Memory

of his face.

One man stepped down the stairs slowly and carefully, leaning on the railing. Miles recognized him instantly, and quelled an impulse to try to duck behind the nearest topiaried bush. Lieutenant Vorberg. Vorberg had never seen Admiral Naismith, only a sawed-off suit of combat armor. It had apparently been Gregor's day to hand out various Imperial recognitions, for a new decoration gleamed on Vorberg's chest, the one for being wounded in the Emperor's Service. Miles had half a jar full of similar ones at home in a drawer; at some point Illyan had stopped issuing them to him anymore, perhaps fearing that Miles's threat to don them all at once sometime was not facetious. But it was clearly the first serious honor Vorberg had ever had occasion to collect, for he wore it with a bemused self-consciousness.

Miles couldn't help himself. 'Ah—Vorberg, is it?' he essayed, as the lieutenant passed him.

Vorberg blinked uncertainly at him, then his face cleared. 'Vorkosigan, yes? I've seen you around Galactic Affairs HQ on Komarr, I believe.' He nodded cordially, one ImpSec courier and fellow Vor to another.

'Where'd you collect the bad luck charm?' Miles nodded to Vorberg's chest. 'Or should I not ask?'

'It's not that classified. I was on a routine—fairly routine—run out past Zoave Twilight. Bunch of goddamn hijackers captured the ship I was on.'

'Not one of our courier ships! Surely I'd have heard about that. It would have been a major flap.'

'I wish it had been. ImpSec might have sent a proper force after me for that. It was just a commercial freighter of Zoavan registry. So anyway, ImpSec in its infinite wisdom, and doubtless under the advice of the same budget-pinching accountants who booked me on that damned ship in the first place, scraped up some low-bidder mere outfit to try and spring me. It was a real foul-up.' He lowered his voice confidentially. 'If you're ever out that way yourself, avoid the collection of clowns calling itself the Dendarii Free Mercenary Fleet. They're deadly.'

'Isn't that the idea?'

'Not to your own side it's not.'

'Oh.' Someone must have told Vorberg he'd been hit by friendly fire. The surgeon, probably: she was incurably honest. 'But I've heard of the Dendarii. I mean, obviously they have some renegade Barrayarans in their ranks, or they wouldn't have named themselves after my District's chief geographical feature. Unless they had some military history buff who was impressed by my grandfather's guerrilla campaigns.'

'Their exec officer was some expatriate Barrayaran, yes. I met him. Their commander's rumored to be Betan. Apparently he escaped Betan therapy.'

'I thought the Dendarii were supposed to be good.'

'Not notably.'

'You're here, aren't you?' said Miles, nettled. He controlled himself. 'So . . . are you going back on duty?'

'I get to ride a desk or something at HQ for a couple of weeks, after this.' Vorberg's vague nod indicated the ceremony just concluded. 'Make-work. I don't see why my legs can't finish healing while I travel, but evidently the docs think I ought to be able to run away at full speed if required.'

'That's the truth,' Miles admitted ruefully. 'If I had only moved a little faster myself …' He cut off his words.

For the first time, Vorberg seemed to become aware of Miles's subdued civilian garb. 'Are you on medical leave too?'

Miles's voice went curt. 'I'm on medical discharge.'

'Oh.' Vorberg had the grace to look embarrassed. 'But—I thought you had some kind of special dispensation from, um, above.' Vorberg might be a little vague on who Miles was, but he knew exactly who Miles's father was.

'I exceeded it. Courtesy of a needle grenade.'

'Ouch,' said Vorberg. 'That sounds even more unpleasant than plasma fire. I'm sorry to hear it. What do you plan to do, then?'

'I really don't know.'

'Will you go back to your District?'

'No … I have, um, social duties that will keep me in Vorbarr Sultana for a while.' The general announcement of Gregor's betrothal had not yet been made; there would doubtless be a leak sometime, but Miles was determined it wouldn't be from him. ImpSec HQ was going to be a very busy place, once these nuptial preparations went into full swing. If Miles were still working there, now would be a wonderful time to seek some extended and very distant galactic mission. But he couldn't very well warn Vorberg of that. 'Vorkosigan House is … home enough.'

'Perhaps I'll see you around. Good luck to you.'

'You too.' Miles gave him an analyst's salute, and passed on. Vorberg, of course, did not return the salute- like gesture to a civilian, but merely nodded politely.

Gregor's majordomo ushered Miles through to another garden party, minus the horse this time, and not so intimate. Gregor's close friend Count Henry Vorvolk and his Countess were present, and a couple of other of Gregor's cronies. The social agenda of the afternoon seemed to be to introduce the prospective bride to the next circle of Imperial acquaintances, outward from foster family such as Alys, Miles, and Ivan. Gregor arrived a little late, obviously having just changed from the parade uniform of this morning's award ceremony.

Drou Koudelka, Delia's mother, presided cheerfully in the absent Alys's place. Drou had formerly been Gregor's own bodyguard in his childhood, before she'd married Koudelka, and had also run security for Miles's mother. Miles could see that Gregor was anxious that Drou and Laisa hit it off well.

Gregor needn't have worried. Madame Koudelka, immensely experienced in the Vorbarr Sultana scene, got on well with everyone. As a close observer of the Vor while not one of them, she was very well placed to pass on private advice to Laisa, which seemed to be Gregor's idea.

Laisa did well too, as usual. She had the instincts of an ambassador, was observant, and never made the same mistake twice. Dropping her down in a Barrayaran city slum or the far backcountry and expecting her to survive might be optimistic, but it was clear she could handle Barrayar's galactic interface quite comfortably.

Despite the agenda, Gregor did manage to get his fiancee to himself for a while, when at his broad Imperial hint the group broke up for a postprandial stroll through the grounds. Miles ducked out with Delia Koudelka to sit on a bench overlooking the formal section of the gardens, and watch the minuet as the diligent strollers charitably tried to avoid Gregor and Laisa along the branching paths.

'How's your da?' Miles asked her, when they'd settled. 'I should go see him, I suppose.'

'Yes, he'd wondered why you seemed to be avoiding him this home leave. Then we heard about your medical discharge. He told me to tell you he was awfully sorry about that. Did you already know it was coming up that night we went to the State dinner? You never let on. But it couldn't have been a surprise to you.'

'I was still desperately hoping I might skin out of it somehow.' Not strictly true; he'd been in a state of complete denial, not thinking about it at all. Bad mistake, in retrospect.

'How's your Captain Galeni?'

'Despite everyone's assumption to the contrary, Duv Galeni is not my personal property.'

She pursed her lips impatiently. 'You know what I mean. How's he taking Laisa's engagement to Gregor? I was sure he was sweet on her, that night.'

'Not real well,' Miles admitted, 'but he'll get over it. He was just courting too slowly, I guess. She must have decided he wasn't that interested.'

'It would be a nice change from louts trying to crawl all over you,' Delia sighed.

Miles pictured himself with pitons, and lots and lots of rope, attempting Mount Delia. A very dangerous face, that one. 'And how are you getting on with Ivan these days? I didn't know if I ought to apologize for hijacking you from him, that night.'

'Oh, Ivan.'

Miles smiled faintly. 'Are you looking forward to this Imperial wedding?'

'Well, Mother's all excited, at least for Gregor's sake. She's planning all our clothes already, and wondering if my sister Kareen can get back from Beta Colony for it. I wonder if she thinks weddings are contagious. We keep getting these little hints that Ma and Da would like the house back for themselves someday. Or at least the bathrooms.'