"But," Lord Vorkosigan went on earnestly, "you have too much talent and energy to waste on idleness. There are other forms of
service. I wanted to put an idea or two to you. Just to think on."
"Go ahead."
"Officer, or not, you will be Count Vorkosigan someday." He held up a hand as Miles opened his mouth to object. "Someday. You will inevitably have a place in the government, always barring revolution or some other social catastrophe. You will represent our ancestral
district. A district which has, frankly, been shamefully neglected.
Your grandfather's recent illness isn't the only reason. I've been taken up with the press of other work, and before that we both pursued
military careers—"
Tell me about it, Miles thought wearily.
"The end result is, there is a lot of work to be done there. Now, with
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a bit of legal training—"
"A lawyer? " Miles said, aghast. "You want me to be a lawyer?
That's as bad as being a tailor—"
"Beg pardon?" asked Lord Vorkosigan, missing the connection.
"Never mind. Something Grandfather said."
"Actually, I hadn't planned to mention the idea to your
grandfather." Lord Vorkosigan cleared his throat. "But given some grounding in government principles, I thought you might, ah,
deputize for your grandfather in the district. Government was never all warfare, even in the Time of Isolation, you know."
Sounds like you've been thinking about it for a while, Miles thought resentfully. Did you ever really believe I could make the grade, Father? He looked at Lord Vorkosigan more doubtfully. "There's not anything you're not telling me, is there, sir? About your—health, or anything?"
"Oh, no," Lord Vorkosigan reassured him. "Although in my line of work, you never know from one day to the next."
I wonder, thought Miles warily, what else is going on between
Gregor and my father? I have a queasy feeling I'm getting about ten percent of the real story . . .
Lord Vorkosigan blew out his breath, and smiled. "Well. I'm
keeping you from your rest, which you need at this point." He rose.
"I wasn't sleepy, sir."
"Do you want me to get you anything to help . . . ?" Lord Vorkosigan offered, cautiously tender.
"No, I have some painkillers they gave me at the infirmary. Two of those and I'll be swimming in slow motion." Miles made flippers of his hands, and rolled his eyes back.
Lord Vorkosigan nodded, and withdrew.
Miles lay back and tried to recapture Elena in his mind. But the
cold breath of political reality blown in with his father withered his fantasies, like frost out of season. He swung to his feet and shuffled to his bathroom for a dose of his slow-motion medicine.
Two down, and a swallow of water. All of them, whispered