Fic: It's a long way to Escobar (16/20)
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 Sixteen,
where Illyan witnesses Ges's false hysteria, Vorhalas's quick reaction and Bothari's obedience.
***
The cabin's door hissed and clicked. Vorkosigan turned out calmly at this sound.
"Simon, is that you? Why are you so disheveled?"
"Hm, really?" Illyan sleeked his wet hair, thought better and reached to his pocket for the comb. "I was running. Firstly I had a forced march on the hull, wearing a heavy vacuum suit, and then I hurried here through all the desks. I was almost sure that something would befall you exactly in my absence. But you just sit here, and nobody requires you. Isn't this a pity?"
"Awful pity," Aral grinned. "All the day was for nothing. By the way, did you succeed or flunk?"
"Do you doubt?" Illyan counter-asked, and added demonstratively proudly, "I confined myself to the time of two minutes less than the norm, although these metal boxes with servos aren't my part. I'm an ImpSec fellow. I 'm able to shoot, fight, feel paranoia, search for spies at every corner, and write analyst's reports. But a cross-country race in a space suit isn't my business."
He looked for a free seat as usual, but sat right on the covered bed as he would do in his own cabin instead of taking a chair from the wall. By the way, for the future he should keep tabs on this ease in the company of the senior officer so that it wouldn't grow into a habit. For conspiracy's sake.
"Are you planning to shoot and fight if our ship should be hit, God forbid?" Aral continued to demand.
"If it is hit, I'll do my best to push my careless ward into the same space suit. Indeed, you neglect these trainings."
"This is one of my post's privileges," Vorkosigan informed him. "A Staff officer looks imposing in a space suit but useless and silly. Besides, I've used one longer than you've worn trousers."
Illyan thought that there was something unnatural in the excited humorous remarks they were exchanging. But Vorkosigan would never admit that he was out of sorts, whatever the reason had been. Why did he feel nervous, because Ges's return move hadn't happened today, as their cunning calculations had said, or just because it had been Vorrutyer who had begun this set, and Aral had to react instead of act, and this defense position was certainly less profitable.
"Moreover," Aral added, "these trainings aboard the flagship are merely a convention and a tribute to discipline. Our ship is supposed to stay so far beyond the front line that the placement of evacuation modules is only an academic matter, unless the training is useful for novice boys. How many groups have already passed?
"I was in the group #3."
"At this speed this will last until evening," Aral glanced at the luminous figures of the wall clock. "Evidently, they didn't hasten. It's senseless for me to come into the tac room till this mess has finished up."
He yawned, closing his mouth with his palm, and began to stand up; the the comconsole buzzed at this very moment.
"Vorkosigan on line," he answered automatically before reading the com code.
It proved a mistake because it was Vice Admiral Vorrutyer who called up. "Vorkosigan?" His voice sounded abrupt and was edged with an exactly measured dose of feigned surprise as if Vorrutyer didn't count on an answer or expected to see another person. "Come to my cabin, for a Staff briefing, and make haste!"
"Er..." Aral began, supposedly perplexed; he bethought opportunely not to show his sober watchfulness to the Commander-in-Chief.
"I said, quickly!" Vorrutyer interrupted him and finished his order with the phrase he had evidently pre-prepared, "If you are not able to come, you could crawl." He cut the com.
"Here, we have waited." Aral came to the bathroom, examined himself in the mirror, turning his head left and right. Then he briefly rubbed his cheeks, rinsed his mouth with brandy and spat it in the sink with disgust. "Let's go."
***
Illyan thought that the mise-en-scene behind the door of Vorrutyer's cabin was staged excellently. The Crown Prince, in dress greens densely embroidered with gold, lounged on a red upholstered velvet chair and slightly patted his bootleg with the tip of a riding-crop. The riding-crop was in such keeping with his polished parade boots that Illyan wondered if there was a white horse somewhere in the cargo space, in foretaste of his future triumphal arrival at conquered Escobar. Admirals Vorrutyer and Vorhalas stood aside, by the comconsole, where some charts and diagrams glowed. Illyan wasn't able to say what it was since the picture was transparent and colourless from his angle of view. Ges leant across a table, right palm on the glass, as he twirled a magnetic chip by his left hand. Rulf put a fist on his hip and bent his head like a bull. One man reddened, the other was pale with rage. Obviously, their debate was at its height.
Vorkosigan and Illyan appeared just in the middle of Vorhalas's remark, "... completely inadmissible thing to change plans half-way, without getting approval from the General Staff and His Majesty personally. Vice Admiral Vorrutyer, have you any idea about the number of casualties that you would have to run up an account of your own adventurism?"
Vorrutyer's tone was acerb. "Vorhalas, the war doesn't come to ballet where all stands and pas are specified beforehand."
