The Vor Game

barely a dozen kilometers. Now, ships had to cooperate to grapple, to slow and close up to maneuver. Given also the small scale of wormhole volumes, fighting looked like it might suddenly become tight and intimate once again, except that too-tight formations invited 'sun wall' attacks of massed nuclears. Round and round. It was hinted that ramming and boarding could actually become practical popular tactics once again. Till the next surprise arrived from the devil's workshops, anyway. Miles longed briefly for the good old days of his grandfather's generation, when people could kill each other from a clean fifty thousand kilometers. Just bright sparks.

The effect of the new imploders on concentration of firepower promised to be curious, especially where a wormhole was involved. It was now possible that a small force in a small area could apply as much power per cubic whatever as a large force, which could not squeeze its largeness down to the effective range; although the difference in reserves still held good, of course. A large force willing to make sacrifices could keep beating away till sheer numbers overcame the smaller concentration. The Cetagandan ghem-lords were not allergic to sacrifice, though generally preferring to start with subordinates, or better still, allies. Miles rubbed his knotted neck muscles. The cabin buzzer blatted; Miles reached across the comconsole desk to key the door open.

A lean, dark-haired man in his early thirties wearing mercenary grey-and-whites with tech insignia stood uncertainly in the aperture. 'My lord?' he said in a soft voice.

Baz Jesek, Fleet Engineering Officer. Once, Barrayaran Imperial Service deserter on the run; subsequently liege-sworn as a private Armsman to Miles in his identity as Lord Vorkosigan. And finally husband to the woman Miles loved. Once loved. Still loved.

Damn. Miles cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'Come in, Commodore Jesek.'

Baz trod soundlessly across the deck matting, looking defensive and guilty. 'I just got in off the repairs tender, and heard the word that you were back.' His Barrayaran accent was polished thin and smooth by his years of galactic exile, significantly less pronounced than four years ago.

'Temporarily, anyway.'

'I'm . . . sorry you didn't find things as you'd left them, my lord. I feel like I've squandered Elena's dowry that you bestowed. I didn't realize the implications of Oser's economic maneuvers until . . . well … no excuses.'

'The man finessed Tung, too,' Miles pointed out. He cringed inwardly, to hear Baz apologize to him. 'I gather it wasn't exactly a fair fight.'

'It wasn't a fight at all, my lord,' Baz said slowly. 'That was the problem.' Baz stood to parade rest. 'I've come to offer you my resignation, my lord.'

'Offer rejected,' said Miles promptly. 'In the first place, liege-sworn Armsmen can't resign, in the second place, where am I going to get a competent fleet engineer on,' he glanced at his chrono, 'two hours' notice, and in the third place, in the third place … I need a witness to clear my name if things go wrong. Wronger. You've got to fill me in on Fleet equipment capabilities, then help get it all in motion. And I've got to fill you in on what's really going on. You're the only one besides Elena I can trust with the secret half of this.'

With difficulty, Miles persuaded the hesitant engineer to sit down. Miles poured out a speed-edited precis of his adventures in the Hegen Hub, leaving out only mention of Gregor's half-hearted suicide attempt; that was Gregor's private shame. Miles was not altogether surprised to learn Elena had not confided his earlier, brief and ignominious return, rescue, and departure from the Dendarii; Baz seemed to think the presence of the incognito Emperor obvious and sufficient reason for her silence. By the time Miles finished, Baz's inner guilt was quite thoroughly displaced by outer alarm.

'If the Emperor is killed—if he doesn't return—the mess at home could go on for years,' Baz said. 'Maybe you should let Cavilo rescue him, rather than risk—'

'Up to a point, that's just what I intend to do,' said Miles. 'If only I knew Gregor's mind.' He paused. 'If we lose both Gregor and the Wormhole battle, the Cetagandans will arrive on our doorstep just at the point we will be in maximum internal disarray. What a temptation to them— what a lure—they've always wanted Komarr—we could be looking down the throat of the second Cetagandan invasion, almost as much a surprise to them as to us. They may prefer deep-laid plans, but they're not above a little opportunism—not an opportunity this overwhelming—'

Determinedly, driven by this vision, they turned to the tech specs, Miles reminding himself about the ancient saying about the want of a nail. They had nearly completed an overview when the comm officer on duty paged Miles through his comconsole.

