Mark wondered what Admiral Naismith took care of, for Miles. Something subtle but important—the Countess even saw it. What was it she had said? I won’t seriously fear for Miles’s sanity till he’s cut off from the little Admiral. Hence the desperate edge in Miles’s drive to reclaim his health. His job with ImpSec was his lifeline to Admiral Naismith.
I think I understand that. Oh, yes.
“Did I ever apologize, for getting you killed?” Mark asked aloud.
“Not that I recall. … It wasn’t altogether your fault. I had no business mounting that drop mission. Should have taken Vasa Luigi up on his ransom offer. Except …”
“Except what?”
“He wouldn’t sell you to me. I suspect he was already planning to get a higher bid from Ryoval, even then.”
“That would be my guess. Ah … thank you.”
“I’m not sure it made a difference, in the end,” Miles said apologetically. “Since Ryoval just tried again.”
“Oh, yes. It made a huge difference, in the end. All the difference in the world.” Mark smiled slightly, in the dark. Vorbarr Sultana’s wildly assorted architecture passed by outside the canopy, snow-softened to a kind of unity.
“What do we do tomorrow?” Mark asked.
“Sleep in,” murmured Miles, oozing down a little further in his stiff uniform collar, rather like paste being sucked back into a tube.
“After that.”
“The party season ends here in three days, with the Winterfair bonfires. If my—our parents really go down to the District, I suppose I’ll divide my time between Hassadar and here, till ImpSec lets me come back to work. Hassadar is slightly warmer than Vorbarr Sultana, this time of year. Ah—you’re invited to come along with me, if you like.”
“Thank you. I accept.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“After your medical leave is over, I think I’ll sign up for one of your schools.”
“Which one?”
“If the Count and Countess are going to be mainly residing in Hassadar, maybe the District college there.”
“Hm. I should warn you, you’ll find a more, um, rural crowd there than you would in Vorbarr Sultana. You’ll run into more Barrayaran old-style thinking.”
“Good. That’s exactly what I want. I need to learn how to handle those hassles without accidentally killing people.”
“Er,” said Miles, “true. What are you going to study?”
“It almost doesn’t matter. It will give me an official status— student—and a chance to study the people. Data I can get off a machine. But I’m weak on people. There’s so much to learn. I need to know … everything.”
It was another kind of hunger, this insatiable gluttony for knowledge. An ImpSec analyst must surely possess the hugest possible database. The fellows he’d met at the coffee dispenser in ImpSec HQ had conducted flashing conversations with each other over the most appalling range and depth of subjects. He was going to have to hustle, if he wanted to compete in that crowd. To win. Miles laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“I’m just wondering what Hassadar is going to learn from you.”
The ground car turned in at the gates of Vorkosigan House, and slowed. “Maybe I’ll get up early,” said Mark. “There’s a lot to do.”
Miles grinned sleepily, puddled down in his uniform. “Welcome to the beginning.”