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opened in the gray-clouded dome overhead, revealing blue sky. The effect was
extremely weird, like a view into another dimension. A much smaller hole
opened in the top of the force-bubble. White fire shot skyward as the bubble
vented itself. Miles assumed the airspace over the center of the capital had
been cleared of all traffic, though the stream diffused into faint smoke
quickly enough.
Then the dome closed again, the artificial clouds scurrying away on an
artificial breeze, the light growing brighter and cheerier. The force-bubble
faded into nothingness, leaving only an empty circle of undamaged grass. Not
even ash.
A waiting ba servitor brought the Emperor a colorful robe. Giaja traded off
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his outer layer of whites, and donned the new garment. The Emperor raised a
finger, his honor guards again surrounded him, and the Imperial parade
reversed itself out of the bowl. When the last major figure cleared the rim,
the mourners gave a collective sigh, and the silence and rigid pattern broke
in a murmur of voices and rustle of departing motion.
A large open float-car was waiting at the top of the dell to take the emperor
. . . away, to wherever Cetagandan emperors went when the party was over.
Would Giaja have a good stiff drink and kick off his shoes? Probably not. The
attendant ba arranged the Imperial robes, and sat to the controls.
Miles found himself left standing beside the car as it rose. Giaja glanced
over at him, and favored him with a microscopic nod. "Good-bye, Lord
Vorkosigan."
Miles bowed low. "Until we meet again."
"Not soon, I trust," Giaja murmured dryly, and floated off, trailed by a
gaggle of force-bubbles now turned all the colors of the rainbow. None paused
as if to look back.
Ghem-General Benin, at Miles's elbow, almost cracked an expression. Laughing?
"Come, Lord Vorkosigan. I will escort you back to your delegation. Having
given your ambassador my personal word to return you, I must personally redeem
it, as you Barrayarans say. A curious turn of phrase. Do you use it in the
sense of a soul in a religion, or an object in a lottery?"
"Mm . . . more in a medical sense. As in the temporary donation of a vital
organ." Hearts and promises, all redeemed here today.
"Ah."
They came upon Ambassador Vorob'yev and his party, looking around as galactic
delegates boarded float-cars for a ride to one last fantastical meal. The
cars' white silk seats had all been replaced, in the last hour, by assorted
colored silks, signifying the end of the official mourning. At no discernible
signal, one came promptly to Benin. No waiting in line for them.
"If we left now," Miles noted to Ivan, "we could be in orbit in an hour."
"But the ghem-ladies might be at the buffet," Ivan protested. "Women like
food, y'know."
Miles was starving. "In that case, definitely leave straightaway," he said
firmly.
Benin, perhaps mindful of his Celestial Master's last broad hint, supported
this with a bland, "That sounds like a good choice, Lord Vorkosigan."
Vorob'yev pursed his lips; Ivan's shoulders slumped slightly.
Vorreedi nodded at Miles's throat, a glint of puzzled suspicion in his eyes.
"What was that all about . . . Lieutenant?"
Miles fingered his silken collar with the Cetagandan Imperial Order of Merit
attached. "My reward. And my punishment. It seems the haut Fletchir Giaja has
a low taste for high irony."
Maz, who had obviously not yet been brought up to speed on the subtext of the
situation, protested his lack of enthusiasm. "But it's an extraordinary honor,
Lord Vorkosigan! There are Cetagandan ghem-officers who would gladly die for
it!"
Vorob'yev explained coolly, "But rumors of it will hardly make him popular at
home, love. Particularly circulating, as they must, without any real
explanation attached. Even more particularly in light of the fact that Lord
Vorkosigan's military assignment is in Barrayaran Imperial Security. From the
Barrayaran point of view, it looks . . . well, it looks very strange."
Miles sighed. His headache was coming on again. "I know. Maybe I can get
Illyan to classify it secret."
"About three thousand people just saw it!" Ivan said.
Miles stirred. "Well, that's your fault."
"Mine!"
"Yeah. If you'd brought me two or three coffee bulbs this morning, instead of
only one, my brain might have been on-line, and I could've ducked faster and
avoided this. Bloody slow reflexes. The implications are still dawning on me."
For example: if he had not bowed his head to Giaja's silk collar in polite
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compliance, how dramatically would the chances have risen of his and Ivan's
jumpship meeting some unfortunate accident while exiting the Cetagandan
Empire?
Vorreedi's brows twitched. "Yes . . ." he said. "What did you and the
Cetagandans talk about last night, after Lord Vorpatril and I were excluded?"
"Nothing. They never asked me anything more." Miles grinned blackly. "That's
the beauty of it, of course. Let's see you prove a negative, Colonel. Just
try. I want to watch."
After a long pause, Vorreedi slowly nodded. "I see."
"Thank you for that, sir," breathed Miles.
Benin escorted them all to the South Gate, and saw them out for the last time.
* * *
The planet of Eta Ceta was fading in the distance, though not fast enough to
suit Miles. He switched off the monitor in his bunk aboard the ImpSec courier
vessel, and lay back to nibble a bit more from his plain dry ration bar, and
hope for sleep. He wore loose and wrinkled black fatigues, and no boots at
all. He wriggled his toes in their unaccustomed freedom. If he played it
right, he might be able to finesse his way through the entire two-week trip
home barefoot. The Cetagandan Order of Merit, hung above his head, swayed
slightly on its colored ribbon, gleaming in the soft light. He scowled
meditatively at it.
A familiar double-knock sounded on his cabin door; for a moment he longed to
feign sleep. Instead he sighed, and pushed himself up on his elbow. "Enter, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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