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

before. Makes sense—I guess he was their poison expert. I wish I'd known more about this when I was a kid, I could have agitated for two birthdays, one when Mother had the cesarian, and one when they finally popped me out of the replicator."
    "Which did they choose?"
    "Cesarian day. I'm glad. Makes me only six months younger than you are. Otherwise you'd be nearly a year older—and I've been warned about older women . . ." This babble won a smile at last, and he relaxed a little.
    He paused, staring at the screen with slitted eyes, then entered another search query. "That's weird," he muttered.
    "What?"
    "A secret military medical research project—with my father as project director, no less."
    "I never knew he was in research too," said Elena, sounding enormously impressed. "He sure got around."
    "That's what's curious. He was a Staff tactician. Never had anything to do with research, as far as I know." A by-now-familiar code appeared at his next inquiry. "Blast! Another seal. Ask a simple question, get a simple brick wall . . . There's Dr. Vaagen, hand-in-rubber-glove with Father. Vaagen must have been doing the actual work, then. That explains that. I want under that seal, damn it . . ." He whistled a soundless tune, staring into space, fingers drumming.
    Elena began to look dampened. "You're getting that mulish look," she observed nervously. "Maybe we should just let it go. It doesn't really matter by now."
    "Illyan's mark's not on this one. It might be enough . . ."
    Elena bit her lip. "Look, Miles, it's not really—" But he was already launched. "What are you doing?"
    "Trying one of Father's old access codes. I'm pretty sure of it, all but a few digits."
    Elena gulped.
    "Jackpot!" Miles cried softly, as the screen began disgorging data at last. He read avidly. "So that's where those uterine replicators came from! They brought them back from Escobar, after the invasion failed. The spoils of war, by God. Seventeen of them, loaded and working. They must have seemed like really high tech, in their day. I wonder if we looted them?"
    Elena paled. "Miles—they weren't doing human experiments or, or anything like that, were they? Surely your father wouldn't have countenanced . . ."
    "I don't know. Dr. Vaagen can be pretty, um, one-track, about his research . . ." Relief eased his voice. "Oh, I see what was going on. Look here . . ." The holoscreen began scrolling yet another file in midair; he waved his fingers through it. "They were all sent to the Imperial Service Orphanage. They must have been some children of our men killed at Escobar."
    Elena's voice tensed. "Children of men killed at Escobar? But where are their mothers?"
    They stared at each other. "But we've never had any women in the Service, except for a few civilian medtechs," began Miles.
    Elena's long fingers closed urgently on his shoulder. "Look at the dates."
    He scrolled the file again.
    "Miles," she hissed.
    "Yes, I see it." He stopped the screen. "Female infant released to the custody of Admiral Aral Vorkosigan. Not sent to the orphanage with the rest."
    "The date—Miles, that's my birthday!"
    He unpeeled her fingers. "Yes, I know. Don't crush my collarbone, please."
    "Could it be me? Is it me?" Her face tightened with hope and dismay.
    "I—it's all numbers, you see," he said cautiously. "But there's plenty of medical identification—footprints, retinal, blood type—stick your foot over here."
    Elena hopped about, removing shoes and hose. Miles helped her place her right foot over the holovid plate. He restrained himself with a twitching effort from running a hand up that incredible silken length of thigh, blooming from her rumpled skirts. Skin like an orchid petal. He bit his lips; pain, pain would help him to focus. Damn tight trousers anyway. He hoped she wouldn't notice . . .
    Setting up the optical laser check helped his focus rather better. A flickering red light played over her sole for a few seconds. He set the