She shook her big head. “Captain Quinn thought Mark was a complete screw-up. After your death, she was so angry she could barely give him the time of day. And at first I agreed with her. But … I don’t know. He tried so hard. The creche raid only failed by a hair. If we’d been faster, or if the shuttle defense perimeter had done their job, we would have brought it off, I think.”
He grimaced in agreement. “There’s no mercy for failures of timing in no-margin operations like that one was. Commanders can have no mercy either, or you might as well stay in orbit and feed your troops directly into the ship’s waste disintegrators, and save steps.” He paused. “Quinn will be a good commander someday.”
“I think so, sir.” Taura pulled off her helmet and hood, and stared around. “I kind of came to like the little schmuck, though. He tried. He tried and failed, but no one else tried at all. And he was so alone.”
“Alone. Yes. Here. For five days.”
“We really did think Ryoval would figure out he wasn’t you.”
“Maybe … maybe so.” Some part of his mind clung to that hope himself. Maybe it hadn’t been as bad as it looked, as bad as his galloping imagination supplied.
Quinn and company returned, looking universally grim.
“So,” he said, “you’ve found me. Now maybe we can all focus on Mark. I’ve been all over this place in the last hours, and I haven’t found a clue. Did the absconding staff take him along? Is he out wandering around in the desert somewhere, freezing? I’ve got six of Iverson’s men looking outside with ’scopes, and another one checking the facility’s disintegration records for fifty-plus kilo lumps of protein. And other bright ideas, folks?”
Elena came back from a peek in the next room. “Who do you figure did the honors on Ryoval?”
Miles opened his hands. “Don’t know. He had hundreds of mortal enemies, after his career.”
“He was killed by an unarmed person. A kick to the throat, then beaten to death somehow after he was down.”
“I noticed that.”
“You notice the tool kit?”
“Yeah.”
“Miles, it was Mark.”
“How could it have been? It had to have happened sometime last night. After what, five days of being worked over—and Mark’s a little guy like me. I don’t think it’s physically possible.”
“Mark’s a little guy, but not like you,” said Elena. “And he almost killed a man in Vorbarr Sultana with a kick to the throat.”
“What?”
“He was trained, Miles. He was trained to take out your father, who is an even bigger man than Ryoval, and has years of combat experience.”
“Yes, but I never believed— when was Mark in Vorbarr Sultana?” Amazing, how being dead for two or three months will put you out of touch. For the first time, his impulse to fling himself directly back into active-duty command status was checked. A maniac with three-quarters of a memory and a habit of going into convulsions is just what we want in charge, sure. Not to mention the shortness of breath.
“Oh, and about your father, I should mention—no, maybe that had better wait.” Elena eyed him in worry.
“What about—” He was interrupted by a buzz from the comm link Iverson had given him as a courtesy. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Admiral Naismith, Baron Fell is here at the entrance. With a double-squad. He, ah … says he’s here to collect his deceased half-brother’s body, as next-of-kin.”
Miles whistled soundlessly, and grinned. “Is he, now? Well. Tell you what. Let him come inside, with one bodyguard. And well talk. He may know something. Don’t let his squad in yet, though.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
How the hell should I know? “Sure.”
In a few minutes, Baron Fell himself puffed in, escorted by one of Iverson’s rental troopers and flanked by a big green-clad guard. Baron’s Fell’s round face was slightly pinker than usual with the exertion, otherwise he was the same plump, grandfatherly figure as ever, exuding the usual dangerously deceptive good cheer.
“Baron Fell,” Miles nodded. “How good to see you again.”
Fell nodded back. “Admiral. Yes, I imagine everything looks good to you just now. So, it really was you the Bharaputran sniper shot. Your clone-twin did an excellent job of pretending to be you, afterward, I must say, much to the confusion of an already very confused situation.”
Argh! “Yes. And, ah, what brings you here?”
“Trade,” stated Fell, Jacksonian short-hand for, You first.
Miles nodded. “The late Baron Ryoval had me brought me here in a lightflyer by two of his erstwhile bodyguards. We found things much as you see them. I, um, neutralized them at my first opportunity. How I came to be in their hands is a more complicated story.” Meaning, That’s all you get till I get some.
“There are some extraordinary rumors starting to circulate about my dear departed—he is departed, I trust?”
“Oh, yes. You can see in a moment.”
“Thank you. My dear departed half-brother’s death. I had one firsthand.”
A former Ryoval employee from here fled directly to him as an informant. Right. “I hope his virtue was rewarded.”
“It will be, as soon as I ascertain he was telling the truth.”
“Well. Why don’t you come look.” He had to get up out of the station chair. He marshalled the effort with difficulty, and led the Baron into the living room, the House Fell bodyguard and the Dendarii following.
The big bodyguard shot a worried glance at Sergeant Taura, looming over him; she smiled back, her fangs gleaming. “Hi, there. You’re kinda cute, you know?” she told him. He recoiled, and sidled closer to his master.
Fell hurried to the body, knelt by its right side, and held up the severed wrist. He hissed with disappointment. “Who has done this?”
“We don’t know yet,” said Miles. “That’s how I found him.”
“Exactly?” Fell shot him a sharp glance.
“Yes.”
Fell traced the black holes across the corpse’s forehead. “Whoever did this, knew what he was doing. I want to find the assassin.”
“To … avenge your brother’s death?” Elena asked cautiously.
“No. To offer him a job!” Fell laughed, a booming, jolly sound. “Do you realize how many people have been trying, for how many years, to accomplish this?”
“I’ve an idea,” said Miles. “If you can help—”
In the next room, Ryoval’s half-butchered comconsole chimed.
Fell looked up, eyes intent. “No one can call in here without the code-key,” he stated, and heaved to his feet. Miles barely beat him back into the study, and slid into the station chair.
He activated the vid plate. “Yes?” And almost fell out of his seat again.
Mark’s puffy face formed above the vid plate. He looked like he’d just come out of a shower, face scrubbed, hair wet and slicked back. He was wearing grey knits like Miles’s. Blue bruises, going greenish-yellow around the edges, made what skin Miles could see look like a patch-work quilt, but both eyes were open and very bright. His ears were still on. “Ah,” he said cheerfully, “there you are. I thought you might be. Have you figured out who you are yet?”
“Mark!” Miles almost tried to crawl through the vid image. “Are you all right? Where are you?”
“You have, I see. Good. I’m at Lilly Durona’s. God, Miles. What a place. What a woman. She let me have a bath. She put my skin back on. She fixed my foot. She gave me a hypo of muscle-relaxant for my back. With her own hands, she performed medical services too intimate and disgusting to describe, but very badly needed, I assure you, and held my head while I screamed. Did I mention the bath? I love her, and I want to marry her.”