Haroche sat silent for as long as he dared, then began, "I … had known about the Komarran prokaryotes for a long time. Since the beginning. Diamant of Komarran Affairs told me; we were coordinating on the sweep of Ser Galen's little group of saboteurs, lending men and help back and forth in the crisis. I was with him the day he put the capsules away downstairs. Didn't think anything more about it for years. Then I won my promotion to head of Domestic Affairs, the Yarrow case, do you remember that . . . sir?" This to Illyan. "You said my work on it was superb."

"No, Lucas," Illyan's voice was falsely pleasant. "Can't say as I do."

The silence after that threatened to extend itself for rather a long time. "Continue," said Gregor.

"I … began to be more and more aware of Vorkosigan, in and out of ImpSec HQ. There were rumors about him, some pretty wild stories, that he was some sort of galactic affairs hotshot, that he was being groomed as Illyan's successor. It was very clear that he was Illyan's pet. Then last year he was suddenly killed, though as it turned out . . . not quite dead enough." A slight tic of his lip was all the expression Gregor allowed himself. After a glance at him, Haroche hurried on, "For whatever reason, during that period Illyan reorganized his chain of command, clarified his line of succession. I was made second-in-command of ImpSec. He told me he was thinking of choosing a new successor, in case anyone actually succeeded in dropping him in his tracks, and I was it. Then Vorkosigan turned up alive again.

"Didn't hear anything more about him one way or another, till this last Midsummer. Then Illyan asked me if I thought I could stand to work with Vorkosigan as my second in Domestic Affairs. Warned me he was hyperactive, and insubordinate as hell, but that he got results. Said I'd either love him or hate him, though some people did both. He said Vorkosigan needed a dose of my experience. I said … I'd try. The implication was pretty clear. I wouldn't have minded training my replacement. Being asked to train my boss was a little hard to swallow. Thirty years of experience, jumped over . . . But I swallowed it."

Gregor's attention was wholly on Haroche, and Haroche's, perforce, wholly on Gregor. It was as if Gregor generated his own little personal force-bubble, just like those used by a Cetagandan haut-lady, with only the two of them inside. Haroche grew more intense, leaning forward, his knee almost touching Gregor's.

"Then Vorkosigan . . . shot his foot off. So to speak. Good and proper. I didn't have to do him, he did himself, better than I could ever have imagined. He was out, I was in. I had my chance back, but . . . Illyan was good for another five years, maybe ten. There's more young hotshots coming up all the time. Now, while I was still at my peak, I wanted my chance. Illyan was getting stale, you could see it, feel it. Getting tired. He kept talking about retiring, but he never did anything. I wanted to serve the Imperium, serve you, Sire! I knew I could, if I got my chance. In time, in my time. And then … I thought of that damned Komarran powder."

"Just when did you think of it?"

"That afternoon, when Vorkosigan came stumbling out of Illyan's office with his eyes torn off. I went down to the Evidence Rooms on another matter, walked right by that shelf, as I'd done a hundred times before, but this time … I opened the box, and pocketed two capsules. It was no trouble walking out with them; it was the box that was screamer-tagged, not its contents. Of course I wasn't searched. I knew I'd have to do something about the monitors, eventually, but even if someone had visually checked them, all they would see was me, authorized to take anything I wanted."

"We know where. When did you administer the prokaryotes to Illyan?"

"It was … a few days later. Three, four days." Haroche's hand jerked in air; Miles could imagine the stream of tan smoke spinning from his fingers. "He was always popping into my office, to check out facts, to get my opinion."

"Did you use both capsules then?"

"Not then. Nothing seemed to be happening for about a week, so I dosed him again. I hadn't realized how slowly the symptoms were going to show. Or … how severely. But I knew it wouldn't kill him. I thought it wouldn't, anyway. I wanted to be sure. It was an impulse. And then it was too late to back out."

"An impulse?" Gregor raised his eyebrows, devastatingly. "After three days of premeditation?"

"Impulse," Miles broke his own long silence, "does work as slowly as that sometimes. Particularly when you're having a really bad idea." I should know.

Gregor motioned him to desist; Miles bit his tongue. "When did you decide to frame Captain Galeni?" Gregor asked sternly.

"I didn't, not then. I didn't want to frame anyone, but if I had to, I wanted to get Vorkosigan. He was perfect for it. There was a kind of justice in it. He'd damn near got away with murder, in that business with the courier. I'd have court-martialed the hyper little dwarf, but he was still Illyan's pet, even after all that mess. Then he turned up on my front doorstep with that damned Auditors chain around his neck, and I realized he wasn't just Illyan's pet." Haroche's eyes, meeting Gregor's at last, were accusing.

Gregor's eyes were very, very cool. "Go on," he said, utterly neutral.

"The little git wouldn't leave it alone. He pushed and pushed—if I'd been able to hold him off one more week, I'd never have had to frame anyone at all. It was Vorkosigan forced my hand. But it was clear by then Vorkosigan was fireproof; I'd never make it stick to him. Galeni was around him, he caught my attention, I realized his suspect profile was even better than Vorkosigan's. He wasn't my first choice, but … he was a lot more disposable. He was a potential embarrassment to the Empress-to-be, if nothing else. Who would miss him?"

Gregor had grown so neutral as to seem almost gray. So, that's what rage looks like on him. Miles wondered if Haroche realized what Gregor's extreme lack of expression meant. The general seemed caught up in his own words, indignant, speaking faster now.

"The little git still wouldn't give it up. Three days—he found those capsules in the evidence room in three days. It was supposed to have taken him three months. I couldn't believe it. I thought I could get him to run all the way to Jackson's Whole and back, but he stuck tight to me, all hours of the day or night I'd turn around and there he'd be, under my elbow, all over my building. I had to get rid of him before I strangled him, so I advanced the timetable on Galeni as much as I dared and delivered him gift-wrapped. And the little git still wouldn't give it up! So I gave him the bait he was hungry for, I was sure he'd swallow that one, I practically stuffed it down his throat but he was salivating so hard by that time, the next thing I turn around he's back in my office with that damned arrogant galactic biobird with those frigging filters apart, and I'm down here and he's . . . up." Haroche paused for breath.

Gregor blinked. "What bait?"

Aw, hell, Haroche, you don't have to go into that, really. . . .

When Haroche did not reply, Gregor's gaze turned to Miles. "What bait?" he asked, with deceptive mildness.

Miles cleared his throat. "He offered me the Dendarii. He said I could go back to work for him on the same terms I used to work for Simon. Oh, better. He threw in a captaincy."

Three nearly identical astonished stares seemed to pin him to the wall.

"You did not mention this to me," said Illyan at last.

"No."

"You didn't mention it to me, either," said Gregor.

"No."

"You mean you didn't say yes?" asked Ivan, in a stunned voice.

"No. Yes. Whatever."

"Why not?" said Illyan, after what seemed like a full minute.