escaped customs at last, it appeared, for he led the first group. His collar was undone, and he looked decidedly ruffled. Uh oh, thought
Miles, it looks like he's had a strip-search—that's guaranteed to put him in a ferocious mood. He was followed by a new Betan security
patrolman, and a limping Betan civilian Miles had never seen before, who was gesticulating and complaining bitterly. The man had a livid bruise on his face, and one eye was swelling shut. Elena trailed,
seeming on the verge of tears.
The second group was led by the shuttleport administrator, and
included now a number of other officials. The third group was headed by the Betan security woman. She had two burly patrolmen and four
medical types in her wake. Mayhew glanced from right to left, and
sobered abruptly. The Betan security men had their stunners in hand.
"Oh, lad," he muttered. The security men were fanning out.
Mayhew scrambled to his knees. "Oh, kid . . ."
"It's up to you, Arde," said Miles quietly.
"Do it!"
The Botharis arrived. The Sergeant opened his mouth. Miles,
dropping his voice, cut across his beginning roar—by God, it was an effective trick—"Attention, please, Sergeant. I require your witness.
Pilot Officer Mayhew is about to make oath."
The Sergeant's jaw tightened like a vise, but he came to attention.
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"Put your hands between mine, Arde—like that—and repeat after
me. I, Arde Mayhew—is that your full legal name? use that, then—do
testify I am an unsworn freeman, and take service under Lord Miles
Naismith Vorkosigan as an Armsman simple—go ahead and say that
part—" Mayhew did so, rolling his eyes from left to right. "And will hold him as my liege commander until my death or his releases me."
That repeated, Miles said, rather quickly as the crowd closed in, "I, Miles Naismith Vorkosigan, vassal secundus to Emperor Gregor
Vorbarra, do accept your oath, and pledge you the protection of a
liege commander; this by my word as Vorkosigan. All done—you can
get up now."
One good thing, thought Miles, it's diverted the Sergeant
completely from whatever he was about to say. Bothari found his
voice at last. "My lord," he hissed, "you can't swear a Betan!"
"I just did," Miles pointed out cheerfully. He bounced a bit, feeling quite unusually pleased with himself. The Sergeant's glance passed
across Mayhew's bottle, and narrowed on Miles.
"Why aren't you asleep?" he growled.
The Betan patrolman gestured at Miles. "Is this the man?"
The Betan security officer from the original shuttleport group
approached. Mayhew had remained on his knees, as if plotting to
crawl off under cover of the fire overhead. "Pilot Officer Mayhew,"
she cried, "you are under arrest. These are your rights: you have a right to—"