Brothers in Arms

Without the, ah, problems of the present one. You have trillions of cells …'

'I don't want a clone,' said Miles, I want a brother. 'But I seem to have been . . . issued this one.'

'I thought Ser Galen bought and paid for him,' complained Elli. 'The only thing that Komarran meant to issue you was death. By Jackson's Whole law, the planet of his origin, the clone clearly belongs to Galen.'

Jockey of Norfolk, be not bold, the old quote whispered through Miles's memory, for Dickon thy master is bought and sold. . . . 'Even on Barrayar,' he said mildly, 'no human being can own another. Galen descended far, in pursuit of his … principle of liberty.'

'In any case,' said Ivan, 'you're out of the picture now. High command has taken over. I heard your marching orders.'

'Did you also hear Destang say he meant to kill my—the clone, if he can?'

'Yeah, so?' Ivan was looking mulish indeed, an almost panicked stubbornness. 'I didn't like him anyway. Surly little sneak.'

'Destang has mastered the art of the final report too,' said Miles. 'Even if I went AWOL right now, it would be physically impossible for me to get back to Barrayar, beg the clone's life from my father, have him lean on Simon Illyan for a countermand, and get the order back here to Earth before the deed was done.'

Ivan looked shocked. 'Miles—I always figured to be embarrassed to ask Uncle Aral for a career favor, but I thought you'd let yourself be peeled and boiled before you'd cry to your Dad for anything! And you want to start by hopscotching a commodore? No C.O. in the service would want you after that!'

'I would rather die,' agreed Miles tonelessly, 'but I can't ask another to die for me. But it's irrelevant. It couldn't succeed.'

'Thank God.' Ivan stared at him, thoroughly unsettled.

If I cannot convince two of my best friends I'm right, thought Miles, maybe I'm wrong.

Or maybe I have to do this one alone.

'I just want to keep a line open, Ivan,' he said. 'I'm not asking you to do anything—'

'Yet,' came Ivan's glum interpolation.

'I'd give the comm link to Captain Galeni, but he will certainly be closely watched. They'd just take it away from him, and it would look . . . ambiguous.'

'So on me it looks good?' asked Ivan plaintively.

'Do it.' Miles finished fastening his jacket, stood, and held out his hand to Ivan for the return of the comm link. 'Or don't.'

'Argh.' Ivan broke off his gaze, and shoved the comm link disconsolately into his trouser pocket. 'I'll think about it.'

Miles tilted his head in thanks.

They caught a Dendarii shuttle just about to lift from the London shuttleport, returning personnel from leave. Actually, Elli called ahead and had it held for them; Miles rather relished the sensation of not having to rush for it, and might have outright sauntered if the pressures of Admiral Naismith's duties, now boiling up in his head, hadn't automatically quickened his steps.

Their delay was another's gain. A last duffle-swinging Dendarii sprinted across the tarmac as the engines revved, and just made it up the retracting ramp. The alert guard at the door put up his weapon as he recognized the sprinter, and gave him a hand in as the shuttle began to roll.

Miles, Elli Quinn, and Elena Bothari-Jesek held seats in the rear. The running soldier, pausing to catch his breath, spotted Miles, grinned, and saluted. Miles returned both. 'Ah, Sergeant Siembieda.' Ryann Siembieda was a conscientious tech sergeant from Engineering, in charge of maintenance and repair of battle armor and other light equipment. 'You're thawed out.'

'Yes, sir.'

'They told me your prognosis was good.'

'They threw me out of the hospital two weeks ago. I've been on leave. You too, sir?' Siembieda nodded toward the silver shopping bag at Miles's feet containing the live fur.

Miles shoved it unobtrusively under his seat with his boot heel. 'Yes and no. Actually, while you were playing, I was working. As a result, we will all be working again soon. It's good you got your leave while you could.'

'Earth was great,' sighed Siembieda. 'It was quite a surprise to wake up here. Did you see the Unicorn Park? It's right here on this island. I was there yesterday.'

'I didn't see much, I'm afraid,' said Miles regretfully.

Siembieda dug a holocube out of his pocket and handed it over.

The Unicorn and Wild Animal Park (a division of GalacTech Bioengineering) occupied the grounds of the great and historical estate of Wooton, Surrey, the guide cube informed him. In the vid display, a shining white beast that looked like a cross between a horse and a deer, and probably was, bounded across the greensward into the topiary.

'They let you feed the tame lions,' Siembieda informed him.

Miles blinked at an unbidden mental image of Ivan in a toga being tossed out the back of a float truck to a herd of hungry, tawny cats galloping excitedly along behind. He'd been reading too much Earth history. 'What do they eat?'

'Protein cubes, same as us.'

'Ah,' said Miles, trying not to sound disappointed. He handed the cube back.

The sergeant hovered on, however. 'Sir …' he began hesitantly.

'Yes?' Miles let his tone be encouraging.

'I've reviewed my procedures—been tested and cleared for light duties—but… I haven't been able to remember anything at all about the day I was killed. And the medics wouldn't tell me. It … bothers me a bit, sir.'

Siembieda's hazel eyes were strange and wary; it bothered him a lot, Miles judged. 'I see. Well, the medics couldn't tell you much anyway; they weren't there.'

'But you were, sir,' said Siembieda suggestively.

Of course, thought Miles. And if I hadn't been, you wouldn't have died the death intended for me. 'Do you remember our arriving at Mahata Solaris?'

'Yes, sir. Some things, right up to the night before. But that whole day is gone, not just the fight.'

'Ah. Well, there's no mystery. Commodore Jesek, myself, you, and your tech team paid a visit to a warehouse for a quality-control check of our re-supplies—there'd been a problem with the first shipment—'

'I remember that,' nodded Siembieda. 'Cracked power cells leaking radiation.'

'Right, very good. You spotted the defect, by the way, unloading them into inventory. There are those who might simply have stored them.'

'Not on my team,' muttered Siembieda.

'We were jumped by a Cetagandan hit squad at the warehouse. We never did find out if there was any collusion, though we suspected some in high places when our orbital permits were revoked and we were invited to leave Mahata Solaris local space by the authorities. Or maybe they just didn't like the excitement we'd brought with us. Anyway, a gravitic grenade went off and blew out the end of the warehouse. You were hit in the neck by a freak fragment of something metal, ricocheting from the explosion. You bled to death in seconds.' Quite incredible quantities of blood from such a lean young man, once it was spread out and smeared around in the fight—the smell of it, and the burning, came back to Miles as he spoke, but he kept his voice calm and steady. 'We had you back to the Triumph and iced down in an hour. The surgeon was very optimistic, as you didn't have gross tissue damage.' Not like one of the techs, who'd been blown most grossly to bits in that same moment.