A Civil Campaign

'Clearing the decks. Honesty . . . is the only way, with her.'

'Honesty is the only way with anyone, when you'll be so close as to be living inside each other's skins. So . . . is this Ekaterin another passing fancy?' The Count hesitated, his eyes crinkling. 'Or is she the one who will love my son forever and fiercely—hold his household and estates with integrity—stand beside him through danger, and dearth, and death— and guide my grandchildren's hands when they light my funeral offering?'

Miles paused in momentary admiration of his father's ability to deliver lines like that. It put him in mind of the way a combat drop shuttle delivered pinpoint incendiaries. 'That would be . . . that would be Column B, sir. All of the above.' He swallowed. 'I hope. If I don't fumble it again.'

'So when do we get to meet her?' the Count repeated reasonably.

'Things are still very unsettled.' Miles climbed to his feet, sensing that his moment to retreat with dignity was slipping away rapidly. 'I'll let you know.'

But the Count did not pursue his erratic line of humor. Instead he looked at his son with eyes gone serious, though still warm. 'I am glad she came to you when you were old enough to know your own mind.'

Miles favored him with an analyst's salute, a vague wave of two fingers in the general vicinity of his forehead. 'So am I, sir.'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ekaterin sat at her aunt's comconsole, attempting to compose a r? sum? that would conceal her lack of experience from the supervisor of an urban plant nursery that supplied the city's public gardens. She was not, drat it, going to name Lord Auditor Vorkosigan as a reference. Aunt Vorthys had left for her morning class, and Nikki for an outing with Arthur Pym under the aegis of Arthur's elder sister; when the door chime's second ring tore her attention from her task, Ekaterin was abruptly aware that she was alone in the house. Would enemy agents bent on kidnapping come to the front door? Miles would know. She pictured Pym, at Vorkosigan House, frostily informing the intruders that they would have to go round back to the spies' entrance . . . which would be sprinkled with appropriate high- tech caltrops, no doubt. Controlling her new paranoia, she rose and went to the front hall.

To her relief and delight, instead of Cetagandan infiltrators, her brother Hugo Vorvayne stood on the front stoop, along with a pleasant-featured fellow she recognized after an uncertain blink as Vassily Vorsoisson, Tien's closest cousin. She had seen him exactly once before in her life, at Tien's funeral, where they had met long enough for him to officially sign over Nikki's guardianship to her. Lieutenant Vorsoisson held a post in traffic control at the big military shuttleport in Vorbretten's District; when she'd first and last seen him, he'd worn Service dress greens as suited the somber formality of the occasion, but today he'd changed to more casual civvies.

'Hugo, Vassily! This is a surprise—come in, come in!' She gestured them both into the Professora's front parlor. Vassily gave her a polite, acknowledging nod, and refused an offer of tea or coffee, they'd had some at the monorail station, thank you. Hugo gave her hands a brief squeeze, and smiled at her in a worried way before taking a seat. He was in his mid-forties; the combination of his desk work in the Imperial Bureau of Mines and his wife Rosalie's care was broadening him a trifle. On him, it looked wonderfully solid and reassuring. But alarm tightened Ekaterin's throat at the tension in his face. 'Is everything all right?'

'We're all fine,' he said with peculiar emphasis.

A chill flushed through her. 'Da—?'

'Yes, yes, he's fine too.' Impatiently, he gestured away her anxiety. 'The only member of the family who seems to be a source of concern at the moment is you, Kat.'

Ekaterin stared at him, baffled. 'Me? I'm all right.' She sank down into her uncle's big chair in the corner. Vassily pulled up one of the spindly chairs, and perched a little awkwardly upon it.

Hugo conveyed greetings from the family, Rosalie and Edie and the boys, then looked around vaguely and asked, 'Are Uncle and Aunt Vorthys here?'

'No, neither one. Aunt will be back from class in a while, though.'

Hugo frowned. 'I was hoping we could see Uncle Vorthys, really. When will he be back?'

'Oh, he's gone to Komarr. To clear up some last technical bits about the solar mirror disaster, you know. He doesn't expect to be back till just before Gregor's wedding.'

'Whose wedding?' said Vassily.

Gah, now Miles had her doing it. She wasnot on a first-name basis with Grego—with the Emperor, she was not . 'Emperor Gregor's wedding. As an Imperial Auditor, Uncle Vorthys will of course attend.'

Vassily's lips formed a little O of enlightenment, that Gregor.

'No chance of any of us getting near it, I suppose,' Hugo sighed. 'Of course, I have no interest in such things, but Rosalie and her lady friends have all gone quite silly over it.' After a short hesitation, he added inconsistently, 'Is it true that the Horse Guards will parade in squads of all the uniforms they've worn through history, from the Time of Isolation through Ezar's day?'

'Yes,' said Ekaterin. 'And there will be massive fireworks displays over the river every night.' A faintly envious look crept into Hugo's eyes at this news.

Vassily cleared his throat, and asked, 'Is Nikki here?'

'No . . . he went out with a friend to see the pole-barge regatta on the river this morning. They have it every year; it commemorates the relief of the city by Vlad Vorbarra's forces during the Ten-Years' War. I understand they're doing a bang-up job of it this summer—new costumes, and a reenactment of the assault on the Old Star Bridge. The boys were very excited.' She did not add that they expected to have an especially fine view from the balconies of Vorbretten House, courtesy of a Vorbretten Armsman friend of Pym's.

Vassily stirred uncomfortably. 'Perhaps it's just as well. Madame Vorsoisson—Ekaterin—we actually came down here today for a particular reason, a very serious matter. I should like to talk with you frankly.'

'That's . . . generally best, when one is going to talk,' Ekaterin responded. She glanced in query at Hugo.

'Vassily came to me . . .' Hugo began, and trailed off. 'Well, you explain it, Vassily.'

Vassily leaned forward with his hands clasped between his knees and said heavily, 'You see, it's this. I received a most disturbing communication from an informant here in Vorbarr Sultana about what has been happening—what has recently come to light—some very disturbing information about you, my late cousin, and Lord Auditor Vorkosigan.'

'Oh,' she said flatly. So, the circuit of the Old Walls, what remained of them, did not limit the slander to the capital; the slime-trail even stretched to provincial District towns. She had somehow thought this vicious game an exclusively High Vor pastime. She sat back and frowned.

'Because it seemed to concern both our families very nearly—and, of