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was unjust。 He had done his duty； in extracting that information； she had done the same； in concealing it for as long as possible。 And as one soldier to another； even if an ersatz one…five hours active service； was it？…she had to agree with Illyan； it had been smooth。 She could detect no aftereffects at all in herself from whatever he had used for the secret invasion of her mind。
Whatever he had used。。。 What； indeed； could he have used？ Where had he cadged it； and when？ Illyan hadn't brought it to him。 He had been as surprised as she when Vorkosigan dropped that bit of intelligence。 One must either believe he kept a secret stash of interrogation drugs hidden in his quarters； or。。。
〃Dear God；〃 she whispered； not a curse； but a prayer。 〃What have I stumbled into now？〃 She paced the room； the connections clicking unstoppably into place。
Heart…certainty。 Vorkosigan had never questioned her； he had known about the plasma mirrors in advance。
It appeared； further； that he was the only man in the Barrayaran mand who knew。 Vorhalas had not。 The Prince certainly had not。 Nor Illyan。
〃Put all the bad eggs in one basket；〃 she muttered。 〃And…drop the basket？ Oh； it couldn't have been his own plan！ Surely not。。。〃
She had a sudden horrific vision of it； all plete； the most wasteful political assassination plot in Barrayaran history； and the most subtle； the corpses hidden in a mountain of corpses； forever inextricable。
But he must have had the information from somewhere。 Somewhere between the time she had left him with no worse troubles than an engine room full of mutineers； and now； struggling to pull a disarmed armada back to safety before the destruction they had unleashed crashed back on them。 Somewhere in a quiet； green silk room； where a great choreographer designed a dance of death； and the honor of a man of honor was broken on the wheel of his service。
Vorrutyer of the demonic vanity shrank； and shrank； before the swelling vision； to a mouse； to a flea； to a pinprick。
〃My God； I thought Aral seemed twitchy。 He must be half…mad。 And the Emperor…the Prince was his son。 Can this be real？ Or have I gone as crazy as Bothari？〃
She forced herself to sit； then lie down； but the plots and counterplots still turned in her brain； an gallery of betrayal within betrayal lining up abruptly at one point in space and time to acplish its end。 The blood beat in her brain； thick and sick。
〃Maybe it's not true；〃 she consoled herself at last。 〃I'll ask him； and that's what he'll say。 He just questioned me in my sleep。 We got the drop on them； and I'm the heroine who saved Escobar。 He's just a simple soldier； doing his job。〃 She turned on her side； and stared into the dimness。 〃Pigs have wings； and I can fly home on one。〃 Illyan relieved her at last； and took her to the brig。
The atmosphere there was somewhat changed； she noticed。 The guards did not look at her in the same way； in fact； they seemed to try to avoid looking at her。 The procedures were still stark and efficient； but subdued； very subdued。 She recognized a face； the guard who had escorted her to Vorrutyer's quarters； the one who'd pitied her； seemed to be in charge now； a pair of new red lieutenant's tabs pinned hastily and crookedly to his collar。 She had donned Vorrutyer's fatigues again for the trip down。 This time she was permitted to change in to the orange pajamas in physical privacy。 She was then escorted to a permanent cell； not a holding area。
The cell had another occupant； a young Escobaran woman of extraordinary beauty who lay on her bunk staring at the wall。 She did not look up at Cordelia's entrance； nor respond to her greeting。 After a time； a Barrayaran medical team arrived and took her away。 She went wordlessly； but at the door she started to struggle with them。 At a sign from the doctor a corpsman sedated her with an ampule which Cordelia thought she recognized； and after another moment she was carried out unconscious。
The doctor； who from his age and rank Cordelia guessed might be the chief surgeon； stayed a short time to attend to her ribs。 After that she was left alone； with nothing but the periodic delivery of rations to mark the time； and occasional changes in the slight noises and vibrations from the walls around her on which to base guesses about what was happening outside。
About eight ration packs later； as she was lying on her bunk bored and depressed； the lights dimmed。 They came back； but dimmed again almost immediately。
〃Awk；〃 she muttered； as the bottom dropped out of her stomach and she began to float upward。 She made a hasty grab and held on to her bunk firmly。 Her foresight was rewarded a moment later when she was crushed back into it at about three gees。 The lights flickered on and off again； and she was weightless once more。
〃Plasma attack；〃 she murmured to herself。 〃Shields must be overloaded。〃
A tremendous shock rattled the ship。 She was flung from her bunk across the cell into total blackness； weightlessness； silence。 Direct hit！ She ricocheted off the far wall； flailing for a handhold； banging an elbow painfully on…a wall？ the floor； the ceiling？ She spun in midair； crying out。 Friendly fire； she thought hysterically…I'm going to be killed by friendly fire。 The perfect end to my military career。。。 She clamped her jaw and listened with fierce concentration。
Too much silence。 Had they lost air？ She had a nasty vision of herself as the only one left alive； trapped in this black box and doomed to float until either slow suffocation or slow freezing squeezed out her life。 The cell would be her coffin； to be unsealed months later by some salvage crew。
And； more horribly： could the hit have been on the bridge？ The nerve center where Vorkosigan would surely be； on which the Escobarans would surely concentrate their fire…was he smashed by flying debris； flash frozen in vacuum； burned up in plasma fire； pinned somewhere between crushed decks？
Her fingers found a surface at last； and scrabbled for a hold。 A corner： good。 She braced herself in it； curled up on the floor； breath firing in and out of her lungs in uneven gasps。
An unknowable time passed in the Stygian dark。 Her arms and legs trembled with the effort of bracing herself in place。 Then the ship groaned about her； and the lights came back on。
Oh hell； she thought； this is the ceiling。
The gravity returned and smashed her to the floor。 Pain flashed up her left arm； and numbness。 She scrambled back to the bunk； taking a white…knuckle grip on its rigid bars with her right hand； sticking one foot through as well； bracing herself again。
Nothing。 She waited。 There was a wetness soaking her orange shirt。 She looked down to see a shard of pinkish…yellow bone poking through the skin of her left forearm； and blood welling around it。 She slipped awkwardly out of her smock top； wrapping it around one arm and trying to stanch the flow。 The pressure woke the pain。 She tried； rather experimentally； calling out for help。 Surely the cell was monitored。
No one came。 Over the next three hours she varied the experiment with screaming； speaking reasonably； banging on the door and walls endlessly with her good hand； or simply sitting on the bunk crying i