Forward Momentum -- Chapter 14 (b)

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The mid-afternoon sun was all the forecasters promised. Standing behind Gregor and Laisa with Miles, her aunt and uncle, and other summiteers on the main platform (only Jack Chandler, mysteriously vanished after Miles’s special frame-call, was missing), Ekaterin could look out at the gathered witnesses and multitudes beyond, and was glad both of the breeze and the shadow under the pavilion-roof.


        The structure was temporary, simple, and elegant, an open square in the middle of the old parade-ground adjoining the Residence, where Gregor and Laisa had married just over a year ago. The party on the daïs was deliberately limited, but arrayed around them in swathes of clashing colour were the Council of Counts with all their acknowledged heirs-about half in liveries of the new material, with the effects foreseen-and the General Staff in what became by comparison an oddly dulled blast of parade red-and-blues. Beyond and around were massed Lords Auditor, Ministers, and galactic ambassadors with deputies, as well as city mayors, village speakers (Penderecki and Lem Csurik would be some­where, Ekaterin knew), judges, serving and retired officers and other ranks, street-guards, and civic worthies, all in best uniforms or festive attire. Medals, badges of office, and jewels gleamed and glittered. Vorbarr Sultana socialites and lightweight celebrities, whose howls over Gregor’s ticketing priorities had been loud, prolonged, and unavailing, had managed to infiltrate the throng but were in a distinct minority, dwarfed by the last major group-Coram and his ghem-pilgrims, seated next to a block of several hundred older Barrayarans, most though by no means all women. Madame Ieskennis was prominent in the front row.

These were people who had lost close kin in the line of duty in three  (and in a few cases four) generations. Gregor and Alys had initially thought in terms of two generations but that list had run into tens of thousands. Even the three-generation list was considerably larger than this, especially if Vor were included, but many were too frail and some had not wished to attend. The majority who were here were strongly of a mind with Madame Ieskennis-many, like her, having relatives still serving in space. The long-term family effects of a sustained military calling were familiar to Miles, as to Gregor and all high Vor, but had shaken Ekaterin and Laisa, opening for both a new window on what the commitments of war over a century might mean to the quotidian life of survivors. Individual stories, featured widely in the press once word of their invitation had leaked, had the power to move anyone with accumulations of lost fathers, uncles, husbands, brothers, cousins, sons, nephews, and grandsons. With Occupation deaths there were plenty of mothers, aunts, sisters, daughters and nieces also, for many of the families were those whose service discipline meant they had formed the heart of urban insurgency and mountain resistance, and paid the price.

Contacted with an invitation to the treaty-signing by Miles and her liege-lord-Count Vorrutyer, as it turned out, to Dono’s delight-Madame Ieskennis had gone an alarming shade of pink and burst into tears. Recovering after a moment, and as in her ‘vid interviews finding dignity with evident effort, she had said she would not miss it for the world but looked intently wistful, until a smiling Dono made her day complete by telling her that while, alas, her grandson was in galactic sector V, too far away to recall in time, even by frame, he would be able to see her, and her living son, rather closer on Komarr-Sergyar patrol, would be with her on the day. Both were invited with other formal witnesses to the Emperor’s Birthday Party in the evening-an innovation, Miles and Dono forbore to point out, Gregor hoped would inhibit some more traditional Vor celebrations, such as competitive vomiting and crawling races.

Knowing they would be too busy later, Gregor and Laisa spent much of the morning welcoming these guests. Some accompanied them to the Counts’ reception, the rest were given lunch at the Residence and the frail opportunity to rest. The Counts escorted them to their places, acknowledging the debt all Districts owed such service. Madame Ieskennis’s son turned out to be a grey-haired senior warrant officer in fleet ordnance; they sat together, not speaking but with proud smiles of wonder at the pageantry of the scene, and curious stares at the massed high Vor and ghem-pilgrims.

Gregor and Laisa were seated slightly off-centre on the dais, with the others grouped behind them. Next to Gregor was a small chair and table bearing pen, ink, and seal, then a frame as large as and looking very like a doorway. Beyond it was a Cetagandan party led by the haut Palma, her bubble festively tinted in swirls of soft red and yellow, and the haut Raniton Degtiar in another iridescent outfit with the haut Ambassador, Paramel Volusor, and four senior ghem-officers from mission and embassy, all in the blood-red uniforms of the Imperial Guard and their sharpest Imperial Array.

