This is it. Vorkosigan clears the door as Mark gets to his feet. He looks first back at the room, checking it for...something. For some sign that it's an illusion or a dream, he guesses. Then he looks back to the door. Go. This is it. You have to.
But a number of paranoid scenarios run through his head. Foremost: he'll exit that door, and on the other side will be Galen, standing and scowling, shock-stick in hand. You failed the test, Miles. It seems you're no use to us after all - But for all that it's the sort of thing he'd do, Galen simply doesn't have the resources to pull off something like this. Or the patience. He'd have come in the moment Mark started to waver...He'd have come in the moment Mark declared his name wasn't Miles. This is real or it's a dream. Or it's a cruel joke, in which case there'll be a nerve disruptor waiting for him on the other side anyway.
And really, there's no difference between dying heroically and dying in humiliation. You're dead either way.
So his knees almost give out a moment. He feels like vomiting. But in small unsteady steps, he follows to that door, behind Vorkosigan. He reaches the threshold. Extends his hand - there's no invisible barrier there, nothing to stop him. So another step. And he passes through, and when he does - there's no faking the looks of hard suspicion on the faces of the ImpSec guards. Nor on the faces of the armsmen. They hate this. They're afraid of him, afraid for Vorkosigan. And that, more than anything else, convinces Mark that this is real.
He shuffles silently along behind Vorkosigan. His eyes are wide with fear, unfeigned, unhidden, as he watches them for a sudden movement, a sign that one of them will pull a nerve disruptor or a needler or something to take care of him. But their obedience is absolute. He presses in close behind Vorkosigan, a small terrified pale shadow limping unsteadily behind him on uneven legs. Everything's so overwhelming, he doesn't even remember that Vorkosigan is the one he's supposed to fear.
no subject
But a number of paranoid scenarios run through his head. Foremost: he'll exit that door, and on the other side will be Galen, standing and scowling, shock-stick in hand. You failed the test, Miles. It seems you're no use to us after all - But for all that it's the sort of thing he'd do, Galen simply doesn't have the resources to pull off something like this. Or the patience. He'd have come in the moment Mark started to waver...He'd have come in the moment Mark declared his name wasn't Miles. This is real or it's a dream. Or it's a cruel joke, in which case there'll be a nerve disruptor waiting for him on the other side anyway.
And really, there's no difference between dying heroically and dying in humiliation. You're dead either way.
So his knees almost give out a moment. He feels like vomiting. But in small unsteady steps, he follows to that door, behind Vorkosigan. He reaches the threshold. Extends his hand - there's no invisible barrier there, nothing to stop him. So another step. And he passes through, and when he does - there's no faking the looks of hard suspicion on the faces of the ImpSec guards. Nor on the faces of the armsmen. They hate this. They're afraid of him, afraid for Vorkosigan. And that, more than anything else, convinces Mark that this is real.
He shuffles silently along behind Vorkosigan. His eyes are wide with fear, unfeigned, unhidden, as he watches them for a sudden movement, a sign that one of them will pull a nerve disruptor or a needler or something to take care of him. But their obedience is absolute. He presses in close behind Vorkosigan, a small terrified pale shadow limping unsteadily behind him on uneven legs. Everything's so overwhelming, he doesn't even remember that Vorkosigan is the one he's supposed to fear.