Lois McMaster Bujold 02 Shards Of Honor

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thing was illegal."
"But necessary, sometimes. The data are much purer if the subject is not aware
of the observation. It's considered sufficiently ethical if permission is
obtained post facto."
"Post facto permission, eh?" Cordelia purred. Fear and fury wound a double
helix up her spine, coiling tighter and tighter.
With an effort, she kept her smile straight, not letting it turn into a snarl.
"That's a legal concept I'd never thought of. It sounds-
almost Barrayaran. I don't want you on my case," she added abruptly. Mehta
made a note, and looked up, smiling. "That's not a statement of emotion,"
Cordelia emphasized. "That's a legal demand. I refuse any further treatment
from you."
Mehta nodded understandingly. Was the woman deaf?
"Enormous progress," said Mehta happily. "I wouldn't have expected to uncover
the aversion defense for another week yet."
"What?"
"You didn't expect the Barrayarans would put that much work into you and not
plant defenses around it, did you? Of course you feel hostile. Just remember,
those are not your own feelings. Tomorrow, we will work on them."
"Oh no we won't!" The muscles up her scalp were tense as wire. Her head ached
fiercely. "You're fired!"
Mehta looked eager. "Oh, excellent!"
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"Did you hear me?" demanded Cordelia. Where did that shrieky whine in my voice
come from? Calm, calm ...
"Captain Naismith, I remind you that we are not civilians. I am not in the
ordinary legal physician-patient relationship with you; we are both under
military discipline, pursuing, I have reason to believe, a military-never
mind. Suffice it to say, you did not hire me and you can't fire me. Tomorrow,
then."
Cordelia remained seated for hours after she left, staring at the wall and
swinging her leg in absent thumps against the side of the couch, until her
mother came home with supper. The next day she left the apartment early in the
morning on a random tour of the city, and didn't return until late at night.
That night, in her weariness and loneliness, she sat down to write her first
letter to Vorkosigan. She threw away her original attempt halfway through,
when she realized his mail was probably read by other eyes, perhaps Illyan's.
Her second was more neutrally worded. She made it handwritten, on paper, and
being alone kissed it before she sealed it, then smiled wryly at herself for
doing so. A paper letter was far more expensive to ship to Barrayar than an
electronic one, but he would handle it, as she had.
It was as close to a touch as they could come.
The next morning Mehta called early on the comconsole, to tell Cordelia
cheerily she could relax; something had come up, and their session that
afternoon was canceled. She did not refer to Cordelia's absence the previous
afternoon.
Cordelia was relieved at first, until she began thinking about it. Just to be
sure, she absented herself from home again. The day might have been pleasant,
but for a dust-up with some journalists lurking around the apartment shaft,
and the discovery about mid-afternoon that she was being followed by two men
in very inconspicuous civilian sarongs. Sarongs were last year's fashion;
this year it was exotic and whimsical body paint, at least for the brave.
Cordelia, wearing her old tan Survey fatigues, lost them by trailing them
through a pornographic feelie-show. But they turned up again later in the
afternoon as she puttered through the Silica
Zoo.
At Mehta's appointed hour the next afternoon the door chimed. Cordelia
slouched reluctantly to answer it. How am I going to handle her today? she
wondered. I'm running low on inspiration. So tired ...
Her stomach sank. Now what? Framed in the doorway were Mehta, Commodore
Tailor, and a husky medtech. That one, Cordelia thought, staring up at him,
looks like he could handle Bothari. Backing up a bit, she led them into her
mother's living room. Her mother retreated to the kitchen, ostensibly to
prepare coffee.
Commodore Tailor seated himself and cleared his throat nervously. "Cordelia, I
have something to say that will be a little painful, I'm afraid."
Cordelia perched on the arm of a chair and swung her leg back and forth,
baring her teeth in what she hoped was a bland smile. "S-sticking you with the
dirty work, eh? One of the joys of command. Go ahead."
"We're going to have to ask you to agree to hospitalization for further
therapy."
Dear God, here we go. The muscles of her belly trembled beneath her shirt; it
was a loose shirt, maybe they wouldn't notice.
"Oh? Why?" she inquired casually.
"We're afraid-we're very much afraid that the Barrayaran mind programming you
underwent was a lot more extensive than anyone realized. We think, in fact..."
he paused, taking a deep breath, "that they've tried to make you an agent."
Is that an editorial or an imperial "we," Bill?
"Tried, or succeeded?"
Tailor's gaze wavered. Mehta fixed him with a cold stare. "Our opinion is
divided on that-"
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Note, class, how sedulously he avoids the "I" of personal responsibility-it
suggests the worst "we" of all, the guilty "we"-what the hell are they
planning?
"-but that letter you sent day before yesterday to the Barrayaran admiral,
Vorkosigan-we thought you should have a chance to explain it, first."
"I s-see." You dared! "Not an official l-letter. How could it be? You know
Vorkosigan's retired now. But perhaps," her eye nailed Tailor, "you would care
to explain by what right you are intercepting and reading my private mail?"
"Emergency security. For the war."
"War's over."
He looked uncomfortable at that. "But the espionage goes on."
Probably true. She had often wondered how Ezar Vorbarra came by the knowledge
of the plasma mirrors, until the war the most closely guarded new weapon in
the Betan arsenal. Her foot was tapping nervously. She stilled it. "My
letter." My heart, on paper-paper wraps stone... She kept her voice cool. "And
what did you learn from my letter, Bill?"
"Well, that's a problem. We've had our best cryptographers, our most advanced
computer programs, working on it for the better part of two days. Analyzed it
right down to the molecular structure of the paper. Frankly," he glanced
rather irritably at
Mehta, "I'm not convinced they found anything."
No, Cordelia thought, you wouldn't. The secret was in the kiss. Not subject to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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