The ceremony on Cetaganda, though broadcast, was being held without an audience save their weekend summiteers because so many of the high haut were necessarily watching on their own planets and satrapies, so the emperors had agreed to keep it simple and make their own protocol to their own satisfactions. While the Barrayarans waited for the set time the Residence’s military orchestra played in the gardens behind them, a slow, keening performance of the best-known dirge for the Occupation dead followed by a far more sprightly peace-march hastily commissioned for the occasion from the delighted elderly colonel who was the musical director.

As the last notes faded a light on the frame blinked warning, Gregor gestured with one hand, and both Cetagandans and waiting Barrayarans surged to their feet. One further blink and the frame blazed alight to show an iridescent Fletchir Giaja, with Rian Degtiar’s and Pel Navarr’s bubbles and the tall figure of Lady d’Lhosh surrounded by the painted faces of Kariam, Lhosh, and Benin. To one side were Aral and Cordelia with Ambassador Vorreedi. The Cetagandans too had in open view a table and chair with paraphernalia for signing and sealing a treaty.

It was the second time Barrayar had seen the handsome, hawk-faced haut Emperor but the first they had seen of a haut woman, and Ekaterin heard a rush of indrawn breaths, then a more distant murmuring swell as the image became visible on screens around the city. Giaja and his court-party were also outside, in a matching but exquisite open pavilion presumably set up somewhere in the Celestial Garden, against a verdant backdrop dazzling in botanical order and enchantment. She longed to see it in reality. Next year I will. The thought was only a little strange. Heads nodded formal greetings between Imperial cousins and cousines, then between wider parties, Miles and she smiling as warmly as they could at the Viceroy and Vicereine. Was Aral’s skin smoother? His scar was less visible. Rian stayed hidden in her bubble but her rich, melodious alto flowed unimpaired from a speaker somewhere-the first time in centuries, Ekaterin realised as little shivers ran through Barrayarans in view, that a haut woman had spoken in the public hearing of humans. Many ambassadors had open looks of astonishment and appreciation at the qualities of both her voice and then Giaja’s baritone.

“Cousin, we have each other’s signed copies of Our treaty of fleets and volumes.”

“We do, cousin. Let us therefore complete these formalities.”

Even though she had known it was to happen it took Ekaterin a moment to process that Gregor had spoken Cetagandan, Giaja Barrayar­an. Her basic undergraduate Cetagandan, studied in curiosity, had been hastily relearned and extended, so she understood Gregor though the ultra-formal inflections of this highest grammatical mode were a haze to her still. Miles had told her of the decision grinning like a loon, because the whole problem of language had boiled up directly to Gregor and Fletchir themselves, who listened, dismissed all advisers, spoke together in privacy for half-an-hour, and recalled everyone to announce Their decision and shock all into renewed motion. On the public screens subtitled renditions of Gregor’s words were appearing as fast as an ImpSec translator could formulate, type, and proof them; what was happening on Cetagandan planets Ekaterin had no idea, but on Barrayar utter stillness descended, so thick it hurt. Gregor and Giaja sat at the tables, Benin and Allegre came forward bearing ceremonial books containing coded and initialled data-discs. Books were laid down and opened, signatures took only seconds and the ritualised procedure of affixing to each a second imperial seal about a minute. Then books were taken up and emperors rose, Giaja looking at Gregor with a faint but to Ekaterin sincere smile, and again spoke in his perfect Barrayaran.

“Congratulations on your Birthday, cousin. As you are to return it in kind We cannot call this a gift, but speak now to Our subjects with Our blessing, of what has passed.”

Gregor nodded to him and stood forward to face the frame squarely, speaking Cetagandan in what she thought was Giaja’s imperial grammat­ical mode. “Thank you, cousin. Honoured Haut. Honourable ghem. We have all seen this morning how long and deep the wounds between us have run, and how the scars they left have healed and may yet be eased. We understand more also of the values we share, and virtues we cherish. In this treaty of fleets and volumes to which We have with Your Imperial Master solemnly sworn there is for all honour and opportunity, a garden soil of peace. And with your Imperial Master’s agreement We say to you all now, Be you true to Us within its terms, as We will be true to you.”

From the ghem-pilgrims came in unison an unexpected hiss of assent. Barrayarans rocked with its force and stared. No haut or ghem on the platform or in the frame moved an inch. Nor did Gregor.

