It doesn't take long for word to travel through the Barrayaran camp about an interloper who is more than happy to translate for those in need. Into all four dialects native to Barrayar, although Russian sees the most use, which is an accomplishment in and of itself. Whoever the man is, he's either educated enough to have gone through the endless language drills Olivia remembers from her childhood or grown up in an environment where he was exposed to it. Either way, it sets him apart from the other few Barrayarans who found themselves in their ranks. None of who she's met, admittedly, but the time for that had passed.

What she doesn't expect is being directed to a short figure -- Olivia's no giant, but this man is shorter still. It's only on closer inspection that she realizes it's the same man the soldiers have been whispering about, one of Barrayar's mutants. Barrayarans, she thinks, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like her mother's, and ignores the superstitions of the planet. There are things Olivia values above all else when it comes to Barrayar, and things that serve as painful reminders of how much the planet had suffered while isolated.

In this particular case she refuses to let superstition prevent them from using his talents to their advantage. Olivia doesn't interrupt his work, whoever he is, but waits until she catches his eye -- inclining her head slightly, gesturing with two fingers for him to come. She's hardly naturally imposing, short and round-faced, nearly swallowed up by the great coat she's wearing; it's in the way she holds herself that betrays her social rank and privileged upbringing.