The men and women whose children were here delivered might never have touched or even seen each other till this dawn, but each group of men accepted from the Star Cr?che's hands the children of their getting. They floated the racks in turn to the waiting array of white bubbles carrying their genetic partners. As each constellation rearranged itself around its replicator racks, the force screens turned from dull mourning white to brilliant colors, a riotous rainbow. The rainbow bubbles streamed away out of the amphitheater, escorted by their male companions, as the hilly horizon across the lake silhouetted itself against the dawn fire, and above, the stars faded in the blue.
When the haut reached their home enclaves, scattered around the planet, the infants would be given up again into the hands of their ghem nurses and attendants for release from their replicators. Into the nurturing cr?ches of their various constellations. Parent and child might or might not ever meet again. Yet there seemed more to this ceremony than just haut protocol. Are we not all called on to yield our children back to the world, in the end? The Vor did, in their ideals at least. Barrayar eats its children , his mother had once said, according to his father. Looking at Miles.
So , Miles thought wearily. Are we heroes here today, or the greatest traitors unhung? What would these tiny, high haut hopefuls grow into, in time? Great men and women? Terrible foes? Had he, all unknowing, saved here some future nemesis of Barrayar—enemy and destroyer of his own children still unborn?
And if such a dire precognition or prophecy had been granted to him by some cruel god, could he have acted any differently?
He sought Ekaterin's hand with his own cold one; her fingers wrapped his with warmth. There was enough light for her to see his face, now. “Are you all right, love?” she murmured in concern.
“I don't know. Let's go home.”
EPILOGUE
They said good-bye to Bel and Nicol at Komarr orbit.
Miles had ridden along to the ImpSec Galactic Affairs transfer station offices here for Bel's final debriefing, partly to add his own observations, partly to see that the ImpSec boys did not fatigue the herm unduly. Ekaterin attended too, both to testify and to make sure Miles didn't fatigue himself. Miles was hauled away before Bel was.
“Are you sure you two don't want to come along to Vorkosigan House?” Miles asked anxiously, for the fourth or fifth time, as they gathered for a final farewell on an upper concourse. “You missed the wedding, after all. We could show you a very good time. My cook alone is worth the trip, I promise you.” Miles, Bel, and of course Nicol hovered in floaters. Ekaterin stood with her arms crossed, smiling slightly. Roic wandered an invisible perimeter as if loath to give over his duties to the unobtrusive ImpSec guards. The armsman had been on continuous alert for so long, Miles thought, he'd forgotten how to take a shift off. Miles understood the feeling. Roic was due at least two weeks of uninterrupted home leave when they returned to Barrayar, Miles decided.
Nicol's brows twitched up. “I'm afraid we might disturb your neighbors.”
“Stampede the horses, yeah,” said Bel.
Miles bowed, sitting; his floater bobbed slightly. “My horse would like you fine. He's extremely amiable, not to mention much too old and lazy to stampede anywhere. And I personally guarantee that with a Vorkosigan liveried armsman at your back, not the most benighted backcountry hick would offer you insult.”
Roic, passing nearby in his orbit, added a confirming nod.
Nicol smiled. “Thanks all the same, but I think I'd rather go someplace where I don't need a bodyguard.”
Miles drummed his fingers on the edge of his floater. “We're working on it. But look, really, if you—”
“Nicol is tired,” said Ekaterin, “probably homesick, and she has a convalescing herm to look after. I expect she'll be glad to get back to her own sleepsack and her own routine. Not to mention her own music.”
The two exchanged one of those League of Women looks, and Nicol nodded gratefully.
“Well,” said Miles, yielding with reluctance. “Take care of each other, then.”
“You, too,” said Bel gruffly. “I think it's time you gave up those hands-on ops games, hey? Now that you're going to be a daddy and all. Between this time and the last time, Fate has got to have your range bracketed. Bad idea to give it a third shot, I think.”
Miles glanced involuntarily at his palms, fully healed by now. “Maybe so. God knows Gregor probably has a list of domestic chores waiting for me as long as a quaddie's arms all added together. The last one was wall-to-wall committees, coming up with, if you can believe it, new Barrayaran bio-law for the Council of Counts to approve. It took a year. If he starts another one with, 'You're half Betan, Miles, you'd be just the man'– I think I'll turn and run.”
Bel laughed; Miles added, “Keep an eye on young Corbeau for me, eh? When I toss a prot?g? in to sink or swim like that, I usually prefer to be closer to hand with a life preserver.”
“Garnet Five messaged me, after I sent to tell her Bel was going to live,” said Nicol. “She says they're doing all right so far. At any rate, Quaddiespace hasn't declared all Barrayaran ships non grata forever or anything yet.”
“That means there's no reason you two couldn't come back someday,” Bel pointed out. “Or at any rate, stay in touch. We are both free to communicate openly now, I might observe.”
Miles brightened. “If discreetly. Yes. That's true.”
They exchanged some un-Barrayaran hugs all around; Miles didn't care what his ImpSec lookouts thought. He floated, holding Ekaterin's hand, to watch the pair progress out of sight toward the commercial ship docks. But even before they'd rounded the corner he felt his face pulled around, as if by a magnetic force, in the opposite direction—toward the military arm of the station, where the Kestrel awaited their pleasure.
Time ticked in his head. “Let's go.”
“Oh, yes,” said Ekaterin.
He had to speed his floater to keep up with her lengthening stride up the concourse.
Gregor waited to greet Lord Auditor and Lady Vorkosigan upon their return, at a special reception at the Imperial Residence. Miles trusted whatever reward the Emperor had in mind would be less disturbingly arcane than that of the haut ladies. But Gregor's party was going to have to be put off a day or two. The word from their obstetrician back at Vorkosigan House was that the children's sojourn in their replicators was stretched to nearly its maximum safe extension. There had been enough oblique medical disapproval in the tone of the message, it didn't even need Ekaterin's nervous jokes about ten-month twins and how glad she was now for replicators to get him aimed in the right direction, and no more damned interruptions.
* * *
He'd undergone these homecomings what seemed a thousand times, yet this one felt different than any before. The groundcar from the military shuttleport, Armsman Pym driving, pulled up under the porte-coch?re of Vorkosigan House, looming stone pile that it ever was. Ekaterin bustled out first and gazed longingly toward the door, but paused to wait for Miles.
When they'd left Komarr orbit five days ago he'd traded in the despised floater for a slightly less despised cane, and spent the journey hobbling incessantly up and down what limited corridors the Kestrel provided. His strength was returning, he fancied, if more slowly than he'd hoped. Maybe he would look into getting a swordstick like Commodore Koudelka's for the interim. He pulled himself to his feet, swung the cane in briefly jaunty defiance, and offered Ekaterin his arm. She rested her hand lightly upon it, covertly ready to grab if needed. The double doors swung open on the grand old black-and-white paved entry hall.