Ah-ha. A beautiful lie springs to mind - if Ryoval expects the incineration of his samples to cover a specific theft, perhaps he was dealing with Bharaputra for a copy of something or other - can't be Asterion, surely Ryoval has noticed by now that Miles walked out with him, the freezer would do nothing to cover that -

"I was wondering when you'd begin to realize. You gave your brother the motive, in assassinating his life extension plan. And you asked too much of Bharaputra, so they provided the method, planting the super-soldier in your facility where I could rendezvous with him - although unlike the city of Troy, you paid good money for your wooden horse. I admit, I wasn't expecting your security fellows to lock us unsupervised in a basement together. That was a godsend. It would have taken me, oh, hours longer to pull off the mission if I'd had to search him out unaided." He smiles, studies his fingernails for a moment, then glances up at the vid pickup through demurely lowered lashes and adds, "I supplied the master plan myself, of course."

Ryoval appears to be having trouble breathing. "You will die over months of infinite degradation -"

Thorne reaches for the comm's off-switch, eyebrow raised.

Miles nods a go-ahead to Thorne.

"While I was poking around with Asterion looking for a way out of the facility, we encountered the main freezers where Ryoval stores his collection of gene samples," he explains once the connection is cut. "Stored, I should say. We turned the temperature dials up to heat-sterilization levels on our way past. And now I think I have something to really deal with Fell for." He shrugs out of the combination of Ryoval security uniform and lab coat, leaving himself in the black T-shirt and grey trousers that are all that's left of the uniform he wore when he began the mission to Ryoval's. Then he rubs his chin. "Do I have time for a shave...? Better not. Place a call to Baron Fell and then gimme that chair."

Miles settles into the station chair and waits.

Baron Fell's image appears, calm and stately. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of the slightly scruffy Miles.

"Rumours of your capture seem to have been exaggerated, Admiral."

"Not exaggerated," Miles says smoothly, "merely out of date. It has been brought to my attention that you may be willing to deal for the quaddie Nicol."

Baron Fell leans forward slightly. Miles raises a hand to forestall his eagerness.

"I'm afraid, Baron, that you might find the information you seek disappointing. But I have just come into possession of some information which may be more immediately relevant - the identity of the person who ordered the assassination of your clone, and the means by which they accomplished it."

"...Go on," says Fell, intrigued.

"Do you agree to give us your musician in exchange for the true secret of Betan rejuvenation, even though it may not offer you a practical benefit, and the knowledge of how and at whose command your clone was destroyed? If it helps sway you, we're about to depart rather precipitously and while you retain the full amount of our payment and may keep it with my blessing, if I recall our loading timeline correctly we have only received about a third of our cargo."

Fell ponders this question for a lengthy half-minute or so, while Miles itches in his seat and forces himself to stillness. Then the baron nods slowly. "Yes. We have a deal, Admiral."

"Good. I trust this line is secure?"

The baron nods again.

"I'm given to understand that you suspected your half-brother Ryoval," Miles begins, "but were unable to verify that suspicion."

"My agents and Bharaputra's tried to dig up a connection, but none succeeded," Fell confirms.

"I'm not surprised. Because it was Bharaputra's agents who did the deed." Miles at least assigns this prospect a high probability.

"Killed their own product? For what profit? Bharaputra refunded me the entire development cost in apology - they took a significant loss on that incident."

"From what I've gathered, Ryoval struck a deal with House Bharaputra to betray you in exchange for some unique biological samples from Ryoval's collection." The theory certainly fits the available data, and Miles can't imagine that Ryoval faked those paranoid ravings. "Mere cash wouldn't have borne out the risk. I don't know how the Barons planned to divvy up your House after your eventual death by old age, but it seems clear to me that the deal was struck between them directly - no subordinate of either House could have had the authority to offer either half of the trade. It seems their ultimate plan involved a corporate merger, uniting their operations into an ultimate co-monopoly on Jacksonian biologicals."

"Your theory is compelling," Fell allows. "Is that all?"

"All I have on the subject of your clone, yes." Miles runs his fingers through his damp hair. "On the subject of the Betan rejuvenation treatment... I'm afraid, Baron, that you have been taken in by a false rumour, a bit of galactic wishful thinking that we first failed to correct and then allowed to persist for the humour value." Fell's brows draw down. Miles spreads his hands. "I did warn you that you'd be disappointed. The true and honest secret of Betan longevity, Baron Fell, is clean living, good medical technology, and avoidance of risk. There is no rejuvenation treatment. I look the age I do because it is the age I am."

At this last, Fell smiles slightly, in grudging appreciation.

"Very well," he says. "I agreed to the deal, and I will abide by it. Your exit will not be impeded, and you may carry off my musician - whom I am sure is on your ship at this time by complete coincidence - with, if not my blessing, at least my permission."

"Thank you, Baron," Miles says sincerely. "That's all I ask." Impulsively, he adds, "If I hear tell of a decent life extension treatment that actually proves to exist, I'll send you a message."

The baron inclines his head courteously, and cuts the comm. Miles slumps in his seat the second the vid winks off. "God, Bel, get us out of here. All haste to the nearest jump point. I'm going to go shower."

Miles hops out of the chair and stumbles off down the corridor. He showers. He shaves. He changes into a fresh uniform. He grabs a coffee from somewhere, to propel him through this last little drama before he can finally sleep.

He goes looking for Asterion.

He takes a deep breath.

"I... was not entirely honest with you about the exact reason why I came looking for you in Ryoval's hell-pit," he says. "In fact, I was sent by one Dr. Canaba, to retrieve - perhaps you remember him injecting you with something, before Bharaputra sold you? Using a needle, not a hypospray?"

For long enough that Miles begins to get a little nervous. Well. A little nervous-er. Well. More than a little.

At last, a wry smile flickers across his face. He shakes his head.

"Okay. Is the doctor going to want his samples still?"

So Thorne goes with the samples to Canaba instead. "Here's what you were so keen on getting," it says, handing the vial over. "And the Dendarii have recruited its container, since he not only walks and has fangs but also thinks and talks and can be issued plasma arcs - what all do we need to know about his biology, beyond that he eats like three or four people? That's not hiding a mineral deficiency or something, is it?"

Canaba gapes.

"You what? You - how - but - "