"Actually, I think he rather enjoyed the spectacle. I don't know what he thought when he was younger, but by the time I really came to know him, in the last ten years or so . . . I think he'd come to feel that the Imperium was a creation he helped to maintain. He seemed to have a vested interest in it. An almost Cetagandan attitude, in a weird way; more of an artist to his medium than a servant to his master. Illyan played Gregor's servant with great panache, but I don't think I've ever met a less servile human being."

"Ah." Haroche's eyes were alert, as he took this in. His fingers drummed once on the black glass, a downright Illyanesque gesture. The man was actually listening, by God. And learning? A heartening thought.

Haroche's lips compressed with decision, and he tapped out a code on his comconsole. Lady Alys's secretary appeared; after a few murmured words of greeting and explanation, Alys's own face formed over the vid plate. She frowned at Haroche.

"Milady." He nodded shortly to her. His hand gesture might be interpreted either as a modified analyst's salute, or a man tugging his forelock; the nuance was nicely vague. "I've reconsidered your request for admittance to the ImpSec clinic. Chief Illyan may be facing surgery shortly. I'd take it as a personal favor if you would be willing to come down here and stay with him for a while beforehand. Familiar faces seem to help him to, um, stay calm with fewer drugs."

Alys straightened. "I told you that yesterday!"

"Yes, milady," said Haroche meekly. "You were right. May I send a car to your residence for you? And how soon?"

"For this," Alys stated, "I can be ready in fifteen minutes."

Miles wondered if Haroche appreciated what an awesome statement this was. It could take a high Vor lady fifteen hours to get ready to go places, sometimes.

"Thank you, milady. I think this could be a great help."

"Thank you, General." She hesitated. "And thank Lord Vorkosigan too." She cut the com.

"Huh," said Haroche; his mouth twitched lopsidedly. "She is sharp."

"In certain areas within her personal expertise, one of the sharpest."

"One wonders how Lord Ivan . . . ah, well. How was that, my Lord Auditor?"

Extraordinary. "A noble apology. She had to accept. You won't be sorry."

"As hard as it may be for you to grasp, considering the history of your attitude to most of your commanding officers"—Haroche tapped his comconsole—just which files had he been reading?—"I do want to do a good job. Do your duty is not enough. The lower ranks are filled with men who merely do their duty, and no more. I know I'm not a suave man—never have been—"

"Neither was Illyan's predecessor Captain Negri, I've heard," Miles offered.