Memory

team, a tall lean man who hung back apart from the others, caught Miles's eye at once.

Dr. Vaughn Weddell, nee Dr. Hugh Canaba of Jackson's Whole, had paler skin now, darker hair, and light hazel eyes in place of the original dark brown color he'd sported when Miles had first met him. A higher arch to his cheekbones and nose lent him an even more distinguished look. His air of earnest intellectual superiority was still the same, though.

Weddel's eyes widened, seeing Miles. Miles smiled grimly. He hadn't thought the good doctor would have forgotten 'Admiral Naismith.' Miles stepped aside with him, and lowered his voice.

'Good morning, Dr. Weddell. And how are you enjoying your new identity these days?'

Weddell processed his surprise smoothly. 'Well, thank you. And, uh . . . how are you enjoying yours?'

'This is my old identity, actually.'

'Really?' Weddell's eyebrows rose, as he studied and decoded the meanings of Miles's Barrayaran House uniform and its decorations, and the flashy chain around his neck. 'Hm. Do I understand then that you are the Imperial Auditor I have to thank for this interruption of my work at the Science Institute?'

'Correct. We subjects of the Imperium do have our surprise duties sometimes, you must realize by now. The price of being Barrayaran. One of the prices.'

'At least,' sighed Weddell, 'your climate is an improvement.'

Over Jackson's Whole, indeed. And Weddell was not referring only to the weather. 'I'm very pleased things have worked out satisfactorily for you,' said Miles. 'If I had realized I was going to be seeing you, I'd have brought greetings from Sergeant Taura.'

'My word, is she still alive?'

'Oh, yes.' No thanks to you. 'Admiral Avakli has presumably briefed you on the very delicate problem we assigned to his team. I'm hoping, should it yield any interesting galactic connections, your somewhat eclectic background might help pick them out. Do you have any ideas yet?'

'Several.'

'Do they tend to natural causes, or sabotage?'

'I'll be looking for signs of sabotage. If I can't find an y, we may end up dubbing it natural causes by default. T he analysis will take several days, if it's done thor-ughly.'

'I want you to be thorough. Molecule by molecule, if necessary.'

'Oh, it will have to be.'

'And, um . . . remember that while you are inside ImpSec's labs, and certainly part of a team, you are not inside ImpSec's chain of command. You'll be reporting directly to me.'

Weddel's brows drew down, thoughtfully. 'That's … very interesting.'

'Carry on, then.'

Weddell tilted his chin in slightly ironic acknowledgment. 'Yes, my lord, ah … Vorkosigan, is it?'

'Or 'my Lord Auditor' would be correct, this week.'

'Rarefied.'

'I could scarcely go higher here without risking a nosebleed.'

'Is that a warning to me?'

'Orientation only. A courtesy.'

'Ah. Thank you.' Weddell nodded, and drifted back to watch the proceedings over Avakli's shoulder.

Weddell/Canaba was still an ass at heart, Miles reflected. But he did know his molecular biology.

After a conversation with Admiral Avakli, Miles called Gregor to report the success of the surgery. He then ^turned to see Illyan one more time. He found the ImpSec chief sitting up in bed, dressed again, with Lady Alys seated nearby. Illyan actually smiled slightly as he entered, the first un-harrowed expression Miles had seen on his features for days.

'Hello, sir. It's good to have you back.'

'Miles.' Illyan nodded, carefully, then touched his hand to his head as if to make sure it was going to stay on. 'How long have you been here? Come over here.'

'Only about four days, I guess. Or five.' Miles went to his other side.

Illyan too studied his House uniform and its assorted ornaments. He reached out to lightly tick the gold Auditor's chain across Miles's shoulders. It rang with a faint, pure note. 'Now that's . . . rather unexpected.'

'General Haroche didn't want to let me in. Gregor decided this would save argument.'

'How creative of Gregor.' Illyan vented a brief surprised laugh, which Miles was not quite sure how to interpret. 'I would never have thought of it. But waste not, want not.'

'If you seem to be able to watch out for yourself now, sir, I thought I'd take a break, and go home for a bit.'

'I'll stay for a while,' Alys volunteered, then added, 'You did a good job, Miles.'

Miles shrugged. 'Hell, I didn't do that much. Just got the tech boys into motion, I suppose.' With an effort, he converted a parting salute into a more civilian polite nod, and half-bowed himself out.

Back in his bedroom at Vorkosigan House, Miles hung up his House uniform to await attention from a laundry, and divested it of its decorations, which he put away carefully. It would likely be a long time before he wore them again, if ever. Still, they'd finally served a useful purpose. Lastly, he held up the gold chain of his ersatz Auditor's office, and let it turn in the light, studying its exquisite detail.

Well. That was amusing, while it lasted.

He supposed he ought to take the chain back promptly to the Residence, to be returned to the vault from which it had come. It seemed a little careless to leave an object of that much historical and artistic value lying around in one's bureau drawer. Still … a job was never over till the reports were written; a decade in Imp Sec had taught him that, if nothing else. And until Avakli and his merry men turned in their report, Miles could not very well offer his final one to Gregor.

He tucked the chain away atop a stack of shirts.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Reluctantly but firmly, Miles seated himself at his comconsole the next day and rang up the Imperial Military Hospital's veterans treatment division, and scheduled a preliminary examination for the diagnosis of his seizures. ImpMil was the most logical place to go; they had as much experience with cryo-revival cases as anybody else on Barrayar, and they had immediate and privileged access to all his medical records, classified or not. His Dendarii Fleet surgeons notes alone should save weeks of repetitive horsing around. Sooner or later, Ivan would remember his threats to drag Miles bodily to the clinic of his choice, or worse, rat about Miles's foot-dragging to Gregor. This spiked Ivan's guns.

Mission accomplished, Miles sighed, pushed back from his comconsole, and rose for an aimless ramble around the echoing corridors and chambers of Vorkosigan House. It wasn't that he missed Ivan's company, exactly, it was just that … he missed company, even Ivan's. Vorkosigan House wasn't meant to be this quiet. It had been designed to host a full-time roaring circus, with its complement of guardsmen and staff, maids and grooms and gardeners, hurrying couriers and languid courtiers, Vor visitors trailing their retinues, children . . . with the successive Counts Vorkosigan as ringmasters, the hubs around which the whole great gaudy wheel turned. Counts and Countesses Vorkosigan. The party had been at its height in his great-grandparents' day, Miles supposed, just before the end of the Time of Isolation. He paused before a window overlooking the curving drive, and pictured horses and carriages pulling up below, officers and ladies disembarking with a glitter of swords and a swirl of fabrics.

Running the Dendarii Mercenaries had been something like that, at least the roaring-circus aspect. Miles wondered if the Dendarii Fleet would outlast its founder by as long as Vorkosigan House had outlasted the first Count, eleven generations ago. And if it would be knocked down and completely rebuilt as often. Strange to think he might have created something so organic and live that it would continue in his absence,