The Vor Game

'As an experienced combat soldier, do you prefer frontal assaults?'

'No, sir!' Chodak smiled slightly.

'Suppose you tell me. I take it you are—or are one—of the fleet intelligence agents scattered around the Hub. There had better be more than one of you, or the organization's fallen apart sadly in my absence.' In fact, half the inhabitants of Pol Six at the moment were probably spies of some stripe, considering the number of potential players in this game. Not to mention double agents—ought they to be counted twice?

'Why have you been gone so long, sir?' Chodak's tone was almost accusative.

'It wasn't my intention,' Miles temporized. 'For a portion of time I was a prisoner in a … place I'd rather not describe. I escaped about three months back.' Well, that was one way of describing Kyril Island.

'You, sir! We could have rescued—'

'No, you couldn't have,' Miles said sharply. 'The situation was one of extreme delicacy. It was resolved to my satisfaction. But I was then faced with . . . considerable clean-up in areas of my operations other than the Dendarii fleet. Far-flung areas. Sorry, but you people are not my only concern. Nevertheless, I'm worried. I should have heard more from Commodore Jesek.' Indeed, he should have.

'Commodore Jesek no longer commands. There was a financial reorganization and command restructuring, about a year ago, through the committee of captain-owners and Admiral Oser. Spearheaded by Admiral Oser.'

'Where is Jesek?'

'He was demoted to fleet engineer.'

Disturbing, but Miles could see it. 'Not necessarily a bad thing. Jesek was never as aggressive as, say, Tung. And Tung?'

Chodak shook his head. 'He was demoted from chief-of-staff to personnel officer. A nothing-job.'

'That seems . . . wasteful.'

'Oser doesn't trust Tung. And Tung doesn't love Oser, either. Oser's been trying to force him out for a year, but he hangs on, despite the humiliation of … um. It's not easy to get rid of him. Oser can't afford—yet—to decimate his staff, and too may key people are personally loyal to Tung.'

Miles's eyebrow rose. 'Including yourself?'

Chodak said distantly, 'He got things done. I considered him a superior officer.'

'So did I.'

Chodak nodded shortly. 'Sir . . . the thing is … the man who was with me in the cafeteria is my senior here. And he's one of Oser's. I can't think of any way short of killing him to stop him reporting our encounter.'

'I have no desire to start a civil war in my own command structure,' said Miles mildly. Yet. 'I think it's more important that he not suspect you spoke to me privately. Let him report. I've struck deals with Admiral Oser before, to our mutual benefit.'

'I'm not sure Oser thinks so, sir. I think he thinks he was screwed.'

Miles barked a realistic laugh. 'What, I doubled the size of the fleet during the Tau Verde war. Even as third officer, he ended up commanding more than he had before, a smaller slice of a bigger pie.'

'But the side he originally contracted us to lost.'

'Not so. Both sides gained from that truce we forced. It was a win-win result, except for a little lost face. What, can't Oser feel he's won unless somebody else loses?'

Chodak looked grim. 'I think that may be the case, sir. He says—I've heard him say—you ran a scam on us. You were never an admiral, never an officer of any kind. If Tung hadn't double-crossed him, he'd have kicked your ass to hell.' Chodak's gaze on Miles was broodingly thoughtful. 'What were you really?'

Miles smiled gently. 'I was the winner. Remember?'

Chodak snorted, half-amused. 'Yee-ah.'

'Don't let poor Oser's revisionist history fog your mind. You were there.'

Chodak shook his head ruefully. 'You didn't really need my warning, did you.' He moved to stand up.

'Never assume anything. And, ah … take care of yourself. That means, cover your ass. I'll remember you, later.'

'Sir.' Chodak nodded. Overholt, waiting in the corridor in a quasi Imperial Guardsman pose, escorted him firmly to the shuttle hatch. Miles sat in the wardroom, and nibbled gently on the rim of his coffee cup, considering certain surprising parallels between command restructuring in a free mercenary fleet and the internecine wars of the Barrayaran Vor. Might the mercenaries be thought of as a miniature, simplified, or laboratory version of the real thing? Oser should have been around during the Vordarian's Pretendership, and seen how the big boys operate. Still, Miles had best not underestimate the potential dangers and complexities of the situation. His death in a miniature conflict would be just as absolute as his death in a large one. Hell, what death? What had he to do with the Dendarii, or the Oserans, after all? Oser was right, it had been a scam, and the only wonder was how long it had taken the man to wake to the fact. Miles could see no immediate need to reinvolve himself with the Dendarii at all. In fact, he could be well-rid of a dangerous political embarrasment. Let Oser have them, they'd been his in the first place anyway. I have three sworn liege-people in that fleet. My own personal politic.

How easy it had been to slip back into being Naismith. . . Anyway, activating Naismith wasn't Miles decision. It was Captain Ungari's.

Ungari was the first to point this out, when he returned later Overholt briefed him. A controlled man, his fury showed by subtle signs, a sharpening of the voice, deeper lines of tension around eyes and mouth. 'You violated your cover. You never break cover. It's the first rule of survival in this business.'

'Sir, may I respectfully submit, I didn't blow it,' Miles replied steadily. 'Chodak did. He seemed to realize it, too, he's not stupid. He apologized as best he could.' Chodak indeed might be subtler than first glance would indicate, for at this point, he had an in with both sides in the putative Dendarii command schism, whoever came out on top. Calculation or chance? Chodak was either smart or lucky, in either case he could be a useful addition to Miles's side. . . . What side, huh? Ungari isn't going to let me near the Dendarii after this.

Ungari frowned at the vidplate, which had just replayed the recording of Miles's interview with the mercenary. 'It sounds more and more like the Naismith cover may be too dangerous to activate at all. If your Oser's little palace coup is anything like what this fellow indicates, Illyan's fantasy of you simply ordering the Dendarii to get lost is straight out the airlock. I thought it sounded too easy.' Ungari paced the wardroom, tapping his right fist into his left palm. 'Well, we may still get some use out of Victor Rotha. Much as I'd like to confine you to quarters —'

Strange, how many of his superiors said that.

'—Liga wants to see Rotha again this evening. Maybe to place an order for some of our fictitious cargo. String it out—I want you to get past him to the next level of his organization. His boss, or his boss's boss.'

'Who owns Liga, do you suspect?'

Ungari stopped pacing, and turned his hands palm-out. 'The Cetagandans? Jackson's Whole? Any one of half-a-dozen others? ImpSec is spread thin out here. But if it were proved Liga's criminal organization are Cetagandan puppets, it could be worth sending a full-time agent to penetrate their ranks. So find out! Hint at more goodies in your bag. Take bribes. Blend in. And move it along. I'm almost finished here, and Illyan particularly wants to know when Aslund Station will be fully operational as a defensive base.'

Miles punched the door chime of the hostel room. His chin tic'd up. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. Overholt glanced up and down the empty corridor.

The door hissed open. Miles blinked in astonishment.

'Ah, Mr. Rotha.' The light cool voice belonged to the brief blonde he'd seen in the concourse that morning. Her jumpsuit was now skin-fitting red silk with a downcurving neckline, a glittering red ruff rising from the back of the neck to frame her sculptured head, and high-heeled red suede boots. She favored him with a high-voltage smile.

'I'm sorry,' said Miles automatically, 'I must be in the wrong place.'

'Not at all.' A slim hand opened in an expansive, welcoming gesture. 'You're right on time.'

'I had an appointment with a Mr. Liga, here.'

'Yes, and I've taken over the appointment. Do come in. My name is Livia Nu.'