It was all too much, too fast. He sat down and tried to calm himself again, before he triggered another convulsion. That was just the sort of little physical weakness that could win one an immediate medical discharge from the Imperial Service, if one wasn’t careful about who witnessed it. He had assumed the convulsions were a temporary snag in his recovery. What if they were a permanent effect? Oh, God… .

“I am going to lend Lilly my ship,” said Mark, “since Baron Fell so-thoughtfully has stripped her of sufficient funds to buy thirty-six passages to Escobar.”

“What ship?” asked Miles. Not one of mine … !

“The one Mother gave me. Lilly ought to be able to sell it at Escobar orbit for a tidy profit. I can pay back Mother and get Vorkosigan Surleau out of hock, and still have an impressive amount of pocket-change. I’d like to have my own yacht, someday, but I really couldn’t use this one for a while.”

What? What? What?

“I was just thinking,” Mark went on, “that the Dendarii here could ride along with Lilly. Provide her with a little military protection in exchange for a free and fast ride back to the fleet. Save ImpSec the price of four commercial passages, too.”

Four? Miles glanced at Bel, so very silent throughout, who met his eyes bleakly.

“And get everybody the hell out of here, as fast as possible,” added Mark. “Before something else goes wrong.”

“Amen!” muttered Quinn.

Rowan and Elli, on the same ship? Not to mention Taura. What if they all got together and compared notes? What if they fell into a feud? Worse, what if they struck up an alliance and colluded to partition him by treaty? North Miles and South Miles. … It wasn’t, he swore, that he picked up so many women. Compared to Ivan, he was practically celibate. It was just that he never put any down. The accumulation could become downright embarrassing, over a long enough time-span. He needed … Lady Vorkosigan, to put an end to this nonsense. But even Elli the bold refused to volunteer for that duty.

“Yes,” said Miles, “that works. Home. Captain Quinn, arrange Mark’s and my transport with ImpSec. Sergeant Taura, would you please put yourself at Lilly Durona’s disposal? The sooner we evacuate from here the better, I agree. And, um, Bel … would you stay and talk with me, please.”

Quinn and Taura took the hint, and made themselves scarce. Mark … Mark was in on this, Miles decided. And anyway, he was a little afraid to ask Mark to get up. Afraid of what his movements would reveal. That flip phrase about Ry Ryoval’s health spa was entirely too obvious an attempt to conceal … what?

“Sit, Bel,” Miles nodded to Baron Fell’s vacated chair. It put them in an equilateral triangle, he and Mark and Bel. Bel nodded and settled, its helmet in its lap and its hood pushed back. Miles thought of how he’d perceived Bel as a female in this room five days ago, prior to his memory cascade. His eye had always conveniently interpreted Bel as male, before, for some reason. Strange. There was a brief, uneasy silence.

Miles swallowed, and broke it. “I can’t let you go back to command of the Ariel,” he said.

“I know,” said Bel.

“It would be bad for fleet discipline.”

“I know,” said Bel.

“It’s … not just. If you had been a dishonest herm, and kept your mouth shut, and kept on pretending to have been fooled by Mark, no one would ever have known.”

“I know,” said Bel. It added after a moment, “I had to get my command back, in the emergency. I didn’t think I could let Mark go on giving orders. Too dangerous.”

“To those who’d followed you.”

“Yes. And … I would have known,” added Bel.

“Captain Thorne,” Admiral Naismith sighed, “I must request your resignation.”

“You have it, sir.”

“Thank you.” And that was done. So fast. He thought back over the scattered pictures in his head of Mark’s raid. There were still pieces missing, he was pretty sure. But there had been deaths, too many deaths had made it irredeemable. “Do you know … what happened to Phillipi? She’d had a chance, I thought.”

Mark and Bel exchanged a look. Bel answered. “She didn’t make it.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Cryo-revival is a chancy business,” sighed Bel. “We all undertake the risks, when we sign on.”

Mark frowned. “It doesn’t seem fair. Bel loses its career, and I get off free.”

Bel stared a moment at Mark’s beaten, bloated body, huddled down in Lilly’s big chair; its brows rose slightly.

“What do you plan to do, Bel?” asked Miles carefully. “Go home to Beta Colony? You’ve talked about it.”

“I don’t know,” said Bel. “It’s not for lack of thinking. I’ve been thinking for weeks. I’m not sure I’d fit in at home anymore.”

“I’ve been thinking myself,” said Miles. “A prudent thought. It strikes me that certain parties on my side would be less paranoid about the idea of you running around the wormhole nexus with a head full of Barrayaran classified secrets if you were still on Illyan’s payroll. An informant—perhaps an agent?”

“I don’t have Elli Quinn’s talents for scam,” Bel said. “I was a shipmaster.”

“Shipmasters get to some interesting places. They are in position to pick up all kinds of information.”

Bel tilted its head. “I will … seriously consider it.”

“I assume you don’t want to cash out here on Jackson’s Whole?”

Bel laughed outright. “No shit.”

“Think about it, then, on the way back to Escobar. Talk to Quinn. Decide by the time you get there, and let her know.”

Bel nodded, rose, and looked around Lilly Durona’s quiet living room. “I’m not altogether sorry, you know,” it said to Mark. “One way or another, we’ve pulled almost ninety people out of this stinking gravity well. Out of certain death or Jacksonian slavery. Not a bad score, for an aging Betan. You can bet I’ll remember them, too, when I remember this.”

“Thank you,” whispered Mark.

Bel eyed Miles. “Do you remember the first time we ever saw each other?” it asked.

“Yes. I stunned you.”

“You surely did.” It walked over to his chair, and bent, and took his chin in its hand. “Hold still. I’ve been wanting to do this for years.” It kissed him, long and quite thoroughly. Miles thought about appearances, thought about the ambiguity of it, thought about sudden death, thought the hell with it all, and kissed Bel back. Straightening again, Bel smiled.

Voices floated from the lift tube, some Durona directing, “Right upstairs, ma’am.”

Elena Bothari-Jesek rose behind the chromium railing, and swept the room with her gaze. “Hello, Miles, I have to talk with Mark,” she said, all in a breath. Her eyes were dark and worried. “Can we go somewhere?” she asked Mark.

“ ’D rather not get up,” Mark said. His voice was so tired it slurred.

“Quite. Miles, Bel, please go away,” she said straightly.

Puzzled, Miles rose to his feet. He gave her a look of inquiry; her return look said, Not now. Later. He shrugged. “Come on, Bel. Let’s go see if we can lend anyone a hand.” He wanted to find Rowan. He watched them as he descended the lift tube with Bel. Elena pulled a chair around and sat across it backwards, her hands already opening in urgent remonstration. Mark was looking extremely saturnine.

Miles turned Bel over to Dr. Poppy, for liaison duty, and sought Rowan’s suite. As he’d hoped, she was there, packing. Another young Durona sat and watched, looking a little bewildered. Miles recognized her at once.

“Lilly Junior! You made it. Rowan!”

Rowan’s face lit with delight, and she hurried to embrace him. “Miles! Your name is Miles Naismith. I thought so! You’ve cascaded. When?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “actually, it was back at Bharaputra’s.”

Her smile went a little flat. “Before I left. And you didn’t tell me.”