It would be dawn down there soon. The Bharaputrans had evacuated all the civilians from the rest of the complex, thank God, but had also brought in heavy security forces and equipment. Only the threat of harm to their valuable clones held back an overwhelming Bharaputran onslaught. He would not be negotiating from a position of strength, alas. Cool.
Quinn, without turning around, raised her hand and flashed him a high sign, Get ready. He glanced down, checking his own appearance. His officer’s undress grays were borrowed from the next smallest person aboard the Peregrine, a five-foot-tall female from Engineering, and fit him sloppily. He only had half his proper insignia. Aggressively messy was a possible command style, but he really needed more props to bring it off. Adrenalin and suppressed rage would have to power his appearance. If not for the biochip on his vagus nerve, his old ulcers would be perforating his stomach about now. He opened his comconsole to Quinn’s communications shunt, and waited.
With a sparkle, the image of a frowning man appeared over the vid plate. His dark hair was drawn back in a tight knot held by a gold ring, emphasizing the strong bones of his face. He wore a bronze-brown silk tunic, and no other jewelry. Olive-brown skin; he looked a healthy forty or so. Appearances were deceiving. It took more than one lifetime to scheme and fight one’s way to the undisputed leadership of a Jacksonian House. Vasa Luigi, Baron Bharaputra, had been wearing the body of a clone for at least twenty years. He certainly took good care of it. The vulnerable period of another brain transplant would be doubly dangerous for a man whose power so many ruthless subordinates coveted. This man is not for playing games with, Miles decided.
“Bharaputra here,” the man in brown stated, and waited. Indeed, the man and the House were one, for practical purposes.
Naismith here,” said Miles. “Commanding, Dendarii Free Mercenary Fleet.”
“Apparently not completely,” said Vasa Luigi blandly.
Miles peeled back his lips on set teeth, and managed not to flush. “Just so. You do understand, this raid was not authorized by me?”
“I understand you claim so. Personally, I should not be so anxious announce my failure of control over my subordinates.”
He’s baiting you. Cool. “We need to have our facts straight. I have not yet established if Captain Thorne was actually suborned, or merely taken in by my fellow-clone. In any case, it is your own product, for whatever sentimental reasons, who has returned to attempt to extract some personal revenge upon you. I’m just an innocent bystander, trying to straighten things out.”
“You,” Baron Bharaputra blinked, like a lizard, “are a curiosity. We not manufacture you. Where did you come from?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might.”
“Then it is information for sale or trade, not for free.” That was old Jacksonian etiquette; the Baron nodded, unoffended. They were entering the realm of Deal, if not yet a deal between equals. Good.
The Baron did not immediately pursue Miles’s family history, though. “So what is it you want from me, Admiral?”
“I wish to help you. I can, if given a free hand, extract my people from that unfortunate dilemma downside with a minimum of further damage to Bharaputran persons or property. Quiet and clean. I would even consider paying reasonable costs of physical damages thus far incurred.”
“I do not require your help, Admiral.”
“You do if you wish to keep your costs down.”
Vasa Luigi’s eyes narrowed, considering this. “Is that a threat?”
Miles shrugged. “Quite the reverse. Both our costs can be very low—or both our costs can be very high. I would prefer low.”
The Baron’s eyes flicked right, at some thing or person out of range he vid pick-up. “Excuse me a moment, Admiral.” His face was laced with a holding-pattern.
Quinn drifted over. “Think we’ll be able to save any of those poor clones?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Hell, Elli, I’m still trying to Green Squad out! I doubt it.”
“That’s a shame. We’ve come all this way.”
“Look, I have crusades a lot closer to home than Jackson’s Whole, if you want ’em. A hell of a lot more than fifty kids are killed each year in the Barrayaran backcountry for suspected mutation, for starters. I can’t afford to get … quixotic like Mark. I don’t know where he picked up those ideas, it couldn’t have been from the Bharaputrans. Or the Komarrans.”
Quinn’s brows rose; she opened her mouth, then shut it as if on some second thought, and smiled dryly. But then she said, “It’s Mark I was thinking about. You keep saying you want to get him to trust you.”
“Make him a gift of the clones? I wish I could. Right after I finish strangling him with my bare hands, which will be right after I finish hanging Bel Thorne. Mark is Mark, he owes me nothing, but Bel should have known better.” His teeth clenched, aching. Her words shook him with galloping visions. Both ships, with every clone aboard, jumping triumphantly from Jacksonian local space … thumbing their noses at the bad Bharaputrans … Mark stammering gratitude, admiring … bring them all home to Mother … madness. Not possible. If he’d planned it all himself, from beginning to end, maybe. His plans certainly would not have included a midnight frontal assault with no back-up. The vid plate sparkled again, and he waved Quinn out of range. Vasa Luigi reappeared.
“Admiral Naismith,” he nodded. “I have decided to allow you to order your mutinous crew to surrender to my security forces.”
“I would not wish to put your security to any further trouble, Baron. They’ve been up all night, after all. Tired, and jumpy. I’ll collect all my people myself.”
“That will not be possible. But I will guarantee their lives. The individual fines for their criminal acts will be determined later.”
Ransoms. He swallowed rage. “This … is a possibility. But the fines must be determined in advance.”
“You are hardly in a position to add conditions, Admiral.”
“I only wish to avoid misunderstandings, Baron.”
Vasa Luigi pursed his lips. “Very well. The troopers, ten thousand Betan dollars each. Officers, twenty-five thousand. Your hermaphrodite captain, fifty thousand, unless you wish us to dispose of it ourselves—no? I do not see that you have any use for your, ah, fellow clone, so we’ll retain custody of him. In return, I shall waive property damage charges.” The Baron nodded in satisfaction at his own generosity.
Upwards of a quarter of a million. Miles cringed inwardly. Well, it could be done. “But I am not without interest in the clone. What … price do you put on his head?”
“What possible interest?” Vasa Luigi inquired, surprised.
Miles shrugged. “I’d think it was obvious. My profession is full of hazards. I am the only survivor of my clone-clutch. The one I call Mark was as much a surprise to me as I was to him, I think; neither of us knew there was a second cloning project. Where else would I find such a perfect, ah, organ-donor, and on such short notice?”
Vasa Luigi opened his hands. “We might arrange to keep him safe )r you.”