"But it has no concern for avant-garde impromptus either!" Vorhalas burst out. "Have you received any new military intelligence about the enemy's position?"
"You almost guessed," Vorrutyer parted his hands and moved from near the comconsole to a new strategic position, behind the Crown Prince's chair. "As His Highness has mentioned, the quick change of our plans would make any espionage ineffectual, and the decisiveness of our actions would raise the morale of our troops."
Serg smiled with satisfaction but kept silent. It was quite strange as the words 'morale' and 'discipline' had been the Prince's personal keywords in recent days, provoking him to give a pathetic speech even during meals. The Prince didn't have any experience in military strategy so he had made all efforts in the field of propaganda as he had interpreted it. However now he said nothing. Why? Had Vorrutyer convinced him before the meeting that silence would be his best strategy? In that case, the scene had all been staged in advance indeed.
Vorhalas sighed bitterly. "In this case we should choose Rho Ceta instead of Escobar. This would confuse the enemy's intelligence, of course." As the punctilious Admiral permitted himself open irony, this was evidently not the first round of this conversation.
Vorrutuer took Rulf Vorhalas immediately at his word, "I expect from my Chief of Staff accurate reports, not jests! Have you any arguments against this plan excluding the lack of bureaucratic authorizations?"
"Of course." Vorhalas forced himself to become utterly dry and polite. "Not speaking about morale since that is the Political Officer's concern, and reasons of counter-espionage that the Army Security is in charge of, I have the followed objections. I consider the blitzkrieg strategy fully unsuccessful when we deal with a fortified planet, expecting a potential attack. The Headquarters agree to this opinion; they have rejected this variant a month ago. If you don't trust my thirty-year professional reputation, you could ask other competent experts."
Vorhalas nodded towards Vorkosigan, to underscore his last words. Had the Chief of Staff relied upon the arrival of the enforcement? It wasn't a good idea. Illyan doubted that Vorrutyer would agree with Vorkosigan on any matter, including the result of two plus two.
Vorrutyer paused deliberately, eyed Aral up and down as if he was some strange thing that Ges hadn't seen before. Alas, his burning glare was in vain, as Vorkosigan looked rather troubled with his own headache than the other's opinion. Ges had to ask again, pronouncedly, "Well, what would the expert with a great, er, Komarr experience say?"
Vorkosigan strode towards comconsole, took a look at a pile of open files, winced, made a slight gesture as if he had wanted to press his fingers to the aching temple, but changed his mind. This gesture was almost imperceptible. Almost. "Say about what?"
"Is it difficult to understand, Aral?" Vorrutyer asked compassionately. "I'll explain. As a commander in this campaign I offered to change our strategical disposition. Instead of a prolonged siege we could force the planet with a shock rush of the cruising formation that would include all our heavy battleships. Including this one too; nobody would happen to stay safe in the rear during the battle. Our massive stroke would destroy their orbital stations in the first half-hour. When Escobar capitulate, we'll have their celebrated fleet safe, as loot for the winners."
Illyan was an ImpSec man, last time he had faced the strategy of the orbital battles had been during his military school years, but this offer seemed foolish even to him. Vorrutyer's eyes sparkled with maniacal excitement suggesting that the Vice Admiral wouldn't like to hear any objections. Was he drunk, or drugged, or just playing for high stakes? The Vice Admiral griped tightly his personal code card; when his electronic signature would be only properly registered then this new mad plan would become reality.
"It's suicide," Aral stated and began to enumerate, "There is a high probability of meeting with a rebuff of superior forces of the orbital fortresses on our way to the planet. The fleet on the march is vulnerable to attack, since our rear and backup ships become unprotected. In fact we would risk losing all our cruisers one after another, and after that the enemy fleet would destroy our troopships easily. The estimation of prospective losses is clearly unfavorable. Even if the wonder would happen, we'd win at a high cost only one month before the scheduled date. These are the possible consequences of this premature decision. Is it enough?"
"I expected nothing else," Vorrutyer sniffed scornfully. "Here are my Staff officers! One clings to the coward's caution, the other seeks approval from the Headquarters for his every step. Did neither of you, strategists, surmise that the original plan of Headquarters had been only a cover? The Crown Prince's authority is enough to conceal part of the real plan until this moment." Vorrutyer shouted. "And his subordinates haven't any right to hesitate or contest!"
Illyan saw clearly that both senior officers were shocked with idea of a secret offensive plan for His Highness's eyes only (although he was a strategist not at all), but hidden from his Staff for reasons of espionage. Vorkosigan snorted and murmured, "Don't tell me tales!". Admiral Vorhalas was more respectful to his Commander-in-Chief so he said only, "In that case I would like to see the written order about changing the operational plan, since I wasn't aware of it in advance due to... low access level."
