[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
interesting place, seen through other eyes than Galen s. The man s own son
saw the possibilities."
Mark smirked sourly, staring at the wall. "You making another play for my
body?"
"For what? It s not like you have the height my our genes intended or
something. And my bones are all on their way to becoming plastic anyway. No
advantage there."
"I d be in reserve, then. A spare in case of accidents."
Miles threw up his hands. "You don t even believe that any more. But my
original offer still stands. Come with me back to the Dendarii, and I ll hide
you. Smuggle you home. Where you can take your time and figure out how to
be real Mark, and not imitation anybody."
"I don t want to meet those people," Mark stated flatly.
By which he meant, his mother and father; Miles caught that without
difficulty, though Ivan was clearly losing the thread. "I don t think they would
behave inappropriately. After all, they re already in you, on a fundamental
level. You, ah, can t run away from yourself." He paused, tried again. "If you
could do anything, what would it be?"
Mark s scowl deepened. "Bust up the clone business on Jackson s Whole."
"Hm." Miles considered. "It s pretty entrenched. Still, what d you expect of
the descendants of a colony that started as a hijacker base? Naturally they
developed into an aristocracy. I ll have to tell you a couple of stories about
your ancestors sometime that aren t in the official histories . . ." So, Mark had
picked up that much good from his association with Galen, a thirst for justice
that went beyond his own skin even if including it. "As life-goals go, it would
certainly keep you occupied. How would you go about it?"
"I don t know." Mark appeared taken aback by this sudden practical turn.
"Blow up the labs. Rescue the lads."
"Good tactics, bad strategy. They d just rebuild. You need more than one level
of attack. If you figured out some way to make the business unprofitable, it
would die on its own."
"How?" Mark asked in turn.
"Let s see . . . There s the customer base. Unethical rich people. One could
hardly expect to persuade them to choose death over life, I suppose. A
medical breakthrough offering some other form of personal life extension
might divert them."
"Killing them would divert them, too," growled Mark.
"True, but impractical in the mass. People of that class tend to have
bodyguards. Sooner or later one would get you, and it would be all over. Look,
there must be forty points of attack. Don t get stuck on the first one to come to
mind. For example, suppose you returned with me to Barrayar. As Lord Mark
Vorkosigan, you could expect in time to amass a personal and financial power
base. Complete your education really fit yourself out to attack the problem
a
a
T
T
n
n
s
s
F
F
f
f
o
o
D
D
r
r
P
P
m
m
Y
Y
e
e
Y
Y
r
r
B
B
2
2
.
.
B
B
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
m
m
w
w
o
o
w
w
c
c
.
.
.
.
A
A
Y
Y
B
B
Y
Y
B
B
r r
strategically, not just, ah, fling yourself off the first wall you come to and go
splat."
"I will never," said Mark through his teeth, "go to Barrayar."
Yeah, and it seems like all the upper-percentile women in the galaxy are in
complete agreement with you . . . you may be smarter than you know. Miles
sighed under his breath. Quinn, Quinn, Quinn, where are you? In the
corridor, the police were now loading the last unconscious assassins onto a
float pallet. The break would come soon, or not at all.
Ivan was staring at him, Miles realized. "You re completely loony," Ivan
stated with conviction.
"What, don t you think it s time somebody took those Jackson s Whole
bastards on?"
"Sure, but . . ."
"I can t be everywhere. But I could support the project," Miles glanced at
Mark, "if you re all done trying to be me, that is. Are you?"
Mark watched the last of die assassins get wafted away. "You can have it. It s a
wonder you re not trying to switch identities with me." His head swivelled
toward Miles in suddenly renewed suspicion.
Miles laughed, painfully. What a temptation. Ditch his uniform, walk into a
tubeway, and disappear with a credit chit for half a million marks in his
pocket. To be a free man . . . His eye fell on Ivan s grimy Imperial dress
greens, symbol of their service. You are what you do choose again. . . . No.
Barrayar s ugliest child would choose to be her champion still. Not crawl
into a hole and be no one at all.
Speaking of holes, it was high time to crawl out of this one. The last of the
police combat team was marching away past the curve of the corridor after
the float pallet. Tidal techs would be all over the place shortly Better move
fast.
"Time to go," Miles said, shutting down the scanner and retrieving his
handlight.
Ivan grunted relief, and reached up to pull the hatch open. He boosted Miles
through. Miles in turn tossed him a line from his rappelling spool as before.
Panic flooded Mark s face for a moment, looking up at Miles framed in the
exit, as he realized why he might be last; his expression became closed again
as Miles lowered the line. Miles plucked his scanner fisheye and returned it to
its case, and keyed his wrist comm. "Nim, status report," he whispered.
"We ve got both cars back in the air, sir, about a kilometer inland. The police
have cordoned off your area. The place is crawling with em."
"All right. Anything from Quinn?"
"No change."
"Give me her exact coordinates inside the tower."
Nim did so.
"Very good. I m inside the Barrier near Tower Six with Lieutenant Vorpatril
of the Barrayaran Embassy and my clone. We re going to attempt to exit via
Tower Seven and pick up Quinn on the way. Or at least," Miles swallowed past
a stupidly tightened throat, "find out what happened to her. Hold your
present station. Naismith out."
a
a
T
T
n
n
s
s
F
F
f
f
o
o
D
D
r
r
P
P
m
m
Y
Y
e
e
Y
Y
r
r
B
B
2
2
.
.
B
B
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
m
m
w
w
o
o
w
w
c
c
.
.
.
.
A
A
Y
Y
B
B
Y
Y
B
B
r r
They pulled off their boots and padded south down the corridor, hugging the
wall. Miles could hear voices, but they were behind them. The T intersection
was now lit. Miles held up his hand as they approached, oozed to the corner,
and peeked around. A man in Tidal Authority coveralls and a uniformed
constable were examining the hatch. Their backs were turned. Miles waved
Mark and Ivan forward. They all flitted silently past the tunnel mouth.
There was a police guard stationed in the lift tube foyer at the base of Tower
Seven. Miles, boots in one hand and stunner in the other, bared his teeth in
frustration. So much for his optimistic hope of exiting without leaving a trace.
No help for it. Maybe they could make up in speed what they were going to
lack in finesse. Besides, the man now stood between Miles and Quinn, and
thus deserved his fate. Miles aimed his stunner and fired. The constable
collapsed.
They floated up the tube. This level, Miles pointed silently. The corridor was
brightly lit, but there were no subtle people-sounds that Miles could hear. He
paced off the meters that Nim had read out to him, and stopped before a
closed door marked utility. His stomach was turning over. Suppose the
Cetagandans had arranged a slow death for her, suppose the minutes Miles
had spent so cool and sensible hiding out had made all the difference. . . .
The door was locked. The control had been buggered. Miles ripped it apart,
shorted it out, and heaved the door open manually, nearly snapping his
splayed fingers.
She lay in a tumbled heap, too pale and still. Miles fell to his knees beside her.
Throat pulse, throat pulse there was one. Her skin was warm, her chest rose
and fell. Stunned, only stunned. Only stunned. He looked up at a blurred Ivan
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]