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This could get very scary.
An obscure impulse made her say, "I know what you mean, though, about talking
bringing it back. First there was the shuttle going up, like a bullet as
usual, and my brother waving, which was silly, because he couldn't possibly
see us-and then there was this smear of light across the sky, like a second
sun, and a rain of fire. And this stupid feeling of total comprehension. You
wait for the shock to set in, and relieve you-and it never does. Then the
blank vision. Not blackness, but this silver-purple glow, for days after. I
had almost forgotten about being blinded, till just now."
He stared at her. "That's exactly-I was about to say, he fired a sonic grenade
into her stomach. I couldn't hear anything after that for quite some time. As
if all sound had gone off the scale of human reception. Total noise, emptier
of meaning than silence."
"Yes . . ." How strange, that he should know exactly what I felt-he says it
better, though. . . .
"I suppose my determination to be a soldier stems from that date. I mean the
real thing, not the parades and the uniforms and the glamour, but the
logistics, the offensive advantage, the speed and surprise-the power. A
better-prepared, stronger, tougher, faster, meaner son-of-a-bitch than any who
came through that door. My first combat experience. Not very successful."
He was shivering, now. But then, so was she. They walked on, and she sought to
turn the subject. "I've never been in combat. What's it like?" He paused
thoughtfully. Measuring me again, thought Cordelia. And sweating; fever must
be topping out, for the moment, thank heavens.
"At a distance, in space, there's the illusion of a clean and glorious fight.
Almost abstract. It might be a simulation, or a game. Reality doesn't break in
unless your ship is hit." He gazed at the ground in front of him, as if
choosing his path, but the ground was very level there. "Murder-murder is
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different. That day at Komarr, when I killed my Political Officer-I was
angrier that day than the day I-than another time. But close up, feeling the
life pass out under your hands, seeing that blank unoccupied corpse, you see
your own death in the face of your victim. Yet he had betrayed my honor." "I'm
not sure I quite understand that." "Yes. Anger seems to make you stronger, not
weaker like me. I wish I understood how you do that."
It was another one of his weird unmanageable compliments. She fell silent,
looking at her feet, the mountain ahead, the sky, anywhere but his unreadable
face. So she was the first to notice the contrail glowing in the westering
sun.
"Hey, does that look like a shuttle up there to you?" "Indeed it does.
Let's watch from the shade of that big bush," directed Vorkosigan.
"Don't you want to try and attract their attention?" "No." He turned his hand
palm up in response to her look of inquiry. "My best friends and my deadliest
enemies all wear the same uniform. I prefer to make my presence known as
selectively as possible."
They could hear the distant roar of the shuttle's engines now as it vanished
behind the grey-green wooded mountain to the west.
"They seem to be headed for the cache," commented Vorkosigan. "That
complicates things." He compressed his lips. "What are they doing back there,
I wonder? Could Gottyan have found the sealed orders?"
"Surely he'd inherit all your orders."
"Yes, but I didn't have my files in the standard location, not wishing to
share all my affairs with the Council of Ministers. I don't think Korabik
Gottyan could find what eludes Radnov. Radnov's a clever spy."
"Is Radnov a tall, broad-shouldered man with a face like an axeblade?"
"No, that sounds like Sergeant Bothari. Where did you see him?"
"He was the man who shot Dubauer, in the woods by the ravine."
"Oh, really?" Vorkosigan's eyes lit, and he smiled wolf-ishly. "Much becomes
clear."
"Not to me," Cordelia prodded.
"Sergeant Bothari is a very strange man. I had to discipline him rather
severely last month."
"Severely enough to make him a candidate for Radnov's conspiracy?"
"I'll wager Radnov thought so. I'm not sure I can make you understand about
Bothari. Nobody else seems to. He's a superb ground combat soldier. He also
hates my guts, as you Betans would phrase it. He enjoys hating my guts.
It seems to be necessary for his ego, somehow."
"Would he shoot you in the back?"
"Never. Strike me in the face, yes. In fact, it was for decking me that he was
disciplined last time." Vorkosigan rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "But arming
him to the teeth and leading him into battle at my back is perfectly safe."
"He sounds like an absolute looney."
"Odd, a number of people have said that. I like him."
"And you accuse us Betans of running a circus."
Vorkosigan shrugged, amused. "Well, it's useful for me to have someone to work
out with who doesn't pull his punches. Surviving hand-to-hand combat practice
with Bothari gives me a real edge. I prefer to keep that phase of our
relationship confined to the practice ring, however. I can imagine how Radnov
might be misled into including Bothari without examining his politics too
closely. He acts like just the sort of fellow one might stick with the dirty
work-by God, I'll bet that's just what Radnov did! Good old Bothari."
Cordelia glanced at Dubauer, standing blankly beside her. "I'm afraid I
can't share your enthusiasm. He nearly killed me."
"I can't pretend he's a moral or intellectual giant. He's a very complex man
with a very limited range of expression, who's had some very bad experiences.
But in his own twisty way, he's honorable."
The ground rose almost imperceptibly as they approached the mountain's
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base. The change was marked by the gradual encroachment of vegetation, thin
woods watered by a multitude of small springs from the mountains secret
sources. They struck south around the base of the dusty green cone that rose
steeply some 1500 meters above the more gradually sloping shoulderland.
Pulling the stumbling Dubauer along, Cordelia mentally cursed, for what seemed
the thousandth time, Vorkosigan's choice of weapons. When the ensign fell,
cutting his forehead, her grief and irritation erupted into words.
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