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[A man appears on the network of indeterminate age, extremely short-- under five feet tall, easily-- with a slight hunch to his posture and Germanic features. His eyes are sharply alive, bright with challenge. There's no hesitation as he speaks, in a gravelly kind of accent that sounds almost Russian, the words flowing quickly as he makes them up on the spot.
Right now, he desperately needs intel of all kinds, and eventually a spotter to watch him while he uses his seizure inducer. That fact he's assiduously ignoring. He'd checked his neurotransmitter levels this morning, and he has at least three days, even with all the stress of arrival. No, four days, probably. Five. Really, he can go a lot longer without one than the ImpSec medical staff had given him credit for. --Focus, Vorkosigan.]
So. I see you all have quite a neat set up here. Let's not waste time. Who can bring me up to speed, ex tempore? Surely we have more intelligence than "don't say its name" on our bogey man. Since confirmed facts are likely to be scarce, personal accounts would be acceptable.
I'm also taking proposals for getting miserably drunk at the bar, as is traditional in times of drawn out peril. I need someone to drag me home, y'see; alcohol has quite a soporific effect on my constitution. [And Ivan is unfortunately not here to do the dragging. Miles ignores the resulting pang that inspires in him.
Then he hesitates imperceptibly, the memory of his previous catastrophic failure to report his seizures clanging loudly through his brain. No. He can't ignore this, much as he'd like to. The only thing that scares Miles more than never going home is turning into a vegetable, mindless and drooling. He can at least do the preliminary investigation about options.]
Information about local medical facilities would be appreciated as well. They're not all-- er, at this level of technology, are they? [He looks dubious about anyone surviving on that level of medical care, but immediately recovers with a wide, convincing smile.] I'd just like to know preemptively for when I wake up with a skull splitting headache.
Right now, he desperately needs intel of all kinds, and eventually a spotter to watch him while he uses his seizure inducer. That fact he's assiduously ignoring. He'd checked his neurotransmitter levels this morning, and he has at least three days, even with all the stress of arrival. No, four days, probably. Five. Really, he can go a lot longer without one than the ImpSec medical staff had given him credit for. --Focus, Vorkosigan.]
So. I see you all have quite a neat set up here. Let's not waste time. Who can bring me up to speed, ex tempore? Surely we have more intelligence than "don't say its name" on our bogey man. Since confirmed facts are likely to be scarce, personal accounts would be acceptable.
I'm also taking proposals for getting miserably drunk at the bar, as is traditional in times of drawn out peril. I need someone to drag me home, y'see; alcohol has quite a soporific effect on my constitution. [And Ivan is unfortunately not here to do the dragging. Miles ignores the resulting pang that inspires in him.
Then he hesitates imperceptibly, the memory of his previous catastrophic failure to report his seizures clanging loudly through his brain. No. He can't ignore this, much as he'd like to. The only thing that scares Miles more than never going home is turning into a vegetable, mindless and drooling. He can at least do the preliminary investigation about options.]
Information about local medical facilities would be appreciated as well. They're not all-- er, at this level of technology, are they? [He looks dubious about anyone surviving on that level of medical care, but immediately recovers with a wide, convincing smile.] I'd just like to know preemptively for when I wake up with a skull splitting headache.
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[ 'Made to' as a possibility is a guess, but a lot of people vanished. Some of them were probably perfectly mundane circumstances, even some just lying low for whatever reason. Her voice doesn't carry well when she speaks, not right at this moment, but it's done without seeming overtly furtive as if it were a well-practiced habit.]
He spoke of the Emperor. True or not, I don't know, but saying how the man that failed to protect the last one became the current one, well... who knows?
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Not that it isn't ever a contrived plot. Hardly. As I understand it, the previous Emperor was close with the current one, wasn't she? That could make it more likely it was an assassination-- except Evandau seemed genuinely enraged when he executed the murderer. I know that look. No, I think he's on the level about that. Damn, but I wouldn't want his job right now.
[Miles is reasoning out loud as he walks, an automatic function for him. He's already thought of this before, and he's aware that he's revealing to Annie that he's not nearly as clueless as he was putting across. He wouldn't want her to think he was uninformed; just the opposite. He'd spent the entire morning trawling the network. He hadn't read everything, obviously, but he'd paid particular attention to the politics of those in power, as was his habit.]
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He still said it.
[ Annie is far removed from the ways of emperors and kings, but her understanding of reality was that it didn't matter what the truth was. Even if this Emperor was a man who fell into the position because of his close association with the person he failed rather than one he conspired against, her point still stood.
It was always a matter of controlling the flow of information. Dissent had to be handled immediately. ]
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[This is information Miles wants. He has a different perspective than Annie on the matter of Evandau's potential failure, however. He's all too aware of what it feels like to fail your liege lord that way, and it makes him reluctant to judge too critically. It'd be the worst kind of promotion to succeed his liege, one Miles would take bleakly, resulting civil war aside. Even in the event of his inevitable succession of his father and becoming Count Vorkosigan, he can't see himself taking any pride in it until long after the fact, in the face of so much grief.
