Fic: It's a long way to Escobar (12/20)
It's a long way to Escobar
by jetta_e_rus aka Georgette
Vorkosiverse. Slash, PG-13. Drama, action, a detective story.
Translated from Russian.
The table of contents is here
Chapter Twelve,,
where Aral wakes up, learns the news and suggest a plan of counteractions.
***
The next morning Vorkosigan didn't look very well, as would be expected. His eyes were red, his voice sounded even more hoarse than usual; the Commodore kept on clearing his throat and taking a sip of sparkling water. Illyan never asked about his headache so he saw that there was only the empty pill's blister on the bedside-table.
"Yesterday I missed something, certainly." Vorkosigan's voice was edged with grim irony. "Tell me, Simon."
Ten minutes ago he had woken up his lieutenant with a com call and asked if he had understood correctly the note on the comconsole. Illyan had come immediately, in a great hurry. As a result, two unshaven, worried, puzzled officers were sitting face to face in Vorkosigan's cabin at half past eight, each seized on his mug of hot coffee like a drowning man grasping a life-buoy. Illyan had managed to get dressed properly at least, but Aral had had time only to slip on his uniform tunic. Don't mention it. Now wasn't the time for ceremonies, especially because, it seemed, they had turned to first names in the battle situation.
"Yes, you've missed much, Aral, and it's impossible for you to be ignorant of it any longer, " Illyan answered honestly. Yesterday he had felt a silly temptation to conceal these unpleasant events from his ward till he found out the solution of this problem on his own. Fortunately, it had been over quickly. It was none of his business to solve such a problem, especially since he hadn't found any solution. "I'm going to tell you all, but I would like to ask some questions first. May I?"
"It depends what your questions are," Aral smiled, though joylessly.
"I have only two. The first one is: during the time from lunch to my visit did anybody drop in to your cabin and did you leave it yourself?"
"No. I think Rulf might have called, but... that might be before lunch, I don't remember exactly. But I met with nobody, I'm sure. I'm aware that all my encounters should be under surveillance, Illyan. Do you think that I'm deceiving you, lieutenant?" Aral asked with annoyance and clear circumspection, since he had turned to surnames and ranks.
"I didn't think so, sir, but I must ask it."
"Well, sorry. And what is your second question?"
"Did you take any medicine during these two hours, and if you did, what what was it?"
"Nothing," Vorkosigan answered perplexedly. "What is the matter?"
Illyan breathed out as his second assumption had became no longer relevant and began to state briefly the fact of the matter. It contained the result of the blood test, the combined effect of the tranquilizer with alcohol, his testing of all the food and drink, Vorrutyer's night visit (when Aral heard of it, he said only, "Really?"). Then the mention of Bothari's medical file followed, and the wet wineglass, and the non-encouraging look-out of the Sergeant's possible interrogation. Vorkosigan winced and noted, "He has to avoid a military court, so he is able to go mad in solitary confinement." Illyan finished his description with the conclusion of the impossibility of proving the attempt or of catching the real culprit of the disaster.
"What a bastard! Really, Ges has gone too far," Vorkosigan said almost without any emotions, except a slight annoyance. "It's strange; I remember myself as I was yesterday and I don't feel that I was doped."
"You weren't, indeed," Illyan explained quickly. "This stuff doesn't have an effect like dope, rather it's a catalyst. As the chief surgeon has expounded me, you could get a similar effect if you drank the full bottle of brandy on an empty stomach and follow it with a 'blue pill' ".
Vorkosigan hummed, since he was keenly aware of the effect of the "blue" stimulator from the field first-aid kit; it produced a brief burst of energy for a few hours, then a complete breakdown followed.
"The way to get two hangovers at the same time," Vorkosigan added. "I wonder whether they cooked unusually disgusting coffee in the galley today or this is just the effect of last night's drink?"
He put the half-empty mug aside, rose and began to pace along the cabin, five steps to the door, over and back. He kept silence, didn't make notes or swear and looked rather thoughtful. Vorkosigan kept his calm perfectly. Illyan wouldn't content himself with a single expression of 'bastard', if someone had attempted to poison him.
Aral suddenly stopped pacing and approached closely to Illyan. "Simon, I've survived the last night without losses only with your help. Thank you." He smiled, but Illyan seemed to hear the slight anxiety in his tone.
Does he fear that I will reprimand him for the drunken brawl or get even with him for, er, flirtation? In vain, I think.
Vorkosigan paused a second and continued more resolutely and loudly. "Let's turn from yesterday's events to conclusions that we can draw from them. I ask you to help me as an analyst."
