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astonishment had worn off, became silent and loathe to leave.
"Look, kid," he spoke suddenly, about halfway through the complicated
transaction. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but-but it's just too
late. You understand, when I get downside, they're not going to just be
laughing this off. Security'll be waiting at the docking bay, with a patrol
from the Mental Health Board right beside 'em. They'll slap a stun-net over me
so fast-you'll see me in a month or two, walking around smiling. You're always
smiling, after the M.H.B. gets done..." He shook his head helplessly. "It's
just too late."
"It's never too late while you're breathing," snapped Miles. He did the
free-fall equivalent of pacing the room, shoving off from one wall, turning in
midair, and shoving off from the opposite wall, a few dozen turns, thinking.
"I have an idea," he said at last. "I'll wager it would buy time, time enough
at least to come up with something better-trouble is, since you're not
Barrayaran, you're not going to understand what you're doing, and it's serious
stuff."
Mayhew looked thoroughly baffled. "Huh?"
"It's like this." Thump, spin, turn straighten, thump. "If you were to swear
fealty to me as an Armsman simple, taking me for your liege lord-it's the most
straightforward of our oath relationships-I might be able to include you under
my Class III diplomatic immunity. Anyway, I know I could if you were a
Barrayaran subject. Of course, you're a Betan citizen. In any case, I'm pretty
sure we could tie up a pack of lawyers and several days, trying to figure out
which laws take precedence. I would be legally obligated for your bed, board,
dress, armament-I suppose this ship could be classed as your armament-your
protection, in the event of challenge by any other leigeman-that hardly
applies, here on Beta Colony-oh, there's a passel of stuff, about your family,
and-do you have a family, by the way?"
Mayhew shook his head.
"That simplifies things." Thump, spin, turn, straighten, thump. "Meanwhile,
neither Security nor the M.H.B. could touch you, because legally you'd be like
a part of my body."
Mayhew blinked. "That sounds screwy as hell. Where do I sign? How do you
register it?"
"All you have to do is kneel, place your hands between mine, and repeat about
two sentences. It doesn't even need witnesses, although it's customary to have
two."
Mayhew shrugged. "All right. Sure, kid."
Thump, spin, turn, straighten, thump. "All-right-surekid. I thought you
wouldn't understand it. What I've described is only a tiny part of my half of
the bargain, your privileges. It also includes your obligations, and a ream of
rights I have over you. For instance-just one for-instance-if you were to
refuse to carry out an order of mine in the heat of battle, I would have the
right to strike off your head. On the spot."
Mayhew's jaw dropped. "You realize," he said at last, "the Mental Health
Board's going to drop a net over you, too..."
Miles grinned sardonically. "They can't. Because if they tried, I could cry
havoc to my liege lord for protection. And I'd get it, too. He's pretty touchy
about who does what to his subjects. Oh, that's another angle. If you become a
liegeman to me, it automatically puts you into a relationship with my leige
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lord, kind of a complicated one."
"And his, and his, and his, I suppose," said Mayhew. "I know all about chains
of command."
"Well, no, that's as far as it goes. I'm sworn directly to Gregor Vorbarra, as
a vassal secundus." Miles realized he might as well be talking gibberish, for
all the meaning his words were conveying.
"Who's this Greg-guy?" asked Mayhew.
"The Emperor. Of Barrayar," Miles added, just to be sure he understood.
"Oh."
Typical Betan, thought Miles, they don't study anybody's history but Earth's
and their own. "Think about it, anyway. It's not something you should just
jump into."
When the last voice-print had been recorded, Mayhew carefully disconnected the
toggle box-Miles held his breath-and the senior pilot officer returned to
convey them planetside.
The senior pilot officer addressed Miles with a shade more respect in his
voice. "I had no idea you were from such a wealthy family, Lord Vorkosigan.
That was a solution to the problem I certainly hadn't anticipated. But perhaps
one ship is just a bauble, to a Barrayaran lord."
"Not really," said Miles. "I'm going to have to do some hustling to cover that
note. My family used to be well off, I admit, but that was back in the Time of
Isolation. Between the economic upheavals at the end of it, and the First
Cetagandan War, we were pretty much wiped out, financially." He grinned a
little. "You galactics got us coming and going. My great-grandfather on the
Vorkosigan side, when the first galactic traders hit us, thought he was going
to make a killing in jewels-you know, diamonds, rubies, emeralds-the galactics
seemed to be selling them so cheaply. He put all his liquid assets and about
half his chattels into them. Well, of course they were synthetics, better than
the naturals and cheap as dirt-uh, sand-and the bottom promptly dropped out of
the market, taking him with it. I'm told my great-grandmother never forgave
him." He waved vaguely at Mayhew who, becoming conditioned, passed over his
bottle. Miles offered it to the senior pilot officer, who rejected it with a
look of disgust.
Miles shrugged, and took a long pull. Amazingly pleasant stuff. His
circulatory system, as well as his digestive, now seemed to be glowing with
rainbow hues. He felt he could go days without sleep.
"Unfortunately, most of the land he sold was around Vorkosigan Surleau, which
is pretty dry-not by your standards, of course-
and the land he kept was around Vorkosigan Vashnoi, which was the better."
"What's unfortunate about that?" asked Mayhew.
"Well, because it was the principal seat of government for the Vorkosigans,
and because we owned about every stick and stone in it-it was a pretty
important industrial and trade center-and because the Vorkosigans were, uh,
prominent in the Resistance, the Cetagandans took the city hostage. It's a
long story, but-eventually, they destroyed the place. It's now a big glass
hole in the ground. You can still see a faint glow in the sky, on a dark
night, twenty kilometers off."
The senior pilot officer brought the little shuttle smoothly into its dock.
"Hey," said Mayhew suddenly. "That land you had around Vorkosigan
whatever-you-said-"
"Vashnoi. Have. Hundreds of square kilometers of it, and mostly downwind,
yes?"
"Is that the same-" his face was lighting, like the sun coming up after a
long, dark night, "is that the same land you mortgaged to-" he began to laugh,
delightedly, under his breath; they disembarked. "Is that what you pledged to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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