Quotes About Miles

Miles exhaled carefully, faint with rage and reminded grief. He does not know, he told himself. He cannot know... Ivan, one of these days somebody is going to pull out a weapon and plug you, and you're going to die in bewilderment, crying, What did I say? What did I say? What did I say? asked Ivan indignantly.

My dinner party,' Miles grated. 'It's just breaking up.' And sinking. All souls feared lost.

No, no, never send interim reports, said Miles. Only final ones. Interim reports tend to elicit orders. Which you must then either obey, or spend valuable time and energy evading, which you could be using to solve the problem.

A true Vor, Miles told himself severely, does not bury his face in his liegewoman's breasts and cry—even if he is at a convenient height for it.

Pym! The Countess spotted a new victim, and her voice went a little dangerous. I seconded you to look after Miles. Would you care to explain this scene? There was a thoughtful pause. In a voice of simple honesty, Pym replied, No, Milady.

Emperors per se did not unnerve Miles . . . . Emperor Gregor had been raised along with Miles practically as his foster-brother; somewhere in the back of Miles's mind the term emperor was coupled with such identifiers as somebody to play hide-and-seek with . In this context those hidden assumptions could be a psychosocial land mine.

Very good. But your most insidious chronic problem is in the area of . . . how shall I put this precisely . . . subordination. You argue too much." "No, I don't," Miles began indignantly, then shut his mouth.

Pym looked at the bugs, glanced at the sleeve of his proud uniform, stared again at the deadly parody of his insignia the creatures now bore, and shot Miles a look of heartbreaking despair, a silent cry which Miles had no trouble interpreting as, Please, m'lord, please, can we take him out and kill him now?

Byerly will no doubt wish to squire Rish." Thus saving steps for ImpSec, too. Mamere was well aware of every angle. Ivan managed not to choke. "Just . . . don't invite Miles. Or let him invite himself.

But your most insidious chronic problem is in the area of . . . how shall I put this precisely . . . subordination. You argue too much." "No, I don't," Miles began indignantly, then shut his mouth.

Is kidnapping kidnappers still kidnapping? Miles mused. Yes, said Roic, unhelpfully. Not that NewEgypt is likely to bring charges. Naw, they'd do something else. I am reminded. I could have Suze freeze and store them for us, I suppose. Technically. Roic gave him the Look. If push came to shove. As a Kibou-daini problem-solving technique, there seems to be precedent. Roic said nothing, firmly.

Mark's ideas tended to the bland, and there was no point in asking Miles, whose embittered suggestions all ran to things like Vomit Vanilla and Cockroach Crunch.

Four men entered Gregor's office. Miles recognized them at once; he was Barrayaran enough that his first thought was a conscience-stricken, My God, what have I done wrong? Good sense reasserted itself; his feats of evil would have had to have been downright heroic to rate the attention of four Imperial Auditors at one time.

Ivan had never thought of his nightmares as being insufficiently imaginative, before tonight. Dark, wet, constricted, underground, check. How had he left out biohazards? After all that, the frigging unexploded bomb just seemed a . . . a redundant redundancy. And the stray corpse a mere decoration. How did I get into this mess? Miles isn't even here.

Send a patroller to check," said Miles a little tightly. Remembering he was supposed to be a diplomat, he added, "If you please." Teris

A true Vor, Miles told himself severely, does not bury his face in his liegewoman's breasts and cry—even if he is at a convenient height for it.

They were taking Elli away. "Don't worry, Miles, I've been arrested before," she tried to reassure him. "It's no big deal.

It had the strangest effect on my internal visualizations." She stared at the hypospray with speculative respect. "I may try it on purpose someday." I want to be there if you do. Miles had a sudden exciting vision of using the drug to augment his own insights—instant brains!—then remembered to his extreme disappointment that fast-penta didn't work like that on him. Riva

Elena was observing him anxiously. "What's the matter, Miles? You don't look happy. We won!" A true Vor, Miles told himself severely, does not bury his face in his liegewoman's breasts and cry—even if he is at a convenient height for it.

Miles growled, and sat with his back to it. He quickly slid into the role of referee, controlling the flow of ideas while concealing his own dearth of hard factual information. He folded his arms, and said "Um," and "Hm," but only very occasionally "God help us," because it caused Elena to choke.

All right," he said at last, "but after we talk to her, we report to ImpSec." "Ivan, I am ImpSec," snapped Miles. "Three years of training and field experience, remember? Do me the honor of grasping that I may just possibly know what I'm doing!" I wish to hell I knew what I was doing.

Miles wanted to snap out a sharp rejoinder, but shivered instead. I miss Bothari, too. He had almost forgotten how much, till Ivan's words hit the scar of his regret, that secret little pocket of anguish that never seemed to drain.

Miles nodded agreement in principle, even though he was inclined to include Ivan himself in the category of my God the company.

The bruised civilian interrupted, pointing at Elena. "Screw him! This woman assaulted me! There were a dozen witnesses. Damn it, I want her charged. She's vicious." Elena had her hands over her ears again, lower lip stuck out but trembling slightly. Miles began to get the picture. "Did you hit him?" She