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for the large crowd its levels and niches could enclose.
Sound absorbers concealed somewhere, Miles thought and, he bet, if you knew
just where to stand, secure cones to baffle eavesdroppers both human and
electronic. He noted where the Barrayaran and Tau Cetan ambassadors were
standing, for future reference; yes, even their lip movements seemed shadowed
and blurred somehow. Certain right-of-passage treaties through
Tau Cetan local space were coming up for renegotiation soon.
Miles and his charge drifted toward the architectural center of the room, the
fountain and its pool. It was a cool, trickling sort of sculptured thing, with
color-coordinated ferns and mosses. Red-gold shapes moved
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Miles stiffened, then forced his spine to relax. A young man in black
Cetagandan dress uniform with the yellow and black face-paint markings of a
ghem-lieutenant approached, smiling and watchful. They exchanged wary nods.
"Welcome to Earth, Lord Vorkosigan," murmured the Cetagandan. "Is this an
official visit, or are you on a grand tour?"
"A little of both," Miles shrugged. "I ve been assigned to the embassy for my,
ah, education. But
I believe you have the advantage of me, sir." He didn t, of course; both the
two Cetagandans who were in uniform and the two who were not, plus three
individuals suspected of being their covert jackals, had been pointed out to
Miles first thing.
"Ghem-lieutenant Tabor, military attaché, Cetagandan Embassy," Tabor recited
politely. They exchanged nods again.
"Will you be here long, my lord?"
"I don t expect so. And yourself?"
"I have taken up the art of bonsai for a hobby. The ancient Japanese are said
to have worked on a single tree for as long as a hundred years. Or perhaps it
only seemed like it."
Miles suspected Tabor of humor, but the lieutenant kept his face so straight
it was hard to tell.
Perhaps he feared cracking his paint job.
A trill of laughter, mellow like bells, drew their attention toward the far
end of the fountain.
Ivan Vorpatril was leaning against the chrome railing down there, dark head
bent close to a blonde confection. She wore something in salmon pink and
silver that seemed to waft even when she was standing still, as now. Artfully
artless golden hair cascaded across one white shoulder. Her fingernails
flashed silver-pink as she gestured animatedly.
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Tabor hissed slightly, bowed exquisitely over the dowager s hand, and passed
on. Miles next saw him on the other side of the fountain jockeying for
position near Ivan but somehow Miles felt it was not military secrets
Tabor was prowling for. No wonder he d seemed only marginally interested in
Miles. But Tabor s stalk on the blonde was interrupted by a signal from his
ambassador, and he perforce followed the dignitaries out.
"Such a nice young man, Lord Vorpatril," Miles s dowager cooed. "We like him
very much here. The ambassador s lady tells me you two are related?" She
cocked her head at him, brightly expectant.
"Cousins, of a sort," Miles explained. "Ah who is the young lady with him?"
The dowager smiled proudly. "That s my daughter, Sylveth."
Daughter, of course. The ambassador and his lady had a keen Barrayaran
appreciation of the nuances of social rank.
Miles, being of the senior family line, not to mention the son of Prime
Minister Count Vorkosigan, outranked Ivan socially if not militarily. Which
meant, oh God, he was doomed. He d be stuck with the VIP dowagers forever
while
Ivan Ivan carried off all the daughters. . .
"A lovely couple," said Miles thickly.
"Aren t they? Just what sort of cousins, Lord Vorkosigan?"
"Uh? Oh, Ivan and me, yes. Our grandmothers were sisters. My grandmother was
Prince Xav Vorbarra s eldest child, Ivan s was his youngest."
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"Princesses? How romantic."
Miles considered describing in detail how his grandmother, her brother, and
most of their children had been blown into hamburger during Mad Emperor Yuri s
reign of terror. No, the mayor s lady might find it merely a shivery and outré
tale, or
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