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"Yeah? So if Simon Illyan is so much more Machiavellian than you are, how is
it that your version prevailed? Someday, Miles, you are going to run out of
hairs to split with those people. And then what will you do?"
He smiled, and shook his head, evading answer.
His elation over the news from Marilac still made him feel like he was walking
in half-gravity when he arrived at his cabin aboard the
Triumph
. After a surreptitious glance to be sure the corridor was unpeopled, he
embraced and kissed Quinn, a deep kiss that was going to have to last them for
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a long while, and she went off to her own quarters. He slipped inside, and
echoed the door s closing sigh with his own. Home again.
It was home, for half his psyche, he reflected, tossing his flight bag onto
his bed and heading directly for the shower. Ten years ago, Lord Miles
Vorkosigan had invented the cover identity of Admiral Naismith out of his head
in a desperate moment, and frantically faked his way to temporary control of
the hastily re-named Dendarii Mercenaries. Barrayaran Imperial Security had
discovered the cover to be useful... no. Credit where it was due. He had
persuaded, schemed, demonstrated, and coerced
ImpSec into finding use for this cover.
Be careful what you pretend to be. You might become it
.
When had Admiral Naismith stopped being a pretense? Gradually, surely, but
mostly since his mercenary mentor Commodore
Tung had retired. Or perhaps the wily Tung had recognized before Miles had
that his services in propping Miles up to his prematurely exalted rank were no
longer required. Colored vid arrays of Dendarii Free Mercenary Fleet
organization bloomed in
Miles s head as he showered. Personnel - equipment - administration -
logistics - he knew every ship, every trooper, every shuttle and piece of
ordnance, now. He knew how they fit together, what had to be done first,
second, third, twentieth, how to place a precisely calculated force at any
point on the tactical field.
This was expertise, to he able to look at a ship like the
Triumph and see with his mind s eye right through the walls to every
engineering detail, every strength and vulnerability; to look at a commando
raid, or a briefing table ringed with captains and captain-owners and know
what each one would do or say before they knew it themselves.
I m on top. Finally, I m on top of it all. With this lever, I can move worlds
. He switched the shower to "dry," and turned in the blast warm air. He left
the bathroom still chortling under his breath.
I like it
. His chortle died away in puzzlement when he unlatched the door to his
uniform cupboard, and found it bare. Had his batman taken them all off for
cleaning or repairs?
His bewilderment grew as he looked other drawers, and found only a residue of
the wildly assorted Virilian togs he wore when he stretched the chain of his
identity one link further, and played spy for the Dendarii. Plus some of his
shabbier underwear. Was this some sort of practical joke? If so, he d have
have the last laugh. Naked and irritated, he snapped open the locker where his
space armor dwelt. Empty. That was almost shocking.
Somebody s taken it down to Engineering to re-calibrate it, or add tactics
programs, or something
. His batman should have returned it by now, though. What if he needed it in a
hurry?
Time. His people would be gathering. Quinn had once claimed he could carry on
naked, and only make those around him feel overdressed. He was momentarily
tempted to test her assertion, but overcame the mordant vision, and put the
shirt and trousers and sandals he d been wearing back on. He didn t need a
uniform in order to dominate a briefing room, not any more.
On the way to the meeting, he passed Sandy Hereld in the corridor, coming off
duty, and gave her a friendly nod. She wheeled and walked backward in
startlement. "You re back, sir! That was quick." He would hardly describe his
several-week journey to
Imperial HQ Barrayar as quick. She must mean the trip downside. "It only took
two hours."
"What?" Her nose wrinkled. She was still walking backwards, reached the end of
the corridor.
He had a briefing room full of senior officers waiting. He waved and swung
down a lift tube. The briefing room was comfortingly familiar, right down to
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the array of faces around the darkly shining table. Captain Auson of the
Triumph
. Elena
Bothari-Jesek, recently promoted captain of the
Peregrine
. Her husband Commodore Baz Jesek, Fleet engineer and in charge, in
Miles s absence, of all the repair and refit activities of the Dendarii Fleet
in Escobar orbit. The couple, Barrayarans themselves, were with Quinn among
the handful of Dendarii apprised of Miles s double identity. Captain Truzillo
of the
Jayhawk
, and a dozen more, all tested and true. His people.
Bel Thorne of the
Ariel was late. That was unusual. One of Thorne s driving characteristics was
an insatiable curiosity; a new mission briefing was like a Winterfair gift to
the Betan hermaphrodite. Miles turned to Elena Bothari-Jesek, to make small
talk while they waited.
"Did you get a chance to visit your mother, downside on Escobar?"
"Yes, thanks." She smiled. "It was... nice, to have a little time. We had a
chance to talk about some things we d never talked about the first time we
met."
It had been good for both of them, Miles judged. Some of the permanent strain
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