along for the ride, but practically all of Auson's original crew were there. He picked out Auson himself, beaming, and Thorne, tears streaming down cheeks.
He raised his arms for silence again, and got it. 'I am recalled on urgent affairs for an indefinite period. I request and require that you obey Commodore Jesek as you would me.' He glanced down to meet Baz's upturned gaze. 'He will not desert you.'
He could feel the engineer's shoulder tremble beneath him. Absurd of Baz to look so exalted—Jesek, of them all, knew Miles was a fake … 'I thank you all, and bid you farewell.'
His feet hit the deck with a thump as he slid down. 'And may God have mercy upon me, amen,' he muttered under his breath. He backed toward the flex tube, and escape, smiling and waving.
Jesek, blocking the press, spoke to his ear. 'My lord. For my curiosity—before you go, may I be permitted to know what house I serve?'
'What, you haven't figured that out yet?' Miles looked to Elena in astonishment.
Bothari's daughter shrugged. 'Security.'
'Well—I'm not going to shout it out in this crowd, but if you ever go shopping for livery, which doesn't seem too bloody likely—choose brown and silver.'
'But—' Baz ground to a halt, there in the crowd, a little knot of personal silence. 'But that's—' He paled.
Miles smiled, wickedly gratified. 'Break him in gently, Elena.'
The silence in the flex tube sucked at him, refuge; the noise in front of him beat on his senses, for the Dendarii had taken up their chant again, Naismith, Naismith, Naismith. The Felician pilot escorted Elli Quinn aboard, Ivan following. The last person Miles saw as he waved and backed into the tube was Elena. Making her way toward her through the crowd, her face drawn and grave and thoughtful, was Elena Visconti.
The Felician pilot bolted the hatch and blew the tube seals, and went ahead of them to Nav and Com.
'Whew,' remarked Ivan respectfully. 'You sure got them going. You have to be higher than I am now just on psychic waves or something.'
'Not really,' Miles grimaced.
'Why not? I sure would be.' There was an undercurrent of envy in Ivan's voice.
'My name isn't Naismith.'
Ivan opened his mouth, closed it, studied him sideways. The screens were up in Nav and Com, showing the refinery and space around them. The ship pulled away from the docking bay. Miles tried to keep that particular slot in the row of docking bays in sight, but soon became confused; fourth or fifth from the left?
'Damn.' Ivan thrust his thumbs through his belt, and rocked on his heels. 'It still knocks me flat. I mean, here you come into this place with nothing, and in four months you turn their war completely around and end up with all the marbles on top of it.'
'I don't want all the marbles,' said Miles impatiently. 'I don't want any of the marbles. It's death for me to be caught with marbles in my possession, remember?'
'I don't understand you,' Ivan complained. 'I thought you always wanted to be a soldier. Here you've fought real battles, commanded a whole fleet of ships, wiped the tactical map with fantastically few losses—'
'Is that what you think? That I've been playing soldier? Peh!' Miles began to pace restlessly. He paused, and lowered his head in shame. 'Maybe I did. Maybe that was the trouble. Wasting day after day, feeding my ego, while all the time back home Vordrozda's pack of dogs were running my father to ground—staring out the damn window for five days while they're killing him—'
'Ah,' said Ivan. 'So that's what's got the hair up you. Never fear,' he comforted, 'we'll get back all right.' He blinked, and added in a much less definite tone, 'Miles—assuming you're right about all this—what is it we're going to do, once we get back?'
Miles's lips drew back in a mirthless grin. 'I'll figure something out.'
He turned to watch the screens, thinking silently, But you are mistaken about the losses, Ivan. They were enormous.
The refinery and the ships around it dwindled to a scattered constellation of specks, sparks, water in the eyes, and gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Betan night was hot, even under the force dome that shielded the suburb of Silica. Miles touched the silver circles on his mid-forehead and temples, praying that his sweat was not loosening their glue. He had passed through Betan customs on the Felician pilot's doctored I.D.'s; it would not do for his supposed implant contact to go sliding down his nose.
Artistically bonsai'd mesquite and acacia trees, picked out with colored spotlights, surrounded the low dome that was the pedestrian entrance to his grandmother's apartment complex. The old building pre-dated the community force shield, and was therefore entirely underground. Miles hooked Elli Quinn's hand over his arm, and patted it.
'We're almost there. Two steps down, here. You'll like my grandmother. She supervises life support equipment maintenance at the Silica University Hospital—she'll know just who to see for the best work. Now here's a door …'
Ivan, still clutching the valise, stepped through first. The cooler interior air caressed Miles's face, and relieved him at least of his worries about his fake implant contacts. It had been nerve-wracking, crossing Customs with a false I.D., but using his real ones would have guaranteed instant entanglement in Betan legal proceedings, entailing God-knew-what delays. Time drummed in his head.
'There's a lift tube there,' Miles began to Elli, then choked on an oath, recoiling. Popping out of the Up tube in the foyer was the very man he least wanted to see on his touch-and-go planetary stopover.
Tav Calhoun's eyes started from his head at the sight of Miles. His face turned the color of brick. 'You!' he cried. 'You—you—you—' He swelled, stuttering, and advanced on Miles.
Miles tried a friendly smile. 'Why, good evening, Mr. Calhoun. You're just the man I wanted to see—'
Calhoun's hands clenched on Miles's jacket. 'Where is my ship?'
Miles, borne backwards to the wall, felt suddenly lonely for Sergeant Bothari. 'Well, there was a little problem with the ship,' he began placatingly.
Calhoun shook him. 'Where is it? What have you goons done with it?'
'It's stuck at Tau Verde, I'm afraid. Damage to the Necklin rods. But I've got your money.' He essayed a cheerful nod.
Calhoun's hold did not slacken. 'I wouldn't touch your money with a hand-tractor!' he growled. 'I've been given the royal run-around, lied to, followed, had my comconsole tapped, had Barrayaran agents questioning my employees, my girlfriend, her wife—I found out about that damned worthless hot land, by the way, you little mutant—I want blood. You're going to therapy, because I'm calling Security right now!'
A plaintive mumble came from Elli Quinn, which Miles's practiced ear translated as, 'What's happening?'
Calhoun noticed her in the shadows for the first time, jumped, shrugged, then turned on his heel and shot over his shoulder to Miles, 'Don't you move! This is a citizen's arrest!' He headed for the public comconsole.
'Grab him, Ivan!' Miles cried.
Calhoun twisted away from Ivan's clutch. His reflexes were quicker than Miles had expected for so beefy a body. Elli Quinn, head cocked to one side, slid into his path in two smooth sideways steps, her ankles and knees flexing. Her hands found his shirt. They whirled for a dizzy instant like a pair of dancers, and suddenly Calhoun was doing spectacular cartwheels. He landed flat on his back on the pavement of the foyer. The air went out of him in a Dooming whoosh. Elli, sitting, spun around, clamped one leg across his neck, and put his arm in a lock.
Ivan, now that his target was no longer moving, took over and achieved a creditable come-along hold. 'How did you do that?' he asked Elli, astonishment and admiration in his voice.
She shrugged. 'Used to practice with eyes covered,' she mumbled, 'to sharpen balance. It works.'
'What do we do with him, Miles?' asked Ivan. 'Can he really have you arrested, even if you offer to pay
