A Civil Campaign

a most peculiar precedent, Lord Dono. With which I would then have to live.'

'Perhaps. I would point out that I am playing exactly by the old rules.'

'Well . . . perhaps not exactly ,' murmured Gregor.

By put in, 'May I suggest, Sire, that if in fact dozens of Counts' sisters were itching to stampede out to galactic medical facilities and return to Barrayar to attempt to step into their brothers' boots, it would have likely happened before now? As a precedent, I doubt it would be all that popular, once the novelty wore off.'

Dono shrugged. 'Prior to our conquest of Komarr, access to that sort of medicine was scarcely available. Someone had to be the first. It wouldn't even have been me if things had gone differently for poor Pierre.' He glanced across at Gregor, eye to eye. 'Though I will certainly not be the last. Quashing my case, or brushing it aside, won't settle anything. If nothing else, taking it through the full legal process will force the Counts to explicitly examine their assumptions, and rationalize a set of laws which have managed to ignore the changing times for far too long. You cannot expect to run a galactic empire with rules that haven't been revised or even reviewed since the Time of Isolation.' That awful cheerful leer ignited Lord Dono's face suddenly. 'In other words, it will be good for them.'

A very slight smile escaped Gregor in return, not entirely voluntarily, Ivan thought. Lord Dono was playing Gregor just right—frank, fearless, and up front. But then, Lady Donna had always been observant.

Gregor looked Lord Dono over, and pressed his hand to the bridge of his nose, briefly. After a moment he said ironically, 'And will you be wanting a wedding invitation too?'

Dono's brows flicked up. 'If I am Count Vorrutyer by then, my attendance will be both my right and my duty. If I'm not—well, then.' After a slight silence, he added wistfully, 'Though I always did like a good wedding. I had three. Two were disasters. It's so much nicer to watch, saying over and over to yourself, It's not me! It's not me! One can be happy all day afterward on that alone.'

Gregor said dryly, 'Perhaps your next one will be different.'

Dono's chin lifted. 'Almost certainly, Sire.'

Gregor sat back, and stared thoughtfully at the crew arrayed before him. He tapped his fingers on the sofa arm. Dono waited gallantly, By nervously, Szabo stolidly. Ivan spent the time wishing he were invisible, or that he'd never run across By in that damned bar, or that he'd never met Donna, or that he'd never been born. He waited for the ax, whatever it was going to be, to fall, and wondered which way he ought to dodge.

Instead what Gregor said at last was, 'So . . . what's it like?'

Dono's white grin flashed in his beard. 'From the inside? My energy's up. My libido's up. I would say it makes me feel ten years younger, except I didn't feel like this when I was thirty, either. My temper's shorter. Otherwise, only the world has changed.'

'Ah?'

'On Beta Colony, I scarcely noticed a thing. By the time I got to Komarr, well, the personal space people gave me had approximately doubled, and their response time to me had been cut in half. By the time I hit the Vorbarr Sultana Shuttleport, the change was phenomenal. Somehow, I don't think I got all that result just from my exercise program.'

'Huh. So . . . if your motion of impediment fails, will you change back?'

'Not any time soon. I must say, the view from the top of the food chain promises to be downright panoramic. I propose to have my blood and money's worth of it.'

Another silence fell. Ivan wasn't sure if everyone was digesting this declaration, or if their minds had all simply shorted out.

'All right . . .' said Gregor slowly at last.

The look of growing curiosity in his eyes made Ivan's skin crawl. He's going to say it, I just know he is . . .

'Let's see what happens.' Gregor sat back, and gave another little wave of his fingers, as if to speed them on their way. 'Carry on, Lord Dono.'

'Thank you, Sire,' said Dono sincerely.

No one waited around for Gregor to reiterate this dismissal. They all beat a prudent retreat to the corridor before the Emperor could change his mind. Ivan thought he could feel Gregor's eyes boring wonderingly into his back all the way out the door.

'Well,' By exhaled brightly, as the major-domo led them down the corridor once more. 'That went better than I'd expected.'

Dono gave him a sidelong look. 'What, was your faith failing, By? I think things went quite as well as I'd hoped for.'

By shrugged. 'Let's say, I was feeling a bit out of my usual depth.'

'That's why we asked Ivan for help. For which I thank you once more, Ivan.'

'It was nothing,' Ivan denied. 'I didn't do anything.' It's not my fault. He didn't know why Gregor had put him on his short list for this meeting; the Emperor hadn't even asked him anything. Though Gregor was as bad as Miles for plucking clues out of, as far as Ivan could tell, thin air. He couldn't imagine what Gregor had construed from all this. He didn't want to imagine what Gregor had construed from all this.

The syncopated clomp of all their boots echoed as they rounded the corner into the East Wing. A calculating look entered Lord Dono's eyes, which put Ivan briefly in mind of Lady Donna, in the least reassuring way. 'So what's your mama doing in the next few days, Ivan?'

'She's busy. Very busy. All this wedding stuff, you know. Long hours. I scarcely see her except at work, anymore. Where we are all very busy.'

'I have no wish to interrupt her work. I need something more . . . casual. When were you going to see her again not at work?'

'Tomorrow night, at my cousin Miles's dinner party for Kareen and Mark. He told me to bring a date. I said I'd be bringing you as my guest. He was delighted.' Ivan brooded on this lost scenario.

'Why, thank you, Ivan!' said Dono promptly. 'How thoughtful of you. I accept.'

'Wait, no, but that was before—before you—before I knew you—' Ivan sputtered, and gestured at Lord Dono in his new morphology. 'I don't think he'll be so delighted now. It will mess up his seating arrangements.'

'What, with all the Koudelka girls coming? I don't see how. Though I suppose some of them have taken young men in tow by now.'

'I don't know about that, except for Delia and Duv Galeni. And if Kareen and Mark aren't—never mind. But I think Miles is trying to slant the sex ratio, to be on the safe side. It's really a party to introduce everyone to his gardener.'

'I beg your pardon?' said Dono. They fetched up in the vestibule by the Residence's east doors. The major-domo waited patiently to see the visitors out, in that invisible and unpressing way he could project so well. Ivan was sure he was taking in every word to report to Gregor later.

'His gardener. Madame Vorsoisson. She's this Vor widow he's gone and lost his mind over. He hired her to put a garden in that lot next to Vorkosigan House. She's Lord Auditor Vorthys's niece, if you must know.'

'Ah. Quite eligible, then. But how unexpected. Miles Vorkosigan, in love at last? I'd always thought Miles would fancy a galactic. He always gave one the feeling most of the women