"And a day or two from now, the vultures will be flying in from all over to tear at the carcass of House Ryoval. Possession is rather more than nine points of the non-existent law around here. House Bharaputra alone has obvious congruent interests in House Ryoval's wares. I'm sure you can think of others, Baron."
Fell nodded.
"But a man who had Ryoval's own code-keys in his hand
today
could be at a considerable advantage," Mark went on. "Particularly if he was well-supplied with personnel to provide material back-up. Without the tedious delays of cracking Ryoval's codes one by one, he could put himself in position to take immediate control of most or all of House Ryoval's current assets, from the top down instead of piecemeal. Add to that a well-known tie of blood to lend legitimacy to his claims, and I think most of the competition would sheer off without need for any expensive confrontation at all."
"My half-brother's code-key ring is not yours to trade," said Fell coldly.
"Oh, yes it is," said Mark. "I won it. I control it. I can destroy it. And," he licked his lips; the girl raised the teacup again, "I paid for it. You would not now be offered this exclusive—and it is still exclusive—opportunity if not for me."
The Baron gave a very tiny nod of concession. "Go on."
"What would you say the value of the Durona Group is, compared to the value of House Ryoval's current assets? Proportionally."
The Baron frowned. "One-twentieth. One-thirtieth, perhaps. House Ryoval has far more real estate. The, er, intellectual property value is harder to calculate. They specialize in rather different biological tasks."
"Leaving aside—or leaving behind—the real estate. House Ryoval is clearly enormously more valuable. Facilities, techs, slaves. Client list. Surgeons. Geneticists."
"I would have to say so."
"All right. Let's trade. I will give you House Ryoval in exchange for the Durona Group, plus value in a bearer-paid credit chit equal to ten percent of the assets of House Ryoval."
"Ten percent. An agent's fee," said Fell, looking at Lilly. Lilly smiled and said nothing.
"A mere agent's fee," Mark agreed. "Cheap at twice the price, which not-coincidentally is at least what you will lose without the advantages of Ry Ryoval's code-keys."
"And what would you do with all these ladies if you had them, ah, Mark?"
"What I wist. Wist, from
wistful.
I think I like the verb form better."
"Thinking of setting up in business here yourself? Baron Mark?"
Miles froze, appalled at this new vision.
"No," sighed Mark. "I wist to go home, Baron. I wist it real bad. I will give the Durona Group—to themselves. And you will let them go, free and unmolested and without pursuit, to wherever they—wist. Escobar, was it, Lilly?" He looked up at Lilly, who looked down at him and smiled, and nodded slightly.
"How very bizarre," murmured the Baron. "I think you are mad."
"Oh, Baron. You have no idea." A weird chuckle escaped Mark. If he was acting, it was the best acting job Miles had ever seen, not excluding his own wildest flights of scam.
The Baron sat back and crossed his arms. His face grew stony with thought. Would he decide to try to jump them? Frantically, Miles began trying to calculate the military options of a sudden fire-fight, Dendarii on deck, ImpSec in orbit, himself and Mark at risk,
the sudden bright muzzle-flare of a projectile weapon
—oh God, what a mess—
"Ten percent," said the Baron at last, "
less
the value of the Durona Group."
"Who calculates the value of that intellectual property, Baron?"
"I do. And they evacuate immediately. All property, notes, files, and experiments in progress to be left intact."
Mark glanced up at Lilly: she bent and whispered in his ear. "The Durona Group shall have the right to duplicate technical files. And have the right to carry away personal items such as clothing and books."
The Baron stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "They may carry away—what each one may carry. No more. They may
not
duplicate technical files. And their credit account remains, as it has always been, mine."
Lilly's brows drew down; another whispered conference behind her hand with Mark. He waved away some objection, and pointed orbit-ward. She finally nodded.
"Baron Fell," Mark took a deep breath, "it's a Deal."
"It's a Deal," Fell confirmed, watching him with a slight smile.
"My hand on it," Mark intoned. He snickered, turned his control box over, and twisted a knob on the underside. He set it back down on his chair-arm, and shook out his trembling fingers.
Fell stretched in his chair, shaking off the tension. The guards relaxed. Miles almost fell into a puddle.
Cripes, what have we done?
