"Calm down, Miles. Read something. Call your wife? Again? You can hold still for five minutes if you try."
"Well, then, do your anxious waiting from a sitting position. Come on, give the man time to get a cup of coffee and read his reports. People would be sad if their reports were never read."
"Ugh." He circles the room one more time, then thumps into a chair. "It's been an hour! He can read the reports after he gives me my money!"
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," says Miles, in controlled tones. Then he cuts the com and leaps up with a glad cry of, "My eighteen million marks at last!"
"Or exciting career advancement in the field of inventory. You could count all the goldfish in the reception court fountain."
For now, he is going straight to Galeni's office.
"Well," he says when Miles comes in. "Your orders have arrived from sector HQ, Lieutenant Vorkosigan. It confirms your temporary assignment to my staff - officially and publicly. As for the rest of your orders - they're Vorpatril's to nearly the letter, save the names. You are to assist me as required, and hold yourself at the disposal of the ambassador and his lady for escort duties, and as time permits take advantage of educational opportunities unique to Earth and appropriate to your status as an Imperial officer and lord of the Vor."
"What the hell, sir?" says Miles. "That can't be right! What the devil are escort duties?"
"Mostly," says Galeni, smiling a ghost of a smile, "standing around in parade dress, at official Embassy functions, and being Vor for the natives. A surprising number of people find aristocrats, even off-planet ones, fascinating. You will," he goes on, "eat, drink, possibly dance, and be exquisitely polite to anyone the ambassador would care to impress. Sometimes you will be asked to remember and report on conversations. Vorpatril does it all quite well, rather to my surprise; he can fill you in on the details."
"And - the rest? My eighteen million marks?"
"What!" He restrains himself, with effort, from physically leaping across Galeni's desk to look at the vid himself. "Fuck's sake, sir, we bled for Barrayar!" His mind floods with the knowledge of all the debts he incurred on entering Earth local space for which he carefully allotted ten days' grace. A grace which is about to expire. "We need that money! They can't just - I - someone has fucked something up here, Captain."
"Or even better, send me. Maybe I can shake loose some funds if I turn up on Sector HQ's doorstep personally carrying the message."