Two days later Illyan and Vorkosigan drove to the shuttleport and went up to the light cruiser that would take them to the fleet depot on the newly-discovered planet. As soon as they were aboard, Vorkosigan headed for a small briefing room. Illyan followed him in silently. After Negri's speech he had been schooling himself to be entirely neutral in all his dealings with Vorkosigan, locking away all his personal opinions and judgements so as to present the face of the perfect watcher that Negri and Ezar desired.
There was a man awaiting them in the briefing room with yellow vice-admiral's tabs on his collar. He did not spare Illyan a glance; all his attention was focused on Commodore Vorkosigan. He came forward until he was standing a bare step away, reached out and tapped Vorkosigan's new rank tabs with a finger. Illyan, positioning himself where he could see both faces clearly, took it for a gesture of affection until he saw Admiral Vorrutyer's eyes.
"We serve together again," Vorrutyer said, smiling.
"Just so." Vorkosigan did not step back, but his face was blank.
Now Admiral Vorrutyer did look around, and his gaze landed on Illyan, who returned it neutrally. I am a piece of furniture, I am watching through a camera. A strange mixture of expressions crossed Vorrutyer's face-anger, satisfaction... jealousy?
"Who's your friend?" he asked. "Got over your puritanical ways at last? A sweet piece, I suppose, if you like innocents, but you can do better than that."
It was a moment before Illyan realised what Vorrutyer meant. For a moment he stared at Vorrutyer in dismay and anger, then controlled himself.
"Don't make yourself even more of an idiot than you already are," Vorkosigan growled. "He's Negri's man. Your dear Grishnov had to have someone spying on me wherever I go."
For a moment Vorrutyer looked uncertain, and Illyan could not suppress his satisfaction at the effect of Negri's name on Grishnov's pet Vor lord.
"Well, I'm sure we can find you someone less... politically exciting, to keep your bed warm," he said, recovering his poise and pointedly turning away from Illyan. "It'll be just like old times."
Vorkosigan drew breath to reply hotly, then, to Illyan's profound relief, swallowed his rejoinder. The idea of having to wade into this morass of innuendo and personal history appealed slightly less than walking into an open sewer. "In the meantime, there is a war to fight," Vorkosigan said steadily.
"Ah, my perfect soldier." A delighted smile crossed Vorrutyer's face. "A perfect soldier, you know, always obeys his commanding officer." Vorrutyer's voice lowered. "What if I ordered you to kneel down so that we could get some better use out of that clever mouth of yours? Would you obey me then? I used to, when you made lieutenant before I did."
Illyan swallowed. He didn't think Vorkosigan cared for such games now, but still... Negri's words repeated themselves in his head. Vorkosigan is not your commanding officer. Just as well, under the circumstances.
"It's been a long time since I was a perfect soldier," Vorkosigan said, his expression almost perfectly impassive. Illyan kept his eyes fixed on Vorkosigan, trying to imitate his unflappable calm.
Vorrutyer gave a patronising laugh and patted Vorkosigan on the rear. Illyan nearly choked, but Vorkosigan still did not flinch. Then Vorrutyer stepped back a pace.
"We'll play it your way for a time, then. At least until we get to the flagship."
Mercifully, the conversation then turned to business. Illyan attended carefully to what was said. It was possible for him to stand with his mind empty, trusting to his chip to record everything for analysis at his leisure, but he was thirsty for information now and tried to glean everything he could from Vorrutyer's speech and movements. He seemed to have a good grasp on the state of preparations for the invasion, at least. Vorkosigan added little, which puzzled Illyan. Vorkosigan had been planning this with the Emperor himself for the past week, but whatever he'd discussed then, he didn't seem inclined to talk about it with Vorrutyer.
