The Vor Game

where the true danger lies. All right. Tell them that we've got our comm problems straightened out—finally—but say again that I will speak first only to Commander Cavilo.'

'They—ah—I think they're finally putting her through. I've got a tight-beam coming in on the dedicated channel.'

'Trace it.' Miles hung over her shoulder as she coaxed this information from the comm net. 'The source is moving. . . .'

Miles closed his eyes in prayer, snapped them open again at Elena's triumphant, 'Got it! There. That little ship.'

'Give me its course and energy profile. Is she heading toward the wormhole?'

'No, away.'

'Ha!'

'It's a fast ship—small—it's a Falcon-class courier,' Elena reported. 'If her goal is Pol—and Barrayar—she must intersect our triangle.'

Miles exhaled. 'Right. Right. She waited to speak on a line her Vervani bosses couldn't monitor. I thought she might. Wonder what lies she's told them? She's past the point of no return, does she know it?' He opened his arms to the new short vector line in the schematic. 'Come, love. Come to me.'

Elena raised her brow sardonically at him. 'Coming through. Your sweetheart is about to appear on Monitor Three.'

Miles swung into the indicated Station chair, settling himself before the holovid plate, which began to sparkle. Now was the time to muster every bit of self-control he'd ever owned. He smoothed his face to an expression of cool ironic interest, as Cavilo's fine features formed before him. Out of range of the vid pick-up, he rubbed his sweating palms on his trouser knees.

Cavilo's blue eyes were alight with triumph, constrained by her tight mouth and tense brows as if in echo of Miles's ships constraining her flight-path. 'Lord Vorkosigan. What are you doing here?'

'Following your orders, ma'am. You told me to go get the Dendarii. And I've transmitted nothing to Barrayar.'

A six-second time-lag, as the tight-beam flew from ship to ship and returned her answer. Alas that it gave her as much time to think as it did him.

'I didn't order you to cross the Hub.'

Miles wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. 'But where else would you need my fleet except at the point of action? I'm not dense.'

Cavilo's pause this time was longer than accounted for by the transmission lag. 'You mean you didn't get Metzov's message?' she asked.

Damn near. What a fabulous array of double meanings there. 'Why, did you send him as a courier?'

Lag. 'Yes!'

A palpable lie for a palpable lie. 'I never saw him. Maybe he deserted. He must have realized he'd lost your love to another. Perhaps he's holed up in some spaceport bar right now, drowning his sorrows.' Miles sighed deeply at this sad scenario.

Cavilo's concerned attentive expression melted to rage when this one arrived. 'Idiot! I know you took him prisoner!'

'Yes, and I've been wondering ever since why you allowed that to happen. If that accident was undesired, you should have taken precautions against it.'

Cavilo's eyes narrowed; she shifted her ground. 'I feared Stanis's emotions made him unreliable. I wanted to give him one more chance to prove himself. I gave my backup man orders to kill him if he tried to kill you, but when Metzov missed, the dolt waited.'

Substitute as soon as/succeeded for that if/tried, and the statement was probably near-truth. Miles wished he had a recording of that Ranger agent's field report, and Cavilo's blistering reply. 'There, you see? You do want subordinates who can think for themselves. Like me.'

Cavilo's head jerked back. 'You, for a subordinate? I'd sooner sleep with a snake!'

Interesting image, that. 'You'd better get used to me. You're seeking entry into a world strange to you, familiar to me. The Vorkosigans are an integral part of Barrayar's power-class. You could use a native guide.'

Lag. 'Exactly. I'm trying—I must—get your emperor to safety. You're blocking his flight path. Out of my way!'

Miles spared a glance for the tactics display. Yes, just so. Good, come to me. 'Commander Cavilo, I feel certain you are missing an important datum in your calculations about me.'

Lag. 'Let me clarify my position, little Barrayaran. I hold your emperor. I control him absolutely.'

'Fine, let me hear those orders from him, then.'

Lag . . . fractionally briefer, yes. 'I can have his throat cut before your eyes. Let me pass!'

'Go ahead,' Miles shrugged. 'It'll make an awful mess on your deck, though.'

She grinned sourly, after the lag. 'You bluff badly.'

'I bluff not at all. Gregor is far more valuable alive to you than to me. You can do nothing, where you're going, except through him. He's your meal ticket. But has anyone mentioned to you yet that if Gregor dies, I could become the next emperor of Barrayar?' Well, arguably, but this was hardly time to go into the finer details of the six competing Barrayaran succession theories.

Cavilo's face froze. 'He said … he had no heir. You said so too.'

'None named. Because my father refuses to be named, not because he lacks the bloodlines. But ignoring the bloodlines doesnt erase them. And I am my father's only child. And he can't live forever. Ergo . . . So, resist my boarding parties, by all means. Threaten away. Carry out your threats. Give me the Imperium-I shall thank you prettily, before I have you summarily executed. Emperor Miles the First. How does it sound? As good as Empress Cavilo?' Miles gave it an intense beat, 'Or, we could work together. The Vorkosigans have traditionally felt that the substance was better than the name. The power behind the throne, as my father before me—who has held just that power, as Gregor has doubtless told you, for far too long—you're not going to dislodge him by batting your eyelashes. He's immune to women. But I know his every weakness. I've thought it through. This could be my big chance, one way or another. By the way—milady—do you care which emperor you wed?'

The time lag allowed him to fully savor her changes of expression, as his plausible calumnies thudded home. Alarm; revulsion; finally, reluctant respect.

'I underestimated you, it seems. Very well . . . Your ships may escort us to safety. Where—clearly—we must confer further.'

'I will transport you to safety, aboard the Ariel. Where we will confer immediately.'

Cavilo straightened, nostrils flaring. 'No way.'

'All right, let's compromise. I will abide by Gregor's orders, and Gregor's orders only. As I said, milady, you'd better get used to this. No Barrayaran will take orders from you directly at first, till you've established yourself. If that's the game you're choosing to play, you'd better start practicing. It only gets more complicated after this. Or, you can choose to resist, in which case I get it all.' Play for time, Cavilo! Bite!

'I'll get Gregor.' The vid went to the grey haze of a holding-signal.

Miles flung himself back in his station chair, rubbed his neck and rolled his head, trying to relieve his screaming nerves. He was shaking. Mayhew was staring at him in alarm.

'Damn,' said Elena in a hushed voice. 'If I didn't know you, I'd think you were Mad Yuri's understudy. The look on your face . . . am I reading too much into all that innuendo, or did you in fact just connive to assassinate Gregor in one breath, offer to cuckold him in the next, accuse your father of homosexuality, suggest a patricidal plot against him, and league yourself with Cavilo—what are you going to do for an encore?'

'Depends on the straight lines. I can hardly wait to find out,' Miles panted. 'Was I convincing?'

'You were scary.'