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Time goes by. Linya, who already quietly turned nineteen, turns twenty. She collects an accelerated master's degree in neuroscience and starts corresponding with various people on the subject.
Pens spread out; the next time Miles sees Elli he gets a white standard-model pen she bought him on Escobar. She has one too; it's silver. She loves it and thanks him for recommending it to her. (She has bought a whole boxful to unload at a markup on the next planet or station she comes to that doesn't have them yet, but doesn't explicitly mention this in case he objects to her cutting into Lady Vorkosigan's margins.)
Miles also has one actual courier mission in there, just escorting a diplomatic pouch from Pol back home, to pad his service record for the less-cleared eye.
There is a visit to a clinic to collect and mystically join gametes, and Linya collects the resulting assembly in data format for editing. She does the grey eyes first and estimates that if she doesn't particularly hurry she'll have a Little Aral What-the-Heck-Should-His-Middle-Name-Be all ready to put in a replicator in two or three years, though she can accelerate that considerably if something comes up urgently requiring the presence of Little Aral sooner rather than later.
And then Miles gets sent off again and is gone for a very long time.
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isthisart
thisvorlunatic
"Evidently not," Miles agrees. Hell, fuck, and damn... if his eighteen million marks are currently residing in Galeni's pocket, Miles swears to himself, he will find that out and there will be no burrow in this nor any other galaxy sufficiently remote for Galeni to crawl into and escape his wrath. But in order to even think about starting such an investigation -
"Sir, I absolutely require at least a day with the Dendarii now. They're going to need me to sign for a loan to cover their immediate expenses, or they'll already be in the hole by the time the courier gets back from Tau Ceti again. And if I abandon them at this juncture..." He shakes his head.
"Sir, I absolutely require at least a day with the Dendarii now. They're going to need me to sign for a loan to cover their immediate expenses, or they'll already be in the hole by the time the courier gets back from Tau Ceti again. And if I abandon them at this juncture..." He shakes his head.
"I regard your personal security with the Dendarii as totally insufficient, Vorkosigan," says Galeni.
thisvorlunatic
"Add somebody from the embassy if you must, although I advise against it. Now that I've finally managed to come up with a story that makes sense of the division between Naismith and Vorkosigan, it would crumble rather quickly if Naismith was found to be going around with a Barrayaran security detail."
thisvorlunatic
"The brilliant clone story!" defends Miles. "Completely compartmentalizing my identities at last! Of course Naismith looks exactly like Vorkosigan, he's a bloody clone-copy! It's perfect!"
"Well, at least you didn't announce you were positive the Cetagandans did it, they know they didn't, I'd imagine, and they're the ones who are trying to kill you... Very well. I'll have Barth assign you a security perimeter and you can have twenty-four hours' leave. But I want you to report in by secure commlink no less than every eight hours."
thisvorlunatic
Miles suppresses the urge to defend his ideas some more - yes, of course, that was the entire point of bringing up the Cetagandans in the first place, it seems less like a lie if it contains such a blatant mistake - and nods. "Thank you, sir." Now, to get the hell out of here before Galeni changes his mind.
middlingalong
Well, if he's going to stop back anywhere Ivan might spot him, Ivan's going to want to know where he's going, and -
"...What do I tell Linyabel if she calls looking for you while you're out, coz?"
"...What do I tell Linyabel if she calls looking for you while you're out, coz?"
thisvorlunatic
"Tell her... aw, hell. Tell her I had an osteo-inflammatory episode and I'm passed out drunk, unconsciousness being preferable to pain, but I should be fine by tomorrow. Which flows nicely into an excuse for me not to take visitors tomorrow due to atrocious hangover, if I'm still with the Dendarii by then."
middlingalong
"Maybe she'll be busy all day," Ivan says hopefully. "Or she'll call when I'm working and I can just not answer..."
Sergeant Barth is made available to Miles as obligatory Barrayaran bodyguard, civvies and all, and Galeni makes no attempt to retract his offer of leave on their way out.
Sergeant Barth is made available to Miles as obligatory Barrayaran bodyguard, civvies and all, and Galeni makes no attempt to retract his offer of leave on their way out.
thisvorlunatic
So off Miles goes to the shuttleport, and he makes the long, long trek across the tarmac to the very last hardstand on the landing field. It is of course completely reasonable on multiple levels for the Dendarii to have chosen that one - impossible for anyone to sneak up on them across the wide swaths of vacant ground; no innocent bystanders around if somebody tries something anyway - but alas, logic makes the walk no shorter.
He tries to pace himself, reasoning that a quick but measured stride will draw less attention than a demented scurry, and thinks about security and concealment and lies and regrets.