His first encounter with the Prince, when he joined the cruiser later that day, was less of a surprise. Whilst Illyan had come out here with a vague idea of Vorrutyer's corruption, he had no doubt at all about the Prince. He tried not to watch him like a big-game hunter eyeing a leopard in the trees. He had engaged in battle against the Prince twice now, and had come out on top both times. Four years ago he had been closely involved in keeping Princess Kareen and her unborn child well clear of her vile husband, and only a few months ago it had been his men who had killed or captured all of the Prince's co-conspirators against his father, in a single night. Serg could not know that Illyan had been involved in these actions, but he certainly knew ImpSec was behind them, and he looked angrily at the insignia on Illyan's dress uniform.
Vorkosigan glanced over a flimsy on the table, frowned and looked again. Illyan automatically scanned it from over his shoulder, collecting data. It was a simple list of personnel and assignments on the cruiser, nothing that seemed unusual. But the scowl did not leave Vorkosigan's face. Illyan began to run a search for the names, and came up with a match at once. Sergeant Konstantine Bothari, now assigned as Admiral Vorrutyer's batman, had served Vorkosigan on the General Vorkraft. He, the report stated, had been the man who had refrained from killing Vorkosigan during the mutiny, but had instead stunned him and concealed him from the other mutineers. Other than that, Illyan knew nothing about him, but he could see that Vorkosigan was displeased at finding his man in Vorrutyer's service.
The Prince glanced at the same list and smiled. "Dear me, Aral, it looks like someone has forgotten to assign you a batman."
"I expect I can remember how to fold my own clothes, sir," Vorkosigan said dryly.
"No, no, we can't have that," the Prince said still smiling. His eye fell on Illyan. "I'm sure your watchdog here would be happy to make himself useful."
Illyan bowed, not reacting to the slight. It might be an honour for the enlisted men to be chosen as a staff officer's batman, but for a senior lieutenant it was an insult. Vorkosigan glanced at him in a moment of worry, and Illyan included him in his bland bow.
"As your lordship wishes," he said. In these times, a batman's duties were not particularly onerous. Once he might have been required to forage for his lord, care for his horse and clean his swords, pitch his tent and sleep across the entrance, but now the work was easy enough, and he was going to have to live in Vorkosigan's pocket anyway. Prince Serg's smile slid away as it became clear that he had failed to provoke either man. Before he could make some further attempt, Admirals Vorhalas and Vorrutyer entered with the other two commodores, Couer and Helski, along with a passel of aides, and the meeting began.
Illyan had only a moderate grasp of ship-fighting tactics and manoeuvres, but he could rate the various suggestions for capturing the wormhole to Escobar by the changing expressions on Vorkosigan's face. It seemed that there was little doubt that they had the firepower and ships to take the wormhole, and the main question was what technique would enable them to do so with the fewest losses. From Vorkosigan's saturnine expression most of the suggestions were inadequate, but he rarely offered his own. Illyan reviewed Negri's commands to him in his head. If Vorkosigan retained this stoic composure around Serg and Vorrutyer for the whole campaign, steering him clear of trouble would be an easier job than he had feared.
A buzzer sounded to warn them of the impending jump, and Admiral Vorhalas rose abruptly, interrupting Vorkosigan's analysis of Escobaran wormhole defence possibilities.
"Excuse me, gentlemen." He hurried out of the briefing room to the tiny lounge adjoining it.
"Well," said Prince Serg, "I don't think he agrees with you, Aral."
"No, he gets jump-sick," Vorkosigan said in very neutral tones which did not prevent a smirk from crossing the Prince's face.
"Really? What an unfortunate affliction in an Admiral."
A rare one, Illyan thought. If Vorhalas had risen to such a high rank despite it, he must be a truly brilliant officer.
"Can we expect him back for the next week?" Vorrutyer put in sardonically. "Or shall we postpone further planning until we reach the base?"
"I'm sure he'll be fine," Vorkosigan answered, and the second jump-alarm sounded.
Illyan braced himself. He hated jumps. The time-dilation effects messed up his chip's internal clock, so that he always had a moment of total confusion when they came out of the wormhole, when his subjective mind told him several seconds had passed, and the chip had recorded several hours, and he had to reset the whole thing. Nobody had ever been able to explain to his satisfaction why this happened - something to do with the organic parts of the chip, was the best guess of various neurologists. But disentangling his memories took time and attention, and with the chip he could never be eligible for active space duty again.