Illyan admitted silently that this request flattered him.
"Well." Aral ticked off the count on his fingers. "What does our dearest Vice Admiral try to get, except to simply amuse himself? He intends to win Escobar's laurels, but my share to his victory is insufferable for him. I was surprised when he agreed to take me on his Staff at all. But now he tries to dispose of me roundabout. Is it logical?"
Illyan agreed this question with an approving 'hm-m'.
Vorkosigan pulled up the chair and sat astride it, arms comfortably athwart its back. Though he was drained physically, but his spirit had revived now. His eyes were alight, his glance became sharp like a blade. Illyan suddenly realized how hard these weeks of silent passive defense had been for Aral.
"The attempt to make me out as a drunken idiot in the face of my men fits in this hypothesis. But Vorrutyer has failed. What would he do next, in your opinion?"
Illyan wondered what Aral was testing now, either the truth of his own argumentation or his lieutenant's train of thought. He thought over his answer properly. "He would try a new attempt. If it should miscarry, he would get to search for another way."
"Indeed," Vorkosigan nodded, satisfied. "Ges hates to lose. But I haven't any interest in measuring prestige with him. This is not my game. Should we suggest him the idea that it wasn't a failure and his attempt went wrong only by half, accidentally, not through my counteraction? It's always better to make your enemy underestimate you."
Aral was evidently carried away with this idea. Now he spoke with the same tone that he usually explained strategic plans to his staff officers.
"What do you mean?" Illyan asked. Of course, the last statement was true. But how could they make Vice Admiral Vorrutyer consider the bitter lemon a sweet one?
"Let's assume that he would interpret the situation in the following way: yes, unfortunately, I've missed this briefing, but that was a sheer accident. But this morning I have woken up crapulent, but suspecting nothing and habitually, er, had another drink, that has provoked me to hard drinking. Does that sound likely? What would we gain according to this scenario?"
"He wouldn't try to poison you again in the immediate future," Illyan supposed.
"True," Vorkosigan accepted, "Our first profit is a respite. In the second place, for the next few days I wouldn't leave my cabin for common meals on the plea of an ulcer attack; therefore, I would avoid Vorrutyer fortunately, but he would lose his temper, quite the contrary. And the third point, the most important one, is that our disinformation could provoke our enemy to hitting into my supposedly weak spot. There are all advantages of this strategy. Does it have some defects, what do you think?"
"Your damaged reputation, of course, and the fact that you would have to hide in your cabin."
"It's reasonable. But I suppose that Vorrutyer would rather count upon the final hit than on destroying my reputation with small bites and rumors. By the way, he would certainly try to dispatch me to the reserve, if not discharge, for medical reasons... hm-m, let him try." He smiled. "I think, one week of my seclusion would be enough. Bless the working com net that give me the chance to fulfill properly the duty of a Staff officer and not to see my commanding officer's face at the same time. Would you bring me food, Simon?"
"Yes. And I would supply you fresh news with it."
"Of course. Vorrutyer is sure that our long acquaintance gives him some advantages, that he knows how to control me. Let him believe it. I know him well too, and I'll be able to seize the very moment when he is at the end of his tether, when he opens up at the attack. According to my forecast, he'll become fully ripe after a week. Let him dig his own pitfall, stand on its brink and step forward. It's important that he do it on his own. Then even a complete paranoid couldn't blame me for the plot against my commanding officer."
Vorkosigan suddenly turned from a grim person, who was burdened with forced patience and the shadow of old sins, to a dangerous man, his eyes alight with a rapacious heat, who planed his counterattack swiftly and neatly. Illyan thought that he didn't feel now an urge to watch out for or protect this Aral, but only to salute him and to take his commanding dictation, although Illyan technically wasn't his subordinate at all.
So Illyan expressed his only anxiety: "Mightn't this, er, pretended illness be revealed untimely?"
"People believe what they want to believe, and Ges most of all. Of course, we will need the full support from the chief surgeon, and, perhaps, from Rulf. You'll have to have a run, Simon, and play, but without overdoing it."
Vorkosigan hadn't even asked whether Illyan would cope with this task or not. He had just easily included in his instantly made plan all available human resources. There was the ImpSec agent who knew professionally how to wear a mask and to scout, the old friend who worried about the Vice Admiral's intrigues, the fleet surgeon who had already showed a readiness to cover up for him with a false diagnosis... and Ges Vorrutyer himself, vain and revengeful. This plot was based on the same principle as judo when your enemy's own attack threw him down.