Vorrutyer shrugged, grinned and moved aside slowly; then he made an expressive gesture towards the Prince. "There is our plan and the guarantee of my words' verity. Any authorization is nothing in comparison with the word of the Imperial Heir whom the Emperor has appointed at the head of the military campaign." He added, satisfied, "Do you call in question my words or His Highness's rights, Vorhalas?"
"My lords, they take on trust gambling-debts only," the Admiral cut short, uncomplying.
Ges Vorrutyer brightened up as if they four were now at the card-table and he had just receive a lucky card. "Oho, mutiny! Fortunately, it was recorded properly," he glanced significantly towards Illyan. The glance was immediately followed by a clap of the riding-crop; Serg gazed upon the scene like a good performance. "The Silver Eyes never close, don't they?"
Illyan thought that the world had turned upside down. Black is white, the Prince's silent approval overpowered the Emperor's direct order, and the Staff's refusal to accept blindly their Commander's deadly plan is a mutiny. Logic took a short-term rest, but this wasn't the most important thing at this moment. The main thing was now the code card, the sign of the power that Vorrutyer twiddled nervously.
Then he paused, Aral put in, deceptively awkwardly, but in fact at an exactly calculated moment, "Vorrutyer, what mutiny? You would ruin the fleet to hell. Give me a half-hour, and I'll explain it to you with computations, or," he paused for an instant, his palms open, "take it on trust."
At it was expected, Ges Vorrutyer burst out. "Especially for you, Aral," he shouted, "If you are not able to behave properly in the face of your authorities, I'll tell it in plain language. The command's orders are not for discussion! If the Commander-in-Chief would order you to take off your pants and stand at attention, your only question should be 'how fast, sir?'. I'll explain it to you without any computations!! Bothari!"
During all this talk Vorrutyer's batman had been holding up the wall, like a very ugly telamon, and hadn't claimed more attention than the other furniture. Why was he heeded now, indeed? Now the Sergeant had stood silently in parade rest before his master; he looked strange being a head above Vorrutyer who was a man of medium height.
"Undress," Vorrutyer ordered roughly.
It was... improper, despite the fact that the Vice Admiral formally had the right to do it with this own batman; not only improper, but obscene, mainly because Bothari got to obeyed this humiliating order busily and without any emotion. Then he finished stripping (his moves were exact but sharp and twitched as is he were a clumsy mechanical android), and he stiffened straight near the pile of his clothes, his large bony palms loosely clasped.
Illyan swallowed and winced, looking aside. Aral's jaw twitched but he kept silent. Vorhalas's expression turned slowly to the astonished aversion to the Vice Admiral's wild escapade. The Crown Prince put his riding-crop aside and clapped his hands a few times, for show.
"Look! This is a model soldier." Vorrutyer stepped decidedly to Aral, in passing muttered to his batman "Out with you!" through clenched teeth. "Have you grasped, Aral, who is command here? Do I need to continue the show?"
Vorrutyer's cheeks sharply flushed with excitement. He could order everybody to undress, Illyan thought with an unpleasant pit-a-pat heart, This trick probably won't work with the senior Staff officers, but he could start with me as a lowest person by rank. Illyan wasn't shy at all, but he wouldn't like to make the first strategically important choice between obedience and dignity.
Aral said very quietly, as if it was the last attempt of resistance, "You would not only make our soldiers end up losing their shirt but get them killed. Are you ready to squander a potential victory only in order to out-argue me?"
"Out-argue you? Your part is just to obey, understand?!" The words escaped Ges's lips like spittle spray. He began to press Vorkosigan aside. Aral grimaced as if he had tasted something unpalatable. Vorrutyer set both palms against the red silk-papered wall; Aral stood between his hands like in a cell. He stiffened almost standing at attention so as not to touch Vorrutyer as if he were soiled. A muscle jumped in Aral's jaw.
"Well, will you undress on your own?" Ges asked.
Serg suddenly burst out laughing. "Will you undress, Vorkosigan?"
Illyan prayed silently that Vorkosigan would find enough self-control not to respond to this shocking provocation. The term 'mutiny' was still hanging in the air; Vorrutyer also remembered this so he staked his all and intensified the pressing. He bared his teeth in a smile and added, "There was a time when you were so glad to stand before me without uniform or to lie under me without pants..."
One could hear clearly every word i] the viscous silence.
Vorhalas was struck dumb with indignation when he realized that the talk had suddenly become too ticklish and Aral had to get out by his own strength. Illyan automatically fingered the button on his uniform's cuff so that his hand would be busy and not reach to the stunner holster. Then he was astonished at his own reaction; he felt seized with a surge of hot, aggrieved jealous when Vorrutyer, on top of it all, kissed Aral full on the mouth.