Fortunately, he didn't have to do anything other than sit in a chair for this one and try not to show his confusion, both of which he managed. After a few minutes Vorhalas returned, looking tired and rather green. "Apologies," he said briefly, and sat down.
"Six more jumps to the forward base," the Prince commented. "Would you like to be excused from further meetings?" He could not quite conceal the hope in his eyes.
"No, I'm fine," Vorhalas said brusquely. "Carry on, please. Where were we? The Escobaran defence of the wormhole...?"
The Prince picked up the discussion again, and Illyan sat back, letting the words flow onto his chip. They paused briefly for lunch, then returned to their planning. Illyan sat with the aides and listened. Here in the briefing room, there wasn't even a window to stare out of, and even if there were he wouldn't have much to see. He raised his head as Vorkosigan's voice cut into the dull to-and-fro-ing about ship formations and weapon systems.
"This is ridiculous," he said. "You might win with those tactics, but the casualties we'll take will be appalling."
"I'm sure you'd like something more cautious," Serg retorted. "You lost your nerve after Komarr."
Couer broke in before Serg could develop his insults any further, though Vorkosigan seemed not to hear.
"How quickly can we get serious firepower into their local space? It's going to take time for them to locate the wormhole exit, they're going to be spread out searching for it and trying to guard everything at once. If we can get through there fast they won't be able to link up and we can pick them off as they arrive."
The Prince took up a flimsy and light-pen, and scribbled numbers for a minute. Illyan watched in surprise as the sneer on his face was absorbed by concentration. It seemed there were things the Prince enjoyed that didn't involve hurting people.
"Oh, never mind that," Vorrutyer said impatiently, breaking the spell. "The computer can do all the sums."
The Prince wrote a few more figures in a half-hearted way, but set the pen down at a small snort from Vorrutyer.
Mildly, Vorhalas asked, "What do you figure?"
"It doesn't matter. As Ges says, the computer can give a precise answer." He glowered around the room.
The buzzer sounded for the second jump of the day, and again Vorhalas excused himself. Illyan tried to distract himself from his inner confusion and disorientation by comparing it to the previous jump, and to other jumps he had experienced. Pilots said that each jump had its own special sensations; when you could get them going they would rhapsodise about the amazing jumps they had experienced, but to most people they varied only as to how sick they made you feel.
Admiral Vorhalas did not return, and after a while Vorrutyer suggested that they finish up for the day. Vorkosigan and Illyan rose as the Prince went out, Vorrutyer following him along with Helski and Couer. Then Vorkosigan went to the adjoining wardroom.
Vorhalas was sitting with his head in his hands. He blinked up at them as they entered.
"Two in one day," he muttered. "What a bitch."
"Sickbay?" Vorkosigan suggested. "We're going to need you for this planning."
"Oh, I'll live. The medics aren't much use for this anyhow. Think I'll go lie down for a while." He rose, leaning on the table. Vorkosigan put a hand under his elbow, and they walked slowly to the door, Illyan following. "Did they decide anything more after I went out?"
"Not really. How much do you think you can do, to get a half-sane plan for this attack sorted out? I don't think I'd better make any more suggestions myself."
Vorhalas smiled faintly. "No. Not unless you suggest the exact opposite of what you want done." He paused. "Are you going to... be all right, working with Ges?"
A shutter seemed to drop over Vorkosigan's face. "I expect so."
"He was trying to pump me for information about, er, your private life, earlier."
Vorkosigan grunted.
"Told him I didn't know a thing, of course. He didn't believe me, but he let it drop after a while." Vorhalas glanced sideways. "Watch out for yourself. He's ... changed, since I last had much to do with him, and not for the better. And Prince Serg -" There was a politically-charged silence, and Vorhalas looked at Illyan.
