"What if . . ."  Miles pulled at his hair, looking up cross-eyed to see if he could spot any of the sneaky gray ones, but this cut was still too short.  "What if my children find out I'm not really a grownup?  How dreadfully disappointed would they be?"

This time, Mark laughed out loud.  It was a very good sound, Miles thought, and he grinned back ruefully at his brother.

"I think your wife already knows," said Mark.

"I'm afraid so."  Miles rubbed his lips.  "Heh.  D'you think Vorlynkin and

Madame Sato will make a match of it?"

"Good God, how would I know?"

"I thought he had that look in his eye.  Not as sure about her . . ."  Which gave Miles a rather comradely feeling toward Vorlynkin, now he considered it.  He wished the man luck.

Roic stiffened, peering down into the concourse.

"What?" said Miles.

"There's Colonel Vorventa," Roic answered.  "Wonder what he wants?"

Miles leaned toward the railing and craned to see.  The Barrayaran officer was, among other duties, senior ImpSec liaison from the local Barrayaran Embassy on this main transfer station; Miles had dealt with him before, though more often with his predecessors.  The colonel looked up, saw Roic, then Miles, waved in a wait-right-there sort of fashion, and made for the lift tubes at the end of the concourse.  "Us, I'll bet.  Or me."  ImpSec would have known when their ship was coming in, of course.

"You, I hope," said Mark.  "I've had a few conversations with him.  I don't think he trusts me."

"He's actually pretty cosmopolitan, for a Barrayaran," said Miles.  "One of Da's New Men.  Blast, I hope he's not bringing me more work."

It was a compelling and unwelcome notion.  If some fresh forest fire involving Barrayar's interests had sprung up somewhere on this end of the Nexus, well, here was one of Gregor's most notable firemen already halfway there.  Miles's lips twisted.  No, I've just been!  I want to go home now!

"That's funny," said Roic, in slow speculation.  "I don't think I've ever seen him wearing his dress greens before."

Miles hadn't either.  "That's true.  He always wears local civvies, trying to blend in."

Not today.  Vorventa wore a high-necked military tunic in forest green, all his rank tags and decorations squarely in place, the green trousers with the red side-piping tucked neatly into mirror-polished riding boots, and a more inappropriate garb for a space station Miles could scarcely imagine.   "Damn, but he looks shiny.  Wonder what's up?"

"We'll find out in a minute," said Mark, turning in his chair to watch the officer make his way among the tables toward them.

Vorventa's steps slowed as he approached, and his eyes searched his quarry, though his face remained stiff.  He halted at the table's side, cast Mark and Roic a grave nod, came to attention, and offered Miles a very formal salute, though Miles was in no kind of uniform at all except his gray trousers and jacket.