Read Online Mirror dance by Lois McMaster Bujold - Free Book Online Page A

hostages. We'll be safe from lethal fire with them aboard. The Bharaputrans won't risk their investment as long as any chance of recovery remains."
    "Once they decide all chance is lost, they'll seek vigorous retribution, to discourage imitators, though."
    "True. We must cloud their minds with doubt."
    "Then their next move—if we get the shuttle airborne—must be to try to blow up the Ariel in orbit before we get there, cutting off our escape."
    "Speed," he repeated doggedly.
    "Contingencies, Miles dear. Wake up. I don't usually have to re-start your brain in the morning—do you want some more tea? No? I suggest, if we suffer dangerous delay downside, that the Ariel take refuge at Fell Station, and we rendezvous with it there."
    "Fell Station? The orbital one?" He hesitated. "Why?"
    "Baron Fell is still in a state of vendetta with Bharaputra and Ryoval, isn't he?"
    Jacksonian internecine House politics; he was not as current on them as he should be. He had not even thought of looking for an ally among the other Houses. They were all criminal, all evil, tolerating or sabotaging each other in shifting patterns of power. And here was Ryoval, mentioned again. Why? He took refuge in another wordless shrug. "Getting pinned, trapped on Fell Station with fifty young clones while Bharaputra hustles for control of the jumppoint stations, would not improve our position. No Jacksonian is to be trusted. Run and jump as fast as we can is still the safest strategy."
    "Bharaputra won't swing Jumpstation Five into line, it's Fell-owned."
    "Yes, but I want to return to Escobar. The clones can all get safe asylum there."
    "Look, Miles, the jump back on this route is held by the consortium already dominated by Bharaputra. We'll never get back out the way we jump in, unless you've got something up your sleeve—no? Then may I suggest our best escape route is via Jumppoint Five."
    "Do you really see Fell as so reliable an ally?" he inquired cautiously.
    "Not at all. But he is the enemy of our enemies. This trip."
    "But the jump from Five leads to the Hegen Hub. We can't jump into Cetagandan territory, and the only other route out of the Hub is to Komarr via Pol."
    "Roundabout, but much safer."
    Not for me! That's the damned Barrayaran Empire! He swallowed a wordless shriek.
    "The Hub to Pol to Komarr to Sergyar and back to Escobar," Thorne recited happily. "You know, this could really work out." It made more notes, leaning across the comconsole, its nightgown shifting and shimmering in the candy lights of the vid display. Then it put its elbows on the console and rested its chin in its hands, breasts compressing, shifting beneath the thin fabric. Its expression grew gently introspective. It glanced up at him at last with an odd, rather sad smile.
    "Have any clones ever escaped?" Thorne asked softly.
    "No," he answered quickly, automatically.
    "Except for your own clone, of course."
    A dangerous turn in the conversation. "My clone did not escape either. He was simply removed by his purchasers." He should have tried to escape . . . what life might he have led, had he succeeded?
    "Fifty kids," Thorne sighed. "Y'know—I really approve of this mission." It waited, watching him with sharp and gleaming eyes.
    Acutely uncomfortable, he suppressed an idiocy such as saying Thank you , but found himself with no remark to put in its place, resulting in an awkward silence.
    "I suppose," said Thorne thoughtfully after the too-long moment, "it would be very difficult for anyone brought up in such an environment to really trust . . . anyone else. Anyone's word. Their good will."
    "I . . . suppose." Was this casual conversation, or something more sinister? A trap . . .
    Thorne, still with that weird mysterious smile, leaned across their station chairs, caught his chin in one strong, slender hand, and kissed him.
    He did not know if he was supposed to recoil or respond, so did neither, in cross-eyed, panicked paralysis. Thorne's mouth was warm, and tasted of