Concealment... yes, if you wanted to assassinate someone on this bare flat featureless expanse, wouldn't that maintenance vehicle over there be the perfect weapon? The float truck sports a prominent shuttleport logo and drab colouring, and looks exactly like the half-dozen-odd others he's seen since he got here, whisking busily from place to place; his eye is tempted to pass unseeing over its looming bulk, until he consciously considers the strategic possibilities.
The float truck alters its course - an interception vector - Barth draws his stunner; Miles draws his - they suffer a moment's tangled choreography, Miles looking for a clear shot while Barth looks to shield him. It doesn't matter. The float truck is not interested in competing on their level. It rises into the air like an enormous boot, and understanding crystallizes abruptly in Miles's mind. Brilliant. Elegant. Terrifying. He turns and flees, as fast as his short legs will carry him, jamming his stunner back into its holster without particular care for whether or not it stays there. The float truck descends, its antigrav cut. He dives at the last second, feels a sudden wind shoving at his back, hears a crashing boom that jars his fragile bones, or maybe that's his impact with the ground - and here he is, intact, safe, a mere hand's breadth from the truck's skirt.
He leaps up in a burst of inspiration and grabs onto the handholds on the truck's side, hanging on for dear life. It lifts and drops again, but he's foiled it now - can't stomp the bug that climbs your shoe - except that one of the successive impacts shakes him loose. He hits the ground and rolls awkwardly - no time to stop and figure out if this pain is bruises or broken bones - up, up, run, run, where's the shuttle? There. He bolts for it.
He tries to pace himself, reasoning that a quick but measured stride will draw less attention than a demented scurry, and thinks about security and concealment and lies and regrets.
Concealment... yes, if you wanted to assassinate someone on this bare flat featureless expanse, wouldn't that maintenance vehicle over there be the perfect weapon? The float truck sports a prominent shuttleport logo and drab colouring, and looks exactly like the half-dozen-odd others he's seen since he got here, whisking busily from place to place; his eye is tempted to pass unseeing over its looming bulk, until he consciously considers the strategic possibilities.
The float truck alters its course - an interception vector - Barth draws his stunner; Miles draws his - they suffer a moment's tangled choreography, Miles looking for a clear shot while Barth looks to shield him. It doesn't matter. The float truck is not interested in competing on their level. It rises into the air like an enormous boot, and understanding crystallizes abruptly in Miles's mind. Brilliant. Elegant. Terrifying. He turns and flees, as fast as his short legs will carry him, jamming his stunner back into its holster without particular care for whether or not it stays there. The float truck descends, its antigrav cut. He dives at the last second, feels a sudden wind shoving at his back, hears a crashing boom that jars his fragile bones, or maybe that's his impact with the ground - and here he is, intact, safe, a mere hand's breadth from the truck's skirt.
He leaps up in a burst of inspiration and grabs onto the handholds on the truck's side, hanging on for dear life. It lifts and drops again, but he's foiled it now - can't stomp the bug that climbs your shoe - except that one of the successive impacts shakes him loose. He hits the ground and rolls awkwardly - no time to stop and figure out if this pain is bruises or broken bones - up, up, run, run, where's the shuttle? There. He bolts for it.
spacetobreathe
The pursuing float-truck explodes dramatically, bits of debris going in every direction and the blast strongly suggesting that anyone upright in its range drop flat to the ground; a piece of something caromes off the back of Miles's skull. Three Dendarii pour out of the shuttle and break into a run.
thisvorlunatic
Miles is briefly very, very confused. Where's the truck? Oh. The truck is no more. That is where the truck.
He lunges to his feet - fails to complete the movement; ends up on his hands and knees, dizzy and in pain. An un-squashed Barth on one side; his Dendarii on the other - a shiny black aircar descending towards them all, no doubt the Barrayaran outer perimeter backup, bloody useless bastards.
He struggles to his feet and attempts to gently detach himself from Barth, who is trying to haul him toward the aircar. Like fucking hell is he going back now. The three Dendarii seem ready to detach Barth by force - one draws his plasma arc - Miles steps regretfully between them. "We're all friends here!" he says as firmly as possible. The four of them take his word for it, albeit with deep reluctance. No one points any weapons at anyone else. Call it good.
He lunges to his feet - fails to complete the movement; ends up on his hands and knees, dizzy and in pain. An un-squashed Barth on one side; his Dendarii on the other - a shiny black aircar descending towards them all, no doubt the Barrayaran outer perimeter backup, bloody useless bastards.
