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Miles's smile twisted. Reassured, perhaps, by the glint of humor in his eye, the boy ventured within. He
looked Miles up and down more openly than he had done heretofore; Miles bore being Looked At.Yes,
you can get used to me, kiddo.
"Were you really a spy?" Nikki asked suddenly.
Miles leaned back, brows rising. "Now, wherever did you get that idea?"
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"Uncle Vorthyssaid you were in ImpSec. Galactic operations," Nikki reminded him.
Ah, yes, that first night at the dinner table. "I was a courier officer. Do you know what that is?"
"Not . . . 'zactly. I thought a courier was a jumpship . . . ?"
"The ship is named after the job. A courier is a kind of glorified delivery man. I carried messages back
and forth for the Imperium."
Nikki's brow wrinkled dubiously. "Was it dangerous?"
"It wasn't supposed to be. I generally got places only to have to turn around immediately and go back. I
spent a lot of time en route reading. Composing reports. And, ah, studying. ImpSec would send these
training programs along, that you were supposed to complete in your spare time, and turn back in to your
superiors when you got home."
"Oh," said Nikki, sounding a little dismayed, possibly at the thought that even grownups weren't spared
from homework. He regarded Miles more sympathetically. Then a spark rose in his eye. "But you got to
go onjumpships , didn't you? Imperial fast couriers and things?"
"Oh, yes."
"Wewent on a jumpship, to come here. It was a VorsmytheDolphin -class 776 with quadruple-vortex
outboard control nacelles and dual norm-space thrusters and a crew of twelve. It carried a hundred and
twenty passengers. It was full up, too." Nikki's face grew reflective. "Kind of a barge, compared to
Imperial fast couriers, but Mama got the jump pilot to let me come up and see his control room. He let
me sit in his station chair and put on his headset." The spark had become a flame in the memory of this
glorious moment.
Miles could recognize imprinting when he saw it. "You admire jumpships, I take it."
"I want to be a jump pilot when I grow up. Didn't you ever? Or . . . or wouldn't they let you?" A certain
wariness returned to Nikki's face; had he been cautioned by the adults not to mention Miles's mutoid
appearance?Yes, let us all pretend to ignore the obvious. That ought to clarify the kid's worldview .
"No, I wanted to be a strategist. Like my Da and my Gran'da. I couldn't have passed the physical for
jump pilot anyway."
"My Da was a soldier. It sounded boring. He stayed on one base for practically the whole time.I want to
be an Imperial pilot, in the fastest ships, and go places."
Very far away from here. Yes. Miles understoodthat one, all right. It occurred to him suddenly that
even if nothing else was done between now and then, a military physical would reveal Nikki's Vorzohn's
Dystrophy. And even if it was successfully treated, the defect would disqualify him for military pilot's
training.
"Imperial pilot?" Miles let his brows rise in apparent surprise. "Well, I suppose . . . but if you really want
to go places, the military's not your best route."
"Why not?"
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"Except for a very few courier or diplomatic missions, the military jump pilots just go from Barrayar to
Komarr to Sergyar and back. Same old routes, round and round. And you have to wait forever for your
turn on the roster, my pilot acquaintances tell me. Now, if you really want experience, going out with the
Komarran trade fleets would take you much farther afield all the way to Earth, and beyond. And they
go out for much longer, and there are many more berths to be had. There are more kinds of ships. Pilots
get a lot more time in the hot-seat.And when you get to the interesting places, you're a lot freer to look
around."
"Oh." Nikki digested this thoughtfully. "Wait here," he commanded abruptly, and darted out.
He was back in moments cradling a box jammed with model jumpships. "This is theDolphin -776 we
went on," he held one up for Miles's inspection. He rummaged for another. "Did you ride on fast couriers
like this one?"
"The Falcon-9? Yes, a time or two." A model caught Miles's eye; automatically, he slid down onto the
floor beside Nikki, who was arranging his collection for fleet inspection. "Good God, is that an RG
freighter?"
"It's an antique." Nikki held it out.
Miles took it, his eye lighting. "I owned one of the very last of these, when I was seventeen. Now,that
was a barge."
"A . . . a model like this?" asked Nikki uncertainly.
"No, a jumpship."
"You owned a real jumpship? Yourself?" He inhaled alarmingly.
"Mm, me and a bunch of creditors." Miles smiled in reminiscence.
"Did you get to pilot it? In normal space, I mean, not in jump space."
"No, I wasn't even up to piloting shuttles then. I learned how to do that later, at the Academy."
"What happened to the RG? Do you still have it?"
"Oh, no. Or . . . well, I'm not just sure. It met with an accident in Tau Verde local space, ramming, um,
colliding with another ship. Twisted hell out of its Necklin field generator rods. It was never going to jump
again after that, so I leased it as a local-space freighter, and we left it there. If Arde he's a jump pilot
friend of mine ever finds a set of replacement rods, I told him he can have the old RG."
"You had a jumpshipand yougave it away ?" Nikki's eyes widened in astonishment. "Do you have any
more ?"
"Not at present. Oh, look, aGeneral -class cruiser." Miles reached for it. "My father commanded one of
those, once, I believe. Do you have any Betan Survey ships . . . ?"
Heads bent together, they laid out the little fleet on the floor. Nikki, Miles was pleased to find, was
well-up on all the tech-specs of every ship he owned; he expanded wonderfully, his voice, formerly shy
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around Miles-the-weird-adult-stranger, growing louder and faster in his unselfconscious enthusiasm as he
detailed his machinery. Miles's stock rose as he was able to claim personal acquaintance with nearly a
dozen of the originals for the models, and add a few interesting nonclassified jumpship anecdotes to
Nikki's already impressive fund of knowledge.
"But," said Nikki after a slight pause for breath, "how do you get to be a pilot if you're not in the
military?"
"You go through a training school and an apprenticeship. I know of at least four schools right here on
Komarr, and a couple more at home on Barrayar. Sergyar doesn't have one yet."
"How do you get in?"
"Apply, and give them money."
Nikki looked daunted. "A lot of money?"
"Mm, no more than any other college or trade school. The biggest cost is getting your neurological
interface surgically installed. It pays to get the best on that one." Miles added encouragingly, "You can do
anything, but you have to make your chances happen. There are some scholarships and
indenture-contracts that can grease your way in, if you hustle for them. You do have to be at least twenty
years old, though, so you have lots of time to plan."
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