Komarr

Cetaganda. They have several, you see.'

A silence fell, and stretched. He shifted uneasily in his chair, and his smile flicked on and off.

She rested her chin in her hand, and regarded him; her brows quirked in quizzical delight. 'Lord Vorkosigan. Can I take a number and get in line?'

Whatever it was he'd been expecting her to say, it wasn't that; he was so taken aback he nearly fell off his chair. Wait, she hadn't meant it to come out sounding quite like– His smile stuck in the on position, but decidedly sideways.

'The next number up,' he breathed, 'is 'one.''

It was her turn to be taken aback; her eyes fell, scorched by the blaze in his. He had lured her into levity. His fault, for being so … luring. She stared wildly around the room, groping for some suitably neutral remark with which to retrieve her reserve. It was a space station: there was no weather. My, the vacuum is hard out today. . . . Not that, either. She gazed beseechingly at Aunt Vorthys. Vorkosigan observed her involuntary recoil, and his smile acquired a sort of stuffed apologetic quality; he too looked cautiously to the Professora.

The Professora rubbed one finger thoughtfully over her chin. 'And are you traveling back to Barrayar on a commercial liner, Lord Vorkosigan?' she asked him affably. The mutually alarmed parties blinked at her in suffused gratitude.

'No,' said Vorkosigan. 'Fast courier. In fact, it's waiting for me right now.' He cleared his throat, jumped to his feet, and made a show of checking his chrono. 'Yes, right now. Professora, Madame Vorsoisson, I trust I shall see you both back in Vorbarr Sultana?'

'Yes, certainly,' said Ekaterin, barely avoiding breathlessness.

'I will look forward to it with great fascination,' said the Professora piously.

His smile went crooked in trenchant appreciation of her tone; he backed out with a flourishing, self- conscious bow, a courtly effect slightly spoiled by his caroming off the door-jamb. His quick steps faded down the corridor.

'A nice young man,' observed Aunt Vorthys, into a room seeming suddenly much emptier. 'A pity he's so short.'

'He's not so short,' said Ekaterin defensively. 'He's just . . . concentrated.'

Her aunt's smile grew maddeningly bland. 'I could see that, dear.'

Ekaterin lifted her chin in what remained of her dignity. 'I see you are feeling very much better. Shall we go ask about that hydroponics tour?'