“All ghem who would come here on pilgrimages of ancestral grace will be welcome as Our guests. And all haut and ghem are welcome among us in peace. We have much to learn of one another, and time in which to learn it. So with you all We give thanks for the wisdom of Your Imperial Master, who will now address Our subjects.”

With one of his grave, deep nods, just as in the morning ceremony to General Coram, Gregor stood back and Giaja moved fractionally forward in His turn. Unlike the guttural weight of Kariam’s basso His beautiful baritone wove through the harshness of Barrayaran like a mirror-dancer, exact and light, supremely clear.

“Thank you, cousin. Honoured Vor and all most resolute Barrayarans.” He allowed a moment to gesture slightly with his hands in a way that acknowledged the strangeness of the chances that brought Him to this address. “For more than fifty years We have ruled Our Imperium, and yet Our wars with Barrayar were an inheritance from Our dead, not of Our desire or making. We could to Our regret find no earlier way to this day. But now it has come We welcome it in honour, and for your kindness to Our ghem-pilgrims of ancestral grace We thank you all. As subjects of Your Imperial Master you are welcome to visit all planets of Our Imperium, and We so endorse Our Imperial Cousin’s words of learning that Our birthday gift to Him this day is endowment in His name of an institute within the University of Vorbarr Sultana where the histories of Our wars and Our peace may be studied.”

Beside Ekaterin her aunt went poker-straight as her uncle half-suppressed what she thought would have been a magnificent guffaw. The academic infighting over that one would be an interesting spectacle, to say the least, and her aunt had cards to baffle and rout all opposition. Stealing a glance at Miles’s profile she suspected he had also been taken by surprise but would with surpassing rapidity be marshalling any number of persuasive reasons why he shouldn’t be expected, say, to give an inaugural lecture when the Institute opened. Giaja waited a moment while Gregor, clearly unsurprised and to those who knew him gleeful, murmured Imperial thanks. Giaja let his face grow graver.

“Our Cetagandan rituals of fealty are longer than yours, so with your Imperial Master’s agreement I will say only to you all now, as He did and using His words, within the terms of Our treaty Be you true to Us, as We will be true to you. By Our grace, and by the grace of your Imperial Master, the past is done.”

He didn’t actually slap his hands in the universal gesture of dusting off palms but His voice did it for him, and as He stood back a swelling roar became audible, cheers and drumming applause that swept into the nearer Barrayaran witnesses with the force of a wave. Suddenly only the parties on the main daïs and thunderstruck ghem-pilgrims were still; even some younger Counts and high Vor dignitaries were applauding, and lesser Vor had with the common erupted wholesale. Ekaterin had thought Gregor and Giaja would simply nod and close the link after the mutual addresses but the tumult arrested both, and for a fleeting second Giaja’s face showed genuine surprise. Then for several moments He had as little choice as Gregor, standing cool and remote with the faintest smile, while the din washed over Him. Has he ever been so cheered? And what is haut Rian thinking in her bubble? At last the noise quieted, and Gregor quirked at eyebrow at His cousin, whose lips twitched. Then Giaja turned directly to the frame and Barrayar again.

“Thank you. You are a most surprising people.” He gave a precise duplicate of Gregor’s nod, deep and firm, and Ekaterin felt as much as saw deeper bows returned, or curtsies like her own. The Barrayarans knew what that acknowledgement meant. Giaja turned to Gregor and Laisa “But We must leave you now, cousins, to your fireworks. Farewell.”

At his smile and slight gesture the frame silently blanked and the vista of the Residence gardens was restored.  Beyond the parade-ground the roar resumed, but in Gregor’s and Laisa’s presences discipline held again, and the party descended from the daïs in silence to begin passing through the corridor of ImpSec guards back towards the Residence. Yet even as they went the cunning of a great crowd dictated a new chant, and as the urgent, repeating surge of ‘Sire! Sire! Sire!’ became audible veterans in the nearer crowd picked it up, folllowed by serving officers and Counts’ heirs. Gregor kept walking but let a smile wreathe his face, and the sound followed them long after the little-used south garden gates opened to admit them to the Residence’s security and closed behind them to cut off the broadcast and the screens at which the crowds howled. As soon as their collective privacy was restored Gregor broke ranks and dropped back to walk with her aunt and uncle.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you, Helen. I only knew myself last night. Fletchir insisted an outright gift was a necessity. And guess who is going to chair the Gregor and Laisa Toscane Vorbarra Institute for Barrayaran and Cetagandan History?”

