Mirror Dance

“Yes,” Miles sighed. “Rehabilitation is starting to take an awfully bite out of the medical department’s budget. I may have Fleet accounting split it off, so Medical doesn’t find itself dangerously short-changed. But what would you have? My troops were loyal beyond measure; I ca

“Your ImpSec boss was on about your bills, I thought, at your mission briefing.”

“Illyan has to explain why enough cash to fund a private army keeps disappearing in his department budget every year, without ever admitting to the private army’s existence. Certain Imperial accountants tend to accuse him of departmental inefficiency, which gives him great anguish.”

The Dendarii shuttle pilot, having shut down his ship, ducked into the corridor and sealed the hatch. He nodded to Miles. “While I was waiting for you at Port Beauchene, sir, I picked up another story on the local news net, that you might be interested in. Local news here on Escobar, that is.” The man was bouncing lightly his toes.

Say on, Sergeant Lajoie.” Miles cocked an eyebrow up at him.

“The Cetagandans have just a

Miles’s fists clenched, joyously. “In other words, they’re abandoning their puppet government! Ha!” He hopped from foot to foot, and pounded Qui

“Yes, sir. My pleasure.” The gri

Miles’s grin stretched his face. “See, Elli! What Simon Illyan just bought would have been cheap at a thousand times the cost. A full-scale Cetagandan planetary invasion—first impeded—then bogged—then foundered—failed!” And in a fierce whisper, “I did it! I made the difference.”

Qui

“They didn’t put that in writing.” Miles’s lips drew back wolfishly. “All Simon said was, ’Help the Marilacans as opportunity presents.’ That was the standing order, in so many words.”

“But you knew damn well what he really wanted.”

“Four bloody years was enough. I have not betrayed Barrayar. Nor anyone else.”

“Yeah? So if Simon Illyan is so much more Machiavellian than you are, how is it that your version prevailed? Someday, Miles, you are going to run out of hairs to split with those people. And then what will you do?”

He smiled, and shook his head, evading answer.

His elation over the news from Marilac still made him feel like he was walking in half-gravity when he arrived at his cabin aboard the Triumph. After a surreptitious glance to be sure the corridor was unpeopled, he embraced and kissed Qui

It was home, for half his psyche, he reflected, tossing his flight bag onto his bed and heading directly for the shower. Ten years ago, Lord Miles Vorkosigan had invented the cover identity of Admiral Naismith out of his head in a desperate moment, and frantically faked his way to temporary control of the hastily re-named Dendarii Mercenaries. Barrayaran Imperial Security had discovered the cover to be useful … no. Credit where it was due. He had persuaded, schemed, demonstrated, and coerced ImpSec into finding use for this cover. Be careful what you pretend to be. You might become it.

When had Admiral Naismith stopped being a pretense? Gradually, surely, but mostly since his mercenary mentor Commodore Tung had retired. Or perhaps the wily Tung had recognized before Miles had that his services in propping Miles up to his prematurely exalted rank were no longer required. Colored vid arrays of Dendarii Free Mercenary Fleet organization bloomed in Miles’s head as he showered. Perso

Time. His people would be gathering. Qui

On the way to the meeting, he passed Sandy Hereld in the corridor, coming off duty, and gave her a friendly nod. She wheeled and walked backward in startlement. “You’re back, sir! That was quick.” He would hardly describe his several-week journey to Imperial HQ Barrayar as quick. She must mean the trip downside. “It only took two hours.”

“What?” Her nose wrinkled. She was still walking backwards, reached the end of the corridor.

He had a briefing room full of senior officers waiting. He waved and swung down a lift tube. The briefing room was comfortingly familiar, right down to the array of faces around the darkly shining table. Captain Auson of the Triumph. Elena Bothari-Jesek, recently promoted captain of the Peregrine. Her husband Commodore Baz Jesek, Fleet engineer and in charge, in Miles’s absence, of all the repair and refit activities of the Dendarii Fleet in Escobar orbit. The couple, Barrayarans themselves, were with Qui

Bel Thorne of the Ariel was late. That was unusual. One of Thorne’s driving characteristics was an insatiable curiosity; a new mission briefing was like a Winterfair gift to the Betan hermaphrodite. Miles turned to Elena Bothari-Jesek, to make small talk while they waited.