Vorkosigan didn't even move. If he had pushed Vorrutyer away at full force, Ges would be thrown to the other wall of the cabin. Aral's expression was tired and disgusted, lips thinned as if he were suffering some unpleasant medical procedure, but that was all.
The moment stretched to a long viscous eternity. During this moment Illyan had time to look over the full dozen of ifs. What should he do... if he didn't have a feeling that Vorrutyer's hysteria was affected and false... if Aral would be really drunk but not pretending to it... if they hadn't get laid before...
Rulf Vorhalas was the first who came to himself. He darted forward with a wordless snarl and dragged Vorrutyer back, grasping him by the shoulder. Illyan wondered absently how fast and energetic was Vorhalas's response despite the fact that he was the oldest man in this room. It seemed that Vorhalas had hoped right up to the last second that Vorrutyer would come round on his own. Now Admiral Vorhalas was literally trembling with anger; he hauled Vorrutyer by his tunic and shook him like a delinquent idiot cadet. "Spoiled half-wit!" he hissed through his teeth.
Serg was stunned, his mouth open; his face expressed more sincere bewilderment than it had been during all Vorrutyer's tricks. It seemed that the script, known beforehand, had just finished and the improvisation had begun.
Illyan missed the moment when he pulled out his own stunner. It happened automatically. Who was the potential aim? Bothari, perhaps. If the mad naked sergeant should come to the defense of his master, who was getting now a deserved thrashing, the situation would become completely beyond control...
Aral stepped forward from the wall, spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his palm. "Let him go, Rulf. You see that it's an unconcealed provocation."
Boiling Vorhalas turned out with surprise, and his fingers were undone.
Vorrutyer straightened out his tunic and retreated quickly behind the Crown Prince's chair. Was he frightened of the forceful response from an unexpected person? "Indeed, Admiral, " the Commander-in-Chief reprimanded his Chief of Staff, reproachfully and almost calmly, "you shouldn't have done this."
Aral cleared his throat and muttered, "Excuse me, gentlemen," then he turned and strode decidedly to the bathroom. When he passed by Ges, he said, "You were lucky; I would have vomited." Vorrutyer pretended to not quite catch it. The bathroom door, closed shut, muffled all sounds except the noise of the water. Nobody knew if Commodore Vorkosigan only wanted to rinse his mouth or he really felt suddenly sick.
Ges bent and whispered something in Serg's ear. "Brandy", Illyan read his lips.
Vorhalas clenched his fists tightly and said through teeth, "Vorrutyer. If you you want us to be respectful to your post, you have to behave like an Imperial officer, not a woman. You owed your excuses for what happened to all us. And remove your... non-com away."
"Put your clothes on and go away!" Vorrutyer ordered briefly to Bothari, who was standing motionless by the wall. Then he turned to Vorhalas and continued, "Don't go too far, Admiral. I forgive you for the attempt to assault the commanding officer - one time, out of respect for your grey hairs, - but I won't tolerate any further insubordination." Vorrutyer's eyes sparked dangerously, "Now you are risking convincing me that my Staff is only a crowd of free-thinkers. Then I couldn't do anything but declare an all-fleet state of emergency and hand the command over to His Highness personally." The Vice Admiral meant his own personal leadership, of course.
Vorrutyer's voice eventually became a shout. "If you want to keep your post and help me later with your advice, kindly be dutiful!" he snapped. "As you were too lenient with your officers, they got a swelled head." As a live illustration to his irritated remark, Aral came from the bathroom, drying his wet reddened face with a handkerchief. "Do you all figure that disciplinary punishment are not your concern? Vorhalas, inform the Staff that I'll..." He paused, rubbed his forehead with annoyance and asked the First Commander in a lower voice, "Where does your Vorinnis gad about, when I need him?"
"On training. Did you forget, Ges?" the Prince suggested helpfully.
"Oh, training! That comes in handy. Well, Vorhalas, inform your idlers that I've ordered them to go on training along with the junior officers. Let start with this fellow," he nodded disdainfully towards Vorkosigan. "Do you understand, Commodore? Go jump and run with the lieutenants, perhaps this will teach you proper behavior. Go immediately. I'll inquire personally about your results." He added to Vorhalas again, almost cool, "We'll return later to the question of changing the plan. I would consider your arguments if they are presented in proper terms. Dismissed!"
The strategical retreat of three officers from Vorrutyer's luxurious cabin was so quick that if its speed would were increased a bit, it would become a panicked flight.
Flushed, Rulf Vorhalas mopped his brow with a trembling hand. "He went just mad," the Admiral said almost plaintively. "Aral, I'm your direct commanding officer, and I prescribe you to get in future any personal instructions from the Commander-in-Chief via com only."
"Well," Vorkosigan accepted grimly. "Come on, Illyan. I prefer to go on training than under arrest."
