A Civil Campaign

'Yeah, Miles, you're not even a stockholder,' Kareen supported this.

With a driven glare, Miles decamped, going off up the corridor muttering, ' . . . can't believe he fed her bug vomit. If only I'd gotten here before—Jankowski, dammit, you and I are going to have a little—'

Mark and Kareen followed him out the door. They stood in the corridor watching this retreat. 'What in the world's bit him?' Kareen asked in wonder.

Mark grinned evilly. 'He's in love.'

'With his gardener?' Kareen's brows rose.

'Causality's the other way around, I gather. He met her on Komarr during his recent case. He hired her as his gardener to create a little propinquity. He's courting her in secret.'

'In secret? Why? She seems perfectly eligible to me—she's Vor, even—or is her rank only by marriage? But I shouldn't think that would matter to Miles. Or—are her relatives against it, because of his—?' A vague gesture down her body implied Miles's putative mutations. She frowned in outrage at the scent of this romantically doleful scenario. How dare they look down on Miles for—

'Ah, secret from her, as I understand it.'

Kareen wrinkled her nose. 'Wait, what?'

'You'll have to get him to explain it. It made no sense to me. Not even by Miles's standards of sense.' Mark frowned thoughtfully. 'Unless he's having a major outbreak of sexual shyness.'

'Sexually shy, Miles?' Kareen scoffed. 'You met that Captain Quinn he had in tow, didn't you?'

'Oh, yes. I've met several of his girlfriends, in fact. The most appalling bunch of bloodthirsty amazons you ever saw. God, they were frightening.' Mark shuddered in memory. 'Of course, they were all pissed as hell at me at the time for getting him killed, which I suppose accounts for some of it. But I was just thinking . . . you know, I really wonder if he picked them—or if they picked him? Maybe, instead of being such a great seducer, he's just a man who can't say no. It would certainly explain why they were all tall aggressive women who were used to getting what they wanted. But now—maybe for the first time—he's up against trying to pick for himself. And he doesn't know how . He hasn't had any practice.' A slow grin spread across Mark's broad face at this vision. 'Ooh. I wanna watch.'

Kareen punched his shoulder. 'Mark, that's not nice. Miles deserves to meet the right woman. I mean, he's not getting any younger, is he?'

'Some of us get what they deserve. Others of us get luckier than that.' He captured her hand, and nuzzled the inside of her wrist, making the hairs stand up on her arm.

'Miles always says you make your own luck. Stop that.' She repossessed her hand. 'If sweat-equity is going to pay my way back to Beta Colony, I need to get back to work.' She retreated into the lab; Mark followed.

'Was Lord Vorkosigan very upset?' Enrique asked anxiously as they reappeared. 'But Madame Vorsoisson said she didn't mind trying our bug butter—'

'Don't worry about it, Enrique,' Mark told him jovially. 'My brother is just being a prick because he has something on his mind. If we're lucky, he'll go take it out on his Armsmen.'

'Oh,' said Enrique. 'That's all right, then. I have a plan to bring him around.'

'Yeah?' said Mark skeptically. 'What plan?'

'It's a surprise,' said the scientist, with a sly grin, or at any rate, as sly as he could bring off, which really wasn't very. 'If it works, that is. I'll know in a few more days.'

Mark shrugged, and glanced at Kareen. 'You know what he's got up his sleeve?'

She shook her head, and settled herself on the floor once more with her rack-assembly project. 'You might try pulling an ice cream freezer out of yours, though. Ask Ma Kosti first. Miles seems to have showered her with every piece of food service equipment imaginable. I think he was trying to bribe her into resisting the employment offers from all his friends.' Kareen blinked, seized by inspiration.

Product development, too right. Never mind the appliances, the resource they had right here in Vorkosigan House was human genius. Frustrated human genius; Ma Kosti pressed the hard-working entrepreneurs to come to a special lunch in her kitchen every day, and sent trays of snacks to the lab betimes. And the cook was already soft on Mark, even after just a week; he so obviously appreciated her art. They were well on their way to bonding.

She jumped up and handed Mark the screwdriver. 'Here. Finish this.'

Grabbing six tubs of bug butter, she headed for the kitchen.

* * *

Miles climbed from the old armored groundcar, and paused a moment on the flower-bordered curving walkway to stare enviously at Ren? Vorbretten's entirely modern townhouse. Vorbretten House perched on the bluff overlooking the river, nearly opposite to Vorhartung Castle. Civil war as urban renewal: the creaky old fortified mansion which had formerly occupied the space had been so damaged in the Pretender's War that the previous Count and his son, when they'd returned to the city with Aral Vorkosigan's victorious forces, had decided to knock it flat and start over. In place of dank, forbidding, and defensively useless old stone walls, truly effective protection was now supplied by optional force-fields. The new mansion was light and open and airy, and took full advantage of the excellent views of the Vorbarr Sultana cityscape up and down stream. It doubtless had enough bathrooms for all the Vorbretten Armsmen. And Miles bet Ren? didn't have troubles with his drains.

And if Sigur Vorbretten wins his case, Ren? will lose it all. Miles shook his head, and advanced to the arched doorway, where an alert Vorbretten Armsman stood ready to lead Miles to his liege-lord's presence, and Pym, no doubt, to a good gossip downstairs.

The Armsman brought Miles to the splendid sitting room with the window-wall looking across the Star Bridge toward the castle. This morning, however, the wall was polarized to near-darkness, and the Armsman had to wave on lights as they entered. Ren? was sitting in a big chair with his back to the view. He sprang to his feet as the Armsman announced, 'Lord Auditor Vorkosigan, m'lord.'

Ren? swallowed, and nodded dismissal to his Armsman, who withdrew silently. At least Ren? appeared sober, well-dressed, and depilated, but his handsome face was dead pale as he nodded formally to his visitor. 'My Lord Auditor. How may I serve you?'

'Relax, Ren?, this isn't an official visit. I just dropped by to say hello.'

'Oh.' Ren? exhaled visible relief, the sudden stiffness in his face reverting to mere tiredness. 'I thought you were . . . I thought Gregor might have dispatched you with the bad news.'

'No, no, no. After all, the Council can't very well vote without telling you.' Miles nodded vaguely toward the river, and the Council's seat beyond it; Ren?, recalled to his hostly duties, depolarized the window and pulled chairs around for himself and Miles to take in the view while they talked. Miles settled himself across from the young Count. Ren? had thought quickly enough to drag up a rather low chair for his august visitor, so Miles's feet didn't dangle in air.

'But you might have been—well, I don't know what you might have been,' said Ren? ruefully, sitting down and rubbing his neck. 'I wasn't expecting you. Or anyone. Our social life has evaporated with amazing speed. Count and Countess Ghembretten are apparently not good people to know.'

'Ouch. You've heard that one, have you?'

'My Armsmen heard it first. The joke's all over town, isn't it?'