It seemed it would be fun.
by jetta_e_rus aka Georgette
Vorkosiverse. Slash, PG-13. Drama, action, a detective story.
Translated from Russian.
The table of contents is here
Chapter Twelve,,
where Aral wakes up, learns the news and suggest a plan of counteractions.
***
The next morning Vorkosigan didn't look very well, as would be expected. His eyes were red, his voice sounded even more hoarse than usual; the Commodore kept on clearing his throat and taking a sip of sparkling water. Illyan never asked about his headache so he saw that there was only the empty pill's blister on the bedside-table.
"Yesterday I missed something, certainly." Vorkosigan's voice was edged with grim irony. "Tell me, Simon."
Ten minutes ago he had woken up his lieutenant with a com call and asked if he had understood correctly the note on the comconsole. Illyan had come immediately, in a great hurry. As a result, two unshaven, worried, puzzled officers were sitting face to face in Vorkosigan's cabin at half past eight, each seized on his mug of hot coffee like a drowning man grasping a life-buoy. Illyan had managed to get dressed properly at least, but Aral had had time only to slip on his uniform tunic. Don't mention it. Now wasn't the time for ceremonies, especially because, it seemed, they had turned to first names in the battle situation.
"Yes, you've missed much, Aral, and it's impossible for you to be ignorant of it any longer, " Illyan answered honestly. Yesterday he had felt a silly temptation to conceal these unpleasant events from his ward till he found out the solution of this problem on his own. Fortunately, it had been over quickly. It was none of his business to solve such a problem, especially since he hadn't found any solution. "I'm going to tell you all, but I would like to ask some questions first. May I?"
"It depends what your questions are," Aral smiled, though joylessly.
"I have only two. The first one is: during the time from lunch to my visit did anybody drop in to your cabin and did you leave it yourself?"
"No. I think Rulf might have called, but... that might be before lunch, I don't remember exactly. But I met with nobody, I'm sure. I'm aware that all my encounters should be under surveillance, Illyan. Do you think that I'm deceiving you, lieutenant?" Aral asked with annoyance and clear circumspection, since he had turned to surnames and ranks.
"I didn't think so, sir, but I must ask it."
"Well, sorry. And what is your second question?"
"Did you take any medicine during these two hours, and if you did, what what was it?"
"Nothing," Vorkosigan answered perplexedly. "What is the matter?"
Illyan breathed out as his second assumption had became no longer relevant and began to state briefly the fact of the matter. It contained the result of the blood test, the combined effect of the tranquilizer with alcohol, his testing of all the food and drink, Vorrutyer's night visit (when Aral heard of it, he said only, "Really?"). Then the mention of Bothari's medical file followed, and the wet wineglass, and the non-encouraging look-out of the Sergeant's possible interrogation. Vorkosigan winced and noted, "He has to avoid a military court, so he is able to go mad in solitary confinement." Illyan finished his description with the conclusion of the impossibility of proving the attempt or of catching the real culprit of the disaster.
"What a bastard! Really, Ges has gone too far," Vorkosigan said almost without any emotions, except a slight annoyance. "It's strange; I remember myself as I was yesterday and I don't feel that I was doped."
"You weren't, indeed," Illyan explained quickly. "This stuff doesn't have an effect like dope, rather it's a catalyst. As the chief surgeon has expounded me, you could get a similar effect if you drank the full bottle of brandy on an empty stomach and follow it with a 'blue pill' ".
Vorkosigan hummed, since he was keenly aware of the effect of the "blue" stimulator from the field first-aid kit; it produced a brief burst of energy for a few hours, then a complete breakdown followed.
"The way to get two hangovers at the same time," Vorkosigan added. "I wonder whether they cooked unusually disgusting coffee in the galley today or this is just the effect of last night's drink?"
He put the half-empty mug aside, rose and began to pace along the cabin, five steps to the door, over and back. He kept silence, didn't make notes or swear and looked rather thoughtful. Vorkosigan kept his calm perfectly. Illyan wouldn't content himself with a single expression of 'bastard', if someone had attempted to poison him.
Aral suddenly stopped pacing and approached closely to Illyan. "Simon, I've survived the last night without losses only with your help. Thank you." He smiled, but Illyan seemed to hear the slight anxiety in his tone.
Does he fear that I will reprimand him for the drunken brawl or get even with him for, er, flirtation? In vain, I think.
Vorkosigan paused a second and continued more resolutely and loudly. "Let's turn from yesterday's events to conclusions that we can draw from them. I ask you to help me as an analyst."
