Memory

'And you?'

'Well, there will be dancing.' She brightened. 'And maybe interesting men.'

'Ivan's not an interesting man?'

'I said men, not boys.'

'He's almost thirty. You're what, twenty-four?'

'It's not the years, it's the attitude. Boys just want to get laid. Men want to get married, and get on with their lives.'

'I'm pretty sure men want to get laid too,' Miles said rather apologetically.

'Well, yes, but it's not such an all-encompassing desire. They have some brain cells left over for other functions.'

'You can't tell me women don't reciprocate.'

'Maybe we're more selective.'

'Your argument is not supported by the statistics. Almost everybody seems to get married. They can't be that selective.'

She looked thoughtful, apparently struck by this. 'Only in our culture. Kareen says on Beta Colony they do it differently.'

'They do everything differently on Beta Colony.'

'So maybe it is just contagious.'

So how come I seem immune? 'I'm surprised none of you girls have been snapped up yet.'

'It's because there's four of us, I think,' Delia confided. 'Fellows get close to the herd, and then get all confused as to who's their target.'

'I can see that,' Miles allowed. En masse, the Koudelka blondes were a most unnerving phenomenon. 'Looking to ditch your sisters, are you?'

'Any time,' Delia sighed.

The Vorvolks strolled by, and stopped to chat; Miles and Delia ended up drifting back to Madame Koudelka in their wake, and the party broke up. Miles returned to Vorkosigan House, to scrounge around diligently for any task other than the homework the departing Lady Alys had dropped on him.

Miles was ensconced in the Yellow Parlor after dinner in a close review of Tsipis s monthly financial report, making notes and still ignoring the pile of leather-bound, dusty volumes in the corner, when Martin barged in.

'Somebody came to the door,' Martin announced in a tone of mild amazement. As an apprentice butler, a chore he had picked up by default in addition to his duties as driver and occasional dishwasher, Martin had received instructions on the appropriate methods for ushering visitors inside, and guiding them through the labyrinth of the house to its living inhabitant. It was perhaps time for a short review of the principles involved.

Miles set down his reader-unit. 'So . . . did you let him, her, or it in? Not a salesperson, I trust; the gate guard's usually good about keeping them out. …'

Duv Galeni stepped in behind Martin. Miles swallowed his patter. Galeni was in uniform, still the undress greens of his day's office duties. He did not appear to be armed. In fact, he mostly looked just tired. And a little disturbed, but without that subtle manic edge that Miles had learned to red-flag. 'Oh,' Miles managed. 'Come in. Have a seat.'

Galeni's hand opened dryly, acknowledging the invitation despite the fact that he was in already. He settled stiffly into a straight chair.

'Would you . . . care for a drink?'

'No, thank you.'

'Ah, that will be all, then, Martin. Thank you.' After a beat, Martin took the hint, and decamped.

Miles had no idea where this was going, so merely raised his brows.

Galeni cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'I believe I owe you an apology. I was out of line.'

Miles relaxed. Perhaps it was going to be all right. 'Yes, and yes. But it was understandable. Which is enough said.'

Galeni nodded shortly, back to his normal cool mode.

'Um … I hope I was your only confidant, that night.'

'Yes. But that is only the preamble to what I came for. Something rather more difficult has come up.'

Now what? Please, no more complicated love-lives . . . 'Oh? What sort of something?'

'It's a professional dilemma, not a personal one this time.'

I'm out of ImpSec, Miles carefully did not point out. He waited, curiosity aroused.

Galeni frowned more deeply. 'Tell me . . . have you ever caught Simon Illyan in a mistake?'

'Well, he fired me' said Miles wryly.

Galeni's hand twitched, rejecting the joke. 'No. I mean an error.'

Miles hesitated. 'He's not superhuman. I've seen him get led astray, down some incorrect line of reasoning, though not too often. He's pretty good about constantly rechecking his theories against new data.'

'Not complex mistakes. Simple ones.'

'Not really.' Miles paused. 'Have you?'

'Never before this. I haven't worked intimately with him, you understand. There's a weekly briefing with my department, and the occasional special request for information. But there have been four . . . odd incidents in the last three days.'

'Incidents, eh? What sort?'

'The first one … he asked me for a digest I was preparing. I finished it and sent it upstairs, then two hours later he called down and requested it again. There was a moment of confusion, then his secretary confirmed from the office log I had delivered it, and said he'd already handed it in to him. Illyan then found the code card on his desk, and apologized. And I didn't think anything more about it.'

'He was . . . impatient,' Miles suggested.

Galeni shrugged. 'The second thing was so small, just a memo from his office with the wrong date. I called his secretary and had it corrected. No problem.'

'Mm.'

Galeni took a breath. 'The third thing was a memo with the wrong date, addressed to my predecessor, who hasn't been there for five months, and asking for the latest report on a certain joint Komarran-Barrayaran trade fleet that had gone on a long circuit out past Tau Ceti. And which had returned to home orbit six months ago. When I called up to find out just what kind of information he wanted, he denied asking for any such thing. I shot the memo back to him, and he got real quiet, and cut the com. That was this morning.'

'That's three.'

'Then there was the weekly briefing this afternoon with my department, the five of us Komarran affairs analysts and General Allegre. You know Illyan's normal delivery style. Long pauses, but very incisive when he does speak. There were . . . more pauses. And what came out in between seemed to jump around, sometimes bewilderingly. He dismissed us early, before we were half done.'

'Um . . . what was today's topic?'

Galeni's mouth shut.

'Yes, I understand, you really can't tell me, but if it was Gregor's upcoming matrimonial project—maybe he was editing out things for your benefit, on the fly or something.'

'If he didn't trust me, he shouldn't have had me there at all,' snapped Galeni. He added reluctantly, 'It's a good theory. But it doesn't quite … I wish you had been there.'

Miles set his teeth against the obvious quips. 'What are you suggesting?'

'I don't know. ImpSec spent quite a lot of money and time training me as an analyst. I look for changes in patterns. This is one. But I'm the new face in town, and a Komarran to boot. You've known Illyan all your life. Have you seen this before?'