Mayhew's jaw dropped. 'You realize,' he said at last, 'the Mental Health Board's going to drop a net over you, too …'
Miles grinned sardonically. 'They can't. Because if they tried, I could cry havoc to my liege lord for protection. And I'd get it, too. He's pretty touchy about who does what to his subjects. Oh, that's another angle. If you become a liegeman to me, it automatically puts you into a relationship with my leige lord, kind of a complicated one.'
'And his, and his, and his, I suppose,' said Mayhew. 'I know all about chains of command.'
'Well, no, that's as far as it goes. I'm sworn directly to Gregor Vorbarra, as a vassal secundus.' Miles realized he might as well be talking gibberish, for all the meaning his words were conveying.
'Who's this Greg-guy?' asked Mayhew.
'The Emperor. Of Barrayar,' Miles added, just to be sure he understood.
'Oh.'
Typical Betan, thought Miles, they don't study anybody's history but Earth's and their own. 'Think about it, anyway. It's not something you should just jump into.'
When the last voice-print had been recorded, Mayhew carefully disconnected the toggle box—Miles held his breath—and the senior pilot officer returned to convey them planetside.
The senior pilot officer addressed Miles with a shade more respect in his voice. 'I had no idea you were from such a wealthy family, Lord Vorkosigan. That was a solution to the problem I certainly hadn't anticipated. But perhaps one ship is just a bauble, to a Barrayaran lord.'
'Not really,' said Miles. 'I'm going to have to do some hustling to cover that note. My family used to be well off, I admit, but that was back in the Time of Isolation. Between the economic upheavals at the end of it, and the First Cetagandan War, we were pretty much wiped out, financially.' He grinned a little. 'You galactics got us coming and going. My great-grandfather on the Vorkosigan side, when the first galactic traders hit us, thought he was going to make a killing in jewels—you know, diamonds, rubies, emeralds—the galactics seemed to be selling them so cheaply. He put all his liquid assets and about half his chattels into them. Well, of course they were synthetics, better than the naturals and cheap as dirt—uh, sand—and the bottom promptly dropped out of the market, taking him with it. I'm told my great-grandmother never forgave him.' He waved vaguely at Mayhew who, becoming conditioned, passed over his bottle. Miles offered it to the senior pilot officer, who rejected it with a look of disgust. Miles shrugged, and took a long pull. Amazingly pleasant stuff. His circulatory system, as well as his digestive, now seemed to be glowing with rainbow hues. He felt he could go days without sleep.
'Unfortunately, most of the land he sold was around Vorkosigan Surleau, which is pretty dry—not by your standards, of course—and the land he kept was around Vorkosigan Vashnoi, which was the better.'
'What's unfortunate about that?' asked Mayhew.
'Well, because it was the principal seat of government for the Vorkosigans, and because we owned about every stick and stone in it—it was a pretty important industrial and trade center—and because the Vorkosigans were, uh, prominent in the Resistance, the Cetagandans took the city hostage. It's a long story, but—eventually, they destroyed the place. It's now a big glass hole in the ground. You can still see a faint glow in the sky, on a dark night, twenty kilometers off.'
The senior pilot officer brought the little shuttle smoothly into its dock.
'Hey,' said Mayhew suddenly. 'That land you had around Vorkosigan whatever-you-said—'
'Vashnoi. Have. Hundreds of square kilometers of it, and mostly downwind, yes?'
'Is that the same—' his face was lighting, like the sun coming up after a long, dark night, 'is that the same land you mortgaged to—' he began to laugh, delightedly, under his breath; they disembarked. 'Is that what you pledged to that sand-crawler Calhoun in return for my ship?'
'Caveat emptor,' bowed Miles. 'He checked the climate plat; he never thought to check the radioactivity plat. He probably doesn't study anybody else's history either.'
Mayhew sat down on the docking bay, laughing so hard that he bent his forehead nearly to the floor. His laughter had more than an edge of hysteria—several days without sleep, after all … 'Kid,' he cried, 'have a drink on me!'