At Lilly's direction, assorted Duronas scattered in a hurry.
"It's been very entertaining, doing business with you, Mark." Fell rose. "I don't know where home is for you, but if you ever decide you want a job, come see me again. I could use an agent like you, in my galactic affairs. Your sense of timing is . . . viciously elegant."
"Thank you, Baron," Mark nodded. "I'll keep it in mind, should some of my other options not work out."
"Your brother, too," Fell added as an afterthought. "Assuming his full recovery, of course. My troops could use a more active combat commander."
Miles cleared his throat. "House Fell's needs are mainly defensive. I prefer the Dendarii's more aggressive type of assignments," he said.
"There may be more assault work, upcoming," said Fell, his eyes going slightly distant.
"Thinking of conquering the world?" Miles inquired.
The Fell Empire?
"The acquisition of House Ryoval will put House Fell in an interestingly unbalanced position," said Fell. "It would not be worthwhile to pursue a policy of unlimited expansion, and cope with all the opposition that must result, for a mere five or so years of rule. But if one were to live for another fifty years, say, one might find some most absorbing work for a military officer of capacity. . . ." Fell raised an inquiring brow at Miles.
"No. Thank you." And I wish you all joy of each other.
Mark gave Miles a slit-eyed, feline glance of amusement.
What an extraordinary solution Mark had wrought, Miles thought. What a Deal. Did a Jacksonian defy his upbringing by joining the side of the angels, rebel by becoming incorruptible? So it appeared.
I think my brother is more Jacksonian than he realizes. A renegade Jacksonian. The mind boggles.
At Fell's gesture, one of his bodyguards carefully picked up the transparent box. Fell turned to Lilly.
"Well, old sister. You've had an interesting life."
"I still have it," smiled Lilly.
"For a while."
"Long enough for me, greedy little boy. So this is the end of the road. The last of our blood-pact. Who would have imagined it, all those years ago, when we were climbing out of Ryoval's sewers together?"
"Not I," said Fell. They embraced each other. "Goodbye, Lilly."
"Goodbye, Georie."
Fell turned to Mark. "The Deal is the Deal, and for my House. This is for me. For old times' sake." He stuck out a thick hand. "May I shake your hand, sir?"
Mark looked bewildered and suspicious; but Lilly nodded to him. He allowed his hand to be engulfed by Fell's.
"Thank you," said Georish Stauber sincerely. He jerked his chin at his guards, and vanished down the lift tube in their company.
"Do you think this Deal will hold?" Mark asked Lilly in a thin, worried voice.
"Long enough. For the next few days, Georish will be much too busy assimilating his new acquisition. It will absorb all his resources and then some. And after that, it will be too late. Regret, later, yes. Pursuit and vengeance, no. It's enough. It's all we need."
She stroked his hair fondly. "You just rest now. Have some more tea. We're going to be very busy for a while." She turned to gather up the young Duronas, "Robin! Violet! Come along quickly—" She hurried them into the interior of her quarters.
Mark slumped, looking very tired. He grimaced in bemusement at the teacup, switched it to his right hand, and swirled it thoughtfully before drinking.
Elli touched her half-armor helmet, listened, and vented a sudden bitter bark of laughter. "The ImpSec commander at Hargraves-Dyne Station is on the line. He says his reinforcements have arrived, and where should he send them?"
Miles and Mark looked at each other. Miles didn't know what Mark was thinking, but most of the responses that were leaping to his mind were violently obscene.
"Home," said Mark at last. "And they can give us a ride while they're at it."
"I have to get back to the Dendarii fleet," said Miles urgently. "Ah . . . where are they, Elli?"
"On their way from Illyrica to rendezvous off Escobar, but you, sir, are going nowhere near them till ImpSec Medical has cleared you for active duty," she said firmly. "The fleet is fine. You're not. Illyan would pin my ears back if I sent you anywhere but home right now. And then there's your father."
"What about my father?" Miles asked. Elena had started to say something—icy terror seized his chest. A kaleidoscopic vision of assassinations, mortal illnesses, and political plots all rolled together spun through his mind. Not to mention aircar accidents.
"He had a major coronary failure while I was there," said Mark. "They had him tied to a bed in ImpMil waiting for a heart transplant at the time I left. Actually, they should be doing the surgery right about now."
