Memory

she wants to sit in a beach chair in the sun all day and not do anything, and drink those disgusting drinks with the fruit on a stick in them, and all night—she said—she's sure they'll be able to think of something to do. Good God, Miles, my own mother!'

'How did you think she got to be your mother? They didn't have uterine replicators on Barrayar back then.'

'That was thirty years ago.'

'Time enough. South coast, huh? It sounds . . . relaxing. Downright placid, in fact. Warm.' It was sleeting in Vorbarr Sultana this morning. Maybe he could persuade Illyan to tell him the name of the place, and once he had this bloody report off his hands . . . but Miles had no one to go on holiday with but Ivan, just at present, and that wasn't the same thing at all. 'If it really bothers you, I suppose you could talk to my mother.'

'I tried. She's Betan. She thinks it's just great. Good for your cardiovascular system, and endorphin production, and all that. She and my mother probably plotted it all out together, come to think of it.'

'Possibly. Look on the bright side. Chances are Aunt Alys'll be so occupied with her own love-life, she won't have any attention left over for trying to arrange yours. Isn't that what you said you always wanted?'

'Yes, but . . .'

'Think back. In the last month, how much has she harassed you about courting eligible girls?'

'In the last month . . . we've all been pretty busy.'

'How many of her acquaintances' children's betrothals, weddings, or new babies has she described in detail?'

'Well . . . none, now you mention it. Except Gregor's, of course. Longest she's ever gone without inflicting the high Vor vital statistics roll call on me. Even when I was doing duty at our embassy on Earth, she'd message twice a month.'

'Count your blessings, Ivan.'

Ivan's mouth screwed up. 'Fruit,' he muttered. 'On little sticks.'

It took Miles a full hour to recover his concentration, after evicting Ivan. He did make practical use of the disruption by calling Dr. Chenko at ImpMil, and finally setting up his appointment to calibrate the seizure-control device. Chenko seemed quite anxious to find out if it was going to work. Miles tried not to feel like a large bipedal lab rat.

He was getting ready to step out the front door of Vorkosigan House for that appointment the next afternoon, when he encountered Illyan, just coming in. It was snowing, and white flakes clung to Illyan s civilian jacket, and dusted his thinning hair. His face was red with cold, and exhilarated. He appeared to be alone.

'Where have you been?' Miles asked. He craned his neck as the door swung shut, but didn't see Lady Alys, or a guard, or any other companion departing the entryway.

'I took a walk around town.'

'By yourself?' Miles tried to keep the alarm out of his voice. After all this, to lose the man, and have to rout out the municipal guard to go hunting for him, to find him wandering frightened or bewildered and embarrassed in some oddball corner of the city . . . 'You got back all right, it seems.'

'Yes.' Illyan positively grinned. He held out his hand, and displayed the holocube clutched there. 'Your lady mother gave me a map. It has the entire North and South Continents and all the populated islands, every city and town and street and mountain range down to the one-meter scale. Now whenever I get lost, I can find my own way back.'

'Most people use maps, Simon.' I'm an idiot! Why didn't I think of that before this?

'It's been so long since I had to, it didn't even occur to me. It's like an eidetic chip you can hold in your hand. It even remembers things you never knew before. Wonderful!' He unfastened his jacket, and pulled a second device from an inner pocket, a perfectly ordinary, though obviously best-quality, business audionote filer. 'She gave me this, too. It cross-references everything automatically by key word. Crude, but perfectly adequate for ordinary use. It's nearly a prosthetic memory, Miles.'

The man hadn't had to even think about taking notes for the past thirty-five years, after all. What was he going to discover next, fire? Writing? Agriculture? 'All you have to remember is where you put it down.'

'I'm thinking of chaining it to my belt. Or possibly around my neck.' Illyan started up the curving stairs toward the guest suite, chuckling under his breath.

The following evening Miles broke away from his now almost cross-eyed rechecking of his comconsole data, to attend a quiet dinner at home, just himself, the Countess, and Illyan. He spent the first half of the meal firmly squelching the Countess's broad hints that perhaps Ma Kosti might be made interested in emigrating to Sergyar, in which case a place for her could certainly be found on the Viceroy's household staff.

'She'll never leave Vorbarr Sultana while her son's posted here,' Miles asserted.

The Countess looked thoughtful. 'Corporal Kosti could be transferred to Sergyar. …'

'No fighting dirty,' he said hurriedly. 'I found her first, she's mine.'

'It was an idea.' She smiled fondly at him.

'Speaking of Sergyar, when is Father arriving from there?'

'The day before the betrothal. We'll leave together shortly afterwards. We'll return for the wedding at Midsummer, of course. I'd love to stay longer, but we really both need to get back to Chaos Colony. The shorter his stay in Vorbarr Sultana, the less likely he'll be to get nailed for new jobs by old political comrades. That's one advantage of Sergyar; they have a harder time getting at him there. One still turns up about every month, full of ideas for things Aral can do in his nonexistent spare time, and we have to wine and dine him and shove him gently back out the door.' She smiled invitingly across the table at him. 'You really should come and visit us there soon. It's perfectly safe. We have an effective treatment for those revolting worms now, you know, much better than the old surgical removal. There's so much to see and do. Especially do.'

There was something universal, Miles reflected, about the sinister light in the eye of a mother with a long list of chores in her hand. 'We'll see. I expect to have my part of this Auditor's investigation wrapped up for Gregor in a few more days. After that . . . I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with myself.'

A short silence fell, while everybody applied themselves appreciatively to the dessert course. At length Illyan cleared his throat, and announced to the Countess, 'I signed the lease on my new flat today, Cordelia. It will be ready for occupancy tomorrow.'

'Oh, splendid.'

'I want to thank you both, especially you, Miles, for your hospitality. And your help.'

'What flat?' asked Miles. 'I'm afraid I've been living inside my comconsole this week.'

'Quite right. Lady Alys helped me find it.'

'Is it in her building?' And a very exclusive venue that was, too. Could Illyan afford it? A vice-admiral's half-pay was merely decent, though, come to think of it, he had to have amassed considerable savings by now, given the enforced simplicity of his work-devoured former life.

'I feel I am less of a menace to my neighbors than I used to be, but just in case some old enemy has bad aim . . . it's a couple of streets away from her. It might not be a bad idea to float a few rumors that I am more mentally incapacitated than I actually am, should you get the chance. It will make me a less exciting target.'

'Do you think you'll be continuing any ImpSec service, if not as chief, then … I don't know . . . consultant or something?'

'No. Now that my, hm, peculiar assassination has been solved, I'll be opting out. Don't look so shocked, Miles. Forty-five years of Imperial service does not qualify as a career cut tragically short.'

'I suppose not. Gregor will miss you. We all will.'

'Oh, I expect I'll be around.'

Miles finished his Auditor's report late the following afternoon, including the table of contents and the cross-referenced index, and sat back in his comconsole chair, and stretched. It was as complete as he could make it, and as straightforward as his indignation with the central crime would allow. He only now realized, looking over the finished product, just how much subtle spin he used to put on even his most truthful Dendarii field reports, making the Dendarii and Admiral Naismith look good to assure the continued flow of funding and assignments. There was a dry serenity in not having to give a damn what Lord Auditor Vorkosigan looked like, that he quite enjoyed.

This report was for Gregor's eyes first, not for Gregor's eyes only. Miles had been on the other end of that