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Yet, anyway
. It would take more heroic blundering than this to make that happen, but he
ought not to underestimate his fellow
Barrayarans, he supposed. And he didn't think Corbeau was politically
important enough to assassinate.
So let's try to make sure he doesn't become so, eh?
He wouldn't be executed. But twenty years in jail is hardly better, from your
point of view. You don't serve him or yourself by encouraging him to this
desertion. Let him return to duty, serve out his hitch, get passage back. If
you're both still of the same mind then, continue your relationship without
his unresolved legal status poisoning your future together.
Her expression had grown still more grimly stubborn. He felt horribly like
some stodgy parent lecturing his angst-ridden teenager, but she was no child.
He'd have to ask Bel her age. Her grace and authority of motion might be the
results of her dancer's training. He remembered that they were supposed to be
looking cordial, so tried to soften his words with a belated smile.
She said, We wish to become partners. Permanently.
After only two weeks of acquaintance, are you so sure?
He strangled this comment in his throat as Ekaterin's sideways glance at him
put him in mind of just how many days -
or was it hours? - it had taken him to fall in love with her. Granted, the
permanently part had taken longer. I can certainly see why Corbeau would wish
that. The reverse was more puzzling, of course. In both cases. He himself did
not find Corbeau lovable -
his strongest emotion so far was a deep desire to whack the ensign on the side
of the head - but this woman clearly didn't see him that way.
Permanently? said Ekaterin doubtfully. But... don't you think you might
wish to have children someday? Or might he?
Garnet Five's expression grew hopeful. We've talked about having children
together.
We're both interested.
Um, er, said Miles. Quaddies are not interfertile with downsiders, surely?
Well, one has to make choices, before they go into the replicators, just as a
herm crossing with a monosexual has to choose whether to have the genetics
adjusted to produce a boy or a girl or a herm. Some quaddie-downsider
partnerships have quaddie children, some have downsiders, some have some of
each - Bel, show Lord Vorkosigan your baby pictures!
Miles's head swiveled around. What?
Bel blushed and dug in its trouser pocket. Nicol and I... when we went to the
geneticist for counseling, they ran a projection of all the possible
combinations, to help us choose. The herm held up a holocube and turned it
on. Six full-length still shots of children sprang into being above its hand.
They were all frozen in their early teens, with the sense of adult features
just starting to emerge from childhood's roundness. They had Bel's eyes,
Nicol's jawline, hair a brownish black with that familiar swipe of a forelock.
A boy, a girl, and a herm with legs; a boy, a girl, and a herm quaddie.
Oh, said Ekaterin, reaching for it. How interesting
.
The facial features are just an electronic blend of Nicol's and mine, not a
genuine genetic projection, Bel explained, willingly giving the cube to her.
For that, they'd need an actual cell from a real conceptus, which, of course,
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they can't have till a real one is made for the genetic modifications.
Ekaterin turned the array back and forth, examining the portraits from all
angles.
Miles, looking over her shoulder, told himself firmly that it was probably
just as well that his holovid of the blandly blastular Aral Alexander and
Helen Natalia was still in his luggage back aboard the
Kestrel
. But maybe later he would have a chance to show Bel
-
Have you two finally decided what you want? asked Garnet Five.
A little quaddie girl, to start. Like Nicol. Bel's face softened, then,
abruptly, recovered its habitual ironic smile. Assuming I take the plunge and
apply for my Union citizenship.
Miles imagined Garnet Five and Dmitri Corbeau with a string of handsome,
athletic quaddie children. Or Bel and Nicol, with a clutch of smart, musical
ones. It made his head spin. Roic, looking quietly boggled, shook his head at
Ekaterin's profferment of a closer examination of the holo-array.
Ah, said Bel. The show's about to start. The herm retrieved the holocube
and switched it off, and plunged it back safely deep in the pocket of its
baggy blue knee breeches, carefully fastening the flap.
The auditorium had filled to capacity while they spoke, the honeycomb of cells
now harboring an attentive crowd including a fair smattering of other
downsiders, though whether Union citizen or galactic visitor Miles could not
always tell. No green
Barrayaran uniforms tonight, in any case. The lights dimmed; the hubbub
quieted, and a few last quaddies sped across to their boxes and settled in. A
couple of downsiders who had misjudged their momentum and were stranded in the
middle were rescued by the ushers and towed to their box, earning a quiet
snicker from the quaddies who noticed. An electric tension filled the air, the
odd blend of hope and fear that any live performance bore, with its risk of
imperfection, chance of greatness. The lights dimmed further, till only the
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