Black Hearts, Part Fifteen (PG)
Mar. 2nd, 2007 07:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalMiles, though riding in an alien fighter, was in one sense in familiar territory. Having long since abandoned the habit of keeping a custom sized spacesuit in his traveling gear, there being little need of it for the more diplomatic focus of his usual auditorial adventures, he found himself wearing the smallest sized suit the station’s quartermaster could find on short notice. In this case, it belonged to a female Betan contractor who had been working on the civilian side of the station. Which meant, unfortunately, that Miles had been required to find alternative means of personal relief for the trip. Well, he consoled himself, there was actually a heroic history of adult sized diapers in the annals of early spaceflight…
“So tell me something, Captain,” he said over the com to Brushtail, who occupied the front seat of the compact fighter, “is there a long tradition of Vulpine nobles becoming pilot-mercenaries?”
Brushtail chuckled. “Call me Rufus, please. And no, not really. Your average Vulpine is more likely to fly for a commercial spacing firm or in the organized military. Nobles are even less likely to be caught flying fighters, though there’s certainly a sense of noblis oblige to spend some time in the space forces as an officer. It’s considered good seasoning before settling down to a nice, boring administrative post back on the estate. I actually had to sneak around my dear mother and enter as a common engineering tech, which proved fruitful for my later career when I found the White Knight and decided to put her back together. That was a task I assure you.”
“For which I am grateful you put the effort into it,” Miles reassured him. Though looking around, it hardly seemed like they were moving at all, even with his knowledge that they were speeding along at something-or-other times the speed of light. Given the vast distances between stars, the tiny points of light had barely shifted from Miles’ perspective since Rufus had announced that the FTL drive had been activated. It was a non-event along the lines of a Jump, from the perspective of an ordinary passenger.
“I am sorry for your father, Miles,” Rufus said, after a moment. “If we’re fortunate, perhaps we can complete our task and return to aid him yet, if we’re quick about it.”
“Perhaps,” Miles agreed, then sighed, “even if not, he’s Vor. He wouldn’t care for the idea of placing himself ahead of those who needed aid more badly than him.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“Yes.” Miles brooded out the cockpit canopy for a moment, looking for answers in the stars. The stars, alas, were silent. “He’s… large. His life, I mean. He’s been so many things to so many people, I don’t quite know how it could all be contained inside one body.” Father, husband, leader, warrior, politician, rescuer, murderer, and those were only the roles that could be given proper labels. His name is Legion, and he contains multitudes.
“I’ve met a few folk like that,” Rufus said, after a moment. “The sort you find yourself following, because their confidence in you makes you have confidence in them.”
“That’s it exactly,” Miles agreed. Silently, he brooded, I used to be that sort of man. So where did I go? Perhaps that portion of himself was buried with Admiral Naismith, mortally injured from the needle grenade that had struck him so many years ago.
Get your head out of your ass, boy, he heard his father’s familiar growl in the back of his mind. Charisma was something he did not lack, at least according to Ekaterin. Well, you must have something about you. She certainly didn’t marry you for your looks. But Naismith’s charm, which had seemed to work like a witch’s spell, was a tool he no longer chose to use. The old flim-flam had a false edge to it, that his persona as Imperial troubleshooter looked upon with suspicion now.
Conversation lagged, and he busied himself by reviewing the files he had pulled from Sergayar’s ImpSec office about current operations on Jackson’s Whole. Though considered a non-threat militarily, the oligarchs of the former pirate world being more interested in local defense rather than expansion the planet’s proximity to Barrayar through the Hegen Hub and mercenary reputation was reason enough to keep tabs on it. ImpSec had at least two deep cover agents in Baron Fell’s organization alone, though their files cautioned strongly against direct contact to avoid risking their covers. Miles resolved to go through their most recent transmitted reports as soon as they arrived however.
The trouble with Jackson Whole was, though it was not a threat to any of its neighbors directly, it damned well was a facilitator for anyone else who’d like to make trouble for someone else. From weapons, to drugs, to the more suspicious class of mercenaries, it provided the tools of mayhem to people with big enough pocketbooks. And this FTL drive would be one terrible tool, if it fell into the hands of someone with aggressive intentions. If Beta Colony got a hold of it, I’d almost be relieved. If we got a hold of it, Barrayar would be the subject of entirely too much galactic attention. If someone like the Cetagandans got a hold of it… Miles was suddenly gripped by a vision of Cetagandan warships, able to roam free throughout the Nexus, without needing to expose themselves by transiting wormhole choke points. Without that vital force multiplier, Barrayar would be hard pressed to defend itself, its relatively small fleet swept aside by sheer numbers. We might be reduced to guerilla warfare in the Dendarii mountains once again.
Force multipliers… Miles tapped in a series of queries into his personal datapad, checking the fighter’s current position and its projected course, and comparing to ImpSec’s most recent threat analysis. Yes… “Rufus, I’m going to need you to divert course to this system,” he said, tapping a set of coordinates into the duplicate flight computer in front of him.
“But that’s going to add at least eight hours to our transit time,” Rufus pointed out, after he’d examined Miles’ request.
“It’ll be time well spent, if I don’t miss my guess,” Miles said. “Do it.”
Rufus still sounded dubious. “Do you imagine your family or my friends will be able to wait that long?”
“It’s going to take time to Chan to get her little show together. And this might be just what we need to insure victory.”
“As you wish,” Rufus said, rotating the nimble fighter on its axis to the new course.
Miles looked out at the stars again. Around one of them, orbiting a cold, unfriendly world, Mark and Kareen waited. You rescued me from there once, brother. Its only fair I return the favor.
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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(but wasn't that: Nobless oblige)??? )
mjkj
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Date: 2007-03-07 03:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-07 11:01 pm (UTC)