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plenty of medical identification—footprints, retinal, blood type—stick your foot over here."
Elena hopped about, removing shoes and hose. Miles helped her
place her right foot over the holovid plate. He restrained himself with a twitching effort from running a hand up that incredible silken
length of thigh, blooming from her rumpled skirts. Skin like an orchid petal. He bit his lips; pain, pain would help him to focus. Damn tight trousers anyway. He hoped she wouldn't notice . . .
Setting up the optical laser check helped his focus rather better. A flickering red light played over her sole for a few seconds. He set the machine to comparing whorls and ridges. "Allowing for the change from infant to adult—my God, Elena, it is you!" He preened. If he couldn't be a soldier, perhaps he had a future as a detective. . . .
Elena's dark gaze transfixed him. "But what does it mean?" Her face congealed suddenly. "Don't I have—was I—am I some kind of clone, or manufactured?" She blinked suddenly liquid eyes, and her voice trembled. "I don't have a mother? No mother, and it was all just—"
The triumph of his successful identification seeped out of him at
her distress. Clod! Now he'd turned her dream mother into a
nightmare—no, it was her own flying imagination that was doing that.
"Uh, uh—no, certainly not! What an idea! You're obviously your father's daughter—no insult intended—it just means your mother was
killed at Escobar, instead of here. And furthermore," he sprang up to declaim dramatically, "this makes you my long-lost sister!"
"Huh?" said Elena, bewildered.
"Sure. Or—anyway, there's a 1/17th chance that we came out of the same replicator." He spun about her, conjuring farce against her terrors. "My l/17th twin sister! It must be Act V! Take heart, this means you're bound to marry the Prince in the next scene!"
She laughed through her tears. The door rattled ominously. The
corporal outside declaimed with unnecessary volume, "Good evening, sir!"
"Shoes! My shoes! Give me back my stockings!" hissed Elena.
Miles thrust them at her, killed the comconsole, and sealed it with one frantic, fluid motion. He catapulted onto the sofa, grabbed Elena about the waist and carried her down with him. She giggled and swore at him, struggling with her second shoe. One tear was still making a glistening track down her cheek.
He slipped a hand up into her shining hair, and bent her face
toward his. "We better make this look good. I don't want to arouse Captain Koudelka's suspicions." He hesitated, his grin fading into seriousness. Her lips melted onto his.
The lights flicked on; they sprang apart. He peered up over her
shoulder, and forgot for a moment how to exhale.
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