture. “Can you say anything specific about what the Bharaputrans are doing?”

“They are in fact turning their medical complex inside out right now. All the employees, and all the security forces they brought in to contain your raid, have been engaged in the search.”

“Could it be an elaborate charade, to mislead us?”

The Baron paused. “No,” he said flatly at last. “They’re really scrambling. On all levels. Are you aware …” he took a decisive breath, “of what your kidnapping of Baron Bharaputra, if it should prove more than a brief interlude, could do to the balance of power among the Great Houses of Jackson’s Whole?”

“No, what?”

The Baron’s chin went up, and he checked Mark sharply for signs of sarcasm. The vertical lines between his eyes deepened, but he answered seriously. “You should realize, the value of your hostage may go down with time. No power-vacuum at the top of a Great House, or even a House Minor, can last long. There are always factions of younger men waiting, perhaps in secret, to rush in and fill it. Even supposing Lotus manages to get Vasa Luigi’s chief loyalist lieutenant to fill and retain his place—as time goes on, it can only dawn on him that the return of his master will involve demotion as well as reward. Think of a Great House as the hydra of mythology. Chop off its head, and seven more arise on the stump of neck—and begin biting each other. Eventually, only one will survive. In the meantime, the House is weakened, and all its old alliances and deals are thrown into doubt. The turmoil expands in a widening ring to associate Houses … such abrupt changes are not welcomed, here. Not by anyone.” Least of all by Baron Fell himself, Mark gathered.

“Except maybe by your younger colleagues,” Mark suggested.

A wave of Fell’s hand dismissed the concerns of his younger colleagues. If they wanted power, the wave implied, let them plot and scramble and kill for it as he had.

“Well, I have no desire to keep Baron Bharaputra till he grows old and moldy,” said Mark. “I have no personal use for him at all, out of this context. Please urge House Bharaputra to speed in finding my brother, eh?”

“They need no urging.” Fell regarded him coldly. “Be aware, Admiral, if this … situation is not brought to a satisfactory conclusion quickly, Fell Station will not be able to harbor you.”

“Uh … define quickly.”

“Very soon. Within another day-cycle.”

Fell Station surely had enough force to evict the two small Dendarii ships whenever it willed. Or worse than evict. “Understood. Uh … what about unimpeded passage out at Jumppoint Five?” If things did not go well …

“That … you may have to deal for separately.”

“Deal how?”

“If you still had your hostage … I would not desire that you carry Vasa Luigi out of Jacksonian local space. And I am positioned to see that you do not.”

Quinn’s fist slammed down beside the vid plate. “No!” she cried. “No way! Baron Bharaputra is the only card we have to get my, get the cryo-chamber back. We will not give him up!”

Fell recoiled slightly. “Captain!” he reproved.

“We will take him with us if we’re forced out,” Quinn threatened, “and you can all hang out to dry. Or he can walk back from Jumppoint Five without a pressure suit. If we don’t get that cryo- chamber—well, we have better allies than you. And with fewer inhibitions. They won’t care about your profits, or your deals, or your balances. The only question they’ll be asking is whether to start at the north pole, and burn down, or at the south pole, and burn up!”

Fell grimaced angrily. “Don’t be absurd, Captain Quinn. You speak of a planetary force.”

Quinn leaned into the vid pick-up and snarled, “Baron, I speak of a multi-planetary force!”

Bothari-Jesek, startled, made an urgent throat-slicing gesture across her neck, Cut it, Quinn!

Fell’s eyes went hard and bright as glass glints. “You’re bluffing,” he said at last.

“I am not. You’d best believe I am not!”

“No one would do all that for one man. Still less for one corpse.”

Quinn hesitated. Mark’s hand closed on hers upon his shoulder and squeezed hard to say, Control yourself, dammit. She was on the verge of giving away what she’d practically threatened him with death not to reveal. “You may be right, Baron,” she said finally. “You’d better pray you’re right.”

After a long moment of silence, Fell inquired mildly, “And just who is this uninhibited ally of yours, Admiral?”

After an equally long pause, Mark looked up and said sweetly, “Captain Quinn was bluffing, Baron.”

Fell’s lips drew back on an extremely dry smile. “All Betans are liars,” he said softly. His hand moved to cut the comm; his image faded in the usual haze of sparkles. This time it was his cold smile that seemed to linger, bodiless.

“Good job, Quinn,” Mark snarled into the silence. “You’ve just let Baron Fell know how much he could really get for that cryo-chamber. And maybe even who from. Now we have two enemies.”

Quinn was breathing hard, as though she’d been running. “He’s not our enemy; he’s not our friend. Fell serves Fell. Remember that, ’cause he will.”

“But was Fell lying, or was he merely passing on House Bharaputra’s lies?” Bothari-Jesek asked slowly. “What independent line of profit could Fell possibly have on all this?”

“Or are they both lying?” said Quinn.

“What if neither of them are?” asked Mark in irritation. “Have you thought of that? Remember what