'I mean to pay him, you understand,' explained Miles. 'The hectares he chose would make an unaesthetic hole in the map for some descendant of mine, in a few hundred years, when it cools off. But if he gets greedy, or pushy about collecting—well, he'll get what he deserves.'
Three groups of people were bearing down upon them. Bothari had escaped customs at last, it appeared, for he led the first group. His collar was undone, and he looked decidedly ruffled. Uh oh, thought Miles, it looks like he's had a strip-search—that's guaranteed to put him in a ferocious mood. He was followed by a new Betan security patrolman, and a limping Betan civilian Miles had never seen before, who was gesticulating and complaining bitterly. The man had a livid bruise on his face, and one eye was swelling shut. Elena trailed, seeming on the verge of tears.
The second group was led by the shuttleport administrator, and included now a number of other officials. The third group was headed by the Betan security woman. She had two burly patrolmen and four medical types in her wake. Mayhew glanced from right to left, and sobered abruptly. The Betan security men had their stunners in hand.
'Oh, kid,' he muttered. The security men were fanning out. Mayhew scrambled to his knees. 'Oh, kid …'
'It's up to you, Arde,' said Miles quietly.
'Do it!'
The Botharis arrived. The Sergeant opened his mouth. Miles, dropping his voice, cut across his beginning roar—by God, it was an effective trick—'Attention, please, Sergeant. I require your witness. Pilot Officer Mayhew is about to make oath.'
The Sergeant's jaw tightened like a vise, but he came to attention.
'Put your hands between mine, Arde—like that—and repeat after me. I, Arde Mayhew—is that your full legal name? use that, then—do testify I am an unsworn freeman, and take service under Lord Miles Naismith Vorkosigan as an Armsman simple—go ahead and say that part—' Mayhew did so, rolling his eyes from left to right. 'And will hold him as my leige commander until my death or his releases me.'
That repeated, Miles said, rather quickly as the crowd closed in, 'I, Miles Naismith Vorkosigan, vassal secundus to Emperor Gregor Vorbarra, do accept your oath, and pledge you the protection of a leige commander; this by my word as Vorkosigan. All done—you can get up now.'
One good thing, thought Miles, it's diverted the Sergeant completely from whatever he was about to say. Bothari found his voice at last. 'My lord,' he hissed, 'you can't swear a Betan!'
'I just did,' Miles pointed out cheerfully. He bounced a bit, feeling quite unusually pleased with himself. The Sergeant's glance passed across Mayhew's bottle, and narrowed on Miles.
'Why aren't you asleep?' he growled.
The Betan patrolman gestured at Miles. 'Is this the man?'
The Betan security officer from the original shuttleport group approached. Mayhew had remained on his knees, as if plotting to crawl off under cover of the fire overhead. 'Pilot Officer Mayhew,' she cried, 'you are under arrest. These are your rights: you have a right to—'
The bruised civilian interrupted, pointing at Elena. 'Screw him! This woman assaulted me! There were a dozen witnesses. Damn it, I want her charged. She's vicious.'
Elena had her hands over her ears again, lower lip stuck out but trembling slightly. Miles began to get the picture. 'Did you hit him?'
She nodded. 'But he said the most horrible thing to me .. .'
'My lord,' said Bothari reproachfully, 'it was very wrong of you to leave her alone in this place—'
The security woman began again. 'Pilot Officer Mayhew, you have a right—'
'I think she cracked the orbit of my eye,' moaned the bruised man. 'I'm going to sue …'
Miles shot Elena a special reassuring smile. 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it.'
'You have a right—' yelled the security woman.
'I beg your pardon. Officer Brownell,' Miles interrupted her smoothly. 'Pilot Officer Mayhew is now my leigeman. As his leige commander, any charges against him must be addressed to me. It will then be my duty to determine their validity and issue the orders for the appropriate punishments. He has no rights but the right to
