"The real question is," Miles mused as they trudged through the scrubland. "Which faction shot us down?" Ivan ignored him, being more interested in avoiding the holes, branches and other obstacles that appeared underfoot distressingly frequently. He wondered idly how Miles had breath enough to speak at all, let alone the sheer torrent that he was indulging in at the moment. Surely, he being shorter than Ivan, he would have to move more quickly in order to keep up with Ivan and therefore be short of breath. Evidently this was not the case.
"Were they aiming at me, my father, the Vor or some other concept?" Miles continued, not even having the grace to sound out of breath as he avoided a hole and jumped over a log. Ivan resisted the urge to punch him. It would not do to break Miles' skull. It would displease Aunt Cordelia, which would then displease mother. Never a good idea to annoy Alys Vorpatril. It was during this thought process that Ivan planted his foot into a shallow depression and tripped.
Catching himself on his hands and knees, Ivan swore. It was a rather unsatisfying experience. Picking himself up, he glared at Miles. Miles looked affronted.
"Miles, we don't know who knocked us down. Ranting about it isn't going to help," Ivan snapped. He raked his hand through his hair, brushing it from his face. "And, while I understand moving away from the lightflyer was a good idea, why are we still moving?" He didn't think he needed to point out that by continually moving, it made them a more difficult target for the authorities to find.
Miles responded with a look that Ivan was becoming very used to; the 'why am I stuck with such an idiot' look. Miles was quite good at it, almost as good as his father. Ivan worried about the day Miles surpassed his father in that regard.
"Because by moving, we create a more difficult target for our attackers to find," Miles replied slowly, as if to be reasonable. It came across as condescending. Ivan gritted his teeth.
"And we create a more difficult target for our rescuers," Ivan ground out. There was silence. "Miles, you weren't planning of walking back home, were you?" Ivan asked plaintively.
"Well, not all the way back," Miles began evasively. Ivan sighed. "Oh stop playing the martyr."
"I'm hardly playing," Ivan retorted. "Why did I get stuck with you?" Miles opened his mouth, presumably to point out that Ivan had kidnapped him, and therefore was responsible for his own problems. "Don't answer that," Ivan said quickly and Miles shut his mouth with a snap and a reproachful look.
"So, the devious plan is to walk all the way home. Right. While we don't have a clue where we are, apart from a rather large geographical landmark. Am I the only one to whom this plan makes absolutely no sense whatsoever?" Ivan commented.
"It wasn't quite like that," Miles protested. Ivan raised an eyebrow. "There was going to be a bit of dead reckoning involved. The error's practically negligible." Ivan shook his head. While he didn't share the fascination Miles had for archaic military technologies, he had heard of dead reckoning and the inherent problems with it.
"Miles, you are aware that for dead reckoning, you kind of need to know which direction our target is, aren't you?" Ivan asked. There was a guilty silence, then a quiet "Damn." Ivan decided that he was not going to dignify that with a comment. Silence reigned.
The scrub was very annoying, Ivan mused as he was entangled for the thirtieth time. He was getting very close to deciding that maybe the Cetagandans had the right idea, and simply nuking the countryside. While that would cause absolute havoc among future generations, cause paranoia over mutations and leave unsightly craters on the ground, Ivan would not have to put up with plants and their obsession to catch at him. Although, knowing his luck, the plants would survive and mutate into some alien form with six inch thorns and the ability to walk around. The world would be run over by them and humans would be their slaves, except the ones that escaped and lived in the wild.
That last thought was a little…weird. Maybe that medication Miles gave him earlier was messing with his head. Or maybe Miles' insanity was contagious. God, he hoped not. He decided against that, seeing that if it was, then there would be a lot of mental people running around. Then again, there were a lot of strange Vor and Miles had contact with them…
That was a thought that Ivan quickly squashed. If insanity was contagious, then he, being the one with the most contact with Miles, would have been the first affected. That was not a comforting thought.
"Miles," Ivan asked suspiciously. "What did you give me?" Miles frowned.
"Just a standard painkiller," he replied innocently. "Why?" Ivan shrugged. No need to point out his strange thought processes lately; Miles would simply comment that Ivan was always like that.
"Just curious," Ivan replied, ducking a tree branch. He raised his head only to be whipped in the face with a trailing tree branch. The foliage was in fact out to get him, possibly in pre-emptive vengeance for their brethren they would probably have to burn later. Nights on Barrayar could be cold at times.
*
Miles had been very quiet lately. It was disconcerting. Ivan turned his head and glanced down at his cousin. He had a distinct look of concern on his face, verging on worried as he glanced down at an inelegant piece of electronic jury-rigging – the transmitter. As Miles tended to panic when the situation turned dire, Ivan frowned.
"Miles?" he prompted. Miles looked up and unsuccessfully attempted to wipe his concern from his face. "What's wrong?"
"You know the transmitter? One of the components just died," Miles said quickly. "But it'll be alright!" he added. Ivan didn't say anything. He didn't need to. "Maybe we should call it a day," he offered. Ivan acquiesced very quickly. It had to be one of Miles' better ideas.
It was a good thing that Aral Vorkosigan had insisted that both Miles and Ivan learn how to make a bush shelter; otherwise they would have been in dire straits indeed. This didn't mean that their shelter was particularly stable or waterproof, but it should provide some shelter. Ivan reasoned that they'd take it in turns keeping watch and set up a fire accordingly. Unfortunately, they were unable to light it using the friction method, so they cheated a little. The transmitter wasn't going to be good for much anyway.
The resulting fire smelt unpleasantly of plastic, but it was a small price to pay.
*
Ivan had claimed the first watch, reasoning that he would be hell to wake up later on. Miles agreed, having experienced the dubious thrill of waking Ivan. Generally it involved swearing and outflung limbs, which if you were as fragile as Miles was not a good thing. Ivan didn't point out that he didn't think he'd been all that alert after waking up either. The medication was wearing off, leaving him with a dull headache and a distressing tendency of seeing double occasionally.
He stared into the flames, mesmerised by the flickering and crackle of the flames. As such, he was startled when he was tapped on the shoulder. Jumping in surprise, he whipped his head around. Miles smiled apologetically and motioned toward the shelter. Ivan didn't argue.
He was awoken all too soon by Miles shaking him vigorously on the shoulder. He squinted blearily up at Miles' concerned face.
"Wassup?" he slurred, cursing his inability to communicate clearly. Miles nodded toward the outside of the shelter. There were loud voices coming toward them, marked with the distinctive accent of the hill-folk.
"We have guests," Miles commented unnecessarily. Ivan grunted and propped himself upright on his elbows.
"And?" he asked.
"You're talking to them," Miles said bluntly. Ivan felt his eyebrows go to his hairline.
"Excuse me, but are they not yours?" he asked. Miles glared at him and swept a hand down his body. Ivan rolled his eyes. "You just don't want to talk to them, do you?"
"Well, no," Miles replied. "So you are." Ivan rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He had learnt from past experience that arguing with Miles simply gave you a headache and the feeling that somehow you had been conned into something. He pulled himself out of the tent and squinted past the fire.
"Hey!" he called. The shadowy group stopped and turned as a whole toward him. It was beautifully synchronised, suggesting either practise or mere coincidence. "Where are we?" One smart alec replied with, "Over there," which was possibly accompanied with a gesture toward Ivan. "No, really," Ivan insisted. "Where are we?"
"Dendarii Mountains," replied someone else, with the tones of 'my god, what kind of idiot are you.' Ivan gave up. That was probably the best he was going to get.