longer. He could still rattle off their pay-rates. They exchanged

pleasantries, but being good ImpSec men they did not ask the

question alight in their eyes, Where have you been sir? Miles was not issued a security escort to Illyan's office, a good sign. It wasn't as if he didn't know the way, by now.

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

He followed the familiar turns into the labyrinth, up the lift tubes.

The captain in Illyan's outer office merely waved him through, barely glancing up from his comconsole. The inner office was unchanged,

Illyan's oversized comconsole desk was unchanged, Illyan himself was

. . . rather tireder-looking, paler. He ought to get out and catch some of that spring sun, eh? At least his hair hadn't all turned white, it was still about the same brown-grey mix. His taste in clothes was still bland to the point of camouflage.

Illyan pointed to a seat—another good sign, Miles took it

promptly—finished whatever had been absorbing him, and at last

looked up. He leaned forward to put his elbows on the comconsole

and lace his fingers together, and regarded Miles with a kind of

clinical disapproval, as if he were a data point that messed up the curve, and Illyan was deciding if he could still save the theory by reclassifying him as experimental error.

"Ensign Vorkosigan," Illyan sighed. "It seems you still have a little problem with subordination."

"I know, sir. I'm sorry."

"Do you ever intend to do anything about it besides feel sorry?"

"I can't help it, sir, if people give me the wrong orders."

"If you can't obey my orders, I don't want you in my Section."

"Well . . . I thought I had. You wanted a military evaluation of the Hegen Hub. I made one. You wanted to know where the

destabilization was coming from. I found out. You wanted the

Dendarii Mercenaries out of the Hub. They'll be leaving in about three more weeks, I understand. You asked for results. You got them."

" Lots of them," Illyan murmured.

"I admit, I didn't have a direct order to rescue Gregor, I just assumed you'd want it done. Sir."

Illyan searched him for irony, lips thinning as he apparently found it. Miles tried to keep his face bland, though out-blanding Illyan was a major effort. "As I recall," said Illyan (and Illyan's memory was eidetic, thanks to an Illyrican bio-chip) "I gave those orders to Captain Ungari. I gave you just one order. Can you remember what it was?"

This inquiry was in the same encouraging tone one might use on a six-year-old just learning to tie his shoes. Trying to out-irony Illyan was as dangerous as trying to out-bland him.

"Obey Captain Ungari's orders," Miles recalled reluctantly.