He lapsed into introspective quiet for a time, meditating on the
ceremonies of death. Elena fell in with his silence, gazing wistfully down on the darkly glittering throng of Barrayar's upper class,
passing in and out four floors below her window.
"We could find out," he said suddenly, startling her from her reverie.
"What?"
"Where your mother's buried. And we wouldn't even have to ask
anyone."
"How?"
He grinned, swinging to his feet. "I'm not going to say. You'd go all wobbly on me, like that time we went spelunking down at Vorkosigan
Surleau and found the old guerilla weapons cache. You'll never get
another chance in your life to drive one of those old tanks, you know."
She made doubtful noises. Apparently her memory of the incident
was vivid and awful, even though she had avoided being caught in the landslide. But she followed.
* * *
They entered the darkened downstairs library cautiously. Miles
paused to brace the duty guard outside it with an off-color smirk,
lowering his voice confidentially. "Suppose you could sort of rattle the door if anyone comes, Corporal? We'd, ah—rather not have any
surprise interruptions."
The duty guard's return smirk was knowing. "Of course, Lord Mi—
Lord Vorkosigan." He eyed Elena with fresh speculation, one eyebrow quirking.
"Miles," Elena whispered furiously as the door swung closed, cutting off the steady murmur of voices, clink of glass and silver, soft tread of feet from Piotr Vorkosigan's wake that penetrated from
nearby rooms. "Do you realize what he's going to think?"
PDF Transform
PDF Transform
Y
Y
Y
er
Y
er
B
2
B
2
B
.0
B
.0
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
w
w
w .
w
A B B YY.com
.A B BYY.com
"Evil to him who evil thinks," he flung gaily over his shoulder.
"Just so he doesn't think of this . . ." He palmed the lock to the comconsole, with its double-scrambled links to military headquarters and the Imperial Residence, that sat incongruously before the carved marble fireplace. Elena's mouth fell open in astonishment as its force screen parted. A few passes of his hands brought the holovid plates to life.
"I thought that was top security!" she gasped.
"'Tis. But Captain Koudelka was giving me a little tutoring on the side, before, when I was—" a bitter smile, a jerk of the wrist,
"studying. He used to tap into the battle computers—the real ones, at headquarters—and run simulations for me. I thought he might not
have remembered to unkey me . . ." He was half-absorbed, entering a tattoo of complex directions.
"What are you doing?" she asked nervously.
"Entering Captain Koudelka's access code. To get military
records."
"Ye gods, Miles!"
"Don't worry about it." He patted her hand. "We're in here necking, remember? Nobody's likely to come in here tonight but
Captain Koudelka, and he won't mind that. We can't miss. Thought I'd start with your father's Service record. Ah, here . . ." The holovid plate threw up a flat screen and began displaying written records. "There's bound to be something about your mother on it, that we can use to