Brothers in Arms

'On a planet of nine billion,' said Ivan, 'there's got to be at least six of everything. Calm down!' He paused. 'Y'now, that's the first time I've ever heard you use that word.'

'What word?'

'Hunchback. You're not really, you know.' Ivan eyed him with friendly worry.

Miles's fist closed, opened in a sharp throw-away gesture. 'Anyway, Cetagandans. If they have a counterpart doing what you're doing—'

Ivan nodded. 'I've met him. His name's ghem-lieutenant Tabor.'

'Then they know the Dendarii are here, and know Admiral Naismith's been seen. They probably have a list of every purchase order we've put through the comm net, or will soon enough, when they turn their attention to it. They're tracking.'

'They may be tracking, but they can't get orders from higher up any faster than we can,' said Ivan reasonably. 'And in any case they've got a manpower shortage. Our security staffs four times the size of theirs, on account of the Komarrans. I mean, this may be Earth, but it's still a minor embassy, even more so for them than us. Never fear,' he struck a pose in his station chair, hand across his chest, 'Cousin Ivan will protect you.'

'That's so reassuring,' Miles muttered.

Ivan grinned at his sarcasm, and turned back to his work.

The day wore on interminably in the quiet, changeless room. His claustrophobia, Miles discovered, was developed to a much higher pitch than it used to be. He absorbed lessons from Ivan, and paced from wall to wall between times.

'You could do that about twice as fast, you know,' Miles observed to Ivan, plugging away at his data analysis.

'But then I'd be done right after lunch,' said Ivan, 'and then I wouldn't have anything to do at all.'

'Surely Galeni could find something.'

'That's what I'm afraid of,' said Ivan. 'Quitting time rolls around soon enough. Then we go party.'

'No, then you go party. I go to my room, as ordered. Maybe I'll catch up on my sleep, finally.'

'That's it, think positive,' said Ivan. 'I'll work out with you in the embassy gym, if you want. You don't look so good, you know. Pale and, um . . . pale.'

Old, thought Miles, is the word you just edited.

He glanced at the distorted reflection of his face in a bit of chrome plating on the console. That bad, eh?

'Exercise,' Ivan thumped his chest, 'will be good for you.'

'No doubt,' muttered Miles.

The days fell quickly into a set pattern. Miles was awakened by Ivan in the room they shared, did a stint in the gym, showered, breakfasted, and went to work in the data room. He began to wonder if he would ever be permitted to see Earth's beautiful sunlight again. After three days Miles took the computer-stuffing job away from Ivan and started finishing it by noon, so that he might at least have the later hours for reading and study. He devoured embassy and security procedures, Earth history, galactic news. In the later afternoon they knocked off for another grueling workout in the gym. On the nights Ivan stayed in, Miles watched vid dramas with him; on the nights he went out, travelogues of all the sites of interest he wasn't allowed to go visit.

Elli reported in daily on the secured comm link on the status of the Dendarii fleet, still holding in orbit. Miles, closeting himself with the comm link, found himself increasingly hungry for that outside voice. Her reports were succinct. But afterwards they drifted off into inconsequential small talk, as Miles found it harder and harder to cut her off, and she never hung up on him. Miles fantasized about courting her in his own persona—would a commander accept a date from a mere lieutenant? Would she even like Lord Vorkosigan? Would Galeni ever let him leave the embassy to find out?

Ten days of clean living, exercise, and regular hours had been bad for him, Miles decided. His energy level was up. Up, and bottled in the immobilized persona of Lord Vorkosigan, while the list of chores facing Admiral Naismith piled up and up and up …

'Will you stop fidgeting, Miles?' Ivan complained. 'Sit down. Take a deep breath. Hold still for five minutes. You can do it if you try.'

Miles made one more circuit of the computer room, then flung himself into a chair. 'Why hasn't Galeni called me yet? The courier from Sector HQ got in an hour ago!'

'So, give the man time to go to the bathroom and get a cup of coffee. Give Galeni time to read his reports. This is peacetime, everybody's got lots of leisure to sit around writing reports. They'd be hurt if nobody read 'em.'

'That's the trouble with your government-supported troops,' said Miles, 'you're spoiled. You get paid not to make war.'

'Wasn't there a mercenary fleet that did that once? They'd show up in orbit somewhere, and get paid—to not make war. Worked, didn't it? You're just not a creative enough mercenary commander, Miles.'

'Yeah, LaVarr's fleet. It worked real good till the Tau Cetan Navy caught up with 'em, and then LaVarr was sent to the disintegration chamber.'

'No sense of humor, the Tau Cetans.'

'None,' Miles agreed. 'Neither has my father.'

'Too true. Well—'

The comconsole blinked. Ivan had to duck out of the way as Miles pounced on it. 'Yes sir?' said Miles breathlessly.

'Come to my office, Lieutenant Vorkosigan,' said Galeni. His face was saturnine as ever, no cues there.

'Yes, sir, thank you sir.' Miles cut the com and plunged for the door. 'My eighteen million marks, at last!'

'Either that,' said Ivan genially, 'or he's found a job for you in inventory. Maybe you're going to get to count all the goldfish in the fountain in the main reception court.'

'Sure, Ivan.'

'Hey, it's a real challenge! They keep moving around, you know.'

'How do you know?' Miles paused, his eyes lighting. 'Ivan, did he actually make you do that?'

'It had to do with a suspected security breach,' said Ivan. 'It's a long story.'

'I'll bet.' Miles beat a brief tattoo on the desk, and vaulted around its corner. 'Later. I'm gone.'

Miles found Captain Galeni sitting staring dubiously at the display on his comconsole, as if it was still in code.

'Hm.' Galeni leaned back in his chair. 'Well, your orders have arrived from Sector HQ, Lieutenant Vorkosigan.'

'And?'

Galeni's mouth tightened. 'And they confirm your temporary assignment to my staff. Officially and publicly. You may now draw your lieutenant's pay from my department as of ten days ago. As for the rest of your orders, they read the same as Vorpatril's—in fact, they could be templated from Vorpatril's orders with the name changed. You are to assist me as required, hold yourself at the disposal of the ambassador and his lady for escort duties, and as time permits take advantage of educational opportunities unique to Earth and appropriate to your status as an Imperial officer and lord of the Vor.'

'What? This can't be right! What the devil are escort duties?' Sounds like a call- girl.

A slight smile turned one corner of Galeni's mouth. 'Mostly, standing around in parade dress at official Embassy social functions and being Vor for the natives. There are a surprising number of people who find aristocrats—even off-planet aristocrats—peculiarly fascinating.' Galeni's tone made it clear that he found this fascination peculiar indeed. 'You will eat, drink, dance perhaps …' his tone grew doubtful for a second, 'and generally be exquisitely polite to anyone the ambassador wants to, ah, impress. Sometimes, you will be asked to remember and report conversations. Vorpatril does it all very well, rather to my surprise. He can fill in the details for you.'