The Warrior's Apprentice (Vorkosigan Saga, #2)

by Lois McMaster Bujold

“Mr. Calhoun,” said Miles sweetly, “may I point out, the choice is not between my note and this ship. The choice is between my note and a rain of glowing debris.”

“His crème de meth just wore off,” Mayhew explained. “Drops you in a hurry, doesn’t it, kid?”

Mayhew’s laughter faded. “My God,” he said hollowly, “you mean he’s like that all the time?”

You see that, don’t you, my lord? Don’t you see it?” “Of course. But please don’t murder my engineer. I need him. All right?” “Damn techs. Always coddled.”

“I gave them some weapons to field-strip and reassemble. If they didn’t try to shove the plasma arc power cartridge in the nerve disrupter grip slot, I hired ’em.”

“I direct your attention to the weak link in the chain that binds us—the connection between the Oserans and their employers the Pelians. There is where we must apply our leverage. My children”—he stood gazing out past the refinery into the depths of space, a seer taken by a vision—“we’re going to hit them in the payroll.”

If the Oserans ever figured out who had microwaved the money, the man’s life was surely forfeit.

Heroes. They sprang up around him like weeds. A carrier, he was seemingly unable to catch the disease he spread.

Miles decided his uneasiness stemmed from the number of times the phrase ‘I assumed’ was turning up in this conversation.

“I’ve been given the royal run-around, lied to, followed, had my comconsole tapped, had Barrayaran agents questioning my employees, my girlfriend, her wife—I

Fascinating, that the pit of hell should have so narrow an entrance . . .