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history to make a pilgrimmage to the cemeteries of his Emperor’s soldiers, maybe even burn a death offering? “Sir,” he began, “do you suppose I could—”
    And, “Son,” Count Vorkosigan began at the same moment, “How would you like to deputize for your mother—”
    “I beg your pardon,” and “Go ahead, sir.”
    “I was about to say,” continued the Count, “that this might be a very opportune time for you to visit your Grandmother Naismith again. It’s been what, almost two years since you were to Beta Colony? And while Betans may expect to live to be 120—well, you never know.”
    Miles untangled his tongue, and managed not to lurch. “What a wonderful idea! Uh—could I take Elena?”
    There went the eyebrows again. “What?”
    Miles swung to his feet, and shuffled back and forth across the room, unable to contain his outpouring of schemes in stillness. Give Elena a trip off-planet? My God, he’d be a hero in her eyes, a sheer two meters tall, like Vorthalia the Bold. “Yes, sure—why not? Bothari will be with me anyway—who could be a more right and proper chaperone than her own father? Who could object?”
    “Bothari,” said Count Vorkosigan bluntly. “I can’t imagine him warming to the thought of exposing Elena to Beta Colony. After all, he’s seen it. And coming from you, ah, just at the moment, I’m not at all sure he’d perceive it as a proper invitation.”
    “Mm.” Shuffle, turn, shuffle. Flash! “Then I won’t invite her.”
    “Ah.” Count Vorkosigan relaxed. “Wise, I’m sure...”
    “I’ll have Mother invite her. Let’s see him object to that!”
    Count Vorkosigan emitted a surprised laugh. “Underhanded, boy!” But his tone was approving. Miles’s heart lifted.
    “This trip idea was really hers, wasn’t it, sir?” Miles said.
    “Well—yes,” Count Vorkosigan admitted. “But in fact, I was glad she suggested it. It would—ease my mind, to have you safe on Beta Colony for the next few months.” He rose. “You must excuse me. Duty calls. I have to go feel up that rampant creeper Vordrozda, for the greater glory of the Empire.” His expression of distaste spoke volumes. “Frankly, I’d rather be getting drunk in a corner with that idiot Ivan—or talking to you.” His father’s eyes were warm upon him.
    “Your work comes first, of course, sir. I understand that.”
    Count Vorkosigan paused, and gave him a peculiar look. “Then you understand nothing. My work has been a blight on you from the very beginning. I’m sorry, sorry it made such a mess for you— “
    Mess of you, thought Miles. Say what you really mean, damn it.
    “—I never meant it to be so.” A nod, and he withdrew.
    Apologizing to me again, thought Miles miserably. For me. He keeps telling me I’m all right—and then apologizing. Inconsistent, Father.
    He shuffled back and forth across the room again, and his pain burst into speech. He flung his words against the deaf door, “I’ll make you take back that apology! I am all right, damn it! I’ll make you see it. I’ll stuff you so full of pride in me there’ll be no room left for your precious guilt! I swear by my word as Vorkosigan. I swear it, Father,” his voice fell to a whisper, “Grandfather. Somehow, I don’t know how...”
    He took another turn around his chamber, collapsing back into himself, cold and desperately sleepy. A mess of crumbs, an empty wine bottle, an open full one. Silence.
    “Talking to yourself in an empty room again, I see,” he whispered. “A very bad sign, you know.”
    His legs hurt. He cradled the second bottle, and took it with him to lie down.

 
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    *        *        *
     
     
    “Well, well, well,” said the sleek Betan customs agent, in sarcastic simulation of good cheer. “If it isn’t Sergeant Bothari of Barrayar. And what did you bring me this time, Sergeant? A few nuclear antipersonnel mines, overlooked in your back pocket? A maser cannon or two,