He struggles to his feet and attempts to gently detach himself from Barth, who is trying to haul him toward the aircar. Like fucking hell is he going back now. The three Dendarii seem ready to detach Barth by force - one draws his plasma arc - Miles steps regretfully between them. "We're all friends here!" he says as firmly as possible. The four of them take his word for it, albeit with deep reluctance. No one points any weapons at anyone else. Call it good.
spacetobreathe
Elli, still carrying the rocket launcher that ended the truck, gallops towards Miles.
"That was a little close, don't you think?" Barth snaps at her. "You could've blown him up with your target!"
"It was safer than doing nothing about it at all, which was your apparent strategy!"
"That was a little close, don't you think?" Barth snaps at her. "You could've blown him up with your target!"
"It was safer than doing nothing about it at all, which was your apparent strategy!"
thisvorlunatic
"It's harder to get major ordnance onto the tubeway and through shuttleport security than it is to grab it off a rack and lean out the hatch," Miles says placatingly. He gestures to the scattered smoking debris; one of the Dendarii peels off to investigate. "Even these mystery folk couldn't get a proper weapon through shuttleport security, though it doesn't appear to have stopped them. I trust you don't expect Barth to have come armed with a float truck."
"Come away, sir!" says Barth. "You're injured. The police will be here. You shouldn't be mixed up in this."
Certainly Lieutenant Lord Vorkosigan shouldn't be. "Of course, yes, Sergeant. Go back to the embassy - take a circuitous route and don't let anyone trace you."
"But sir!"
"I will stay with my demonstrably effective Dendarii security," he says with a gesture to Elli.
"Captain Galeni will have my head on a platter—"
"And if I blow my cover, Simon Illyan will have mine." Miles makes a shooing gesture. "Go. That's an order."
The Chief of ImpSec is an excellent spectre to summon in situations like these. Barth finally leaves, in the useless and damning Barrayaran aircar, which is thereby handily removed from the scene. Good.
Miles looks over at the man who went to investigate the ex-truck. He's on his way back, looking unhappy on multiple levels. "At least two people, sir, judging by the number of, um, parts."
"Nothing left to question," Miles concludes. "Damn."
"Come away, sir!" says Barth. "You're injured. The police will be here. You shouldn't be mixed up in this."
Certainly Lieutenant Lord Vorkosigan shouldn't be. "Of course, yes, Sergeant. Go back to the embassy - take a circuitous route and don't let anyone trace you."
"But sir!"
"I will stay with my demonstrably effective Dendarii security," he says with a gesture to Elli.
"Captain Galeni will have my head on a platter—"
"And if I blow my cover, Simon Illyan will have mine." Miles makes a shooing gesture. "Go. That's an order."
The Chief of ImpSec is an excellent spectre to summon in situations like these. Barth finally leaves, in the useless and damning Barrayaran aircar, which is thereby handily removed from the scene. Good.
Miles looks over at the man who went to investigate the ex-truck. He's on his way back, looking unhappy on multiple levels. "At least two people, sir, judging by the number of, um, parts."
"Nothing left to question," Miles concludes. "Damn."
spacetobreathe
"Nothing, sir. I'd apologize, but."
Emerency equipment of various sorts converges on their position, probably not piloted by assassin Cetagandans.
"Who were those other guys?" asks a Dendarii, looking at the retreating Barrayaran vehicle.
Emerency equipment of various sorts converges on their position, probably not piloted by assassin Cetagandans.
"Who were those other guys?" asks a Dendarii, looking at the retreating Barrayaran vehicle.
thisvorlunatic
"Never mind, they weren't here, you never saw them," says Miles.
"Yes, sir."
Wonderful, wonderful Dendarii. They do what they're bloody told when he needs them to bloody do it. Miles could use a little more of that in his life.
"Yes, sir."
Wonderful, wonderful Dendarii. They do what they're bloody told when he needs them to bloody do it. Miles could use a little more of that in his life.
spacetobreathe
Elli administers some first aid. Emergency personnel swarm.
A familiar reporter also creeps up on him. "Admiral Naismith. You're a trouble magnet!"
A familiar reporter also creeps up on him. "Admiral Naismith. You're a trouble magnet!"
thisvorlunatic
"On occasion," he agrees, favouring her with a charming smile. Admiral Naismith, of course, has no superiors to restrict his contact with the press.
thisvorlunatic
"A very good question, which the London police will no doubt seek to answer," he says. "My private theory is that it was Cetagandans, irate with me after we dealt them a recent embarrassment in an operation I will not discuss. But of course I have no proof," he gestures eloquently to the uninformative splatter of intermingled fragments of truck and truck operators, "so perhaps you'd best not quote me on that."
"You don't think they were Barrayarans?" she wonders, making no remark either way as to whether she should quote him on that.