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it. Of course, you fully intend to put the pieces back together afterwards,
but from my point of view that scarcely makes any difference. Aral was right
about people in green silk rooms. ..."
Mehta looked puzzled. "You've stopped stuttering," she noted.
"Yes ..." Cordelia paused before her aquarium, considering it curiously.
"So I have. How strange." Stone smashes scissors. . . .
She removed the top. The old familiar nausea of funk and fear wrung her
stomach. She wandered aimlessly behind Mehta, the chain belt and a shirt in
her hands. I must choose now. I must choose now. I choose-now!
She lunged, wrapping the belt around the doctor's throat, yanking her arms up
behind her back, securing them painfully with the other end of the belt.
Mehta emitted a strangled squeak.
Cordelia held her from behind, and whispered in her ear.
"In a moment I'll give you your air back. How long depends on you. You're
about to get a short course in the real Barrayaran interrogation techniques. I
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never used to approve of them, but lately I've come to see they have their
uses-when you're in a tearing hurry, for instance-"
Can't let her guess I'm playacting. Playacting. "How many men does Tailor have
planted around this building, and what are their positions?"
She loosened the chain slightly. Mehta, eyes stunned with fear, choked,
"None!"
"All Cretans are liars," Cordelia muttered. "Bill's not inept either." She
dragged the doctor over to the aquarium and pushed her face into the water.
She struggled wildly, but Cordelia, larger, stronger, in better training, held
her under with a furious strength that astonished herself.
Mehta showed signs of passing out. Cordelia pulled her up and allowed her a
couple of breaths.
"Care to revise your estimate yet?" God help me, what if this doesn't work?
They'll never believe I'm not an agent now.
"Oh, please," Mehta gasped.
"All right, back you go." She held her down again.
The water roiled, splashing over the sides of the aquarium. Cordelia could see
Mehta's face through the glass, strangely magnified, deathly yellow in the odd
reflected light from the gravel. Silver bubbles broke around her mouth and
flowed up over her face. Cordelia was temporarily fascinated by them. Air
flows like water, underwater, she thought; is there an aesthetic of death?
"Now. How many? Where?"
"No, really!"
"Have another drink."
At her next breath Mehta gasped, "You wouldn't kill me!"
"Diagnosis, Doctor," hissed Cordelia. "Am I a sane woman, pretending to be
mad, or a madwoman, pretending to be sane? Grow gills!" Her voice rose
uncontrollably. She shoved Mehta back under, and found she was holding her own
breath. And what if she's right and I'm wrong? What if I am an agent, and
don't know it? How do you tell a copy from the original? Stone smashes
scissors. ....
She had a vision, trembling to her fingers, of holding the woman's head under,
and under, until her resistance drained away, until unconsciousness took her,
and a full count beyond that to assure brain death. Power, opportunity,
will-she lacked nothing. So this is what Aral felt at Komarr, she thought. Now
I understand-no. Now I know.
"How many? Where?"
"Four," Mehta croaked. Cordelia melted with relief. "Two outside the foyer.
Two in the garage."
"Thank you," said Cordelia, automatically courteous; but her throat was
tightened to a slit and squeezed her words to a smear of sound. "I'm sorry. .
. ." She could not tell if Mehta, livid, heard or understood. Paper wraps
stone. . . .
She bound and gagged her as she had once seen Vorkosigan do Gottyan. She
shoved her down behind the bed, out of sight from the door. She stuffed bank
cards, IDs, money, into her pockets. She turned on the shower.
She tiptoed out the bedroom door, breathing raggedly through her mouth.
She ached for a minute, just one minute, to collect her shattered balance, but
Tailor and the medtech were gone-to the kitchen for coffee, probably. She
dared not risk the opening even to pause for boots.
No, God-! Tailor was standing in the archway to the kitchen, just raising a
cup of coffee to his lips. She froze, he went still, and they stared at each
other.
Her eyes, Cordelia realized, must be huge as some nocturnal animal's. She
never could control her eyes.
Tailors mouth twisted oddly, watching her. Then, slowly, he raised his left
hand and saluted her. The incorrect hand, but the other was holding the
coffee. He took a sip of his drink, gaze steady over the rim of his cup.
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Cordelia came gravely to attention, returned the salute, and slipped quietly
out the apartment door.
To her temporary terror, she found a journalist and his vidman in the hallway,
one of the most persistent and obnoxious, the one she'd had thrown out of the
building yesterday. She smiled at him, dizzy with exhilaration, like a sky
diver just stepping into air.
"Still want to do that interview?"
He jumped at the bait.
"Slow down, now. Not here. I'm being watched, you know." She dropped her voice
conspiratorially. "The government's doing a cover-up. What I know could blow
the administration sky-high. Things about the prisoners. You could-make your
reputation."
"Where, then?" He was avid.
"How about the shuttleport? Their bar's quiet. I'll buy you a drink, and we
can-plan our campaign." Time ticked in her brain. She expected her mother's
apartment door to slam open any second. "It's dangerous, though. There are two
government agents up in the foyer and two in the garage. I'd have to get past
them without being seen. If it were known I was talking to you, you might not
get a chance at a second interview. No rough stuff-just a little quiet
disappearance in the night, and the ripple of a rumor about 'gone for medical
tests.' Know what I mean?" She was fairly sure he didn't-his media service
dealt mainly in sex fantasies-but she could see a vision of journalistic glory
growing in his face.
He turned to his vidman. "Jon, give her your jacket, your hat, and your
holovid."
She tucked her hair up in the broad-brimmed hat, concealed her fatigues under
the jacket, and carried the vid ostentatiously. They took the lift tube up to
the garage. There were two men in blue uniforms waiting by its exit. She
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