new, the Prince Serg had been designed with diplomacy as well as war in mind, a ship fit to carry the emperor on state visits without loss of military efficiency. He saw a young ensign, down a cross-corridor that had a wall panel apart, directing some tech crew on minor repairs—

no, by God, it was original installation. The Prince Serg had broken orbit with work crews still aboard, Miles had heard. He glanced back over his shoulder. There but for the grace of God and General Metzov

go I. If he'd kept his nose clean on Kyril Island for just six months . . .

he felt an illogical twinge of envy for that busy ensign.

They entered officers' country. Lieutenant Yegorov led them

through an antechamber and into a spartanly appointed flag office

twice the size of anything Miles had seen on a Barrayaran ship before.

Admiral Count Aral Vorkosigan looked up from his comconsole desk

as the doors slid silently back.

Miles stepped through, his belly suddenly shaking inside. To

conceal and control his emotion he tossed off, "Hey, you Imperial snails are going to go all fat and soft, lolling around in this kind of luxury, y'know?"

"Ha!" Admiral Vorkosigan stumbled out of his chair and banged around the corner of his desk in his haste. Well, no wonder, how can

he see with all that water standing in his eyes? He enfolded Miles in a hard embrace. Miles grinned and blinked and swallowed, face

smashed against that cool green sleeve, and almost had control of his features again when Count Vorkosigan held him out at arm's length

for an anxious, searching inspection. "You all right, boy?"

"Just fine. How'd you like your wormhole jump?"

"Just fine," breathed Count Vorkosigan back. "Mind you, there were moments when certain of my advisors wanted to have you shot.

And there were moments when I agreed with 'em."

Lieutenant Yegorov, cut off in mid-announcement of their arrival

(Miles hadn't heard him speaking, and he doubted his father had

either), was standing with his mouth still open, looking perfectly

stunned. Lieutenant Jole, suppressing a grin himself, arose from the other side of the comconsole desk and guided Yegorov gently and

mercifully back out the door. "Thank you, Lieutenant. The Admiral appreciates your services, that will be all. . . ." Jole glanced back over his shoulder, quirked a pensive brow, and followed Yegorov out.

Miles just glimpsed the blond lieutenant drape himself across a chair in the antechamber, head back in the relaxed posture of a man

anticipating a long wait, before the door slid closed. Jole could be supernaturally courteous at times.

"Elena." With an effort, Count Vorkosigan broke away from Miles

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