He can't help but feel a bit of sympathy for the man, the Alderwood Emperor. Not that it will cloud his judgement; if anything, he thinks it will make it clearer, from that bit of understanding. He's in a keen historical position to appreciate the mindset of a soldier turned Emperor. Barrayar has a long, long history of them.]
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Called the scenario an incompetent clusterfuck. Disorganized, ineffective.
[ All of those were things Annie had been more or less comfortable enough saying herself, really. ]
Took the 'M' threat seriously. Criticized the current Emperor, and said the previous one shared information rarely and not at all before some certain point. [ Then with something like passing curiosity: ] Did you look that up, too?
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[Sure. He just had to lie down on his floor and stare at the ceiling, unmoving, for a couple hours. He's totally fine and not having an existentialist crisis at all. Or another identity crisis. Or feeling bereft of all of his ties of loyalty--
He's completely fine, which you can tell by how he doesn't meet her eyes and keeps walking determinedly. God forbid anyone try to question him on his mental state.]
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[ Annie isn't a fan of eye contact anyway. Given how she'd been during her arrival, whatever reactions this man had to his situation were more functional than hers. She still doesn't remember most of that first day beyond a few sharp, bright points-- Armin's lies and Reiner's attempt at comfort, and nothing else.
In the past month, she's found that she still has days like that where nothing quite sticks. ]
It's a lot.
[ Of information? To deal with? Whether it's a statement of fact or of empathy, she won't clarify. ]
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He lets out a sharp breath.] Yeah. Too many shocks to the system this year, [he says cryptically. Lingering amnesia from his cryo-revival, persistent seizures, lying to Illyan, his discharge from ImpSec, then the whole mess with Simon's chip and Havroche... Even being appointed Imperial Auditor had been a shock. And now he's here.]
But the information, too. I could only pin a couple locations for the turtles from network conversations. We'll have to start there.
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[ Annie says this crisply, not critically, but just as if it were a simple assessment. In reality, though, she wonders if he has more resources. He's already spoken favorably with Reiner, and there's no telling who else out there might be interested in seeing what direction this man was moving in.
It's an artless effort on her part, but duplicity wasn't her style with some extreme exceptions. ]
Scoping out a few would be all you need for now, right?
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[Though he matches her bluntness, he doesn't reveal what said plan is yet. That's just good policy, keeping people on a need to know basis. Also, Miles likes being secretive. It's in his blood at this point.]
Scoping will do for now. Here, this way. [He makes a left turn further into Earth sector.]
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Though he is clearly little to no threat on a physical level, that does not mean he isn't outrageously dangerous all on his own. Her pale blue eyes are always cool, but they had brightened somewhat at the suggestion that he has gone as far as develop something of a plan. It could be a lie-- though she doesn't doubt she would make an appealing confederate in some scheme. That's satisfying, not to her ego but rather for the fact that she knows she needs some useful person. In a way, the non-answer gains some measure of approval from her though there is very little that escapes her carefully controlled mien when she has something approaching balance. ]
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That is, of course, half the reason he's so bloody interested in her.
Miles outlines the description of the place they're going to survey as they walk at a steady clip. Slow enough not to attract attention, fast enough to mean business. It's a pace he assumes instinctively. As they go, his unconscious air of command deepens, altogether without him thinking about it. This kind of mission is so familiar to him-- almost as familiar as having a bodyguard-- that he relaxes into it, right at home.]
It looks fairly unprotected, [he says in a slightly quieted voice. They're standing on a rooftop, which they'd gotten access to after a bit of fast talking on Miles's part, Annie his stoic shadow through the lies. A turtle the size of a small house doesn't have a lot of places it can be kept covertly, and this one
that I've made upis situated on the rooftop of the neighboring building, a large form with a dark, gleaming shell.]And obvious, damn it. Have these people never been at war? [Miles is thoroughly dissatisfied with this cavalier approach. He doesn't expect anyone to be as paranoid as him, but they could at least make an attempt.]
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Yes, she thinks as they survey the great turtle. She might be able to use him yet. If a chance existed they could gain any kind of advantage in their efforts here to blend into the population and possibly even gain some tactical advantages, they they had to be worth taking. ]
Looks so. Maybe they trust their walls.
[ Annie's tone rarely changes, but she still manages to pitch her words slightly differently-- there's certainly no way her voice would carry past his ears alone. This serves her purposes well enough to go along with it, and she's not hesitant to offer her observations. She's been here longer, after all, and that doubtlessly counts for something. She's still dubious about the idea that there is an invisible wall out surrounding the great gigantic turtle they live on, but she's had to accept it. ]
There's something wrong with them, you know. The people here. How they can act as if the gate hasn't already been kicked in...
[ It's very specific terminology, but it's spoken as if that might be a turn of phrase she's familiar with. ]
Not even peaceful people are so ignorant.
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[Professional mercenary commander as he is, Miles has a clinical disapproval that is obvious in his response, though he keeps his voice pitched low like hers. He seems to fall into talking out the situation with her naturally, accepting her input with an easy back and forth.]