Aunt Helen blinked. “Gregor, dear, I believe you mean historiography, and would that perhaps be the Miles Vorkosigan Chair of Interplanetary Connivance?”

As Gregor laughed and Miles, walking beside her, drew indignant breath to expostulate, Ekaterin grasped his arm tightly and slowed in step with her uncle to let her aunt and Gregor draw ahead.

“Spoilsport.” Miles’s voice was levelly amused. “You ought to be careful I don’t use your aunt’s discarded heart as a visual aid along with those ghem-scalps.”

“Heh. And with the blessings of every last one of her colleagues, I should imagine.” Uncle Georg looked over his shoulder and grinned very widely. “Miles, my friend, have I ever said knowing you is fun? My Auditorial raid on the physics department was bliss, but this is going to be an absolute joy. From Helen’s reports down the years I know the prissy-face historians better than they know themselves, and she is going to wipe the floor with every last one of them.” He chortled. “And do be nice to her graduate student, when you meet her, won’t you? She’s a sweetheart, and I swear Helen is going to use Vanos to get her into the Cetagandan archives, and Yuri to bend General Staff rules just slightly. She’s even got Guy agreeing to think about declassifying older ImpSec files.”

Miles grimaced. “I would suggest you remember, Georg, that over the last several years my biography has intersected rather forcibly with yours. And that your wife, once on the trail, is uncommonly determined.”

Ekaterin laughed as her uncle looked thoughtful. After that, besides the almighty firework display that lit the night sky for over an hour and satisfied everyone, only four moments in the long, happy evening stood out in memory among the chatter and high Vor conviviality. The first, as soon as she entered the Residence, was the appearance of Aunt Alys, who with an odd look enfolded her in an entirely unexpected hug, leaving her discombobulated and making her realise as the party developed that others who had seen the Memorial broadcast that morning, including the Counts, were according her a new deference she wasn’t at all sure she liked. Alys also looked very dryly at Miles, thanked him for so inventively solving what she called the royal-box problem, and suggested his own design input was needed. Miles grinned, and Ekaterin took refuge from confusion in asking him what it was all about. He explained and she had a hard time keeping a straight face.

The second, soon after, was the equally sudden appearance of Drou Koudelka, to tell Miles in a very low voice that she and Kou had recently learned of the secret clauses in the treaty, and did Lord Mark know? He did not, and would not until it all happened. Despite their public position Drou knelt, rather than stooping, and leaned forward to take and kiss Miles’s hand. “Then let me thank you now, Miles, on Kareen’s behalf and mine, for everything. The Vorkosigans’ gift of miracles runs true.” She rose and vanished, leaving astonished stares in her wake, and the legends Gregor had boosted grew.

The third special event, immediately preceding the fireworks, was Gregor’s announcement of Prince Aral Michael and Princess Kareen Cordelia to be. Standing with Laisa he said nothing to explain the choice of names but amid the Vor roar of welcome and relief Ekaterin saw furrowing brows and sharp glances as the bending of grand­paternal tradition was digested. Perhaps to limit that line of thought Gregor also  informed his guests that his children’s birthday next year would be the same as his own-which implied use of replicators and, as the Barrayaran tax-year was dictated by the reigning emperor’s birthday, ensured it would not have to change again for a very long time. Then the ballroom doors swung back to reveal the first ground-display fireworks, cutting short applause and questions, and the happy throng were swept outside by liveried Vorbarra Armsmen and ImpSec guards to enjoy what they knew would have to be an explosive show rivalling even last year’s magnificent wedding extravaganza.

The last thing came as Ekaterin and Miles, having made farewells all round, were preparing to leave. Gregor’s senior Armsman, Gerard, came quietly up and murmured a request to accompany him. He led them to a small reception room where they found Gregor and Laisa, and the haut Palma’s bubble. Gerard withdrew, and as the door closed behind him the bubble winked out and its occupant stood. The Rho Cetan planetary consort was indeed vivacious, but more in agitation, Ekaterin thought, than anything else. Miles bowed shortly and she ducked slightly with him. She noticed with surprise she didn’t feel intimidated or dowdy in a haut woman’s presence any more.

“Haut Palma.”

“Lord Vorkosigan, Lady Vorkosigan.” Palma seemed hesitant, twisting long hair in one hand. Miles looked at Gregor and Laisa, who shrugged fractionally, clearly puzzled themselves.