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 Sixteen,
where Illyan witnesses Ges's false hysteria, Vorhalas's quick reaction and Bothari's obedience.
***
The cabin's door hissed and clicked. Vorkosigan turned out calmly at this sound.
"Simon, is that you? Why are you so disheveled?"
"Hm, really?" Illyan sleeked his wet hair, thought better and reached to his pocket for the comb. "I was running. Firstly I had a forced march on the hull, wearing a heavy vacuum suit, and then I hurried here through all the desks. I was almost sure that something would befall you exactly in my absence. But you just sit here, and nobody requires you. Isn't this a pity?"
"Awful pity," Aral grinned. "All the day was for nothing. By the way, did you succeed or flunk?"
"Do you doubt?" Illyan counter-asked, and added demonstratively proudly, "I confined myself to the time of two minutes less than the norm, although these metal boxes with servos aren't my part. I'm an ImpSec fellow. I 'm able to shoot, fight, feel paranoia, search for spies at every corner, and write analyst's reports. But a cross-country race in a space suit isn't my business."
He looked for a free seat as usual, but sat right on the covered bed as he would do in his own cabin instead of taking a chair from the wall. By the way, for the future he should keep tabs on this ease in the company of the senior officer so that it wouldn't grow into a habit. For conspiracy's sake.
"Are you planning to shoot and fight if our ship should be hit, God forbid?" Aral continued to demand.
"If it is hit, I'll do my best to push my careless ward into the same space suit. Indeed, you neglect these trainings."
"This is one of my post's privileges," Vorkosigan informed him. "A Staff officer looks imposing in a space suit but useless and silly. Besides, I've used one longer than you've worn trousers."
Illyan thought that there was something unnatural in the excited humorous remarks they were exchanging. But Vorkosigan would never admit that he was out of sorts, whatever the reason had been. Why did he feel nervous, because Ges's return move hadn't happened today, as their cunning calculations had said, or just because it had been Vorrutyer who had begun this set, and Aral had to react instead of act, and this defense position was certainly less profitable.
"Moreover," Aral added, "these trainings aboard the flagship are merely a convention and a tribute to discipline. Our ship is supposed to stay so far beyond the front line that the placement of evacuation modules is only an academic matter, unless the training is useful for novice boys. How many groups have already passed?
"I was in the group #3."
"At this speed this will last until evening," Aral glanced at the luminous figures of the wall clock. "Evidently, they didn't hasten. It's senseless for me to come into the tac room till this mess has finished up."
He yawned, closing his mouth with his palm, and began to stand up; the the comconsole buzzed at this very moment.
"Vorkosigan on line," he answered automatically before reading the com code.
It proved a mistake because it was Vice Admiral Vorrutyer who called up. "Vorkosigan?" His voice sounded abrupt and was edged with an exactly measured dose of feigned surprise as if Vorrutyer didn't count on an answer or expected to see another person. "Come to my cabin, for a Staff briefing, and make haste!"
"Er..." Aral began, supposedly perplexed; he bethought opportunely not to show his sober watchfulness to the Commander-in-Chief.
"I said, quickly!" Vorrutyer interrupted him and finished his order with the phrase he had evidently pre-prepared, "If you are not able to come, you could crawl." He cut the com.
"Here, we have waited." Aral came to the bathroom, examined himself in the mirror, turning his head left and right. Then he briefly rubbed his cheeks, rinsed his mouth with brandy and spat it in the sink with disgust. "Let's go."
***
Illyan thought that the mise-en-scene behind the door of Vorrutyer's cabin was staged excellently. The Crown Prince, in dress greens densely embroidered with gold, lounged on a red upholstered velvet chair and slightly patted his bootleg with the tip of a riding-crop. The riding-crop was in such keeping with his polished parade boots that Illyan wondered if there was a white horse somewhere in the cargo space, in foretaste of his future triumphal arrival at conquered Escobar. Admirals Vorrutyer and Vorhalas stood aside, by the comconsole, where some charts and diagrams glowed. Illyan wasn't able to say what it was since the picture was transparent and colourless from his angle of view. Ges leant across a table, right palm on the glass, as he twirled a magnetic chip by his left hand. Rulf put a fist on his hip and bent his head like a bull. One man reddened, the other was pale with rage. Obviously, their debate was at its height.
Vorkosigan and Illyan appeared just in the middle of Vorhalas's remark, "... completely inadmissible thing to change plans half-way, without getting approval from the General Staff and His Majesty personally. Vice Admiral Vorrutyer, have you any idea about the number of casualties that you would have to run up an account of your own adventurism?"
Vorrutyer's tone was acerb. "Vorhalas, the war doesn't come to ballet where all stands and pas are specified beforehand."