"Don't mind him," Vorkosigan said, giving Illyan a wry grimace. "He's only spying on me."
Illyan nodded confirmation of this. Vorhalas looked at him with narrowed eyes and a deep frown. Illyan gazed back, his face blank. It was getting harder and harder for this sort of thing to discompose him. Besides, compared to Vorkosigan's glower it was mild. They reached Vorhalas' cabin and Vorkosigan entered.
"Don't worry about me, Rulf," Vorkosigan said, sitting beside Vorhalas on the bunk. Illyan stood motionless by the half-open door, giving what illusion he could of privacy. Left to himself, he would have been tempted to permit Vorkosigan to be alone with his friend after all the unpleasantness of the day, but orders were orders. "Get some rest. No more jumps till tomorrow afternoon now."
"Thank God for that." Vorhalas leaned back against the wall, still rather green.
"Shall I send your batman to you?"
"No, I'll be fine." Vorhalas stared into space for a while. Then he looked intently at Vorkosigan. "Do you really think it's going to fail?"
Vorkosigan sighed. "I'd give my right arm if I thought it would help it succeed. But we haven't got a hope." He frowned. "We'll probably get through this first stage well enough, if you can get them to adopt a sensible plan. But in the long run ... no. The Escobarans have serious allies - Beta, Tau Ceti perhaps, Earth will throw their diplomatic weight behind them, the Cetagandans might join in just to give us a bloody nose, or worse." He cut himself off, seeing Vorhalas' unhappy grimace. "We'll deal with what we find. But look out for yourself."
On the tenth day from their departure from Vorbarr Sultana they reached Fleet Base. Illyan looked through a small viewport on the shuttle and gazed longingly at the as-yet unnamed planet which held the supply depot and lower command centre. But they were not going to make planetfall; it would be spaceships for months and months. The only other chance of breathing air that hadn't been recycled a hundred times would be at Escobar, if they conquered. He wondered yet again how accurate Vorkosigan's gloomy predictions were. Surely this expedition wouldn't have been started if it didn't have a hope of success? Illyan would have preferred to retain his innocent assumptions about the wisdom of the General Staff and the two Councils, but the more he saw of the inner workings of the staff of this expedition, the harder it became.
The shuttle docked neatly against the flagship, and Illyan heard the hisses and grating metallic sounds that promised a rapid disembarkation.
"Room to move at last," Vorrutyer commented. "I believe our cabins on the flagship are a bit more civilised."
Prince Serg smirked. "Indeed they are."
Illyan called up the plans of the ship he had seen, and located the staff officers' quarters. There were two unusually large cabins there, with rather more furnishings and installations than he was accustomed to find on a military fleet. He could deduce which was the Prince's from the extra security posts marked around it and the fact that it had an empty cabin on either side, marked for the use of the Prince's personal bodyguards. Though what the Prince needed guarding from on a ship of his own men - well, Illyan understood security paranoia. The cabin assigned to Vorkosigan was standard, similar to the one he'd had on the cruiser.
A polite ensign entered their compartment and announced that the shuttle was prepared for them to disembark. Vorrutyer let the Prince precede him, and Illyan turned away from the viewport. Vorkosigan was helping Admiral Vorhalas to his feet. Despite all his efforts, Vorhalas had finally conceded defeat and had spent the past two days in bed, wretchedly jump-sick. Vorkosigan had done all he could to help him, showing a kindness Illyan would never have suspected him of towards the sick man. But from the conversations he had heard and, by necessity, recorded, it was clear that they had been friends for many years and this was by no means the first time they had travelled this route together.
They left the shuttle and found themselves in a large loading bay, full of soldiers standing to attention, splendid in their dress uniforms to receive their supreme commander and his staff. Much to his discomfiture, Illyan suddenly found himself the target of many curious stares. It was worse than being presented with a medal. By nature and long training, Illyan preferred to stand in the shadows, doing the watching. Being watched was dangerous. But his ImpSec insignia had an almost magical effect on the watchers, and he was pleased to notice more than one pair of eyes flicker to his collar, then fix themselves straight ahead with an attempt at a blank expression.
