belly, but her belly won control in a wrenching rush.
The enemy captain stirred involuntarily as she vomited, but remained sitting. She crawled the few meters to the little stream at the bottom of the ravine, and washed out her mouth and face in its icy water. Feeling relatively better, she sat up and croaked, "Well?"
The officer inclined his head in a shadow of courtesy. "I am Captain Aral Vorkosigan, commanding the Barrayaran Imperial war cruiser General Vorkraft. Identify yourself, please." His voice was baritone, his speech barely accented.
"Commander Cordelia Naismith. Betan Astronomical Survey. We are a scientific party," she emphasized accusingly. "Non-combatants."
"So I noticed," he said dryly. "What happened to your party?"
Cordelia's eyes narrowed. "Weren't you there? I was up on the mountain, assisting my team botanist." And more urgently, "Have you seen my botanist—my ensign? He pushed me into the ravine when we were ambushed—"
He glanced up to the rim of the gorge at the point where she had toppled in—how long ago? "Was he a brown-haired boy?"
Her heart sank in sick anticipation. "Yes."
"There's nothing you can do for him now."
"That was murder! All he had was a stunner!" Her eyes burned the Barrayaran. "Why were my people attacked?"
He tapped her stunner thoughtfully in his palm. "Your expedition," he said carefully, "was to be interned, preferably peacefully, for violation of Barrayaran space. There was an altercation. I was hit in the back with a stun beam. When I came to, I found your camp as you did."
"Good." Bitter bile soured her mouth. "I'm glad Reg got one of you, before you murdered him too."
"If you are referring to that misguided but admittedly courageous blond boy in the clearing, he couldn't have hit the side of a house. I don't know why you Betans put on soldiers' uniforms. You're no better trained than children on a picnic. If your ranks denote anything but pay scale, it's not apparent to me."
"He was a geologist, not a hired killer," she snapped. "As for my 'children,' your soldiers couldn't even capture them."
His brows drew together. Cordelia shut her mouth abruptly. Oh, great, she thought. He hasn't even started to wrench my arms off, and already I'm giving away free intelligence.
"Didn't they now," Vorkosigan mused. He pointed upstream with the stunner to where the comm link lay cracked open in the brook. A little sputtering of steam rose from the ruin. "What orders did you give your ship when they informed you of their escape?"
"I told them to use their initiative," she murmured vaguely, groping for inspiration in a throbbing fog.
He snorted. "A safe order to give a Betan. At least you're sure to be obeyed."
Oh, no. My turn. "Hey, I know why my people left me behind—why did yours leave you? Isn't one's commanding officer, even a Barrayaran one, too important to mislay?" She sat up straighter. "If Reg couldn't hit the side of a house, who shot you?"
That's fetched him, she thought, as the stunner with which he had been absently gesturing was swiveled back to aim on her. But he said only, "That is not your concern. Have you another comm link?"
Oh ho—was this stern Barrayaran commander dealing with a mutiny? Well, confusion to the enemy! "No. Your soldiers trashed everything."
"No matter," muttered Vorkosigan. "I know where to get another. Are you able to walk yet?"
"I'm not sure." She pushed herself to her feet, then pressed her hand to her head to contain the shooting pains.
"It's only a concussion," Vorkosigan said unsympathetically. "A walk will do you good."
"How far?" she gasped.
"About two hundred kilometers."
She fell back to her knees. "Have a nice trip."
"By myself, two days. I suppose you will take longer, being a geologist, or whatever."
"Astrocartographer."
"Get up, please." He unbent so far as to help her with a hand under her elbow. He seemed curiously reluctant to touch her. She was chilled and stiff; she could feel the heat from his hand
The enemy captain stirred involuntarily as she vomited, but remained sitting. She crawled the few meters to the little stream at the bottom of the ravine, and washed out her mouth and face in its icy water. Feeling relatively better, she sat up and croaked, "Well?"
The officer inclined his head in a shadow of courtesy. "I am Captain Aral Vorkosigan, commanding the Barrayaran Imperial war cruiser General Vorkraft. Identify yourself, please." His voice was baritone, his speech barely accented.
"Commander Cordelia Naismith. Betan Astronomical Survey. We are a scientific party," she emphasized accusingly. "Non-combatants."
"So I noticed," he said dryly. "What happened to your party?"
Cordelia's eyes narrowed. "Weren't you there? I was up on the mountain, assisting my team botanist." And more urgently, "Have you seen my botanist—my ensign? He pushed me into the ravine when we were ambushed—"
He glanced up to the rim of the gorge at the point where she had toppled in—how long ago? "Was he a brown-haired boy?"
Her heart sank in sick anticipation. "Yes."
"There's nothing you can do for him now."
"That was murder! All he had was a stunner!" Her eyes burned the Barrayaran. "Why were my people attacked?"
He tapped her stunner thoughtfully in his palm. "Your expedition," he said carefully, "was to be interned, preferably peacefully, for violation of Barrayaran space. There was an altercation. I was hit in the back with a stun beam. When I came to, I found your camp as you did."
"Good." Bitter bile soured her mouth. "I'm glad Reg got one of you, before you murdered him too."
"If you are referring to that misguided but admittedly courageous blond boy in the clearing, he couldn't have hit the side of a house. I don't know why you Betans put on soldiers' uniforms. You're no better trained than children on a picnic. If your ranks denote anything but pay scale, it's not apparent to me."
"He was a geologist, not a hired killer," she snapped. "As for my 'children,' your soldiers couldn't even capture them."
His brows drew together. Cordelia shut her mouth abruptly. Oh, great, she thought. He hasn't even started to wrench my arms off, and already I'm giving away free intelligence.
"Didn't they now," Vorkosigan mused. He pointed upstream with the stunner to where the comm link lay cracked open in the brook. A little sputtering of steam rose from the ruin. "What orders did you give your ship when they informed you of their escape?"
"I told them to use their initiative," she murmured vaguely, groping for inspiration in a throbbing fog.
He snorted. "A safe order to give a Betan. At least you're sure to be obeyed."
Oh, no. My turn. "Hey, I know why my people left me behind—why did yours leave you? Isn't one's commanding officer, even a Barrayaran one, too important to mislay?" She sat up straighter. "If Reg couldn't hit the side of a house, who shot you?"
That's fetched him, she thought, as the stunner with which he had been absently gesturing was swiveled back to aim on her. But he said only, "That is not your concern. Have you another comm link?"
Oh ho—was this stern Barrayaran commander dealing with a mutiny? Well, confusion to the enemy! "No. Your soldiers trashed everything."
"No matter," muttered Vorkosigan. "I know where to get another. Are you able to walk yet?"
"I'm not sure." She pushed herself to her feet, then pressed her hand to her head to contain the shooting pains.
"It's only a concussion," Vorkosigan said unsympathetically. "A walk will do you good."
"How far?" she gasped.
"About two hundred kilometers."
She fell back to her knees. "Have a nice trip."
"By myself, two days. I suppose you will take longer, being a geologist, or whatever."
"Astrocartographer."
"Get up, please." He unbent so far as to help her with a hand under her elbow. He seemed curiously reluctant to touch her. She was chilled and stiff; she could feel the heat from his hand
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