Lois Bujold - Mirror Dance

“Thank you. I accept.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“After your medical leave is over, I think I’ll sign up for one of your schools.”

“Which one?”

“If the Count and Countess are going to be mainly residing in Hassadar, maybe the District college there.”

“Hm. I should warn you, you’ll find a more, um, rural crowd there than you would in Vorbarr Sultana. You’ll run into more Barrayaran old-style thinking.”

“Good. That’s exactly what I want. I need to learn how to handle those hassles without accidentally killing people.”

“Er,” said Miles, “true. What are you going to study?”

“It almost doesn’t matter. It will give me an official status— student—and a chance to study the people. Data I can get off a machine. But I’m weak on people. There’s so much to learn. I need to know … everything.”

It was another kind of hunger, this insatiable gluttony for knowledge. An ImpSec analyst must surely possess the hugest possible database. The fellows he’d met at the coffee dispenser in ImpSec HQ had conducted flashing conversations with each other over the most appalling range and depth of subjects. He was going to have to hustle, if he wanted to compete in that crowd. To win. Miles laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“I’m just wondering what Hassadar is going to learn from you.”

The ground car turned in at the gates of Vorkosigan House, and slowed. “Maybe I’ll get up early,” said Mark. “There’s a lot to do.”

Miles grinned sleepily, puddled down in his uniform. “Welcome to the beginning.”