His own blank expression was rather more successful, and it was necessary to retain it for a long time, once Prince Serg stepped onto a box and began to address the soldiers. It was a stirring speech on the theme of the expansion of the Barrayaran Empire, describing how the Escobarans would flee before them and the wealth that awaited them when they conquered Escobar. Considered as a piece of oratory, it was quite good - pure War Party propaganda, calculated to make the soldiers delighted to risk their lives in this invasion - but it bore little resemblance either to the situation as Illyan understood it, or the reality of the many obstacles they had been discussing in the past week's planning meetings, all recorded on his chip. But then, there had never been any love lost between ImpSec and the War Party. At last it was over, the soldiers cheered, and the staff were taken off to eat lunch with the flag captain and his senior officers, where Vorrutyer and Serg were mercifully diluted by the conversation of the other men. Nonetheless he was glad when Vorkosigan made his escape, proposing a tour of the rest of the fleet.
However, after seven hours of non-stop shuttling from ship to ship, meeting officers and men in what was almost a small-scale Fleet Inspection, Illyan's relief at escaping Serg and Vorrutyer had long worn off. At first he had enjoyed some activity after the week of sitting a little way from the other aides in the briefing room, listening to the interminable and often circular arguments, but by the time they reached the fourth cruiser he was wondering how much more of this Vorkosigan was intending to do. Illyan almost thought he was trying to meet every soldier in the fleet in a single day, and he appeared to be indefatigable. The men seemed for the most part genuinely pleased to have the Hero of Komarr visit them, and Vorkosigan knew a surprising number of them by name.
But after Vorkosigan left the second troop carrier he ordered the shuttle pilot to take him back to the flagship.
"If this were a real inspection we could keep going, but it's not fair on the men to brass-harass them during the night-cycle without a bit more reason."
Illyan strapped himself into the shuttle beside Vorkosigan and refrained from pointing out that it wasn't only the men who would be inconvenienced by Vorkosigan chasing around the fleet all night. That was the trouble with this sort of work, you were wholly at the mercy of your subject in how often you got to sleep or eat, and Vorkosigan was looking likely to be difficult in that respect.
They reached the flagship and Illyan trailed Vorkosigan through the corridors towards officers' country. The flagship was one of the largest and most seriously armed cruisers in the fleet, with a crew of almost three hundred plus the staff officers and their retinue, and if it hadn't been for the plan he had studied beforehand Illyan would have been bewildered by the identical corridors and multiple levels.
As they came towards the staff quarters, a corporal emerged from a hatch and hurried towards them.
"Commodore Vorkosigan, sir?"
Illyan spun around; Vorkosigan turned more slowly. "Yes?"
"I've been assigned as your batman, sir. I'm sorry you didn't have someone earlier."
Illyan gazed vaguely at the man, images racing through his mind. The face was unfamiliar, but the voice ... he ran the quickest search he could through his chip.
Vorkosigan nodded. "Ah, that's excellent, you can report-"
"Actually, sir, I'm quite happy to continue." Illyan looked at the corporal, his expression a polite and unreadable blank. "As the Prince said, it's not as though I have any other duties to see to, and I need to monitor the Commodore in any case."
A shadow passed over the man's face, and Illyan knew his instincts were correct. Vorkosigan looked between them and frowned in puzzlement.
"Ah - well, um, if you wish, Lieutenant. Thank you, Corporal."
His anger not entirely concealed, the corporal turned away. Illyan set off again in the direction of Vorkosigan's cabin, but Vorkosigan grasped his arm.
"What are you playing at?" he demanded. "You can't really want to carry on as my batman."
"That was one of Grishnov's top men," Illyan said calmly. "I recognised his voice. He's almost certainly working for the chief political officer on this ship. If you do want him poking around your cabin, you can call him back..."