“How may I assist you, haut Palma?”

“I … this is awkward. I was speaking to Ferrant Coram, who was telling me about Sergeant Barnev. They talked at length during the reception this morning, after that … remarkable ceremony at dawn.” Her face was an close to unhappy as a haut face could be and her next words seemed an abrupt non sequitur. “Is it true there is still uncorrected radiological damage to some of your human population, in the mountains?”

“Alas, yes, that is true.”

“From the … ghem’s atomics?”

“Ah.” Miles spread his hands. “Partly. As I imagine you know, the destruction of Vorkosigan Vashnoi was meant to be punitive. It succeeded. But we also have an older legacy, from the mutagen disasters during the Time of Isolation, that have inhibited … progress.”

Palma swallowed. “And there is still a practice of human infanticide?”

Everyone’s face froze, except Miles’s. He moved his hands again, his voice untroubled. “Yes, it still happens, but very little now we loudly call it murder. It might have happened to me, you know, but my mother was Betan, not Barrayaran. You must understand, haut Palma, the Occupation literally decimated our population, and scorched-earth policies before negotiated withdrawal destroyed much. It has only been eighty years, and we have had … distractions.” He smiled ruefully. “In the nature of our system, more I think than in yours, high Vor families in imperial service must inevitably neglect their Districts as they should not. More can and will now be done.”

Gregor nodded, and spoke for the first time. “That is especially true of Vorkosigans, alas. Much fault is Ours. But forgive me, haut Palma, what is your concern with this history now?”

Again strange unhappiness and uncertainty showed in her face, but she took a breath and spoke simply. “This time on Barrayar has been as surprising as it was unexpected. I have come to think we haut have been too … insulated for too long. I cannot say the Star Crèche did not know what happened here nor that we lacked intelligence of Barrayar, but I had not understood your situation well. Nor I think had my fellows.” She looked down at Miles. “I was suspicious of your designs at the summit, Lord Vorkosigan, but I see more clearly now what you asked of us, and why you could speak to us as you did. Does Rian know of these things?”

“I cannot say. I have never spoken to her of them. Nor directly to Dag Benin, but he certainly knows.”

“Ah, yes. Then … if you wish it, and it can be safely done, ghem and haut women geneticists will come to Barrayar, to help in this. Please-” she held up a hand to silence them-“you must understand, the general human medical package is one thing, that we can … franchise. This kind of specific intervention is quite another. Zygotes must be individually mapped and corrected, using techniques we will not release, before placement in replicators, or corrections will not be transmitted properly to further generations. So gametes or arrested zygotes must come to a central facility, secure to us, and each case will take some time. Will this be … acceptable to the parents?”

All the Barrayarans’ faces were alight with hope tempered by caution as they heard Palma’s reservations. Miles nevertheless nodded. “I believe in my own District it can be made so, with some care. And if it can be done in the Dendarii, it can be done anywhere on Barrayar.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. Tell me, haut Palma, would you be prepared to meet a woman whose firstborn was murdered by her own mother for having a  hare lip and cleft palate? She hopes to be the first in her Vale to use a replicator, for her third living child, next year.”

Laisa looked blank but Ekaterin’s head filled with a vision of the haut Palma meeting Harra Csurik.

“You know this woman?” Palma was plainly astonished.

“Oh yes. I judged her mother for infanticide as the Count-my-father’s Voice, and Ekaterin and I are presenting a replicator to that Vale as part of my bride-gift to the District. If you were to accompany General Coram to Vorkosigan Surleau as my private guest? He is staying on a little after the ceremony in the Gorge while a few pilgrims go to other sites.”

“That might be possible, but …”

Miles’s voice had subtly inched towards persuasion. “She now teaches and leads change in all ways. If she is persuaded, much will follow.”

“Very well. I will contact you through the Embassy. Now I must go.” And she did, barely saying another word save a formal farewell to Gregor before sitting and vanishing again from their sight. After Gerard had escorted her bubble out, everyone collapsed into chairs.

“Well, well, well. That was interesting.” Miles’s voice was bone dry. So was Gregor’s.

“Wasn’t it just? Will you do a full analysis for me, Miles, as soon as maybe. What else will take a less insulated Star Crèche sufficiently aback to start them thinking, I wonder?” He frowned. “And what centre these geneticists can control? I take her point but …”

“ImpMil.” Miles’s voice expressed conviction. “A separate building, new if necessary, isolated from others. No proximity to sensitive military data on our side, fully secure perimeter already, and it’d mean the whole project can … heh, that the Celestial hand can be hidden as necessary in the Imperial glove.”

