there. Think of it—Sergeant Elena Bothari."
She chilled. "Now you're teasing."
"Just speaking as one civilian to another," he half-apologized.
She nodded dark agreement, then brightened with remembered
purpose. "Oh. Your mother sent me to get you for lunch."
"Ah." He pushed himself to his feet with a sibilant grunt. "There's an officer no one disobeys. The Admiral's Captain."
Elena smiled at the image. "Yes. Now, she was an officer for the Betans, and no one thinks she's strange, or criticizes her for wanting to break the rules."
"On the contrary. She's so strange nobody even thinks of trying to include her in the rules. She just goes on doing things her own way."
"I wish I were Betan," said Elena glumly.
"Oh, make no mistake—she's strange by Betan standards, too.
Although I think you would like Beta Colony, parts of it," he mused.
"I'll never get off planet."
He eyed her sapiently. "What's got you down?"
She shrugged. "Oh, well, you know my father. He's such a
conservative. He ought to have been born two hundred years ago.
You're the only person I know who doesn't think he's weird. He's so paranoid."
"I know—but it's a very useful quality in a bodyguard. His
pathological suspiciousness has saved my life twice."
"You should have been born two hundred years ago, too."
"No, thanks. I'd have been slain at birth."
"Well, there is that," she admitted. "Anyway, just out of the blue this morning he started talking about arranging my marriage."
Miles stopped abruptly, and glanced up at her. "Really. What did he say?"
"Not much." She shrugged. "He just mentioned it. I wish—I don't know. I wish my mother were alive."
"Ah. Well . . . There's always my mother, if you want somebody to talk to. Or—or me. You can talk to me, can't you?"
She smiled gratefully. "Thanks." They came to the stairs. She paused; he waited.
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"He never talks about my mother anymore, you know? Hasn't since I was about twelve. He used to tell me long stories—well, long for
him—about her. I wonder if he's beginning to forget her."
"I shouldn't think so. I see him more than you do. He's never so much as looked at another woman," Miles offered reassuringly.
They started down the stairs. His aching legs did not move
properly; he had to do a kind of penguin shuffle to achieve the steps.
He glanced up at Elena self-consciously, and grasped the rail firmly.
"Shouldn't you be taking the lift tube?" she asked suddenly, watching his uncertain placement of his feet.
Don't you start treating me like a cripple, too . . . He glanced down the railing's gleaming helix. "They told me to stay off my legs. Didn't specify how . . ." He hopped up on the banister, and shot her a wicked grin over his shoulder.