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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
Miles vents his frustration in a low growl.
Then he takes a deep breath. "All right. Fine. Let's get the ambassador. I would like a look at Galeni's desk console."
Then he takes a deep breath. "All right. Fine. Let's get the ambassador. I would like a look at Galeni's desk console."
middlingalong
The ambassador lets them in to have a look at the console. Ivan starts pulling routine files.
"Nothing here but the usual," he reports, throwing his hands into the air.
"Nothing here but the usual," he reports, throwing his hands into the air.
thisvorlunatic
Miles sits down in Galeni's swivel chair and starts opening financial records.
"Love these Earth Universal Credit Cards. So revealing," he mutters. "God, Ivan, I flirted with my wife..."
"Love these Earth Universal Credit Cards. So revealing," he mutters. "God, Ivan, I flirted with my wife..."
middlingalong
"You did what now?" asks Ivan. "This wasn't since I told her you were passed out drunk, was it? You are meant to still be passed out drunk."
thisvorlunatic
"As Naismith," he says. "She ran into me just outside the bank and—treated me very familiarly, and Naismith hasn't so much as seen a holo of Lady Vorkosigan! So it was all, 'Take me away to a tropical island, vision of human beauty - wait, shit, you're my sister-in-law'! I feel dirty. Dirty and very confused."
middlingalong
"I'm pretty sure she called me straight away after that. She didn't give me a lot of details, but..."
middlingalong
"Said, Ivan, where's Miles, I want to talk to him, and I gave her your story about drowning your osteoinflammation in beverages, and she asked if by any chance you had left her any messages, and I said no, and she asked if I was quite sure there was nothing you'd wanted to tell her, and I said I was sure you hadn't told me about it if there was, and she asked when she could come by to talk to you and I told her tomorrow morning would probably do."
thisvorlunatic
"So my wife is going to turn up any minute wanting to talk to her hung-over husband. Great," sighs Miles. "I'd better get cracking on this... looks like he hasn't been spending any money he didn't earn, not in the last few months, not detectably. Hmm." He pulls up a list of recent purchases, then lays a similar record of Ivan's beside it, for a baseline and to tweak his cousin's nose a little.
thisvorlunatic
"Point of comparison," he says. "Dowsing for secret vices. He's bought, let's see... about a third the volume of ethanol that you have... ah, but sixteen times the book-disks. A literature addict. See how easy that was? Also, that's a lovely lace nightgown."
thisvorlunatic
"And thus from one purchase I can deduce the presence of a woman in your life. Galeni, alas, doesn't seem to buy any presents at all. Let's dig into his Service record instead." Miles dismisses the finances and brings up new data. "A doctorate in history? That's surprising. I'm surprised." He scrolls further down. "Damn, look at this. The twenty-six-year-old Dr. Duv Galeni ditches his brand-new faculty position to go back to the Imperial Service Academy with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, almost the very minute the ruling takes effect that Komarrans will be let in at all. This man's motivations are more complicated than money, that's for sure. And then his military career... a positively stellar trajectory, stuffed to the gills with extra training and prime opportunities. Shit."
thisvorlunatic
"Not sure yet. But I'm beginning to smell politics, and it is not a comforting odour."
And then... the next file is sealed, access denied to anyone under the rank of an Imperial Staff officer.
"Hell," says Miles. "Get the ambassador. We're prying under this seal."
And then... the next file is sealed, access denied to anyone under the rank of an Imperial Staff officer.
"Hell," says Miles. "Get the ambassador. We're prying under this seal."
middlingalong
Ivan goes and collects the ambassador again.
"Yes," the ambassador says, when he sees what Miles wants, "I do have an emergency access code that will override this - but the intended emergency is something like the breakout of war."
"Yes," the ambassador says, when he sees what Miles wants, "I do have an emergency access code that will override this - but the intended emergency is something like the breakout of war."
thisvorlunatic
"Captain Galeni's been with you for two years now," says Miles. "What's your impression of him?"
"Very conscientious. The history background was a good fit for Earth. He's a good conversationalist, invaluable in the social side, especially compared with his - competent, but - dull predecessor. Galeni is as competent but smoother, more discreet, avoids disturbing my guests. It makes my job easier. That goes double for his information-gathering activities; I couldn't be more pleased with his work. On a personal level - well, he's cool. It's often restful. He does take in more information than he puts out... Do you think a clue to his disappearance is likely to be in that file, Lieutenant Vorkosigan?"
thisvorlunatic
And under the seal...
Oh, hell, that is political.
Duv Galeni was born David Galen, of those Galens - one of the richest and most powerful of the old Komarran families, their wealth skimmed from the trade passing through Komarr's numerous, busy wormholes. The planet itself consumes money, does not produce it - the terraforming efforts are still ongoing, a long, slow, expensive process to turn the air breathable and the soil fertile.
David Galen's aunt died in the Solstice Massacre. David Galen's father participated in the Komarr Revolt, although David himself was too young to take part at the time.
There is an exchange between Simon Illyan and Aral Vorkosigan in the sealed file, on the subject of whether or not letting 'Duv Galeni' join the imperial Service is strictly wise. Miles reads it.
Miles has no trouble deciphering his father's hastily scribbled signature; he's seen it often enough.
"Well," he says at last, into the silence. "That... raises more questions than it answers. Damn."
Oh, hell, that is political.
Duv Galeni was born David Galen, of those Galens - one of the richest and most powerful of the old Komarran families, their wealth skimmed from the trade passing through Komarr's numerous, busy wormholes. The planet itself consumes money, does not produce it - the terraforming efforts are still ongoing, a long, slow, expensive process to turn the air breathable and the soil fertile.
David Galen's aunt died in the Solstice Massacre. David Galen's father participated in the Komarr Revolt, although David himself was too young to take part at the time.
There is an exchange between Simon Illyan and Aral Vorkosigan in the sealed file, on the subject of whether or not letting 'Duv Galeni' join the imperial Service is strictly wise. Miles reads it.
I can't recommend the choice. I suspect you're being quixotic about this one out of guilt. And guilt is a luxury you cannot afford. If you're acquiring a secret desire to be shot in the back, please let me know at least twenty-four hours in advance, so I can activate my retirement. —Simon.
Guilt? Perhaps. I had a little tour of that damned gym, soon after, before the thickest blood had quite dried. Pudding-like. Some details burn themselves permanently in the memory. But I happen to remember Rebecca Galen particularly because of the way she'd been shot. She was one of the few who died facing her murderers. I doubt very much if it will ever be my back that's in danger from 'Duv Galeni.'
The involvement of his father in the later Resistance worries me rather less. It wasn't just for us that the boy altered his name to the Barrayaran form.
But if we can capture this one's true allegiance, it will be something like what I'd had in mind for Komarr in the first place. A generation late, true, and after a long and bloody detour, but—since you bring up these theological terms—a sort of redemption. Of course he has political ambitions, but I beg to suggest they are both more complex and more constructive than mere assassination.
Put him back on the list, Simon, and leave him there this time. This issue tires me, and I don't want to be dragged over it again. Let him run, and prove himself—if he can.
Miles has no trouble deciphering his father's hastily scribbled signature; he's seen it often enough.
"Well," he says at last, into the silence. "That... raises more questions than it answers. Damn."