Miles Errant by Lois McMaster Bujold Read Free Book Online Page A

scheme."
    She was thinking at speed now, and constructively, actually following out trains of thought besides that of having him removed to her border in bits. He was getting warmer. . . .
    "I only wish to be your spiritual advisor. I do not want—indeed, can't use—command. Just an advisor."
    It must have been something about the term "advisor" that clicked, some old association of hers. Her eyes flicked fully open suddenly. He was close enough to see her pupils dilate. She leaned forward, and her index finger traced the faint indentations on his face beside his nose caused by certain control leads in a space armor helmet. She straightened again, and her first two fingers in a V caressed the deeper marks permanently flanking her own nose. "What did you say you were, before?"
    "A clerk. Recruiting office," Miles replied sturdily.
    "I . . . see."
    And if what she saw was the absurdity of someone claiming to be a rear-echelon clerk having worn combat armor often and long enough to have picked up its stigmata, he was in. Maybe.
    She coiled herself back up on her sleeping mat, and gestured toward its other end. "Sit down, chaplain. And keep talking."
    * * *
    Suegar was genuinely asleep when Miles found him again, sitting up cross-legged and snoring. Miles tapped him on the shoulder.
    "Wake up, Suegar, we're home."
    He snorted to consciousness. "God, I miss coffee. Huh?" He blinked at Miles. "You're still in one piece?"
    "It was a near thing. Look, this garments-in-the-river bit—now that we've found each other, do we have to go on being naked? Or is the prophecy sufficiently fulfilled?"
    "Huh?"
    "Can we get dressed now?" Miles repeated patiently.
    "Why—I don't know. I suppose, if we were meant to have clothes, they'd be given to us—"
    Miles prodded and pointed. "There. They're given to us."
    Beatrice stood a few meters away in a hip-shot pose of bored exasperation, a bundle of gray cloth under her arm. "You two loonies want this stuff or not? I'm going back."
    "You got them to give you clothes?" Suegar whispered in amazement.
    "Us, Suegar, us." Miles motioned to Beatrice. "I think it's all right."
    She fired the bundle at him, sniffed, and stalked away.
    "Thanks," Miles called. He shook out the fabric. Two sets of gray pajamas, one small, one large. Miles had only to turn up the bottoms of the pants legs one fold to keep them from catching under his heels. They were stained and stiff with old sweat and dirt, and had probably been peeled off a corpse, Miles reflected. Suegar crawled into his and stood fingering the gray fabric in wonder.
    "They gave us clothes. Gave us," he muttered. "How'd you do that?"
    "They gave us everything, Suegar. Come on, I've got to talk to Oliver again." Miles dragged Suegar off determinedly. "I wonder how much time we've actually got before the next chow call? Two in each twenty-four-hour cycle, to be sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's irregular, to increase your temporal disorientation—after all, it's the only clock in here . . ."
    Movement caught Miles's eye, a man running. It wasn't the occasional flurry of someone outrunning a hostile group; this one just ran, head down, flat out, bare feet thumping the dirt in frantic rhythm. He followed the perimeter generally, except for a detour around the border of the women's group. As he ran, he wept.
    "What's this?" Miles asked Suegar, with a nod at the approaching figure.
    Suegar shrugged. "It takes you like that sometimes. When you can't stand sitting in here any more. I saw a guy run till he died, once. Around and around and around . . ."
    "Well," Miles decided, "this one's running to us."
    "He's gonna be running away from us in a second."
    "Then help me catch him."
    Miles hit him low and Suegar high. Suegar sat on his chest. Miles sat on his right arm, halving his effective resistance. He must have been a very young soldier when he was captured—maybe he had lied about his age at induction—for even now he had a boy's face,