Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [269]
"Hm. We'll see." She ran a hand through her short hair, and refocused. "So, Lord Vorkosigan. Tell me about your mother."
"Huh?" A most dizzying sharp left turn, for a military interrogation. "Why?"
She smiled ingratiatingly. "Greg's tales have interested me."
Greg's tales? Had the Emperor been fast-penta'd? "What . . . do you want to know?"
"Well . . . I understand Countess Vorkosigan is an off-worlder, a Betan who married into your aristocracy."
"The Vor are a military caste, but yes."
"How was she received, by the power-class—whatever they choose to call themselves? I'd thought Barrayarans were totally provincial, prejudiced against off-worlders."
"We are," Miles admitted cheerfully. "The first contact most Barrayarans—of all classes—had with off-worlders, after the end of the Time of Isolation when Barrayar was rediscovered, was with the Cetagandan invasion forces. They left a bad impression that lingers even now, three, four generations after we threw them off."
"Yet no one questioned your father's choice?"
Miles jerked up his chin in bafflement. "He was in his forties. And . . . and he was Lord Vorkosigan." So am I, now. Why doesn't it work for me like that?
"Her background made no difference?"
"She was Betan. Is Betan. In the Astronomical Survey first, but then a combat officer. Beta Colony had just helped beat us soundly in that stupid attempt we made to invade Escobar."
"So despite being an enemy, her military background actually helped gain her respect and acceptance among the Vor?"
"I guess so. Plus, she established quite a local military reputation in the fighting of Vordarian's Pretendership, the year I was born, twice. Led loyal troops, oh, several times, when my father couldn't be two places at once." And had been personally responsible for the five-year-old emperor-in-hiding's safety. More successfully than her son was doing so far for the twenty-five-year-old Gregor. Total screw-up was the phrase that sprang to mind, actually. "Nobody's messed with her since."
"Hm." Cavilo sat back, murmuring half to herself, "So, it has been done. Therefore, it can be done."
What, what can be done? Miles rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake up and concentrate. "How is Gregor?"
"Quite amusing."
Gregor the Lugubrious, amusing? But then, if it matched the rest of her personality, Cavilo's sense of humor was probably vile. "I meant his health."
"Rather better than yours, from the look of you."
"I trust he's been better fed."
"What, a taste of real military life too strong for you, Lord Vorkosigan? You've been fed the same as my troops."
"Can't be." Miles held up a ragged half-gnawed breakfast chew. "They'd have mutinied by now."
"Oh, dear." She regarded the repellent morsel with a sympathetic frown. "Those. I thought they'd been condemned. How did they end up here? Someone must be economizing. Shall I order you a regular menu?"
"Yes, thank you," said Miles immediately, and paused. She had neatly misdirected his attention from Gregor to himself. He must keep his mind on the Emperor. How much useful information had Gregor spilled, by now?
"You realize," Miles said carefully, "you are creating a massive interplanetary incident between Vervain and Barrayar."
"Not at all," said Cavilo reasonably. "I'm Greg's friend. I've rescued him from falling into the hands of the Vervani secret police. He's now under my protection, until the opportunity arises to restore him to his rightful place."
Miles blinked. "Do the Vervani have a secret police, as such?"
"Close enough." Cavilo shrugged. "Barrayar, of course, definitely does. Stanis seems quite worried about them. They must be very embarrassed, back in ImpSec, to have so thoroughly mislaid their charge. I fear their reputation is exaggerated."
Not quite. I'm ImpSec, and I know where Gregor is. So technically, ImpSec is right on top of the situation. Miles wasn't sure whether