Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [0]
Apprentice
Lois McMaster Bujold
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 1997 by Lois McMaster Bujold. The Warrior's Apprentice © 1986; "The Mountains of Mourning" © 1989; The Vor Game © 1990; "Author's Afterword" © 1997, all by Lois McMaster Bujold.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-7434-3616-4
Cover art by Larry Dixon
First paperback printing, July 2003
Library of Congress Catalog Number 97-2168
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Production by Windhaven® Press, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America
For Lillian Stewart Carl
A HOSTILE ATMOSPHERE IS BETTER THAN NONE AT ALL . . .
Miles and Gregor were seated before Admiral Oser. Oser reminded Miles somehow of the deranged General Metzov. Was it the age, the build? The hostile glower, the murderous pinpricks of red light in the eye?
"Miles," the incognito Emperor Gregor whispered, "what did you do to piss this guy off?"
"Nothing!" Miles protested back, sotto voce. "Nothing on purpose."
Oser leaned back, crossing his arms. It was not a relaxed gesture. "As a spy, I could have you executed."
"Oh, come on," Miles scoffed in the lengthening silence. "What could I do, by myself with one man?"
"I remember the last time. You entered Tau Verde local space with a staff of four. Four months later you were dictating terms. So what are you planning now? And who's he?" He jerked a thumb at Gregor.
"Greg? He's just my batman."
"He doesn't look like a batman. He looks like an officer."
"You can't go by looks. Commodore Tung looks like a wrestler."
Oser's eyes were suddenly freezing. "Indeed. And how long have you been in correspondence with Captain Tung?"
By the sick lurch in his belly, Miles realized mentioning Tung had been a major mistake.
Oser pointed at the guard, who straightened attentively. "Space them," Oser ordered. "If he," pointing to Miles, "starts to talk, stop his tongue. It's his most dangerous organ."
"This is not going well, Miles," Gregor observed. "Any more bright ideas?"
BAEN BOOKS by LOIS McMASTER BUJOLD
The Vorkosigan Saga:
Shards of Honor
Barrayar
The Warrior's Apprentice
The Vor Game
Cetaganda
Miles, Mystery & Mayhem
Borders of Infinity
Brothers in Arms
Mirror Dance
Memory
Komarr
A Civil Campaign
Diplomatic Immunity
Falling Free
Ethan of Athos
The Spirit Ring
Omnibus Editions:
Cordelia's Honor
Young Miles
Miles, Mystery & Mayhem
Miles Errant
WARRIOR'S APPRENTICE
CHAPTER ONE
The tall and dour non-com wore Imperial dress greens and carried his communications panel like a field marshall's baton. He slapped it absently against his thigh and raked the group of young men before him with a gaze of dry contempt. Challenging.
All part of the game, Miles told himself. He stood in the crisp autumn breeze and tried not to shiver in his shorts and running shoes. Nothing to put you off balance like being nearly naked when all about you look ready for one of Emperor Gregor's reviews—although, in all fairness, the majority here were dressed the same as himself. The noncom proctoring the tests merely seemed like a one-man crowd. Miles measured him, wondering what conscious or unconscious tricks of body language he used to achieve that air of icy competence. Something to be learned there . . .
"You will run in pairs," the non-com instructed. He did not seem to raise his voice, but somehow it was pitched to carry to the ends of the lines. Another effective trick, Miles thought; it reminded him of that habit of his father's, of dropping his voice to a whisper when speaking in a rage. It locked attention.
"The timing of the five-kilometer run begins immediately upon completion of the last phase of the obstacle course; remember