Ekaterin fled to the kitchen, to serve the dessert and give the blighted conversation time to recover. When she came out again, things had eased, or at least, Nikolai had stopped being so supernaturally good, i.e., quiet, and had struck up a negotiation with his great-uncle for after-dinner attention in the form of a round of his current favorite game. This carried them through till the rental company arrived at the front door with the grav-bed, and the great engineer went off with the whole male mob to oversee its installation. Ekaterin turned gratefully to the soothing routine of cleaning up.

Tien returned to report success and the Vor lord suitably settled.

“Tien, were you watching that fellow closely?” asked Ekaterin. “A mutie, a mutie Vor, yet he carried on as if nothing were the least out of the ordinary. If he can…” she trailed off hopefully, leaving the surely you can for Tien to conclude.

Tien frowned. “Don’t start that again. It’s obvious he doesn’t think the rules apply to him. He’s Aral Vorkosigan’s son, for God’s sake. Practically the Emperor’s foster brother. No wonder he got this cushy Imperial appointment.”

“I don’t think so, Tien. Were you listening to him at all?” All those undercurrents… “I think… I think he’s the Emperor’s hatchet man, sent to judge the whole Terraforming Project. Powerful… maybe dangerous.”

Tien shook his head. “His father was powerful and dangerous. He’s just privileged. Damned high Vor twit. Don’t worry about him. Your uncle will take him away soon enough.”

“I’m not worried about him.”

Tien’s face darkened. “I’m getting so tired of this! You argue with everything I say, you practically insult my intelligence in front of your so-noble relative”

“I didn’t!” Did I? She began a confused mental review of her evening’s remarks. What in the world had she said, to set him on edge like this.