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Miles lunges for it, not quite bludgeoning Ivan aside. "Yes, sir?"

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"Come to my office, Lieutenant Vorkosigan," says Galeni, levelly, unreadable.

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"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!"

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"Or exciting career advancement in the field of inventory. You could count all the goldfish in the reception court fountain."

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"Ha." Miles heads for the door.

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"It's tricky! They keep swimming around."

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"...Ivan, did Galeni actually make you count the goldfish?"

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"...Long story. Suspected security breach."

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"I'm going to have that story out of you. Later."

For now, he is going straight to Galeni's office.
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Where Galeni is, unsurprisingly. He is looking, not pleasedly, at his comconsole.

"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."
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"What the hell, sir?" says Miles. "That can't be right! What the devil are escort duties?"

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"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."

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Never mind the fine distinction between an aristocracy and a military caste - Miles isn't exactly surprised at the orders, he's just surprised at the absence of any hint about what he should do with the Dendarii. It won't be so bad to be temporarily assigned to Earth while Linya is here, anyway.

"And - the rest? My eighteen million marks?"
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"Neither such a credit order, nor any mention of one, accompanied this courier, Lieutenant Vorkosigan."

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"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."

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"I don't doubt it, but I cannot provide you funds that were not sent."

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Miles's breath hisses out between his teeth. "Send again. Sir."

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"Oh, you may be sure I will."

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"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."

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"I'm very tempted - but no, better not. Your orders, at least, are plain. Your Dendarii will simply have to wait for the next courier. I'm sure, if everything is as you've described, that it will straighten out presently."

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He waits a few seconds just to see if Galeni will have a sudden change of heart, then slumps fractionally. "Yes, sir," he says, offers an impeccable salute, and retreats to go bother Ivan for that goldfish story.

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The story turns out to be about a not-well-liked guest to an embassy party who brought her cat, only for the animal to get loose. Ivan's inventory of the goldfish was intended to give them some sort of concrete property damage to complain to her about as something in the way of recompense for lost time spent tracking down her elusive creature. Alas, all goldfish were accounted for, and the cat was returned without an attached bill. Not much of a security breach.

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"Ha. Well, it could have been an incendiary cat, if this was Barrayar..." Miles grins, then shakes his head. "They didn't send my fucking money, Ivan. Galeni's asking again, but it'll be another ten days for the courier to make it there and back. The fleet's finances are going to be absolutely fucked to hell. I'm almost tempted to declare that this is a good enough reason to tell Linya about the Dendarii - she couldn't come up with eighteen million marks out of pocket, I don't think, but she could get a damn sight closer than this embassy, and do it in less than ten days. But I don't think I can quite justify it to myself." He snorts. "Maybe I'll have the Dendarii offer to egg-sit her pet neuroscientist all the way to Komarr - the fleet's still stuck in Earth orbit, but while I'm imagining that she'd pay a mercenary fleet eighteen million marks to move one neuroscientist, I might as well imagine that she'll be willing to pay us and then wait until our repairs are finished for us to carry out the job."

He pauses, struck by inspiration.

"Hell, that's not a bad idea - I mean, not that literal exact idea, but the idea of putting the Dendarii to work while they're sitting around waiting to be paid. We can't leave Earth orbit or do anything especially warlike, but that doesn't mean there's no opportunities - security guards - medical personnel - computer technicians - there's lots of things you can do with a mercenary fleet that can't be used as a mercenary fleet. I'll tell Elli next time we talk."
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"...I wasn't under the impression Dr. Cheung resembled an egg."

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Miles waves a hand. "One time when I was talking to Linya I compared courier duty to sitting on a packet of data disks like a hen on her eggs while they travel from place to place."

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