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He patted her hand. "I've talked to Aral already. He's resting now. I am so
sorry, Cordelia."
"It may not be as bad as we feared at first. There's still a chance. A hope.
Did Aral tell you about the uterine replicator?"
"Something. But the damage has already been done, surely. Irrevocable damage."
"Damage, yes. How irrevocable it is, no one knows. Not even Captain Vaagen."
"Yes, I met Vaagen a little while ago." Piotr frowned. "A pushing sort of
fellow. New Man type."
"Barrayar needs its new men. And women. Its technologically trained
generation."
"Oh, yes. We fought and slaved to create them. They are absolutely necessary.
They know it, too, some of them." A hint of self-aware irony softened his
mouth. "But this operation you're proposing, this placental transfer... it
doesn't sound too safe."
"On Beta Colony, it would be routine." Cordelia shrugged. We are not, of
course, on Beta Colony.
"But something more straightforward, better understood-you would be ready to
begin again much sooner. In the long run, you might actually lose less time."
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"Time... isn't what I'm worried about losing." A meaningless concept, now she
thought of it. She lost 26.7 hours every
Barrayaran day. "Anyway, I'm never going through that again. I'm not a slow
learner, sir."
A flicker of alarm crossed his face. "You'll change your mind, when you feel
better. What does matter now-I've talked to
Captain Vaagen. There seemed no question in his mind there is great damage."
"Well, yes. The unknown is whether there can be great repairs."
"Dear girl." His worried smile grew tenser. "Just so. If only the fetus were a
girl... or even a second son... we could afford to indulge your
understandable, even laudable, maternal emotions. But this thing, if it lived,
would be Count Vorkosigan someday.
We cannot afford to have a deformed Count Vorkosigan." He sat back, as if he
had just made some cogent point.
Cordelia wrinkled her brow. "Who is we?"
"House Vorkosigan. We are one of the oldest great houses on Barrayar. Never,
perhaps, the richest, seldom the strongest, but what we've lacked in wealth
we've made up in honor. Nine generations of Vor warriors. This would be a
horrible end to come to, after nine generations, don't you see?"
"House Vorkosigan, at this point in time, consists of two individuals, you and
Aral," Cordelia observed, both amused and disturbed. "And Counts Vorkosigan
have come to horrible ends throughout your history. You've been blown up,
shot, starved, drowned, burned alive, beheaded, diseased, and demented. The
only thing you've never done is die in bed. I thought horrors were your stock
in trade."
He returned her a pained smile. "But we've never been mutants."
"I think you need to talk to Vaagen again. The fetal damage he described was
teratogenic, not genetic, if I understand him correctly."
"But people will think it's a mutant."
"What the devil do you care what some ignorant prole thinks?"
"Other Vor, dear."
"Vor, prole, they're equally ignorant, I assure you."
His hands twitched. He opened his mouth, closed it again, frowned, and said
more sharply, "A Count Vorkosigan has never been an experimental laboratory
animal, either."
"There you go, then. He serves Barrayar even before he's born. Not a bad start
on a life of honor." Perhaps some good would come of it, in the end, some
knowledge gained; if not help for themselves, then for some other parents'
grief. The more she thought about it, the more right her decision felt, on
more than one level.
Piotr jerked his head back. "For all you Betans seem soft, you have an
appalling cold-blooded streak in you."
"Rational streak, sir. Rationality has its merits. You Barrayarans ought to
try it sometime." She bit her tongue. "But we run ahead of ourselves, I think,
sir. There are lots of d-" dangers, "difficulties yet to come. A placental
transfer this late in pregnancy is tricky even for galactics. I admit, I wish
there were time to import a more experienced surgeon. But there's not."
"Yes... yes... it may yet die, you're right. No need to... but I'm afraid for
you, too, girl. Is it worth it?"
Was what worth what? How could she know? Her lungs burned. She smiled wearily
at him, and shook her head, which ached with tight pressure in her temples and
neck.
"Father," came a raspy voice from the doorway. Aral leaned there, in his green
pajamas, a portable oxygenator stuck up his nose. How long had he stood there?
"I think Cordelia needs to rest."
Their eyes met, over Piotr. Bless you, love... .
"Yes, of course." Count Piotr gathered himself together, and creaked to his
feet. "I'm sorry, you're quite correct." He pressed
Cordelia's hand one more time, firmly, with his dry old-man's grip. "Sleep.
You'll be able to think more clearly later."
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"Father."
"You shouldn't be out of bed, should you?" said Piotr, drawn off. "Go back and
lie down, boy... ." His voice drifted away, across the corridor.
Aral returned later, after Count Piotr had finally left.
"Was Father bothering you?" he asked, looking grim. She held out her hand to
him, and he sat beside her. She transferred her head from her pillow to his
lap, her cheek on the firm-muscled leg beneath the thin pajama, and he stroked
her hair.
"No more than usual," she sighed.
"I feared he was upsetting you."
"It's not that I'm not upset. It's just that I'm too tired to run up and down
the corridor screaming."
"Ah. He did upset you."
"Yes." She hesitated. "In a way, he has a point. I was so afraid for so long,
waiting for the blow to fall, from somewhere, nowhere, anywhere. Then came
last night, and the worst was done, over... except it's not over. If the blow
had been more complete, I could stop, quit now. But this is going to go on and
on." She rubbed her cheek against the cloth. "Did Illyan come up with anything
new? I thought I heard his voice out there, earlier."
His hand continued to stroke her hair, in even rhythm. "He'd finished the
preliminary fast-penta interrogation of Evon
Vorhalas. He's now investigating the old armory where Evon stole the soltoxin.
It appears Evon might not have equipped himself so ad hoc unilaterally as he
claimed. An ordnance major in charge there has disappeared, AWOL. Illyan's not
certain yet if the man was eliminated, to clear Evon's path, or if he actually
helped Evon, and has gone into hiding."
"He might just be afraid. If it was dereliction."
"He'd better be afraid. If he had any conscious connivance in this..." His
hand clenched in her hair, he became aware of the pull, muttered, "Sorry," and
continued petting. Cordelia, feeling very like an injured animal, crept deeper
into his lap, her hand on his knee.
"About Father-if he upsets you again, send him to me. You shouldn't have to
deal with him. I told him it was your decision."
"My decision?" Her hand rested, without moving. "Not our decision?"
He hesitated. "Whatever you want, I'll support you."
"But what do you want? Something you're not telling me?"
"I can't help understanding his fears. But... there's something I haven't
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