Brothers in Arms

'Uh . . . right, sir. Naismith isn't real.' Miles inhaled. 'But his duties are. We must set up some more rational arrangement for me to be able to carry them out.'

Galeni did not seem to realize that when Miles had, however inadvertantly, entered his chain of command, it had expanded not by one but by five thousand. Yet if he did awake to the fact, might he start messing with the Dendarii? Miles's teeth closed on the impulse to point out this possibility in any way. A hot flash of—jealousy?—shot through him. Let Galeni continue, please God, to think of the Dendarii as Miles's personal affair. . . .

'Hm.' Galeni rubbed his forehead. 'Yes, well—in the meantime, when Admiral Naismith's duties call, you come to me first, Lieutenant Vorkosigan.' He sighed. 'Consider yourself on probation. I would order you confined to quarters, but the ambassador has specifically requested your presence for escort duties this afternoon. But be aware that I could have made serious charges. Disobeying a direct order, for instance.'

'I'm . . . keenly aware of that, sir. Uh . . . and Ivan?'

'We'll see about Ivan.' Galeni shook his head, apparently contemplating Ivan. Miles couldn't blame him.

'Yes, sir,' said Miles, deciding he'd pushed as hard as he dared, for now.

'Dismissed.'

Great, thought Miles sardonically, exiting Galeni's office. First he thought I was insubordinate. Now he just thinks I'm crazy. Whoever I am.

The afternoon's political-social event was a reception and dinner in honor of a visit to Earth of the Baba of Lairouba. The Baba, hereditary head-of-state of his planet, was combining political and religious duties. After completing his pilgrimage to Mecca he had come to London for participation in the right-of-passage talks for the Western Orion Arm group of planets. Tau Ceti was the hub of this nexus, and Komarr connected to it through two routes, hence Barrayar's interest.

Miles's duties were the usual. In this case he found himself partnering one of the Baba's four wives. He wasn't sure whether to classify her as a dread dowager or not—her bright brown eyes and smooth chocolate hands were pretty enough, but the rest of her was swathed in yards of creamy silk edged with gold embroidery that suggested a zaftig pulchritude, like a very enticing mattress.

Her wit he could not gauge, as she spoke neither English, French, Russian nor Greek, in their Barrayaran dialects or any other, and he spoke neither Lairouban nor Arabic. The box of keyed translator earbugs had unfortunately been mis-delivered to an unknown address on the other side of London, leaving half the diplomats present able only to stare at their counterparts and smile. Miles and the lady communicated basic needs by mime —salt, ma'am?—with good will through dinner, and he made her laugh twice. He wished he knew why.

Even more unfortunately, before the after-dinner speeches could be cancelled a box of replacement ear- bugs was delivered by a panting caterer's assist ant. There followed several speeches in a variety of tongues for the benefit of the press corps. Things broke up, the zaftig lady was swept off Miles's hands by two of her co-wives, and he began to make his way across the room back to the Barrayaran ambassador's party. Hounding a soaring alabaster pillar holding up the arched ceiling, he came face to face with the lady journalist from Euronews Network.

'Man Dieu, it's the little admiral,' she said cheerfully. 'What are you doing here?'

Ignoring the anguished scream inside his skull, Miles schooled his features to an—exquisitely—polite blankness. 'I beg your pardon, ma'am?'

'Admiral Naismith Or …' She took in his uniform, her eyes lighting with interest. 'Is this some mercenary covert operation, Admiral?'

A beat passed. Miles allowed his eyes to widen, his hand to stray to his weaponless trouser seam and twitch there. 'My God,' he choked in a voice of horror—not hard, that—'Do you mean to tell me Admiral Naismith has been seen on Earth?'

Her chin lifted, and her lips parted in a little half-smile of disbelief. 'In your mirror, surely.'

Were his eyebrows visibly singed? His right hand was still bandaged. Not a burn, ma'am, Miles thought wildly. I cut it shaving. . . .

Miles came to full attention, snapping his polished boot heels together, and favored her with a small, formal bow. In a proud, hard, and thickly Barrayaran-accented voice, he said, 'You are mistaken, ma'am. I am Lord Miles Vorkosigan of Barrayar. Lieutenant in the Imperial Service. Not that I don't aspire to the rank you name, but it's a trifle premature.'

She smiled sweetly. 'Are you entirely recovered from your burns, sir?'

Miles's eyebrows rose—no, he shouldn't have drawn attention to them—'Naismith's been burned? You have seen him? When? Can we speak of this? The man you name is of the greatest interest to Barrayaran Imperial Security.'

She looked him up and down. 'So I would imagine, since you are one and the same.'

'Come, come over here,' and how was he going to get out of this one? He took her by the elbow and steered her toward a private corner. 'Of course we are the same. Admiral Naismith of the Dendarii Mercenaries is my—' illegitimate twin brother? No, that didn't scan. Light didn't just dawn, it came like a nuclear flash at ground zero. '—clone,' Miles finished smoothly.

'What?' Her certainty cracked; her attention riveted upon him.

'My clone,' Miles repeated in a firmer voice. 'He's an extraordinary creation. We think, though we've never been able to confirm it, that he was the result of an intended Cetagandan covert operation that went greatly awry. The Cetagandans are certainly capable of the medical end of it, anyway. The real facts of their military genetic experiments would horrify you.' Miles paused. That last was true enough. 'Who are you, by the way?'

'Lise Vallerie,' she flashed her press cube at him, 'Euronews Network.'

The very fact she was willing to reintroduce herself confirmed he'd chosen the right tack. 'Ah,' he drew back from her slightly, 'the news services. I didn't realize. Excuse me, ma'am. I should not be talking to you without permission from my superiors.' He made to turn away.

'No, wait—ah—Lord Vorkosigan. Oh—you're not related to that Vorkosigan, are you?'

He jerked up his chin and tried to look stern. 'My father.'

'Oh,' she breathed in a tone of enlightenment, 'that explains it.'

Thought it might, Miles thought smugly. He made a few more little escaping- motions. She clamped to him like a limpet. 'No, please … if you don't tell me, I shall surely investigate it on my own.'

'Well …' Miles paused. 'It's all rather old data, from our point of view. I can tell you a few things, I suppose, since it impinges upon me so personally. But it is not for public dissemination. You must give me your word of that, first.'

'A Barrayaran Vor lord's word is his bond, is it not?' she said. 'I never reveal my sources.'

'Very well,' nodded Miles, pretending he was under the impression she'd promised, though her words in fact had said nothing of the sort. He nabbed a pair of chairs, and they settled themselves out of the way of the roboservers clearing the banquet debris. Miles cleared his throat, and launched himself.

'The biological construct who calls himself Admiral Naismith is … perhaps the most dangerous man in the galaxy. Cunning—resolute—both Cetagandan and Barrayaran Security have attempted, in the past, to assassinate him, without success. He's started to build himself a power-base, with his Dendarii Mercenaries. We still don't know what his long-range plans for this private army are, except that he must have some.'

Vallerie's finger went to her lips doubtfully. 'He seemed—pleasant enough, when I spoke with him. Allowing for the circumstance. A brave man, certainly.'

'Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the man,' cried Miles, then decided he'd better tone it down a bit. 'Charisma. Surely the Cetagandans, if it was the Cetagandans, must have intended something extraordinary for him. He's a military genius, you know.'

'Wait a moment,' she said. 'He is a true clone, you say—not just an exterior copy? Then he must be even younger than yourself.'

'Yes. His growth, his education, were artificially accelerated, apparently to the limits of the process. But