Illyan admitted silently that this request flattered him.
"Well." Aral ticked off the count on his fingers. "What does our dearest Vice Admiral try to get, except to simply amuse himself? He intends to win Escobar's laurels, but my share to his victory is insufferable for him. I was surprised when he agreed to take me on his Staff at all. But now he tries to dispose of me roundabout. Is it logical?"
Illyan agreed this question with an approving 'hm-m'.
Vorkosigan pulled up the chair and sat astride it, arms comfortably athwart its back. Though he was drained physically, but his spirit had revived now. His eyes were alight, his glance became sharp like a blade. Illyan suddenly realized how hard these weeks of silent passive defense had been for Aral.
"The attempt to make me out as a drunken idiot in the face of my men fits in this hypothesis. But Vorrutyer has failed. What would he do next, in your opinion?"
Illyan wondered what Aral was testing now, either the truth of his own argumentation or his lieutenant's train of thought. He thought over his answer properly. "He would try a new attempt. If it should miscarry, he would get to search for another way."
"Indeed," Vorkosigan nodded, satisfied. "Ges hates to lose. But I haven't any interest in measuring prestige with him. This is not my game. Should we suggest him the idea that it wasn't a failure and his attempt went wrong only by half, accidentally, not through my counteraction? It's always better to make your enemy underestimate you."
Aral was evidently carried away with this idea. Now he spoke with the same tone that he usually explained strategic plans to his staff officers.
"What do you mean?" Illyan asked. Of course, the last statement was true. But how could they make Vice Admiral Vorrutyer consider the bitter lemon a sweet one?
"Let's assume that he would interpret the situation in the following way: yes, unfortunately, I've missed this briefing, but that was a sheer accident. But this morning I have woken up crapulent, but suspecting nothing and habitually, er, had another drink, that has provoked me to hard drinking. Does that sound likely? What would we gain according to this scenario?"
"He wouldn't try to poison you again in the immediate future," Illyan supposed.
"True," Vorkosigan accepted, "Our first profit is a respite. In the second place, for the next few days I wouldn't leave my cabin for common meals on the plea of an ulcer attack; therefore, I would avoid Vorrutyer fortunately, but he would lose his temper, quite the contrary. And the third point, the most important one, is that our disinformation could provoke our enemy to hitting into my supposedly weak spot. There are all advantages of this strategy. Does it have some defects, what do you think?"
"Your damaged reputation, of course, and the fact that you would have to hide in your cabin."
"It's reasonable. But I suppose that Vorrutyer would rather count upon the final hit than on destroying my reputation with small bites and rumors. By the way, he would certainly try to dispatch me to the reserve, if not discharge, for medical reasons... hm-m, let him try." He smiled. "I think, one week of my seclusion would be enough. Bless the working com net that give me the chance to fulfill properly the duty of a Staff officer and not to see my commanding officer's face at the same time. Would you bring me food, Simon?"
"Yes. And I would supply you fresh news with it."
"Of course. Vorrutyer is sure that our long acquaintance gives him some advantages, that he knows how to control me. Let him believe it. I know him well too, and I'll be able to seize the very moment when he is at the end of his tether, when he opens up at the attack. According to my forecast, he'll become fully ripe after a week. Let him dig his own pitfall, stand on its brink and step forward. It's important that he do it on his own. Then even a complete paranoid couldn't blame me for the plot against my commanding officer."
Vorkosigan suddenly turned from a grim person, who was burdened with forced patience and the shadow of old sins, to a dangerous man, his eyes alight with a rapacious heat, who planed his counterattack swiftly and neatly. Illyan thought that he didn't feel now an urge to watch out for or protect this Aral, but only to salute him and to take his commanding dictation, although Illyan technically wasn't his subordinate at all.
So Illyan expressed his only anxiety: "Mightn't this, er, pretended illness be revealed untimely?"
"People believe what they want to believe, and Ges most of all. Of course, we will need the full support from the chief surgeon, and, perhaps, from Rulf. You'll have to have a run, Simon, and play, but without overdoing it."
Vorkosigan hadn't even asked whether Illyan would cope with this task or not. He had just easily included in his instantly made plan all available human resources. There was the ImpSec agent who knew professionally how to wear a mask and to scout, the old friend who worried about the Vice Admiral's intrigues, the fleet surgeon who had already showed a readiness to cover up for him with a false diagnosis... and Ges Vorrutyer himself, vain and revengeful. This plot was based on the same principle as judo when your enemy's own attack threw him down.
It seemed it would be fun.