Well, now Miles is giggling.

(Ekaterin is too polite to giggle.)

There is dinner, and dancing, and small talk, and much gooey gazing between bride and groom.

The gooey gazing is rather adorable.

"Not exactly. I don't think I was supposed to overhear - and in fact didn't hear clearly enough to identify the speaker, though I'm not sure what could be done with the information - but I heard someone muttering about what I'm assuming was a nasty name for future children of ours."

"...Um? What did they say...?"

"Are you sure you want to hear it?"

He sighs. "Yes. I've probably heard worse."

"Yes, that's a nasty name, and yes, sadly, I've heard worse." He locates one of her hands and kisses it. "Did it bother you?"

"I'm... not sure I understand what you mean," he says slowly. "I mean - it certainly wouldn't matter to a Barrayaran who'd call our children twice-muties in the first place, whether or not you are competent to... design... them."

"I know. The remark only precipitated that line of thinking - it's like when I mentioned how people on Eta Ceta talked about my balance issue, a little, I think. My intuited defenses against that sort of nastiness - the reasons I generate to reassure myself that it's nonsense - are distinctly imported, and I don't know yet if they've survived the trip intact." She shakes her head. "If it's - look, you're entitled to random-assembly children if you want them, that's well within the scope of what I originally bargained for, it only - is not the subject of my fondest wishes."

"I, um," says Miles. "I haven't really... thought about it, to be honest. I don't know what my fondest wishes are. Do you know yours?"

"They're - well, modest by Cetagandan standards. But they do not involve random assembly. I don't know how much detail you're comfortable with...?"

"How much detail about what?"

"About what I'd be doing if you handed me a somatic cell sample and told me that all you required of me was that the result be a baby."

"Um... give it to me straight," he says with a little shrug.

"I'm principally concerned about quality of life interventions. I don't think it's a stretch to say I'm legitimately afraid of having a child who sees me as not only a designer to be held responsible for his or her characteristics but also as a parent to be applied to for relief from various aches and pains who then goes on to have them. I can't make them invulnerable to, I don't know, falls from heights, deciding to eat bees, walking facefirst into glass doors, but they don't have to have headaches. They don't need to cry when they teethe or get colic or catch colds or be allergic to half the species on their native planet or experience ingrown toenails or suffer through ear infections or itch in dry weather. If you let me work on them." She shrugs. "I care a lot less about everything else - I'm not getting much value beyond your admiration from the prettiness, and while I like your admiration I think half-haut children will be more than pleasant enough to look at for any purpose that isn't sabotaged by their very origins. I don't care very much how tall they are except that if they're going to be as tall as, say, Ivan, there's an adjustment to the heart muscle that would improve longevity - I have no specific designs on their hormone balances or - or inner ear morphology as long as they're within any remotely reasonable values, I don't need to pick their eye color. Although if I were completely unconstrained I think I'd give them yours," she adds softly.