"Ah. I see." A sudden grin crossed Vorkosigan's face. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I still don't like spies, but I have to say they're much more useful when they're on your side."
Illyan returned the smile blandly and refrained from pointing out that he was not on Vorkosigan's side. He certainly wasn't on Grishnov's side, after all. And letting one of Grishnov's men get too near Vorkosigan would be sure to cause trouble.
They continued along the corridor to the staff officers' quarters, where Vorkosigan had been assigned a cabin. Observing everything, as was his duty, Illyan realised that Vorkosigan too was tired, though no-one without a memory chip would have noticed the slight slowing of his steps. He was just getting up hopes of leaving Vorkosigan soon to find his own cabin and a late supper when the door of a neighbouring cabin slid open and Admiral Vorrutyer appeared in the doorway.
"Aral, do come in." Vorrutyer raised the glass in his hand to Vorkosigan and smiled. Prince Serg emerged beside him.
"I've got work to do," Vorkosigan replied, not harshly but without looking at Vorrutyer.
"What, more important than keeping your commander company? Your work can wait a minute. I've been positively longing to have a little chat with you, now that we've got somewhere more cosy."
Reluctantly, Vorkosigan entered, and Illyan followed.
"Not you," said Vorrutyer in a much rougher tone, and waved a hand for Illyan to go. Illyan did not move. Vorrutyer glared at him. "This is a private conversation, Lieutenant."
"I'm sorry, sir, but my orders are clear."
"Screw your orders." Vorrutyer looked at Vorkosigan. "You can't want him watching every last step you make, Aral."
"I've given Lieutenant Illyan my word not to hinder him in performing his duties," said Vorkosigan in a measured tone, rather to Illyan's surprise. Illyan's presence had clearly chafed at him more than once on the light cruiser, though he had never been other than polite.
"Vorkosigan's word, eh?" Vorrutyer smirked. "Well, we can't argue with that. You'd better both come in. You don't have any Komarran friends, do you, Lieutenant?"
Illyan did not answer, and Vorkosigan, paling with anger, turned to leave, but Vorrutyer sealed the door behind him. "Oh, all's fair between friends, Aral, you won't hold a little joke against me."
"Of course not," said Vorkosigan, his tone flat and utterly at odds with his words. "What do you want, Ges?"
"What do I want? Well, I can't really say that, with your little friend here, can I? Or do you like being watched these days?"
Prince Serg, who had been listening to this interchange with amusement, spoke for the first time. "Don't you know? Aral's not interested in this kind of thing any more. Not now that he's found this girl..."
"A girl? Aral?" Vorrutyer's eyes lit. "You must tell us more. Is she good sport? As good as my dear little sister?"
Illyan stood woodenly, his back to the wall, and watched Vorkosigan pale still further. His chip brought up the details of Vorkosigan's long-dead - long-murdered? - wife.
"Though I know you couldn't please my sister, could you? She had to go elsewhere to get what she needed."
This, Illyan knew, was approximately true, not to mention causally linked to the adulterous woman's death. The passage detailing who had killed her had been blacked out in Vorkosigan's file, a secret only Negri knew. He didn't dare look at Vorkosigan.
"But I've taught you a bit since then. Perhaps you'll be able to hang on to this one a while longer."
Serg looked a little worried by the murderous tension growing in Vorkosigan's neck, but when it became clear that he was not going to disembowel Vorrutyer on the spot, he took a turn in the game.
"I think Aral will have to learn from her. She's a Betan."
"A Betan? But that's perfect. She won't mind sharing you with me - in fact, we can all have a go. Your taste is improving, Aral."
Illyan's reports had indeed mentioned a Betan woman, whom Vorkosigan had met on the newly discovered planet, though how Serg had found out about it he didn't know. Vorkosigan's face was dead white now. Illyan could only be grateful he wasn't letting Vorrutyer goad him into responding, or making threats. His non-reaction seemed to be irritating Vorrutyer, for he took a sip of his wine and tried harder, the mocking tone in his voice replaced with simple malice.