Maybe not ignorant. Maybe just wishful thinking. [He squints in assessment at the distant figure, looking for routes.] That vertical maneuvering gear Braun mentioned, do you have a set with you? Not now, just in general.
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[ She glances to the sky briefly, clearly turning something over in her head. She could only assume that encompassed the sky, given there were people that could actually properly fly. For a moment, it might seem like she's not going to address his direct question about her gear. Once in a while, she just doesn't seem to sync up in conversation, but then she answers. ]
Reiner talks too much. I have it.
[ There's no harm in admitting it when she'd effectively done as much on the network almost a month ago. Her agitation with him is hypocritical. It's less that he talked about their available tools and more the fact that it was Reiner talking. ]
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[He flicks her an assessing glance at her admission, too caught up in his own thoughts to notice any strangeness.] Is that sensitive information? I won't repeat it if it is. Anyway, how would you feel about a mission, soldier girl? Undefined time but near in the future, risk level low, espionage based.
[This question is itself a test, seeing how much she's willing to cooperate with him. If she doesn't want to accept a mission from him, then he'll understand. Well, no, he won't, but it'll make sense and he'll reevaluate his strategy before trying again. For now, she seems to do well with the direct approach.]
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[ But sometimes she worries about what could be sensitive slipping through. Not the most important parts, no, but there were those moments and flickers where Reiner started being someone else and empathized with humans far too much. He was reliable most of the time, one of exactly three people she can trust and it's an especially rare group to be a part of when the third of that number was a man she'd never see again.
When balanced against Annie's almost pathological tendency towards secrecy, it made her uncomfortable. Talking about their combat capabilities was a good lure, though, she had to admit. More important, now, she seems to weigh his question.
Without coordinating directly, they might just reel in someone with potential. ]
Espionage is a broad category. [ But it's one she's comfortable with, and she wonders what he might be assuming about her skill set. Wetwork or other dirty jobs as an MP, maybe. Her heavy-lidded gaze settles fully on him. ] I'm interested, but I won't offer charity.
[ Which isn't the same as saying she necessarily needs paid in cash. ]
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He catches immediately that she's not necessarily looking for money.] It's contingent on something else pulling through, but if it does, you'd be planting a small device on the turtles, [he explains, going for broke.] I'll take half.
If you agree, I'll include you in any opportunities I find to fight the enemy. [He levels a knowing look at her.] That's what you really want, isn't it? [It also conveniently gets him exactly what he wants: her agreement to future cooperation. He's just trying to sell it to her as something for her benefit. Take the bait.]
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Their only defense lay in taking action, and if they could do it while integrating themselves as part of a whole with a person that understood that way of thinking then it was all the better. More than that, however, is that Annie craves purpose. She's not a person that stays idle for any length of time. There was only one place where she felt like a real, living person and that was in combat.
This was nothing like properly fighting, but it still presented the start of a possible challenge. ]
You're not wrong, so we'll see if you work out.
[ There's a more lively way that she holds herself now, though it's a subtle change. An uncharitable comparison might be to a hunting dog aware it's about to get let off its leash, but she can hardly help that anticipatory feeling. They might yet obtain something they need for once. ]
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Of course, he knows the reason his bribe that wasn't a bribe had worked is because it is what she wants. He'd never have ventured it if he wasn't reasonably certain that it was. Being proven right in his skill at reading people is, as always, a thrill for him. He hasn't lost his touch, and this confirms it.
He restrains his sense of victory to a look of intent fervor, his eyes narrowly focused on her, impressing his earnestness.] I won't let you down, [he says with the tone of a vow.] I'm good at this, Annie, I promise you. I commanded a fleet of mercenaries for thirteen years, [he says wildly, forgetting any misguided attempt at secrecy,] surely I can handle even this.
You won't regret this chance.
[Miles has no realistic way of promising that, none at all, but he doesn't care. He's promised it before and no matter how often he's been foresworn, it won't stop him from promising it again. All of his manipulation is backed by a fiercely altruistic desire to save others, to right wrongs. To be, as his mother had put it, a knight-errant. But a knight must be beholden to someone, and in the absence of absolutely anyone else, he is frantically relieved to have a new group to adopt to be beholden to. He will prove himself worthy. There has never been another option; Miles has never made contingency plans for failure.]
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Even if it isn't, she's evaluating him on his own merits here and not on anything he could reference in his past. She lets out a soft, short sigh in response to his assertion that she won't regret it. In Annie's mind, there's no way he could believe he could possibly honestly offer that as a promise.
And had she, in that moment, she might have just bolted. She's not above working with madmen, but anything so much as faintly smacking of altruism makes for an entirely different kind of beast. ]
Maybe.
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Forward momentum is the only answer. Just keep going until you can't anymore, and then get up again, and keep on.
The maybe is enough for him. Miles nods sharply in acknowledgement, pushing off from the edge of the rooftop.] I'll contact you when the next step is ready, [he declares, feeling she needs no more grandstanding. He offers her a lazy salute as he walks off toward the stairs, an ImpSec analyst's vague wave toward his brow.]