“No one ever tells you that the true taste of victory is not sweet; it lies like bitter ashes upon the tongue.”
Da had always said that.
Young Cordelia had never understood her father’s caution. Victory had to be good. Otherwise it wouldn’t make sense. And it really, really had to make sense now, with Da taken hostage and herself in disguise behind enemy lines with a pack of mercenaries as the only hope of getting him to his medical necessities.
She had the spare seizure stimulator taped to her undergarments, doing the job of male anatomy to fill out her pants. She had her hair cropped short and a passport in the name of one of her brothers. As far as she knew, she passed.
But that didn’t matter here. In the drains and forgotten maintenance tunnels in enemy territory. With only a voice in her ear-bug for company.
“Left,” said Admiral Quinn. It had been sheer luck that Young Cordelia had found her in a cafeteria on Beta Colony. And possibly the product of some bizarre synchronicity that the Admiral took Cordelia’s contract for nothing more than a Betan Dollar.
All it had taken was hearing her father’s name.
She’d have to ask Da about that when she found him.
Five more lefts and three rights, she finally had an ‘up’. Which was where the tools strapped around her chest came in. Nice little grav-lifters. Cutters, spreaders… anything anyone could need to break into unseen turf, and medkits to boot.
Da was looking grey. Synergine. Pain meds. A torturously slow scoop to drag out the vital machine that cheerfully told her she was a day late.
“Cord–?”
“Hsh! I’m currently Ez, here.”
“What t’ hell?” His eyes came into focus. “You cut your hair… Why’d you cut your hair.”
“Because you wouldn’t let me go to Beta Colony without an escort so I pretended to be Lord Ezar. Come on. We can’t stay long. They’ll–”
Too late. They’d heard. The guard unlocked the door and burst in.
“Hey!”
Cordelia got between him and her Da, whipping out the weapon she’d covertly replaced her stunner with. An evil-looking needler gun.
“Not a noise, not a step,” she warned. “I will shoot!”
He got that cocky grin that bullies always got before they found out that she - or any of her sibs - had been trained in combat by Drou Koudelka and then ImpSec. “Like that thing’s even loaded.”
He took his last step.
Just like in drills, Cordelia fired, aiming at the midsection. He didn’t drop like the sims had. He looked down at the spreading red stain on his belly, and then back at her. So confused. So afraid. Pink foam bubbled up and out of his mouth.
And then he fell.
“A needler,” said Da, full scold-mode. “The only thing filthier is a nerve disruptor. You know. I told you.”
Of Sergeant Bothari and Kou’s scars, yes. Cordelia swallowed bile. “I know, Da. I just… couldn’ afford t’ lose at stunner tag.” Deep breaths. Clear thoughts. Vomit later, when they were both safe. Yeah. “C'mon Da. We gotta get gone.”
Now she understood, as her stomach clenched and her hands shook, getting him into the safety harness. She understood exactly what Da had meant, all her life.
Da kissed her forehead. “I just wanted to keep you out of it. One Vorkosigan to survive without scars…”
Too late, Da. Too late. I’m sorry.
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