"But it has no concern for avant-garde impromptus either!" Vorhalas burst out. "Have you received any new military intelligence about the enemy's position?"
"You almost guessed," Vorrutyer parted his hands and moved from near the comconsole to a new strategic position, behind the Crown Prince's chair. "As His Highness has mentioned, the quick change of our plans would make any espionage ineffectual, and the decisiveness of our actions would raise the morale of our troops."
Serg smiled with satisfaction but kept silent. It was quite strange as the words 'morale' and 'discipline' had been the Prince's personal keywords in recent days, provoking him to give a pathetic speech even during meals. The Prince didn't have any experience in military strategy so he had made all efforts in the field of propaganda as he had interpreted it. However now he said nothing. Why? Had Vorrutyer convinced him before the meeting that silence would be his best strategy? In that case, the scene had all been staged in advance indeed.
Vorhalas sighed bitterly. "In this case we should choose Rho Ceta instead of Escobar. This would confuse the enemy's intelligence, of course." As the punctilious Admiral permitted himself open irony, this was evidently not the first round of this conversation.
Vorrutuer took Rulf Vorhalas immediately at his word, "I expect from my Chief of Staff accurate reports, not jests! Have you any arguments against this plan excluding the lack of bureaucratic authorizations?"
"Of course." Vorhalas forced himself to become utterly dry and polite. "Not speaking about morale since that is the Political Officer's concern, and reasons of counter-espionage that the Army Security is in charge of, I have the followed objections. I consider the blitzkrieg strategy fully unsuccessful when we deal with a fortified planet, expecting a potential attack. The Headquarters agree to this opinion; they have rejected this variant a month ago. If you don't trust my thirty-year professional reputation, you could ask other competent experts."
Vorhalas nodded towards Vorkosigan, to underscore his last words. Had the Chief of Staff relied upon the arrival of the enforcement? It wasn't a good idea. Illyan doubted that Vorrutyer would agree with Vorkosigan on any matter, including the result of two plus two.
Vorrutyer paused deliberately, eyed Aral up and down as if he was some strange thing that Ges hadn't seen before. Alas, his burning glare was in vain, as Vorkosigan looked rather troubled with his own headache than the other's opinion. Ges had to ask again, pronouncedly, "Well, what would the expert with a great, er, Komarr experience say?"
Vorkosigan strode towards comconsole, took a look at a pile of open files, winced, made a slight gesture as if he had wanted to press his fingers to the aching temple, but changed his mind. This gesture was almost imperceptible. Almost. "Say about what?"
"Is it difficult to understand, Aral?" Vorrutyer asked compassionately. "I'll explain. As a commander in this campaign I offered to change our strategical disposition. Instead of a prolonged siege we could force the planet with a shock rush of the cruising formation that would include all our heavy battleships. Including this one too; nobody would happen to stay safe in the rear during the battle. Our massive stroke would destroy their orbital stations in the first half-hour. When Escobar capitulate, we'll have their celebrated fleet safe, as loot for the winners."
Illyan was an ImpSec man, last time he had faced the strategy of the orbital battles had been during his military school years, but this offer seemed foolish even to him. Vorrutyer's eyes sparkled with maniacal excitement suggesting that the Vice Admiral wouldn't like to hear any objections. Was he drunk, or drugged, or just playing for high stakes? The Vice Admiral griped tightly his personal code card; when his electronic signature would be only properly registered then this new mad plan would become reality.
"It's suicide," Aral stated and began to enumerate, "There is a high probability of meeting with a rebuff of superior forces of the orbital fortresses on our way to the planet. The fleet on the march is vulnerable to attack, since our rear and backup ships become unprotected. In fact we would risk losing all our cruisers one after another, and after that the enemy fleet would destroy our troopships easily. The estimation of prospective losses is clearly unfavorable. Even if the wonder would happen, we'd win at a high cost only one month before the scheduled date. These are the possible consequences of this premature decision. Is it enough?"
"I expected nothing else," Vorrutyer sniffed scornfully. "Here are my Staff officers! One clings to the coward's caution, the other seeks approval from the Headquarters for his every step. Did neither of you, strategists, surmise that the original plan of Headquarters had been only a cover? The Crown Prince's authority is enough to conceal part of the real plan until this moment." Vorrutyer shouted. "And his subordinates haven't any right to hesitate or contest!"
Illyan saw clearly that both senior officers were shocked with idea of a secret offensive plan for His Highness's eyes only (although he was a strategist not at all), but hidden from his Staff for reasons of espionage. Vorkosigan snorted and murmured, "Don't tell me tales!". Admiral Vorhalas was more respectful to his Commander-in-Chief so he said only, "In that case I would like to see the written order about changing the operational plan, since I wasn't aware of it in advance due to... low access level."
