"Meanwhile, neither Security nor the M.H.B. could touch you,
because legally you'd be like a part of my body."
Mayhew blinked. "That sounds screwy as hell. Where do I sign?
How do you register it?"
"All you have to do is kneel, place your hands between mine, and repeat about two sentences. It doesn't even need witnesses, although it's customary to have two."
Mayhew shrugged. "All right. Sure, kid."
Thump, spin, turn, straighten, thump. "All-right-sure-kid. I
thought you wouldn't understand it. What I've described is only a tiny part of my half of the bargain, your privileges. It also includes your obligations, and a ream of rights I have over you. For instance—just one for-instance—if you were to refuse to carry out an order of mine in the heat of battle, I would have the right to strike off your head. On the spot."
Mayhew's jaw dropped. "You realize," he said at last, "the Mental Health Board's going to drop a net over you, too. . . ."
Miles grinned sardonically. "They can't. Because if they tried, I could cry havoc to my liege lord for protection. And I'd get it, too. He's pretty touchy about who does what to his subjects. Oh, that's another angle. If you become a liegeman to me, it automatically puts you into a relationship with my liege lord, kind of a complicated one."
"And his, and his, and his, I suppose," said Mayhew. "I know all about chains of command."
"Well, no, that's as far as it goes. I'm sworn directly to Gregor Vorbarra, as a vassal secundus." Miles realized he might as well be talking gibberish, for all the meaning his words were conveying.
"Who's this Greg-guy?" asked Mayhew.
"The Emperor. Of Barrayar," Miles added, just to be sure he understood.
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"Oh."
Typical Betan, thought Miles, they don't study anybody's history
but Earth's and their own. "Think about it, anyway. It's not something you should just jump into."
When the last voice-print had been recorded, Mayhew carefully
disconnected the toggle box—Miles held his breath—and the senior
pilot officer returned to convey them planetside.
The senior pilot officer addressed Miles with a shade more respect
in his voice. "I had no idea you were from such a wealthy family, Lord Vorkosigan. That was a solution to the problem I certainly hadn't
anticipated. But perhaps one ship is just a bauble, to a Barrayaran lord."
"Not really," said Miles. "I'm going to have to do some hustling to cover that note. My family used to be well off, I admit, but that was back in the Time of Isolation. Between the economic upheavals at the end of it, and the First Cetagandan War, we were pretty much wiped
out, financially." He grinned a little. "You galactics got us coming and going. My great-grandfather on the Vorkosigan side, when the first