ornamental flower show

[middlingalong]

Destang isn't too thrilled with Ivan, but since his lack of thrill takes the form of sending Ivan to a flower show to be out of the commodore's hair rather than, say, confining him to quarters like poor Galeni, Ivan isn't going to rock the boat. He leaves the half-commlink with Galeni in case Miles suddenly has an emergency and goes off as directed to meet the lady he's escorting.

He finds her at the University of London's Horticulture Hall, shepherds her around, makes comments of limited sophistication but genuine enthusiasm regarding the pretty flowers, and excuses himself a couple hours into the affair for a bathroom break.

Comments

[thisvorlunatic]

"I think you two are more alike than you realize," murmurs Miles. "So what's your proposition, Ser Galen? To what end have you called us here?"

Galen lifts a hand, about to access an inner pocket of his jacket, then pauses and smiles and tilts his head as though asking permission. Miles says nothing, does nothing, offers no sign that he realizes Galen is about to pull a weapon—doesn't flinch as the hand emerges from the jacket—

Even when the weapon turns out to be a nerve disruptor.

Ser Galen's smile sharpens. "Some standoffs are more equal than others," he says. "Pick up those stunners—" this to Mark, who obeys without comment, stuffing them all in his belt.

"Now what are you going to do with that?" asks Miles, his eye drawn inexorably to the bell-flared silver muzzle of the nerve disruptor.

"Kill you," says Galen.

So why haven't you? thinks Miles, but he keeps the thought to himself. "Why?" he asks instead. "I don't see how that will serve Komarr at this late hour. Mere revenge?"

"Nothing mere about it. Complete. My Miles will walk out of here as the only one."

"Come the fuck on!" says Miles, rolling his eyes, temporarily quite freed of the magnetic draw of the nerve disruptor. "You're not still stuck on the bloody substitution plot! Barrayaran Security is thoroughly warned; they'll spot you at once now. Can't be done." He focuses on Mark. "Tell me you're not going to let him run you headfirst into a flash-disposer. It's a useless waste. Pointless, too."

[unmarred]

"Not Barrayaran," says Mark. "Dendarii. I'm going to be Admiral Naismith. He's more fun anyway."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Ngh!" Miles mimes tearing his hair out. He nearly feels like doing it for real. "And you somehow believe I haven't warned them too? My patrol leaders are all carrying med scanners with a baseline scan of my skeleton. You can steal my clothes, my stunner, my knife, but I challenge you to steal my bones and do anything useful with them in the time available."

[unmarred]

"So all I have to do is talk my way past the scan - don't tell me you couldn't," shrugs Mark. "Eliminate the three Dendarii who know your true identity, study your logs—"

"It's a pity you didn't bring your pretty bodyguard; now we shall have to hunt her down," says Galen.

[thisvorlunatic]

"You still couldn't bring it off. The depth and breadth of my knowledge of the Dendarii isn't contained in any log. We've been in combat together. And even if you did, what then? Where is Mark while you're off being Admiral Naismith? Maybe Mark doesn't want to be a mercenary admiral. Maybe he wants to be a - a gardener, a textile designer, a doctor, a holovid programmer, a pilot, an engineer, an LPST. Maybe he wants to be very far away from him," this with a gesture to Galen. "How will you ever find out?"

"It's true," muses Galen, "you must pass for an experienced soldier. And you've never killed." He studies the largely unreadable Mark. His voice softens. "You must learn to kill if you expect to survive."

"Poetic but untrue," says Miles. "Again. Most people go through their whole lives without killing anybody. False argument."

"You talk too much," says Galen, swinging the aim of the nerve disruptor over to Miles, stealing a last glance at his son and then looking away as though flinching from a physical pain. "It's time to go. Let us complete your education. Here." He hands Mark the nerve disruptor. "Sh—"

[unmarred]

Mark, with an expression of deep rage deeply suppressed, shoots Galen mid-word and then engages the safety switch on the nerve disruptor and drops it.

As soon as the weapon is out of his hand, he collapses to the deck, curling up into a tight, shaking ball. No more than the tiniest whimper escapes him, but his face is twisted in a rictus scream of anguished terror.

[thisvorlunatic]

...or that could happen.

Miles blinks.

"Mark...?" He takes a tentative step forward, and when this produces no result, crosses the deck to kneel at Mark's side. "Mark! Come on, where's Ivan!"

[alicornucopia]

Galeni collects the nerve disruptor and checks his father's pulse. Then closes Galen's eyes and looks away.

[thisvorlunatic]

He checks his chrono. Twelve minutes remaining until 0207.

