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]

And now that Galeni is finally across the parking lot and ready to accompany him, Miles heads off. His chrono says three and a half minutes left. The symbolic barrier of a chain across the catwalk with a 'Closed' sign hanging from it eats a few seconds of that time.

"Any trouble getting out of the embassy?" he asks as they ascend the stairs.

[alicornucopia]

"Not particularly. It's getting back in that's the trick. As for the way out, I just left through the side entrance and got on the tubeway. Conveniently, the guard wasn't under orders to shoot me."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Which you found out in the trying," Miles guesses, and shakes his head. "So. Destang's going to know you left. Think you were followed?"

[alicornucopia]

"Not immediately, not with the embassy security staff so undermanned at the moment. And I'd be hard to trace; I left my wristcom and paid cash for the tubeway."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Right."

Up they get, to the very top of the Barrier. Daytime tourists get their marvellous view of the ocean this way; Miles sees it only incidentally as he leans over the railing to look down at the narrow ledge below. There are ladders, of course; retracted and locked up for the night, of course. Rather than fuss with the ladder controls, Miles gets out his Dendarii-issue gravitic grappler, attaches it to the railing, squirms into the ribbon harness, and lets himself down the outside of the wall on a thin, thin wire, trying not to think about what would happen if any part of this arrangement broke sufficiently to let him fall.

At the bottom, he unharnesses himself and hits the control to make the contraption reel back up for Galeni; once they're both down, he hits a second control, and the grappler lets go of the railing up above and slurps itself neatly back onto its reel for later use. Miles folds it up and pockets it again, then draws one of his stunners.

"This way," he says, nodding along the ledge to the right. "What have you got? I brought two stunners."

[alicornucopia]

"I could only get one."

[thisvorlunatic]

It'll have to do. Miles leads the way, single file by necessity. The ledge follows the curve of the wall, out and back in again, so that Miles and Galeni are mutually invisible to whoever and whatever lies beyond the bulge; Miles gestures Galeni to stay back out of sight, and proceeds alone, his quiet footsteps lost in the gurgle of seawater not far below.

[unmarred]

Around the curve, the narrow ledge widens, its outer railing arcing out past the inward-turning concrete wall of the Barrier to come back in and meet it some four meters along. The tall oval hatch of a watertight door interrupts the smooth curve of the wall about a meter before the railing, and standing in front of that door are Mark and Galen, each holding a stunner.

Mark is wearing a partial Dendarii uniform, black shirt, grey trousers, boots, but no jacket. Miles's grandfather's seal-dagger is strapped to his waist. He looks tense and unhappy.

"A standoff," Galen observes, looking over the three stunners in view. "If we all fire at once, you go down, taking at most one of us with you, and I win. If by some miracle you drop us both, we cannot tell you where your oxlike cousin is. He'll die before you can find him. I trust you do not consider that a positive outcome. Your pretty bodyguard may as well join us."

[alicornucopia]

Galeni comes around the corner.

"Some stand-offs are more curious than others."

[thisvorlunatic]

"You were to bring the woman," hisses Galen, eyes widening slightly at this unexpected sight.

"Really? You just said 'your bodyguard'," says Miles. "But you said two, and we are two. All the interested parties are gathered. Now what?"

"The stand-off remains. If you're both stunned you lose; if we're both stunned you lose anyway."

"What would you suggest?" inquires Miles.

"I propose we all lay our weapons in the center of the deck. Then we can talk without distraction."

From which Miles deduces that Galen has a concealed weapon too. "An interesting proposition," he says. "Who puts his down last?"

Galen frowns, in equal parts deep thought and deep displeasure.

"I too would like to talk without distraction," says Miles. "I propose this schedule. I'll lay mine down first. Then M—then the clone. Then yourself. Then Captain Galeni."

"What guarantee—?" Galen cuts himself off, looking at his son, unvoiced tensions weighing the air between them like some deadly invisible poison cloud.

"He'll give you his word," Miles says smoothly, and looks to Galeni to confirm; the captain nods once.

"All right," says Galen, after a long moment of inward reflection.

Miles steps forward, making no sudden movements, and kneels down to lay his stunner in the center of the deck.

[unmarred]

Mark does the same.

Galen hesitates, then takes his turn.

[alicornucopia]

Galeni puts his stunner down too, smiling sharply.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Very well," says Galen. "Let's hear your proposition, if you have one, Vorkosigan."

"I propose life. I have concealed a credit chit for a hundred thousand Betan dollars - half a million Imperial marks - payable to the bearer. I can give you that plus information on how to evade Barrayaran security, who are hot on your trail at this very moment, in exchange for: my cousin, my brother," this with a slight gesture to Mark, "and your promise to retire and trouble Barrayar no more. All you can gain with more plotting is useless bloodshed and unnecessary pain to your surviving relatives. The war is over, Ser Galen, long over. It's time to try something new. Peace, for example."

"The revolt must not die," murmurs Galen.

"'It didn't work, so let's do it some more'," Miles summarizes. "In my line of work they call that military stupidity."

"My older sister once surrendered on a Barrayaran's word," Galen observes. "Admiral Vorkosigan, too, was full of persuasion and promises."

"My father's word was betrayed by an underling who couldn't recognize when the war was over and it was time to quit. He was executed for his crime. There's your revenge. It is all he could give you, and I can do no more; I have no power to bring the dead to life. All I can do is try to prevent more dying."

"And you, David?" asks Galen, turning to his son. "What bribe will you offer me to betray Komarr, to lay alongside your Barrayaran master's money?"

[alicornucopia]

Galeni is affecting lighthearted minimal interest. He inspects his fingernails. He smiles. "Grandchildren?"

"You're not even bonded!" says Galen senior, taken aback.

"I might be one day. If I live, that is."

"And they would all, I suppose, be good little Imperial subjects," sneers Galen.

"Part and parcel with the offer of life," shrugs Duv. "I have nothing else that you want to give."

[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.