A Civil Campaign

observed. 'And you've been running around with him all year on Beta Colony. Is he slow off the gun?'

Olivia added, 'I suppose he's bright enough to be interesting—I mean, he's Miles's twin, he has to be—but I thought he was a bit creepy.'

Kareen stiffened. If you'd been cloned a slave, raised by terrorists to be a murderer, trained by methods tantamount to physical and psychological torture, and had to kill people to escape, you'd likely seem a little creepy too. If you weren't a twitching puddle. Mark was no puddle, more power to him. Mark was creating himself anew with an all-out effort no less heroic for being largely invisible to the outside observer. She pictured herself trying to explain this to Olivia or Martya, and gave up instantly. Delia . . . no, not even Delia. She needed only to mention Mark's four semiautonomous subpersonalities, each with his own nickname, for the conversation to slide downhill permanently. Describing the fascinating way they all worked together to support the fragile economy of his personality would not thrill a family of Barrayarans obviously testing for an acceptable in-law.

'Down, girls,' Da put in, smiling in the dimness of the groundcar compartment, and earning Kareen's gratitude. But then he added, 'Still, if we are about to receive a go-between from the Vorkosigans, I'd like some warning to prepare my mind for the shock. I've known Miles all his life. Mark . . . is another matter.'

Could they picture no other role for a man in her life than potential husband? Kareen was by no means sure Mark was a potential husband. He was still working his heart out on becoming a potential human being. On Beta Colony, it had all seemed so clear. She could almost feel the murky doubt rising around her. She was glad now she'd ditched her earrings. 'I shouldn't think so,' she said honestly.

'Ah.' He settled back, clearly relieved.

'Did he really get hugely fat on Beta Colony?' asked Olivia brightly. 'I shouldn't think his Betan therapist would have let him. I thought they were supposed to fix that. I mean, he was fat when he left here .'

Kareen suppressed an urge to tear her hair, or better still, Olivia's. 'Where did you hear that?'

'Mama said Lady Cordelia said her mother said,' Olivia recited the links of the gossip-chain, 'when she was back here at Winterfair for Gregor's betrothal.'

Mark's grandmother had been a good Betan godmother to both bewildered Barrayaran students this past year. Kareen had known that she was a pipeline of information to her concerned daughter about the progress of her strange clone-son, with the sort of frankness only two Betans could have; Gran'tante Naismith often talked about the messages she'd sent or received, and passed on news and greetings. The possibility of Tante Cordelia talking to Mama was the one she hadn't considered, Kareen realized. After all, Tante Cordelia had been on Sergyar, Mama was here. . . . She found herself frantically calculating backward, comparing two planetary calendars. Had she and Mark become lovers yet, by Barrayaran Winterfair when the Vorkosigans had last been home? No, whew. Whatever Tante Cordelia knew now, she hadn't known it then.

'I thought the Betans could tweak your brain chemistry around any way they wanted,' said Martya. 'Couldn't they just normalize him, blip, like that? Why's it take so long?'

'That's just the point,' Kareen said. 'Mark spent most of his life having his body and mind forcibly jerked around by other people. He needs the time to figure out who he is when people aren't pumping him full of stuff from the outside. Time to establish a baseline, his therapist says. He has a Thing about drugs, you see.' Though not, evidently, the ones he got himself from refugee Jacksonians. 'When he's ready—well, never mind.'

'Did his therapy make any progress, then?' Mama asked dubiously.

'Oh, yes, lots,' said Kareen, glad to be able to say something unequivocally positive about Mark at last.

'What kind?' asked her puzzled mother.

Kareen pictured herself gibbering, Well, he's gotten completely over his torture-induced impotence, and been trained how to be a gentle and attentive lover. His therapist says she's terribly proud of him, and Grunt is just ecstatic. Gorge would be a reasonable gourmand, if it weren't for his being co-opted by Howl to meet Howl's needs, and it was me who figured out that was what was really going on with the eating binges. Mark's therapist congratulated me for my observation and insight, and loaded me down with catalogs for five different Betan therapist training programs, and told me she'd help me find scholarships if I was interested. She doesn't quite know what to do about Killer yet, but Killer doesn't bother me. I can't deal with Howl. And that's one year's progress. And oh yes, through all this private stress and strain Mark maintained top standing in his high-powered finance school, does anybody care? 'It's pretty complicated to explain,' she managed at last.

Time to change the subject. Surely someone else's love interest could be publicly dissected. 'Delia! Does your Komarran commodore know Gregor's Komarran fianc?e? Have you met her yet?'

Delia perked up. 'Yes, Duv knew Laisa back on Komarr. They shared some, um, academic interests.'

Martya chimed in, 'She's cute, short, and plump. She has the most striking blue-green eyes, and she's going to set a fashion in padded bras. You'll be right in. Did you gain weight this year?'

'We've all met Laisa,' Mama intervened before this theme could be developed into acrimony. 'She seems very nice. Very intelligent.'

'Yes,' said Delia, shooting Martya a look of scorn. 'Duv and I hope Gregor doesn't waste her in public relations, though she'll have to do some, of course. She has Komarran training in economics. She could run Ministerial committees, Duv says, if they'd let her. At least the Old Vor can't shuffle her off to be a brood mare. Gregor and Laisa have already let it be quietly known they plan to use uterine replicators for their babies.'

'Are they getting any argument about that from the high traditionalists?' Kareen asked.

'If they do, Gregor's said he'll send 'em to argue with Lady Cordelia.' Martya giggled. 'If they dare.'

'She'll hand them back their heads on a plate if they try,' Da said cheerfully. 'And they know she can. Besides, we can always help out by pointing to Kareen and Olivia as proof positive that replicators give fine results.'

Kareen grinned. Olivia smiled more faintly. Their family's own demographics marked the arrival of that galactic technology on Barrayar; the Koudelkas had been among the first ordinary Barrayarans to chance the new gestation method, for their two younger daughters. Being presented to all and sundry like a prize agricultural exhibit at a District Fair got to be a weary pain after a while, but Kareen supposed it was a public service. There'd been much less of that lately, as the technology became widely accepted, at least in the cities and by those who could afford it. For the first time, she wondered how the Control Sisters, Delia and Martya, had felt about it.

'What do the Komarrans think of the marriage, does your Duv say?' Kareen asked Delia.

'It's a mixed reception, but what else do you expect from a conquered world? The Imperial Household means to put all the positive propaganda spin on it they can, of course. Right down to doing the wedding over again on Komarr in the Komarran style, poor Gregor and Laisa. All ImpSec leaves are canceled from now till after the second ceremony, so that means Duv's and my wedding plans are on hold till then.' She heaved a large sigh. 'Well, I'd rather have his undivided attention when I do finally get it. He's scrambling to get on top of his new job, and as the first Komarran to head Komarran Affairs he knows every eye in the Imperium is on him. Especially if anything goes wrong.' She grimaced. 'Speaking of people's heads on plates.'

Delia had changed, this past year. Last time she'd spoken of Imperial events, the conversation had revolved around what to wear, not that color-coordinating the Koudelkas wasn't a