"There's no point playing the innocent with me, Aral. I know you too well. I've seen you, face down on the bed..." He launched into a vivid and excessively detailed description of exactly what he'd seen, making the Prince's face flush. Illyan wished fervently that the ship would blow up, that his biochip would malfunction, anything that would mean he would not have Vorrutyer's obscene word-picture stored in his head for the rest of his life.
In the middle of Vorrutyer's lurid words, Vorkosigan spun around and went out. Illyan hurried after him, trying not to scuttle. Vorkosigan's cabin was just across the corridor, and they both entered. The door sealed behind them, and Vorkosigan let out his breath with a hiss of pure rage.
"I could tear him apart with my bare -"
Illyan made a sharp silencing gesture, then pointed upwards. The light fixture was the traditional place to install bugs in a room like this, but there were likely others too, considering how interested the political officer would be in Vorkosigan. For a moment Vorkosigan glared at him in frustrated fury, as if he would turn his anger at Vorrutyer on Illyan, but instead he sat down heavily on the bed, clenching and unclenching his fists. Illyan eyed him doubtfully, then turned to the two cases of Vorkosigan's kit which sat in the middle of the floor. He might as well do his batman's duty. He opened one and took out a suit of space armour, a quick-donning pressure suit and several pairs of boots. With meticulous care, he went over them before putting them away. It must have been that corporal who had delivered them, and tampering seemed not unlikely. Everything was in good working order, however, and he began to fold it all away, making sure the pressure suit was the easiest thing to reach.
Vorkosigan got up and opened the other case, which contained his clothes and personal effects, and began to fling them into the drawers with rather less care. His movements spoke of unspent tensions, and Illyan frowned. If Vorrutyer and Serg were going to keep this up for the whole invasion - and there seemed little hope for improvement - it would be nothing short of a miracle if Vorkosigan escaped incriminating himself one way or another. Between them they seemed to know his every weakness, and had no scruples about attacking them. But what could Illyan do about it? Vorrutyer's mocking face flashed through his memory, and he suddenly wanted very much to do something to help Vorkosigan in this fight. It was, he assured himself, practically his duty to do so.
He looked around the room again. Prudence required that the bugs should stay in place, a second observer, even more objective than Illyan himself. But Vorkosigan was not supposed to be interfered with by the Political Officer or any of Grishnov's men. They were undoubtedly the placers of most of the bugs in the room. A small smile curved the corners of his mouth. Nobody would be able to argue with him. He was, after all, the Emperor's eyes and ears. What he saw, the Emperor saw. There was no need for other bugs.
Vorkosigan had turned to look at him curiously. Illyan drew a scanner from inside his jacket and went to the door. Carefully he began to scan the entrance, his eyes never neglecting a detail. When he found the first bug, positioned rather carelessly above the palm-lock, he took a second device from his jacket. Vorkosigan came over to see what he was doing, and his eyes lit as he recognised the tools.
Illyan pressed the button to fuzz the bug with a blast of static. Unexpectedly, he felt the same exhilaration and fear as when he fired his nerve disruptor in action. Perhaps his actions were within the letter of his orders, perhaps not. But he was going to do this anyway.
He went over the rest of the room with great attention. There were, he realised, two sets of bugs. One he recognised as standard Ministry of Political Education issue. The other were ImpSec issue. The Prince's guard detail, most likely. When he had gone over every inch of the room and its adjoining washroom, he counted the bugs. Eleven. He leaned on the washroom doorjamb and replayed his memories of the scan, checking his method, looking at each movement from every perspective. Vorkosigan waited. Illyan rose and went back to the bed, scanned the pillow and found a twelfth sewn into the hem. He went over his memories again.
"That's all of them," he said finally.
Vorkosigan let out his breath slowly, and although he said nothing he allowed himself to lean back in a more relaxed posture. Illyan felt his last doubts about whether this had been the right thing to do evaporate. It was a small thing, but perhaps it would help him get Vorkosigan through this invasion uncompromised.