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 timespan. He needed a 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.”
(The memory blurs here - there's a piece missing in the middle.)
“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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Miles's polycule +1 (V, MD)
“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.”
(The memory blurs here - there's a piece missing in the middle.)
“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.
Bujold, Lois McMaster. Mirror Dance (Vorkosigan Saga) (Miles Vorsokigan Book 8) (p. 541-542). (Function). Kindle Edition.