and sat cross-legged amid the junk to pick out the bones. "Care for any?"
"No, thanks, just had dinner."
"Dear God, I should think not!" cried Hathaway.
"Ah," said Miles. "Changed my mind. Just a taste . . ."
Baz held out a morsel on the point of his knife; Bothari's hands
twitched. Miles lipped it off, camp-fashion, and chomped it down with a sardonic smile at Hathaway. Baz waved the bottle at Bothari.
"Would your friend . . . ?"
"He can't," excused Miles. "He's on duty."
"Bodyguard," whispered Baz. He looked again at Miles with that strange expression, fear, and something else. "What the hell are you?"
"Nothing you need be afraid of. Whatever you're hiding from, it isn't me. You can have my word on that, if you wish."
"Vor," breathed Baz. "You're Vor."
"Well, yes. And what the hell are you?"
"Nobody." He picked rapidly at his fish. Miles wondered how long it had been since his last meal.
"Hard, to be nobody, in a place like this," Miles observed.
"Everybody has a number, everybody has a place to be—not many
interstices, to be nobody in. It must take a lot of effort and ingenuity."
"You said it," Baz agreed around a mouthful of goldfish. "This is the worst place I've ever been. You've got to keep moving around all the time."
"You do know," said Miles tentatively, "the Barrayaran Embassy will help you get home, if you want. Of course, you have to pay it back later, and they're pretty strict about collecting—they're not in the business of giving free rides to hitchhikers—but if you're really in trouble—"
"No!" It was almost a cry. It echoed faintly across the enormous arena. Baz lowered his voice self-consciously. "No, I don't want to go home. Sooner or later, I'll pick up some kind of job at the shuttleport, and ship off someplace better. There's got to be something turn up
soon."
"If you want work," said Hathaway eagerly, "all you have to do is register at—"
"I'll get something my own way," Baz cut him off harshly.
The pieces were falling into place. "Baz doesn't want to register anywhere," Miles explained to Hathaway, coolly didactic. "Up until now, Baz is something I thought impossible on Beta Colony. He's a
man who isn't here. He's passed across the information network
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without a blip. He never arrived—never passed through Customs, and
I'll bet that was one hell of a neat trick—as far as the computers are concerned, has not eaten, or slept, or purchased—or Registered, or
been Carded—and he would rather starve than do so."
"For pity's sake, why?" asked Hathaway.
"Deserter," commented Bothari laconically from above. "I've seen the look."
Miles nodded. "I think you've hit it, Sergeant."