It was mid-morning when Miles finally rolled out of bed. He'd been awake for hours, but for some reason he dreaded the idea of meeting one of … them. Why? They're flesh of your flesh, after all. At least, the two younger women seem all right.

He hoped Ekaterin was having an easier time than he was. She'd left late last night, after turning down an invitation to stay at Vorkosigan House. She did finally accept a squad of ImpSec guards. "There's not much inoculant left," Cora had said. "But it will be fairly safe." The four of them --- the siblings? children? --- clearly hadn't thought it was safe. Ekaterin had been pleasant to them, but not warm.

Come to think of it, she'd acted the same way towards him. Their goodbyes had been formal. Strained. Oh, Milady, talk to me!

But then, everyone was on edge. The tension came from being under siege, continually, in one's own home. Reinforcements from the future had been ruled out. "We're at the absolute limit of weapons and supplies. As for personnel, they'd have to realign the timeline along each person, to block paradoxes with their parents," explained Cora. "It multiplies the number of people Sebastian might try to tag. The continuum can only take so much. We must be careful not to bankrupt ourselves, temporally."

Alex had suggested a strategic retreat to Vorkosigan Surleau, while Gregor and his family stayed in Vorbarr Sultana. "It's easier to defend, and maybe we'll lure Sebastian away from the Emperor." Miles had noted that he hadn't specified which emperor.

Ominously the plan sounded like a divide-and-conquer trap, but Raina had insisted Sebastian wanted her to be present. "He wants me to watch. That's really why he brought us here. The danger of a temporal paradox wasn't much of an issue, especially with the Guardians on our side. The temporal tags are the real danger. If I'm there with you at the Surleau, we'll draw his fire. Although…" and she'd trailed off, glancing at Laisa.

Raina's unspoken concern loomed for the rest of the night. Shall we die singly, or together? For Laisa and the little prince, the problem was literally that. Later that evening, when ImpSec had cleared the Imperial Residence, Miles had gone to fetch Gregor and Laisa, and nearly walked into an argument. It probably had to do with the replicator transfer. At optimum, the procedure could be done any time within the first trimester, but it was always best to start as early as possible. I should know.

After dressing, he went in search of Ivan and learned he was gone, collected by his mother and Simon. It was too bad, really. Miles wanted to talk to someone his age. And his time. As for his parents, they had been closeted with Gregor and Laisa (and Emperor Leo?) all morning.

Breakfast was set up as a buffet, which probably meant the whole household was getting up at odd times. He took his coffee and pastries to the library. It was already occupied.

"---so it started up again last night?" Felice was saying, as Miles walked in.

"Good morning, Miles," Cora said quickly.

Felice pursed her lips. "Hi, Miles."

Miles took the cue and tried to be cheerful despite the vertigo. "Good morning, miladies. What started again?"

"Oh, nothing," Felice said.

"Just… family. Ivan's girls, if you must know." Cora said, deadpan.

Miles's curiosity got the best of him. "Ivan's girls?" Sounds like a brothel. "Can I--- is it safe to talk?"

The women had the same bemused expression on their face. Their blue eyes twinkled. Cora said, "It's all right, the timeline's aligned and quarantined. Theoretically, a little fortune-telling isn't out of the question."

"Though we can't be responsible for Lord Vorpatril's actions, should you choose to tell him about the girls," said Felice, who was trying to chase the dimple off her face.

"Well, they're not girls anymore," said Cora, "A little younger than we are, all married off."

Felice said, "But ask anyone about the Vorpatril girls, they know you not only mean the three wayward daughters of Lord Ivan Vorpatril, but the twenty memorable years when they had the pick of the Vor."

"Plucked, belike," Cora muttered. "In all fairness, they really are sensible . . . well, except perhaps Anya. But it was Uncle Ivan who drove them to distraction."

"He was so busy protecting his daughters from a dozen lesser predators, the girls couldn't help taking advantage," explained Felice. "He should have been protecting all the men from them. At their height, they were positively shameless: swapping dates, juggling suitors, all the while reducing men to tears."

Miles had stopped eating his pastry, entirely consumed by the vision.

"Done in style, of course. You can't say a bad thing about the girls, not Alys Vorpatril's granddaughters. They played fair, never let the men jump to conclusions. But, in the end, it was always…" Cora made a hooking motion by her mouth.

"Poor Uncle Ivan. Not so long ago, from our point of view. Anyway, we were talking about Tasha's new baby." Felice glanced at Cora, who nodded.

'No, you weren't,' thought Miles. "That's… fascinating, to say the least. You're right, I don't think Ivan's ready for that." He set his cup down. "Am I?"

"What's there to know?" Cora said, lightly. "Between you and Mark, you've turned District Vorkosigan into one of the fastest growing districts on the planet. Standard of living, health care, agriculture, commerce, new universities. In the Imperium, the name Vorkosigan is a password to power again, as it hasn't been since the Regency."

"Because of Raina? The Empress?" Miles hadn't thought of her as the Empress, before. He was still wrapping his mind around her rank of admiral. Fending off jealousy.

"No," said Felice. "Not just Raina. 'I don't do politics,' she'll say, 'that's why I married Leo.' Probably just the math. Think about it. Before your mother arrived, House Vorkosigan essentially consisted of two people, your father and your grandfather. All your life, it's held steady at three or four members. One generation down, we're up to thirteen. Two generations removed: almost thirty people, men, women, and children, have either married into or born into the Vorkosigan name. Two to thirty, all in less than a hundred years. Not even a lifetime, if you're galactic."

"Thirty people and their circles--- scientists, artisans, military people, business people. The children are growing up. Most of us have our 'hobbies,' too, little enterprises on the side. It adds up," said Cora.

"And we all stick together," said Felice, a mite smugly. "Of late, Raina and Alex have taken over as the heads of the family. They make sure we all know the histories. From youngest to eldest, a Vorkosigan's word and honor still carries weight, where other families have faltered."

Raina was right, it was a little too much at one go. But then it occurred to Miles that any future seemed wholly implausible, until it happened. He hadn't expected his Auditor's chain, or Mark, or Ekaterin. He certainly hadn't foreseen the Dendarii Mercenaries in his horizons. I didn't put Arctic Weatherman on my list, either. Miles gazed thoughtfully at his coffee cup. He'd probably have to sweat blood to get there, it seemed, but the future was starting to look brighter.