Vorrutyer shrugged, grinned and moved aside slowly; then he made an expressive gesture towards the Prince. "There is our plan and the guarantee of my words' verity. Any authorization is nothing in comparison with the word of the Imperial Heir whom the Emperor has appointed at the head of the military campaign." He added, satisfied, "Do you call in question my words or His Highness's rights, Vorhalas?"
"My lords, they take on trust gambling-debts only," the Admiral cut short, uncomplying.
Ges Vorrutyer brightened up as if they four were now at the card-table and he had just receive a lucky card. "Oho, mutiny! Fortunately, it was recorded properly," he glanced significantly towards Illyan. The glance was immediately followed by a clap of the riding-crop; Serg gazed upon the scene like a good performance. "The Silver Eyes never close, don't they?"
Illyan thought that the world had turned upside down. Black is white, the Prince's silent approval overpowered the Emperor's direct order, and the Staff's refusal to accept blindly their Commander's deadly plan is a mutiny. Logic took a short-term rest, but this wasn't the most important thing at this moment. The main thing was now the code card, the sign of the power that Vorrutyer twiddled nervously.
Then he paused, Aral put in, deceptively awkwardly, but in fact at an exactly calculated moment, "Vorrutyer, what mutiny? You would ruin the fleet to hell. Give me a half-hour, and I'll explain it to you with computations, or," he paused for an instant, his palms open, "take it on trust."
At it was expected, Ges Vorrutyer burst out. "Especially for you, Aral," he shouted, "If you are not able to behave properly in the face of your authorities, I'll tell it in plain language. The command's orders are not for discussion! If the Commander-in-Chief would order you to take off your pants and stand at attention, your only question should be 'how fast, sir?'. I'll explain it to you without any computations!! Bothari!"
During all this talk Vorrutyer's batman had been holding up the wall, like a very ugly telamon, and hadn't claimed more attention than the other furniture. Why was he heeded now, indeed? Now the Sergeant had stood silently in parade rest before his master; he looked strange being a head above Vorrutyer who was a man of medium height.
"Undress," Vorrutyer ordered roughly.
It was... improper, despite the fact that the Vice Admiral formally had the right to do it with this own batman; not only improper, but obscene, mainly because Bothari got to obeyed this humiliating order busily and without any emotion. Then he finished stripping (his moves were exact but sharp and twitched as is he were a clumsy mechanical android), and he stiffened straight near the pile of his clothes, his large bony palms loosely clasped.
Illyan swallowed and winced, looking aside. Aral's jaw twitched but he kept silent. Vorhalas's expression turned slowly to the astonished aversion to the Vice Admiral's wild escapade. The Crown Prince put his riding-crop aside and clapped his hands a few times, for show.
"Look! This is a model soldier." Vorrutyer stepped decidedly to Aral, in passing muttered to his batman "Out with you!" through clenched teeth. "Have you grasped, Aral, who is command here? Do I need to continue the show?"
Vorrutyer's cheeks sharply flushed with excitement. He could order everybody to undress, Illyan thought with an unpleasant pit-a-pat heart, This trick probably won't work with the senior Staff officers, but he could start with me as a lowest person by rank. Illyan wasn't shy at all, but he wouldn't like to make the first strategically important choice between obedience and dignity.
Aral said very quietly, as if it was the last attempt of resistance, "You would not only make our soldiers end up losing their shirt but get them killed. Are you ready to squander a potential victory only in order to out-argue me?"
"Out-argue you? Your part is just to obey, understand?!" The words escaped Ges's lips like spittle spray. He began to press Vorkosigan aside. Aral grimaced as if he had tasted something unpalatable. Vorrutyer set both palms against the red silk-papered wall; Aral stood between his hands like in a cell. He stiffened almost standing at attention so as not to touch Vorrutyer as if he were soiled. A muscle jumped in Aral's jaw.
"Well, will you undress on your own?" Ges asked.
Serg suddenly burst out laughing. "Will you undress, Vorkosigan?"
Illyan prayed silently that Vorkosigan would find enough self-control not to respond to this shocking provocation. The term 'mutiny' was still hanging in the air; Vorrutyer also remembered this so he staked his all and intensified the pressing. He bared his teeth in a smile and added, "There was a time when you were so glad to stand before me without uniform or to lie under me without pants..."
One could hear clearly every word i] the viscous silence.
Vorhalas was struck dumb with indignation when he realized that the talk had suddenly become too ticklish and Aral had to get out by his own strength. Illyan automatically fingered the button on his uniform's cuff so that his hand would be busy and not reach to the stunner holster. Then he was astonished at his own reaction; he felt seized with a surge of hot, aggrieved jealous when Vorrutyer, on top of it all, kissed Aral full on the mouth.