'Admiral Naismith, sir?' The comm officer stared with interest at Miles's face, then went on, 'There's a man in the docking bay who wants to see you. He claims to have important information.' Miles bethought himself of the theorized backup assassin. 'What's his ID?'

'He says to tell you his name's Ungari. That's all he'll say.'

Miles caught his breath. The cavalry at last! Or a clever ploy to gain admittance. 'Can you give me a look at him, without letting him know he's being scanned?'

'Right, sir.' The comm officer's face was replaced on the vid by a view of the Triumph's docking bay. The vid zoomed down to focus on a pair of men in Aslunder tech coveralls. Miles melted with relief. Captain Ungari. And blessed Sergeant Overholt.

'Thank you, comm officer. Have a squad escort the two men to my cabin.' He glanced at Baz. 'In, uh, about ten minutes.' He keyed off and explained, 'It's my ImpSec boss. Thank God! But—I'm not sure I'd be able to explain to him the peculiar status of your desertion charges. I mean, he's ImpSec, not Service Security, and I don't imagine your old arrest order is exactly at the top of his list of concerns right now, but it might be … simpler, if you avoid him, eh?'

'Mm.' Baz grimaced in agreement. 'I believe I have duties to attend to?'

'No lie. Baz . . .' for a wild moment he longed to tell Baz to take Elena and run, safe away from the coming danger, 'It's going to get real crazy soon.'

'With Mad Miles back in charge, how could it be otherwise?' Baz shrugged, smiling. He started for the door.

'I'm not as crazy as Tung—Good God, nobody calls me that, do they?'

'Ah—it's an old joke. Only among a few old Dendarii.' Baz's step quickened.

And there are very few old Dendarii. That, unfortunately, was not a funny joke. The door hissed closed behind the engineer.

Ungari. Ungari. Somebody in charge at last.If only I had Gregor with me, I could be done right now. But at least I can find out what Our Side has been up to all this time. Exhausted, he laid his head down on his arms on Oser's comconsole desk, and smiled. Help. Finally.

Some wriggling dream was fogging his mind; he snatched himself back from too-long-delayed sleep as the cabin buzzer blatted again. He rubbed his numb face and hit the lock control on the desk. 'Enter.' He glanced at the chrono; he'd lost only four minutes, on that downward slide of consciousness. It was definitely time for a break.

Chodak and two Dendarii guards escorted Captain Ungari and Sergeant Overholt into the room. Ungari and Overholt were both dressed in tan Aslunder supervisor's coveralls, no doubt with IDs and passes to match. Miles smiled happily at them.

'Sergeant Chodak, you and your men wait outside.' Chodak looked sadly disappointed at this exclusion. 'And if she's finished with her current task, ask Commander Elena Bothari-Jesek to attend on us here. Thanks.'

Ungari waited impatiently till the door had hissed closed behind Chodak to stride forward. Miles stood up and saluted him smartly. 'Glad to see y—'

To Miles's surprise, Ungari did not return the salute; instead his hands clenched on Miles's uniform jacket and lifted. Miles sensed that it was only with the greatest restraint that Ungari's grip had closed on his lapels and not his neck. 'Vorkosigan, you idiot! What the hell kind of game have you been up to?'

'I found Gregor, sir. I—' don't say lost him. 'I'm mounting an expedition to recover him right now. I'm so glad you made contact with me, another hour and you'd have missed the boat. If we pool our information and resources—'

Ungari's clutch did not loosen, nor did his peeled-back lips relax. 'We know you found the Emperor, we traced you both here from Consortium Detention. Then you both vanished utterly.'