They arrive at the library soon enough. Shelves of real print books stand in tidy old-fashioned rows, interrupted by the occasional cozy-looking alcove in which to read them. The overwhelming majority are printed in the Barrayaran variant of the Cyrillic alphabet that saw common use for all four of the planet's languages during the Time of Isolation. A comconsole perches near the empty fireplace at the far end of the room, looking faintly out of place, a newcomer uncertain of its welcome even after however many years it has lived here. Miles paces into the room, scouting for parents.