Losing one parent could make a child—of any age—more anxious about the remaining one, true. She’d learned that when she was a lot younger than Miles. Aral had, too, having witnessed his mother’s political murder when he was eleven, though survivor Piotr had certainly been in a parental class by himself. So she perfectly understood why her son might suddenly want to put her in a safe box. The safe part she was fine with. The box, less so. “Have you somehow lost track of where I’ve been for the last thirteen years?”
That got through, a little. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, and drank more wine.
“So,” she said, changing, or at least spinning, the subject with ruthless cheer, “If I can pry open my schedule tomorrow, shall we take the kids to visit their new Aunt Aurelia down at the rep center? It’s actually just a short walk from here. I’ll bet I can get them a good behind-the-scenes tour. It could be very educational.”
Pitching Kayross as a sort of science museum worked better on Ekaterin than Miles, who was wearing a nonplussed expression. Ekaterin immediately responded, “Yes, really, you never know what experiences will spark a child’s interests. I’d love it.”
After which Miles, of course, could not refuse.
The wine bottle was empty. Deciding this was the best note she was going to find to stop and get three physically and emotionally exhausted people to bed, Cordelia stood up and firmly led the way.
And she still hadn’t got to Oliver, dammit. Well, one wormhole jump at a time.
As Jole escorted Freddie Haines purposefully down the street between the Viceroy’s Palace, where they had failed to find Cordelia and company, and Kayross, where he hoped to run his quarry to earth, she made one last attempt at escape.
“Really, sir, just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I know anything about babies. I was the youngest.”
“Freddie,” he said affably, “do you remember how much trouble you got into with the Kayburg guard for filching your da’s sidearm?”
She looked confused. “No…?”
“Precisely.”
Her face twisted up as she took the point.
“Think of this as the community service that you didn’t win from the night court. And I’m sure the Countess will recompense you generously for your services, unlike the night court. So, if you think it through—a good habit to get into, I might note—you see you are coming out ahead.” He added as he opened the clinic door for her, “It might even prove to be fun. The Vicereine’s grandchildren are a lively bunch.”
This was demonstrated as they found their way back to where the Vorkosigan family was being given a suitably modified VIP tour. Even just four of the six offspring managed to give an impression of an explosion of short humanity in the formerly quiet clinic. Their reactions to this excursion were interestingly varied. Helen seemed to be practicing a somewhat precocious studied teen indifference. Alex looked wary. Lizzie was plainly fascinated by the banks of replicators, pelting a tech with questions that sounded, from the snatches Jole caught, startlingly beyond her years. Taurie was busy being five, and had turned the drab tiles into an impromptu hopscotch grid in a complex pattern visible only to her.
Ekaterin’s eyes lit with joy when Jole presented her with his prize, and she shook Freddie’s hand in a very friendly way when he introduced them. Freddie managed one last gasp of resistance, despite looking considerably more daunted by a countess than by a mere admiral.
“I really don’t know much about babies, ma’am…”
“Oh, the two youngest will be looked after by their regular nanny. Alex and Helen”—Jole could sense her edit on the fly as the two drifted over to inspect the newcomer—“are too old for a babysitter as such. They’re really more in need of a native guide.”
Oh, good job, Ekaterin.
Freddie’s spine straightened considerably at this news. Ekaterin made the further introductions all round.
Jole put in, straight-faced, “Now, there will be no going out into the backcountry to blow up vampire balloons unless the Vicereine escorts you.”
Freddie winced. The twins both perked up, apparently not having realized that this healthy outdoor activity was among their options. After a thoughtful pause, Jole added, “Be sure she brings her laser pointer.”
This won him three extremely blank stares. Jole grinned and moved off in search of the Count. He found Miles standing with his mother by the bank that held, among other pre-persons, his sister Aurelia.
Miles gave up the viewer to Cordelia, and remarked, “Human beings really aren’t very prepossessing at this stage of the game.”
She peered into the display. “What, I recall you were enchanted with your own blobs.”
“Novelty?” he suggested. “It wears off.”
She smiled in profile. “You looked like a drowned kitten at five months along.”
Miles blinked. “You saw me?”
“Just a glimpse, between the time you were lifted out of the incision and the time I passed out from the hemorrhage.”
“Wait, you were awake during the surgery?”
“Initially. Have I mentioned that this way is better?”
“Repeatedly.”
Miles turned with some relief to the new visitor. “Good morning, Admiral Jole. Mother said you’d come through for her. I’m amazed, but gratified.”
Good. Cordelia’s call to Jole last night had been very late and very brief, but he seemed to have figured out her chief concern correctly. The labor shortage on Sergyar was a challenge at every level. He was nonetheless glad he hadn’t had to raid his actual chain of command for her, though he would have if put to it. Fyodor, when approached, had sacrificed Freddie not only without a qualm, but with a certain degree of enthusiasm.
Greeting Miles, Jole wondered for the first time how he had dealt with being the child whose life his mother had famously decapitated an emperor to save. Was it the sort of thing a boy was teased about at school? Miles had been twenty when Jole had first encountered him, soon to graduate from the Academy and laser-focused on his upcoming, and certainly hard-won, military career. Awed by the father he adored, he’d seemed to take his mother for granted. Would Cordelia consider that a subtle victory?
Jole led smoothly into his planned olive branch. “I thought you might be interested to know, Count, that the old Prince Serg is passing through local space shortly, on its way to cold storage. Decommissioned, you know.”
Miles’s eyes widened. “Really!” And, after a moment, “Already?”
“My feelings exactly, but there you go. I now have baby officers who are younger than that ship. I’d been planning to pay it a short visit while it’s in transit. Because…” Sentiment? Historical wonder? Mourning? He escaped the sentence with a shrug. “I wondered if you might like to go along. Together with whatever family members you deem appropriate.” Not, pray God, the toddlers.
Ekaterin had wandered up during this, Freddie and the twins at her elbow; Lizzie followed. It even drew Cordelia away from the scanner.
“Now, there’s a remarkable idea,” said Cordelia. “History and family history at one go.”
“I’m not history,” said Miles under his breath. “…Am I?”
His eye summing the assembled offspring, Jole could only think, You are now.
“What do you think, kids?” said Miles. “Would you like to see your grandfather’s old ship?”
“Wow, sure!” said Helen, echoed by Lizzie’s “Neat!” Alex looked wary, again. Freddie breathed, “Go upside…?” her babysitting job plainly acquiring an unexpected new glamour. Taurie cast no vote, having apparently abandoned hopscotch as so last-minute in favor of competitive twirling.