"We don't have time for this—if you can't handle it, be me! Come on, Miles, where's your cousin?"

Mark, on the ground, shudders. And scrambles to his feet and opens the hatch in the wall. "This way," he says, Miles-voiced, bounding away into the corridor. Miles follows.

[alicornucopia]

Galeni chases after them too, on the grounds that Ivan is probably heavier than both of them put together and might be stunned wherever he's put. He shuts the door behind them.

[thisvorlunatic]

They pelt along the line of pumping stations, some lit and gurgling, some dark and silent. The latter outweigh the former, but the proportion is shifting as the tide rises. Mark stops at one unlit station, indistinguishable from the rest, and points. "In there."

"Shit," breathes Miles, his head filling with visions of horror. The pumping chambers are uniformly the size of a large closet, and filled with water when in use, air elsewise. Their watertight access hatches must be almost totally soundproof. No sound at all except, eventually, the rush of rising water...

"I know," says Mark, tight-voiced with some unidentified mixture of emotions, and he taps at the controls for the hatch and then hauls on the locking bar. The door yields to applied pressure and swings inward. Miles rushes forward with handlight and rappelling harness.

[middlingalong]

There is a wordless yelp in the dark.

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles flashes his handlight and locates Ivan's face, secures the grappler, and tosses down the harness. "Here. Come on, come up," he says, over the quiet beeping of some safety alarm probably meant to warn him that the hatch shouldn't be open so close to pumping time.

[middlingalong]

Ivan manages to sufficiently entangle himself and the harness to support his weight.

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles touches the control. The spool spools, lifting Ivan up. Mark and Miles cooperate with unsettling ease, helping Ivan up over the lip of the hatch - it's like having four hands, but conscious control over only two of them. Miles detaches the harness from Ivan while Mark closes the hatch on the now-empty chamber.

[middlingalong]

Ivan's hands are a disaster; it looks like he's been continuously clawing and pounding at the wall for hours. His breath sounds hoarse like his throat is equally torn up from shouting when he catches his breath. At the first opportunity he sits and puts his face on his knees, panting.

[thisvorlunatic]

"I hope you'll forgive me for being happy to see you," says Miles. "Just this once."

[unmarred]

Mark hangs back unhappily.

[middlingalong]

"I can still tell," mutters Ivan, "you're differently happy. Ugh. Think I'll take up claustrophobia in my spare time."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Whatever floats your boat," says Miles. "In the meantime, we should probably get out of here. Can you walk?"

[middlingalong]

"Yeah. I think. Just don't present me with a balance beam. I'm about fifteen percent adrenaline right now..."

[spacetobreathe]

"Sir," says Elli from the comm. "Cetagandans are coming at you from the direction of tower seven. I went ahead and called your wife and as luck would have it she's nearby, on her way, where do you want me to direct her specifically?"

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles gestures to Mark, who steps up and says in Naismith's voice, "We're on the lowest-level corridor about a third of the way from Six to Seven. If she comes down the Tower Six lift tube and heads for Seven from the bottom, she'll meet us on the way."

"The question," says Miles, mostly to himself, "is how best to apply her to the situation... send her in anyway. Tell her to keep an eye out for suspicious characters and turn back without protest if somebody flashes a weapon. We still don't know where the hell that Barrayaran assassination team is, besides 'threateningly close'."

[spacetobreathe]

"Uh - yes, sir," says Elli, sounding confused by something about how the voices are carrying over the commlink the same in timbre while differently located, but not making a fuss about it as long as he isn't arguing with himself.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Great." He lowers his wrist but doesn't key off transmission just yet.

His assets: Ivan, barely on his feet. Mark, looking about to slip into another panic attack or whatever that was at any moment. Galeni, looking - tense, let's go with tense. And Miles himself.

The problem: Cetagandan assassins blocking one escape route, Barrayaran assassins known to be nearby but not to be anywhere in particular, potentially blocking any other.

"Let's try getting out Tower Six, just in case it's that simple," he decides. "Mark, whatever you're doing in your weird little brain, stop it. My weird little brain is much better suited to the scenario at hand. Stick with that."

Mark straightens and nods. "I'll go first," he volunteers, his Barrayaran Miles-accent complementing the Betan one Miles has fallen into out of habit after Elli's call.

Miles glances at Galeni, then Ivan, hoping that the suggestion will be clear and he won't have to resort to actually giving orders to someone who is more or less a commanding officer. Then, marching order established, he waits to bring up the rear on their march to the lift tube. While he's at it, he lifts two stunners out of Mark's collection, hands one to Galeni, and holsters his own back into its concealed slot. Mark accepts this redistribution without comment and heads off down the corridor.