Memory

directly together. But we do consult with one another. 'What resources do you know of that I don't, that might have a bearing on this problem?' It increases our access to odd knowledge fivefold.'

'Five-fold? I thought there were seven of you.'

Vorthys smiled faintly. 'We think of General Vorparadijs as a sort of Auditor Emeritus. Respected, but we don't make him come to meetings anymore.'

'In fact,' muttered Vorgustafson under his breath, 'we don't even mention them to him.'

'And Admiral Valentine has been too frail for some years to actively participate,' Vorhovis added. 'I would have urged him to resign, but as long as the gap left by the death of General Vorsmythe was still unfilled, there seemed no need to beg his space.'

Miles had been dimly aware of the loss two years ago of the eighth Auditor, the elderly Vorsmythe. The position of ninth Auditor, which Miles had lately held, was by tradition always left open for acting Auditors, men with particular expertise called up at the Imperium's need, and released again when their task was done.

'So we four here,' Vorhovis went on, 'constitute a quorum of sorts. Vorlaisner couldn't be here, he's tied up on South Continent, but I've kept him apprised.'

'That being so, my lords,' said Gregor, 'how do you advise Us?'

Vorhovis glanced around at his colleagues, who gave him nods, and pursed his lips judiciously. 'He'll do, Gregor.'

'Thank you.' Gregor turned to Miles. 'We were discussing job openings, a bit ago. It happens I also have a place this week for the position of eighth Auditor. Do you want it?'

Miles swallowed shock. 'That's … a permanent post, Gregor. Auditors are appointed for life. Are you sure . . . ?'

'Not necessarily for life. They can resign, be fired, or impeached, as well as be assassinated or just drop dead.'

'Aren't I a little young?' And he'd just been feeling so old. . . .

'If you take it,' said Vorhovis, 'you'll be the youngest Imperial Auditor in post Time-of-Isolation history. I looked it up.'

'General Vorparadijs . . . will surely disapprove. As will like-minded men.' Hell, Vorparadijs thinks I'm a mutant.

'General Vorparadijs,' said Vorhovis, 'thought I was too young for the job, and I was fifty-eight when I was appointed. Now he can switch his disapproval to you. I shall not miss it. And along with ten years of quite unique ImpSec training, you have more galactic experience than any three out of four of us in this room right now. Rather odd experience, but very wide-ranging. It will add a great deal of scope to our mutual data store.'

'Have you, ah, read my personnel files?'

'General Allegre was kind enough to lend us complete copies, a few days ago.' Vorhovis's glance swept Miles's chest, and the commendations there. Fortunately for the hang of his tunic, the Imperial Service did not also give out material symbols for one's demerits.

'Then you know . . . there was a little problem with my last ImpSec field report. A major problem,' he corrected himself. He searched Vorhovis's face for whatever judgment lurked there. Vorhovis's expression was grave, but free of censure. Didn't he know? Miles looked around at all of them. 'I almost killed one of our courier officers, while I was having one of my seizures. Illyan discharged me for lying about it.' There. That was as bald and flat and true as he could make it.

'Yes. We and Gregor spent several hours yesterday afternoon, discussing that. Chief Illyan sat in.' Vorhovis's eyes narrowed, and he regarded Miles with the utmost seriousness. 'Given your falsification of that field report, what kept you from also taking Haroche's extraordinary bribe? I can almost guarantee no one would ever have figured it out.'

'Haroche would have known. Galeni would have known. And I would have known. Two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead. Not three.'

'You would certainly have outlived Captain Galeni, and you might have outlived Haroche. What then?'

Miles blew out his breath, and answered slowly. 'Someone might have survived, with my name, in my body. It wouldn't have been me, anymore. It would have been a man I didn't much . . . like.'

'You value yourself, do you, Lord Vorkosigan?'

'I've learned to,' he admitted wryly.

'Then so, perhaps, shall we.' Vorhovis sat back, an oddly satisfied smile playing about his lips.

'Note,' said Gregor, 'as the most junior member of this rather eclectic group, you will almost certainly be awarded the worst jobs.'

'So true,' murmured Vorhovis, a light in his eye. 'It will be nice to pass that position off to someone more, ah, active.'

'Every assignment,' Gregor went on, 'may be totally unrelated to any other. Unpredictable. You'll be tossed in to sink or swim.'

'Not entirely unsupported,' objected Vorthys. 'The rest of us will be willing to call advice from shore, now and then.'

For some reason Miles had a mental flash of the whole lot of them sitting in beach chairs holding drinks with fruit on little sticks, awarding him judiciously discussed points for style as he went under, frantically gulping and splashing, the water filling his nose.

'This . . . wasn't the reward I'd been planning to ask for, when I came in,' Miles admitted, feeling horribly confused. People never followed your scripts, never.

'What reward was that?' asked Gregor patiently.

'I wanted … I know this is going to sound idiotic. I wanted to be retired retroactively from the Imperial Service as a captain, not a lieutenant. I know those post-career promotions are sometimes done as a special reward, usually with an eye to boosting some loyal officers half-pay grade during retirement. I don't want the money. I just want the title.' Right, he'd said it. It did sound idiotic. But it was all true. 'It's been an itch I couldn't scratch.' He'd always wanted his captaincy to come freely offered, and unarguably earned, not something begged as a favor. He'd made a career out of scorning favor. But he didn't want to go through the rest of his life introduced in military reminiscence as Lieutenant, either.

Belatedly, it occurred to Miles that Gregor's job offer wasn't another first-refusal courtesy. Gregor and these serious men had been conferring for nearly a week. Not a snap decision this time, but something argued and studied and weighed. They really want me. All of them do, not just Gregor. How strange. But it meant that he had a bargaining chip.

'Most other Auditors are p—' his tongue barely cut the accustomed adjective portly '— retired senior officers, admirals or generals.'

'You are a retired admiral, Miles,' Gregor pointed out cheerfully. 'Admiral Naismith.'

'Oh.' He hadn't thought of it like that; it stopped him cold for a full beat. 'But . . . but not publicly, not on Barrayar. The dignity of an Auditors office . . . really needs at least a captaincy to support it, don't you think?'

'Persistent,' murmured Vorhovis, 'isn't he?'

'Relentlessly,' Gregor agreed. 'Just as advertised. Very well, Miles. Allow me to cure you of this distraction.'

His magic Imperial finger—index, not middle, thank you Gregor—flipped down to point at Miles. 'Congratulations. You're a captain. My secretary will see that your records are updated. Does that satisfy you?'

'Entirely, Sire.' Miles suppressed a grin. So, it was a touch anticlimactic, compared to the thousand ways he'd dreamed this promotion over the years. He was not moved to complain. 'I want nothing more.'

'But I do,' said Gregor firmly. 'My Auditors' tasks are, almost by definition, never routine. I only send them in when routine solutions have fallen short, when the rules are not working or have never been devised. They handle the unanticipated.'

'The complex,' added Vorthys.

'The disturbing ones that no one else has the nerve to touch,' said Vorhovis.

'The really bizarre,' sighed Vorgustafson.

'And sometimes,' said Gregor, 'as with the Auditor who proved General Haroche's strange treason, they