Brothers in Arms

where have you seen him?'

'Here in London,' she answered, started to say more, and then stopped. 'But you say Barrayar is trying to kill him?' She drew away from him slightly. 'I think perhaps I'd better let you trace him yourselves.''

'Oh, not anymore.' Miles laughed shortly. 'Now we just keep track of him. He'd dropped out of sight recently, you see, which makes my own security extremely nervous. Clearly, he must have been originally created for some sort of substitution plot aimed ultimately against my father. But seven years ago he went renegade, broke away from his captors-creators, and started working for himself. We—Barrayar—know too much about him now, and he and I have diverged too much, for him to attempt to replace me at this late date.'

She eyed him. 'He could. He really could.'

'Almost.' Miles smiled grimly. 'But if you could ever get us in the same room, you'd see I was almost two centimeters taller than he is. Late growth, on my part. Hormone treatments …' His invention must give out soon— he babbled on. …

'The Cetagandans, however, are still trying to kill him. So for, that's the best proof we have that he's' actually their creation. Clearly, he must know too much about something. We'd dearly love to know what.' He favored her with an inviting canine smile, horribly false. She drew back slightly more.

Miles let his fists close angrily. 'The most offensive thing about the man is his nerve. He might at least have picked another name for himself, but he flaunts mine. Perhaps he became used to it when he was training to be me, as he must have done once. He speaks with a Betan accent, and takes my mother's Betan maiden name for his surname, Betan-style, and do you know why?'

Yeah, why, why . . . ?

She shook her head mutely, staring at him in repelled fascination.

'Because by Betan law regarding clones, he would actually be my legal brother, that's why! He attempts to gain a false legitimacy for himself. I'm not sure why. It may be a key to his weakness. He must have a weakness, somewhere, some chink in his armor—' besides hereditary insanity, of course—He broke off, panting slightly. Let her think it was from suppressed rage, and not suppressed terror.

The ambassador, thank God, was motioning at him from across the room, his party assembled to depart. 'Pardon me, ma'am,' Miles rose. 'I must leave you. But, ah … if you encounter the false Naismith again, I should consider it a great service if you would get in touch with me at the Barrayaran embassy.'

Pour quoi? her lips moved slightly. Rather warily, she rose too. Miles bowed over her hand, executed a neat about-face, and fled.

He had to restrain himself from skipping down the steps to the Palais de London in the ambassador's wake. Genius. He was a frigging genius. Why hadn't he thought of this cover story years ago? Imperial Security Chief Illyan was going to love it. Even Galeni might be slightly cheered.

Chapter Five

Miles camped in the corridor outside Captain Galeni's office the day the courier returned for the second time from Sector HQ. Exercising great restraint, Miles did not trample the man in the doorway as he exited, but he let him clear the frame before plunging within.

Miles came to parade rest before Galeni's desk. 'Sir?'

'Yes, yes, Lieutenant, I know,' said Galeni irritably, waving him to wait. Silence fell while screen after screen of data scrolled above Galeni's vid plate. At the end Galeni sat back, creases deepening between his eyes.

'Sir?' Miles reiterated urgently.

Galeni, still frowning, rose and motioned Miles to his station. 'See for yourself.'

Miles ran it through twice. 'Sir—there's nothing here.' »

'So I noticed.'

Miles spun to face him. 'No credit chit—no orders—no explanation—no nothing. No reference to my affairs at all. We've waited here twenty bleeding days for nothing. We could have walked to Tau Ceti and back in that time. This is insane. This is impossible.'

Galeni leaned thoughtfully on his desk on one splayed hand, staring at the silent vid plate. 'Impossible? No. I've seen orders lost before. Bureaucratic screw-ups. Important data mis-addressed. Urgent requests filled away while waiting for someone to return from leave. That sort of thing happens.'

'It doesn't happen to me,' hissed Miles through his teeth.

One of Galeni's eyebrows rose. 'You are an arrogant little vorling.' He straightened. 'But I suspect you speak the truth. That sort of thing wouldn't happen to you. Anybody else, yes. Not you. Of course,' he almost smiled, 'there's a first time for everything.'

'This is the second time,' Miles pointed out. He glowered suspiciously at Galeni, wild accusations boiling behind his lips. Was this some bourgeois Komarran's idea of a practical joke? If the orders and credit chit weren't there, they had to have been intercepted. Unless the queries hadn't been sent at all. He had only Galeni's word that they had. But it was inconceivable that Galeni would risk his career merely to inconvenience an irritating subordinate. Not that a Barrayaran captain's pay was much loss, as Miles well knew.

Not like eighteen million marks.

Miles's eyes widened, and his teeth closed behind set lips. A poor man, a man whose family had lost all its great wealth in, say, the Conquest of Komarr, could conceivably find eighteen million marks tempting indeed. Worth risking—much for. It wasn't the way he would have read Galeni, but what, after all, did Miles really know about the man? Galeni hadn't spoken one word about his personal history in twenty days' acquaintance.

'What are you going to do now, sir?' Miles jerked out stiffly.

Galeni spread his hands. 'Send again.'

'Send again. That's all?'

'I can't pull your eighteen million marks out of my pocket, Lieutenant.'

Oh, no? We'll just see about that. . . . He had to get out of here, out of the embassy and back to the Dendarii. The Dendarii, where he had left his own fully professional information-gathering experts gathering dust, while he'd wasted twenty days in immobilized paralysis. … If Galeni had indeed diddled him to that extent, Miles swore silently, there wasn't going to be a hole deep enough for him to hide in with his eighteen million stolen marks.

Galeni straightened and cocked his head, eyes narrowed and absent. 'It's a mystery to me.' He added lowly, almost to himself, '… and I don't like mysteries.'

Nervy . . . cool. . . Miles was struck with admiration for an acting ability almost equal to his own. Yet if Galeni had embezzled his money, why was he not long gone? What was he waiting around for? Some signal Miles didn't know about? But he would find out, oh, yes he would. 'Ten more days,' said Miles.

Again.

'Sorry, Lieutenant,' said Galeni, still abstracted.

You will be. . . . 'Sir, I must have a day with the Dendarii. Admiral Naismith's duties are piling up. For one thing, thanks to this delay we're now absolutely forced to raise a temporary loan from commercial sources to stay current with our expenses. I have to arrange it.'

'I regard your personal security with the Dendarii as totally insufficient, Vorkosigan.'

'So add some from the embassy if you feel you have to. The clone story surely took some of the pressure off.'

'The clone story was idiotic,' snapped Galeni, coming out of himself.

'It was brilliant,' said Miles, offended at this criticism of his creation. 'It completely compartmentalizes Naismith and Vorkosigan at last. It disposes of the most dangerous ongoing weakness of the whole scam, my . . . unique and memorable appearance. Undercover operatives shouldn't be memorable.'

'What makes you think that vid reporter will ever share her discoveries with the Cetagandans