“Yes, very good. Will you liaise? Use Auditorial authority.”

“Alright.”

Enough was enough. Ekaterin sat forward. “Miles, dear, are you really going to introduce haut Palma to Harra Csurik?”

“Oh yes, if she’ll come to Vorkosigan Surleau. I wouldn’t drag Harra up here, and it’d miss the whole point anyway. Let the high haut go to her and learn what they can. Besides, I meant exactly what I said-if Harra says yes, and I think she will, the Vale will follow her lead and word will spread.” His face was blazing so that Ekaterin could only smile with him. “I thought it’d take another two generations at least to do it, but with this help we really can clean up the mountain genomes. Ma and Da will dance for this one.”

“So will I, Miles.” Gregor was also caught by the passion, but Laisa was still plainly at a loss.

“I’m sorry, Miles, but who is Harra Csurik?”

“Gregor can tell you. A woman whom life has made very strong and wise. Actually, Gregor, I was going to suggest you both come to Silvy Vale sometime. Zed Karal was teasing Ekaterin and I about making a christening-tour. I was in two minds, but if it was as much for Harra’s christening as ours …”

Gregor went thoughtful. “Yes, that’s an idea. You have a very sharp eye for potent symbolism these days, you know, Miles.”

Looking at Laisa, Ekaterin sighed. “Men!” Laisa grinned as Miles and Gregor looked astonished. “What you need to know, Laisa, is that Harra is a very progressive Speaker’s wife in the Dendarii back-country, entirely suitable to visit. She’s a lovely woman, very sharp, and tough as we come. She’s also the only person in the world Miles allows to call him ‘little man’.”

Laisa’s eyebrows rose and Miles grinned. “She is. But Gregor really can tell you about her, Laisa-it’s not a secret at all, just not stuff that gets mentioned casually.”

“But why do you let her call you that?”

“Oh it’s only in private. She’d never be disrespectful in public.”

“That isn’t an answer, Miles.”

There was a silence until Ekaterin smiled and stood. “It’s because she made him grow.”

Gregor looked thoughtful again, and, smiling, took Laisa’s hand and let them go. In the groundcar Miles smiled at her tiredly but with deep satisfaction and pleasure. “Now that’s a good day’s work. Forgiveness in word and deed, high ceremony, public joy, excellent fireworks, and two, no three, I suppose, entirely unexpected boons.” Ekaterin looked her question. “Giaja’s institute is the one I’m doubtful about. His sudden insistence sounds like face-saving to me, so we need to find out whose face needed saving and why.”

“What was the first boon, then?”

“Gregor the Great. Ha. I’m going to enjoy that one. At least three papers have it as their headline. I must tell Pym to get extra copies. The others are going with ‘Sire!’”

She regarded him with bemusement. “Well, I can see it was nice of the ghem, and a fine compliment, but why does it matter so much to you, love? I felt you go as tense as a wire when Ferrant said it.”

Miles grinned triumphantly. “It fulfils a promise I once made to myself, and to Gregor. I think I was six. It was very solemn until we were interrupted by guards looking for the Imperial seal.”

She kept a straight face, imagining a six-year-old Miles radiating his enormous love and-what had Nikki said?-his need for fealty. Gregor must have been incredibly strong, even at eleven, not to have been consumed by it. Or perhaps he was. Look what has come true. “Did they find it?”

“They did.”

“Were you in lots of trouble?”

“Simon wanted us to be, but as I believe I pointed out it is Gregor’s seal, to do with as he will. Da never used it.”

“And you really told him he’d be Gregor the Great?”

“Oh yes. The alliteration was irresistable.”

Ekaterin sat back, thinking of words beginning with M though she knew which he would have chosen, and wondering anew at the force that reshaped her life, as it reshaped worlds and was reshaping the Nexus. Since the relief of events going so smoothly that morning she had flowed through the day on its tide, too busy absorbing the present to dwell on causes. But now there would be time. In a day or two she’d see Nikki again, for events in the Gorge, and then she would be free to do her assigned summer work in botany and biochemistry. Miles would have Auditorial work to complete before her graduation, and she wasn’t sure if his genetics committee had just had its workloaded increased or diminished. But that could surely wait for tomorrow.