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nearly ready for Illyan s job."
"So Haroche said. Your next posting was to be his assistant, it seems. Five
years on the domestic side, and you d have been ready to step up when Illyan
was ready to retire."
"Rubbish. Not Domestic Affairs. Now, if I had to fly a desk, Galactic Affairs
on Komarr would actually make sense. I have some experience there."
"That gap in your experience was exactly what they hoped to target by
harnessing you with Haroche. Illyan once told me
Haroche was personally responsible while he was a Domestic Affairs agent for
derailing no less than four serious plots against the
Emperor s life. Not including the
Yarrow incident, which won him his chiefship. Maybe Illyan hoped whatever
Haroche has would rub off on you."
"I don t need - " Miles began, and shut his mouth.
"What s the
Yarrow incident," asked Ivan, "and if it s that important, why haven t I heard
of it?"
"A textbook case in counterterrorism," said Galeni. "Illyan has all his new
analysts study it."
"The case is famous inside ImpSec," Miles explained. "Being a success,
however, it s practically unknown outside ImpSec.
It s the nature of the job. Successes are secret and thankless, failures are
splashy and gain you only blame."
Take my career, for example....
"It was a close call," said Galeni. "A hyper-isolationist faction aligned with
Count Vortrifrani plotted to suicide-drop an old jump-freighter named the
Yarrow square on the Imperial Residence. It would have taken out most of the
place even without the explosives they d packed it with. The explosives were
their one mistake, since that was the loose thread that led Haroche s team to
them. Vortrifrani distanced himself like crazy, but it broke up his support,
and the Imperium has been less, ah, embarrassed by him since."
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Ivan blinked. "My mother s flat isn t far from the Residence...."
"Yes, one wonders how many people in Vorbarr Sultana they d have taken out if
they d missed their drop point."
"Thousands," Miles muttered.
"I ll have to remember to thank Haroche, next time I see him," said Ivan,
sounding impressed.
"I was off-world, at the time," Miles sighed. "As usual." He suppressed an
irrational twinge of jealousy. "Nobody ever said anything to me about this
proposed promotion. When... was this vile little surprise supposed to be
sprung?"
"Within the year, apparently."
"I thought I d made the Dendarii too valuable for ImpSec to even dream of
doing anything else with me."
"So, you did a little too good a job."
"Chief of ImpSec at age thirty-five. Huh. God be praised, I m saved from that
at least. Well. No joy to Haroche, to be required to paper train some Vor
puppy for the express purpose of being promoted over his head. He ought to be
quite relieved."
Galeni said apologetically, "I gather he was, actually."
"Ha," said Miles blackly. He added after a moment, "By the way, Duv. I trust
it s obvious that what I ve told you is private information. The official
version, for ImpSec HQ and everywhere else, was that I was medically
discharged without prejudice."
"So Illyan said, when Haroche asked. Illyan was tight-lipped as hell. But you
could see there had to be more to it."
Ivan excused himself. Miles brooded into his teacup. He thought he could
sleep, now. In fact, there was nothing he wanted more. Ivan returned all too
soon, and dumped down a valise beside the kitchen table.
"What s that?" Miles asked suspiciously.
"My things," said Ivan. "For a couple of days."
"You re not moving in!"
"What, don t you have enough space? You ve got more rooms than a hotel,
Miles."
Miles slumped again, recognizing an argument he wasn t going to win. "There s
a thought, for my next career. Vorkosigan s
Bed and Breakfast."
"Rooms cheap?" Ivan cocked an eyebrow.
"Hell, no. Charge em a fortune." He paused. "So when are you planning to move
back out?"
"Not until you get some people in here. Till you get your head fixed, you
certainly need a driver, at the very least. I saw your lightflyer downstairs
in the garage, by the way. In the shop for adjustments, my ass. And somebody
to cook meals and stand over you and see you eat them. And somebody to clean
up after you."
"I don t make that much mess - "
"And clean up after all the other somebodies," Ivan went on relentlessly.
"This place needs a staff
, Miles."
"Just like any other museum, eh? I don t know."
"If you re saying you don t know if you want them, guess what. You don t have
a choice. If you re saying you don t know how to hire them... want my mother
to do it for you?"
"Er... I think I d rather select my own personnel. She d make it all too right
and proper, to use Sergeant Bothari s old phrase."
"There it is. Do it, or I ll have her do it for you. How s that for a threat?"
"Effective."
"Right, then."
"Don t you think I could get by with just one person? To do everything, drive,
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cook..."
Ivan snorted. " - chase after you and make you take your nasty medicine? For
that, you d need to hire a Baba to find you a wife. Why don t you just start
with a driver and cook, and go on from there."
Miles grimaced tiredly.
"Look," said Ivan. "You re a bleeding Vor lord in Vorbarr Sultana. We own this
town. So live like one! Have some fun for a change!"
"Have you lost your mind, Ivan?"
"You re not a guest in Vorkosigan House, Miles. You re its only child, or you
were till Mark came along, and he has his own private fortune. At least widen
your possibilities! You grew so narrow, working for Illyan. It s like you
hardly had a life at all, lately."
That s quite right. Naismith had all the life
. But Naismith was dead now - killed by that needle grenade on Jackson s Whole
after all, though the double-take of realization had required a full year to
run its course.
Miles had read of mutants, twins born joined together inseparably in their
bodies. Sometimes, horrifically, one died first, leaving the other attached to
a corpse for hours or days until they died too. Lord Vorkosigan and Admiral
Naismith, body-bound twins.
I don t want to think about this anymore. I don t want to think at all
.
"Lets... go to bed, Ivan. Its late, isn t it?"
"Late enough," said Ivan.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Miles slept till midmorning the next day. To his dismay, when he threaded the
labyrinth of the house down to the kitchen, he found Ivan sitting drinking
coffee, his breakfast dishes piled in the sink.
"Don t you have to go to work?" Miles inquired, pouring the chewy dregs from
the coffeemaker into his cup.
"I have a few days personal leave," Ivan informed him.
"How many?"
"As many as I need."
As many as he needed, that is, to satisfy himself that Miles was going to
behave properly. Miles thought it through. So... if he hired that unwanted
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