Vorkosigan didn't even move. If he had pushed Vorrutyer away at full force, Ges would be thrown to the other wall of the cabin. Aral's expression was tired and disgusted, lips thinned as if he were suffering some unpleasant medical procedure, but that was all.
The moment stretched to a long viscous eternity. During this moment Illyan had time to look over the full dozen of ifs. What should he do... if he didn't have a feeling that Vorrutyer's hysteria was affected and false... if Aral would be really drunk but not pretending to it... if they hadn't get laid before...
Rulf Vorhalas was the first who came to himself. He darted forward with a wordless snarl and dragged Vorrutyer back, grasping him by the shoulder. Illyan wondered absently how fast and energetic was Vorhalas's response despite the fact that he was the oldest man in this room. It seemed that Vorhalas had hoped right up to the last second that Vorrutyer would come round on his own. Now Admiral Vorhalas was literally trembling with anger; he hauled Vorrutyer by his tunic and shook him like a delinquent idiot cadet. "Spoiled half-wit!" he hissed through his teeth.
Serg was stunned, his mouth open; his face expressed more sincere bewilderment than it had been during all Vorrutyer's tricks. It seemed that the script, known beforehand, had just finished and the improvisation had begun.
Illyan missed the moment when he pulled out his own stunner. It happened automatically. Who was the potential aim? Bothari, perhaps. If the mad naked sergeant should come to the defense of his master, who was getting now a deserved thrashing, the situation would become completely beyond control...
Aral stepped forward from the wall, spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his palm. "Let him go, Rulf. You see that it's an unconcealed provocation."
Boiling Vorhalas turned out with surprise, and his fingers were undone.
Vorrutyer straightened out his tunic and retreated quickly behind the Crown Prince's chair. Was he frightened of the forceful response from an unexpected person? "Indeed, Admiral, " the Commander-in-Chief reprimanded his Chief of Staff, reproachfully and almost calmly, "you shouldn't have done this."
Aral cleared his throat and muttered, "Excuse me, gentlemen," then he turned and strode decidedly to the bathroom. When he passed by Ges, he said, "You were lucky; I would have vomited." Vorrutyer pretended to not quite catch it. The bathroom door, closed shut, muffled all sounds except the noise of the water. Nobody knew if Commodore Vorkosigan only wanted to rinse his mouth or he really felt suddenly sick.
Ges bent and whispered something in Serg's ear. "Brandy", Illyan read his lips.
Vorhalas clenched his fists tightly and said through teeth, "Vorrutyer. If you you want us to be respectful to your post, you have to behave like an Imperial officer, not a woman. You owed your excuses for what happened to all us. And remove your... non-com away."
"Put your clothes on and go away!" Vorrutyer ordered briefly to Bothari, who was standing motionless by the wall. Then he turned to Vorhalas and continued, "Don't go too far, Admiral. I forgive you for the attempt to assault the commanding officer - one time, out of respect for your grey hairs, - but I won't tolerate any further insubordination." Vorrutyer's eyes sparked dangerously, "Now you are risking convincing me that my Staff is only a crowd of free-thinkers. Then I couldn't do anything but declare an all-fleet state of emergency and hand the command over to His Highness personally." The Vice Admiral meant his own personal leadership, of course.
Vorrutyer's voice eventually became a shout. "If you want to keep your post and help me later with your advice, kindly be dutiful!" he snapped. "As you were too lenient with your officers, they got a swelled head." As a live illustration to his irritated remark, Aral came from the bathroom, drying his wet reddened face with a handkerchief. "Do you all figure that disciplinary punishment are not your concern? Vorhalas, inform the Staff that I'll..." He paused, rubbed his forehead with annoyance and asked the First Commander in a lower voice, "Where does your Vorinnis gad about, when I need him?"
"On training. Did you forget, Ges?" the Prince suggested helpfully.
"Oh, training! That comes in handy. Well, Vorhalas, inform your idlers that I've ordered them to go on training along with the junior officers. Let start with this fellow," he nodded disdainfully towards Vorkosigan. "Do you understand, Commodore? Go jump and run with the lieutenants, perhaps this will teach you proper behavior. Go immediately. I'll inquire personally about your results." He added to Vorhalas again, almost cool, "We'll return later to the question of changing the plan. I would consider your arguments if they are presented in proper terms. Dismissed!"
The strategical retreat of three officers from Vorrutyer's luxurious cabin was so quick that if its speed would were increased a bit, it would become a panicked flight.
Flushed, Rulf Vorhalas mopped his brow with a trembling hand. "He went just mad," the Admiral said almost plaintively. "Aral, I'm your direct commanding officer, and I prescribe you to get in future any personal instructions from the Commander-in-Chief via com only."
"Well," Vorkosigan accepted grimly. "Come on, Illyan. I prefer to go on training than under arrest."