Miles in Love - Lois McMaster Bujold [46]
"Were you really a spy?" Nikki asked suddenly.
Miles leaned back, brows rising. "Now, wherever did you get that idea?"
"Uncle Vorthys said you were in ImpSec. Galactic operations," Nikki reminded him.
Ah, yes, that first night at the dinner table. "I was a courier officer. Do you know what that is?"
"Not . . . 'zactly. I thought a courier was a jumpship . . . ?"
"The ship is named after the job. A courier is a kind of glorified delivery man. I carried messages back and forth for the Imperium."
Nikki's brow wrinkled dubiously. "Was it dangerous?"
"It wasn't supposed to be. I generally got places only to have to turn around immediately and go back. I spent a lot of time en route reading. Composing reports. And, ah, studying. ImpSec would send these training programs along, that you were supposed to complete in your spare time, and turn back in to your superiors when you got home."
"Oh," said Nikki, sounding a little dismayed, possibly at the thought that even grownups weren't spared from homework. He regarded Miles more sympathetically. Then a spark rose in his eye. "But you got to go on jumpships, didn't you? Imperial fast couriers and things?"
"Oh, yes."
"We went on a jumpship, to come here. It was a Vorsmythe Dolphin-class 776 with quadruple-vortex outboard control nacelles and dual norm-space thrusters and a crew of twelve. It carried a hundred and twenty passengers. It was full up, too." Nikki's face grew reflective. "Kind of a barge, compared to Imperial fast couriers, but Mama got the jump pilot to let me come up and see his control room. He let me sit in his station chair and put on his headset." The spark had become a flame in the memory of this glorious moment.
Miles could recognize imprinting when he saw it. "You admire jumpships, I take it."
"I want to be a jump pilot when I grow up. Didn't you ever? Or . . . or wouldn't they let you?" A certain wariness returned to Nikki's face; had he been cautioned by the adults not to mention Miles's mutoid appearance? Yes, let us all pretend to ignore the obvious. That ought to clarify the kid's worldview.
"No, I wanted to be a strategist. Like my Da and my Gran'da. I couldn't have passed the physical for jump pilot anyway."
"My Da was a soldier. It sounded boring. He stayed on one base for practically the whole time. I want to be an Imperial pilot, in the fastest ships, and go places."
Very far away from here. Yes. Miles understood that one, all right. It occurred to him suddenly that even if nothing else was done between now and then, a military physical would reveal Nikki's Vorzohn's Dystrophy. And even if it was successfully treated, the defect would disqualify him for military pilot's training.
"Imperial pilot?" Miles let his brows rise in apparent surprise. "Well, I suppose . . . but if you really want to go places, the military's not your best route."
"Why not?"
"Except for a very few courier or diplomatic missions, the military jump pilots just go from Barrayar to Komarr to Sergyar and back. Same old routes, round and round. And you have to wait forever for your turn on the roster, my pilot acquaintances tell me. Now, if you really want experience, going out with the Komarran trade fleets would take you much farther afield—all the way to Earth, and beyond. And they go out for much longer, and there are many more berths to be had. There are more kinds of ships. Pilots get a lot more time in the hot-seat. And when you get to the interesting places, you're a lot freer to look around."
"Oh." Nikki digested this thoughtfully. "Wait here," he commanded abruptly, and darted out.
He was back in moments cradling a box jammed with model jumpships. "This is the Dolphin-776 we went on," he held one up for Miles's inspection. He rummaged for another. "Did you ride on fast couriers like this one?"
"The Falcon-9? Yes, a time or two." A model caught Miles's eye; automatically, he slid down onto the floor beside Nikki, who was arranging his collection for fleet inspection.