Ethan of Athos_Vorkosigan Saga by Lois McMaster Bujold

Author:Lois McMaster Bujold [Bujold, Lois McMaster]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Spectrum Literary Agency, Inc.
Published: 2011-06-09T04:00:00+00:00

* * *

Ethan stood blinded by the dawning of a new age. “We are standing,” he croaked at last, “in the middle of a bleeding public mallway in one of the most closely monitored environments in the galaxy. Before Colonel Millisor leaps out a lift tube, don’t you think we’d better, uh, find some quieter place to talk?”

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course, sir. Is your safe house nearby?”

“Er . . . Is yours?”

The young man grimaced. “As long as my cover identity holds.”

Ethan gestured invitingly, and Cee led off. Safe house, Ethan decided, must be a generic espionage term for any hideout, for Cee took him not to a home but to a cheap hostel reserved for transients with Stationer work permits. Here were housed clerks, housekeepers, porters, and other lower-echelon employees of the service sector whose function Ethan could only guess at, such as the two women in bright clothing and gaudy make-up almost Cetagandan in its unnatural coloration, who started to accost Cee and himself and shouted some unintelligible insult after them when they brushed hastily by.

Cee’s quarters were a near-clone of Ethan’s own neglected Economy Cabin, plain and cramped. Ethan wondered rather fearfully if Cee was reading his mind right now—apparently not, for the Cetagandan expatriate gave no sign of realizing his mistake yet.

“I take it,” said Ethan, “that your powers are intermittent.”

“Yes,” replied Cee. “If my escape to Athos had gone as I’d originally planned, I meant never to use them again. I suppose your government will demand my services as the price of its protection, now.”

“I—I don’t know,” answered Ethan honestly. “But if you truly possess such a talent, it would seem a shame not to use it. I mean, one can see the applications right away.”

“Can’t one, though,” muttered Cee bitterly.

“Look at pediatric medicine—what a diagnostic aid for preverbal patients! Babies who can’t answer, Where does it hurt? What does it feel like? Or for stroke victims or those paralyzed in accidents who have lost all ability to communicate, trapped in their bodies. God the Father”—Ethan’s enthusiasm mounted—“you could be an absolute savior!”

Terrence Cee sat down rather heavily. His eyes widened in wonder, narrowed in suspicion. “I’m more often regarded as a menace. No one I’ve met who knew my secret ever suggested any use for me but espionage.”

“Well—were they espionage agents themselves?”

“Now that you mention it—yes, for the most part.”

“So, there you are. They see you as what they would be, given your gift.”

Cee gave him a very odd look, and smiled slowly. “Sir, I hope you’re right.” His posture became less closed, some part of the tension uncoiling in his lean muscles, but his blue eyes remained intent upon Ethan. “Do you realize that I am not a human being, Dr. Urquhart? I’m an artificial genetic construct, a composite from a dozen sources, with a sensory organ squatting like a spider in my brain that no human being ever had. I have no father and no mother. I wasn’t born, I was made.

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