"You were there?"
What did you do to him?
Miles felt as if he'd just had his magnetic poles reversed. "I have to get home!"
"That's what I just said," said Mark wearily. "Why d'you think we trooped all the way back here, but to drag you home? It wasn't for the free holiday at Ry Ryoval's health spa, let me tell you. Mother thinks I'm the next Vorkosigan heir. I can deal with Barrayar, I think, but I sure as hell can't deal with
that.
"
It was all too much, too fast. He sat down and tried to calm himself again, before he triggered another convulsion. That was just the sort of little physical weakness that could win one an immediate medical discharge from the Imperial Service, if one wasn't careful about who witnessed it. He had assumed the convulsions were a temporary snag in his recovery. What if they were a permanent effect? Oh, God. . . .
"I am going to lend Lilly my ship," said Mark, "since Baron Fell so-thoughtfully has stripped her of sufficient funds to buy thirty-six passages to Escobar."
"What ship?" asked Miles.
Not one of mine . . . !
"The one Mother gave me. Lilly ought to be able to sell it at Escobar orbit for a tidy profit. I can pay back Mother and get Vorkosigan Surleau out of hock, and still have an impressive amount of pocket-change. I'd
like
to have my own yacht, someday, but I really couldn't use this one for a while."
What? What? What?
"I was just thinking," Mark went on, "that the Dendarii here could ride along with Lilly. Provide her with a little military protection in exchange for a free and fast ride back to the fleet. Save ImpSec the price of four commercial passages, too."
Four?
Miles glanced at Bel, so very silent throughout, who met his eyes bleakly.
"And get everybody the hell out of here, as fast as possible," added Mark. "Before something else goes wrong."
"Amen!" muttered Quinn.
Rowan and Elli, on the same ship?
Not to mention Taura. What if they all got together and compared notes? What if they fell into a feud? Worse, what if they struck up an alliance and colluded to partition him by treaty? North Miles and South Miles. . . . It wasn't, he swore, that he picked up so many women. Compared to Ivan, he was practically celibate. It was just that he never put any
down.
The accumulation could become downright embarrassing, over a long enough time-span. He needed . . . Lady Vorkosigan, to put an end to this nonsense. But even Elli the bold refused to volunteer for that duty.
"Yes," said Miles, "that works. Home. Captain Quinn, arrange Mark's and my transport with ImpSec. Sergeant Taura, would you please put yourself at Lilly Durona's disposal? The sooner we evacuate from here the better, I agree. And, um, Bel . . . would you stay and talk with me, please."
Quinn and Taura took the hint, and made themselves scarce. Mark . . . Mark was in on this, Miles decided. And anyway, he was a little afraid to ask Mark to get up. Afraid of what his movements would reveal. That flip phrase about Ry Ryoval's health spa was entirely too obvious an attempt to conceal . . . what?
"Sit, Bel." Miles nodded to Baron Fell's vacated chair. It put them in an equilateral triangle, he and Mark and Bel. Bel nodded and settled, its helmet in its lap and its hood pushed back. Miles thought of how he'd perceived Bel as a female in this room five days ago, prior to his memory cascade. His eye had always conveniently interpreted Bel as male, before, for some reason. Strange. There was a brief, uneasy silence.
Miles swallowed, and broke it. "I can't let you go back to command of the
Ariel
," he said.
"I know," said Bel.
"It would be bad for fleet discipline."
"I know," said Bel.
"It's . . . not just. If you had been a dishonest herm, and kept your mouth shut, and kept on pretending to have been fooled by Mark, no one would ever have known."
"I know," said Bel. It added after a moment, "I had to get my command back, in the emergency. I didn't think I could let Mark go on giving orders. Too dangerous."
"To those who'd followed you."
"Yes. And . . . I would have known," added Bel.
"Captain Thorne," Admiral Naismith sighed, "I must request your resignation."
"You have it, sir."
"Thank you." And that was done. So fast. He thought back over the scattered pictures in his head of Mark's raid. There were still pieces missing, he was pretty sure. But there had been deaths; too many deaths had made it irredeemable. "Do you know . . . what happened to Phillipi? She'd had a chance, I thought."