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homey and routine, if no less dangerous. But he should strive to appear convinced, non-threatening, even
if it made him gag.
"It's true," he conceded, "it's rank cowardice to give an order you're not willing to carry out yourself.
And you're no coward, Commander, I'll grant you that." There, that was the right tone, persuadable but
not changing his stance too suspiciously fast.
Her brow rose sardonically, as if to say,Who are you to judge? But her tension eased slightly. She
glanced at her chrono and rose. "I'll leave you now, to think about the advantages of cooperation. You're
theoretically familiar with the mathematics of the Prisoner's Dilemma, I hope. It will be an interesting test
of your wits, to see if you can connect theory with practice."
Miles managed a weird return smile. Her beauty, her energy, even her flaring ego, did exert a real
fascination. Had Gregor indeed been . . . activated, by Cavilo? Gregor, after all, hadn't watched her raise
her nerve disruptor and . . . What weapon was a good ImpSec man to use, in the face of this personal
assault on Gregor? Try and seduce her back? To sacrifice himself for the Emperor by flinging himself on
Cavilo had about as much appeal as belly-smothering a live sonic grenade.
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Besides, he doubted he could work it. The door slid closed, eclipsing her scimitar smile. Too late, he
raised a hand to remind her other promise to change his rations.
But she remembered anyway. Lunch arrived on a trolley, with an experienced, if expressionless, batman
to serve it in five elegant courses with two wines and espresso coffee for an antidote. Miles didn't think
Cavilo's troops ate like this, either. He envisioned a platoon of smiling, replete, obese gourmets strolling
happily into battle . . . the dog chews would be much more effective for raising aggression levels.
A chance remark to his waiter brought a package along with the next meal-trolley, which proved to
contain clean underwear, a set of insignialess Ranger fatigues cut down to his fit, and a pair of soft felt
slippers; also a tube of depilatory and assorted toiletries. Miles was inspired to wash, by sections, in the
fold-out lavatory basin, and shave before dressing. He felt almost human. Ah, the virtues of cooperation.
Cavilo was not exactly subtle.
God, where had she come from? A mercenary veteran, she had to have been around for a while to have
risen this far, even with shortcuts. Tung might know.I think she must have lost bad at least once, He
wished Tung were here now. Hell, he wishedIllyan were here now.
Her flamboyance, Miles increasingly felt, was an effective act, meant to be viewed at a distance like
stage makeup, to dazzle her troops. At the right range, it might work rather well, like the popular
Barrayaran general of his grandfather's generation who'd gained visibility by carrying a plasma rifle like a
swagger stick. Usually uncharged, Miles had heard privately the man wasn't stupid. Or a Vorish ensign
who wore a certain antique dagger at every opportunity. A trademark, a banner. A calculated bit of mass
psychology. Cavilo's public persona pushed the envelope of that strategy, surely. Was she scared inside,
knowing herself for overextended?You wish. Alas, after a dose of Cavilo, one thought of Cavilo, fogging
one's tactical calculations. Focus, ensign. Had she forgotten Victor Rotha? Had Gregor concocted some
bullshit explanation to account for their Pol Station encounter? Gregor seemed to be feeding Cavilo
skewed facts or were they? Maybe there really was a loathed proposed bride, and Gregor had not
trusted Miles enough to mention it. Miles began to regret being quite so acerbic to Gregor.
His thoughts were still running like a hyped-up rat on an exercise wheel, spinning to nowhere, when the
door code-lock beeped again.
Yes, he would fake cooperation, promise anything, if only she'd give him a chance to check on Gregor.
Cavilo appeared with a soldier in tow. The man looked vaguely familiar one of the arresting goons?
No. . . .
The man ducked his head through the cell door, stared at Miles a moment in bemusement, and turned to
Cavilo.
"Yeah, that's him, all right. Admiral Naismith, of the Tau Verde Ring war. I'd recognize the little runt
anywhere." He added aside to Miles, "What are you doing here, sir?"
Miles mentally transmuted the man's tan and blacks to grey and white. Yeah. There'd been several
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