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Illyan. The security chief was dressed for the occasion in Imperial parade
red-and-blues, which did not exactly render his slight form inconspicuous,
though perhaps there were enough other red-and-blues present for him to blend
in. Except that Illyan wore real lethal weapons at his hip, a plasma arc and a
nerve disrupter in used-looking holsters, and not the blunted dual dress sword
sets of the Vor officers. An oversized earbug glittered in his right ear.
"Milady," Illyan nodded, and drew them aside. "When you saw him this
afternoon," he said in a low voice to the Countess, "how was he?"
No need to specify who was, in this context. The Countess glanced around, to
be sure they were out of earshot of casual he passers-by. "Not good, Simon.
His color s bad, he s very edemic, and he tends to drift in and out of focus,
which I find more frightening than all the rest put together. The surgeon
wants to spare him the double stress of having a mechanical heart installed
while they re waiting to bring the organic one up to size, but they may not be
able to wait. He could end up in surgery for that at any moment."
"Should I see him, or not, in your estimation?"
"Not. The minute you walk in the door he ll sit up and try to do business. And
the stress of trying will be as nothing compared to the stress of failing.
That would agitate the hell out of him." She paused. "Unless you just popped
in for a moment to, say, convey a bit of good news."
Illyan shook his head in frustration. "Sorry."
Since the Countess did not speak again immediately into the silence that
followed, Mark dared to say, "I thought you were on
Komarr, sir."
"I had to come back for this. The Emperor s Birthday Dinner is the security
nightmare of the year. One bomb could take out practically the whole damned
government. As you well know. I was en route when the news of Aral s...
illness, reached me. If it would have made my fast courier go any faster, I
would have gotten out and pushed."
"So... what s happening on Komarr? Who s supervising the, uh, search?"
"A trusted subordinate. Now that it appears we may be searching only for a
body - " Illyan glanced at the Countess, and cut himself off. She frowned
grayly.
They re dropping the priority of the search
. Mark took a disturbed breath. "So how many agents do you have searching
Jackson s Whole?"
"As many as can be spared. This new crisis," a jerk of Illyan s head indicated
Count Vorkosigan s dangerous illness, "is straining my resources. Do you have
any idea how much unhealthy excitement the Prime Minister s condition is going
to create on Cetaganda alone?"
"
How many
?" His voice went sharp, and too loud, but the Countess at least made no
motion to quiet him. She watched with cool interest.
"Lord Mark, you are not yet in a position to request and require an audit of
ImpSec s most secret dispositions!"
Not yet? Not ever, surely. "Request only, sir. But you can t pretend that this
operation is not my business."
Illyan gave him an ambiguous, noncommittal nod. He touched his earbug, looked
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abstracted for a moment, and gave the
Countess a parting salute. "You must excuse me, Milady."
"Have fun."
"You too." His grimace echoed the irony of her smile.
Mark found himself escorting the Countess up a wide staircase and into a long
reception room lined with mirrors on one side and tall windows on the other. A
major domo at the wide-flung doors announced them by title and name in an
amplified voice.
Mark s first impression was of a faceless, ominous blur of colorful forms,
like a garden of carnivorous flowers. A rainbow of
Vor house uniforms, heavily sprinkled with parade red-and-blues, actually
outshone the splendid dresses of the ladies. Most of the people stood in
small, changing groups, talking in a babble; a few sat in spindly chairs along
the walls, creating their own little courts. Servants moved smoothly among
them, offering trays of food and drink. Mostly servants. All those extremely
physically-
fit young men in the uniform of the Residence s staff were surely ImpSec
agents. The tough-looking older men in the Vorbarra livery who manned the
exits were the Emperor s personal armsmen.
It was only his paranoia, Mark decided, that made it seem as if all heads
turned toward him and a wave of silence crossed the crowd at their entry; but
a few heads did turn, and a few nearby conversations did stop. One was Ivan
Vorpatril and his mother, Lady Alys Vorpatril; she waved Countess Vorkosigan
over to them at once.
"Cordelia, dear," Lady Vorpatril gave her a worried smile. "You must bring me
up to date. People are asking."
"Yes, well, you know the drill," the Countess sighed.
Lady Vorpatril nodded wryly. She turned her head to direct Ivan, evidently
continuing the conversation the Vorkosigan entrance had interrupted, "Do make
yourself pleasant to the Vorsoisson girl this evening, if the opportunity
arises. She s Violetta
Vorsoisson s younger sister, perhaps you ll like her better. And Cassia
Vorgorov is here. This is her first time at the Emperor s
Birthday. And Irene Vortashpula, do get in at least one dance with her, later.
I promised her mother. Really, Ivan, there are so many suitable girls here
tonight. If only you would apply yourself a little... " The two older women
linked arms to step away, effectively shedding Mark and Ivan from their
private conversation. A firm nod from Countess Vorkosigan to Ivan placed him
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