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Miles pauses again, contemplating his Dendarii combat boots.

"Did you ever suspect?" he asks. "When my clone was running around being me."
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"Well. In retrospect, he seemed to like me a suspicious amount."
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...Miles grins.

But then he shakes his head, smile fading. "He's... he talked to me, you know. While I was kidnapped. Most bizarre interrogation I've ever had. He's - unsettling, possibly crazy. Probably crazy. Almost certainly crazy. But... I'm going to go home and see Mother again, and she's going to ask," he switches to a Betan accent in imitation, "'What have you done with your baby brother, Miles?'" He shakes his head and resumes his own voice. "And I want to give her a better answer than 'stood by and let him be assassinated by a booted paranoid'."
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"I'm... very moved, but still seem to be the one holding the commlink while you run off and have an emergency."

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"Holding the totally innocuous and non-incriminating comlink I'm probably not even going to use," Miles reminds him. "I will do my very best to have my emergency without involving you in any way."

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Ivan sighs and puts the item in his pocket.

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"Thank you, Ivan. Right, I'm off."

He catches up with Elena, and together they just barely make the next Dendarii shuttle lifting off from the London shuttleport. They sprint up the ramp in company with a soldier Miles recognizes - one of the cryo-casualties the fleet froze and transported to Earth for revival. Miles chats with him as they strap in, discussing London's famed Unicorn Park (run by GalacTech Bioengineering, the same company that produced Linya's live fur) and the ambush at Mahata Solaris that got Sergeant Siembieda temporarily killed. Miles recalls that memory loss is a common side effect of major traumas in general and cryo-revivals in particular, and gently retells the story, omitting the more gruesome details that imprinted themselves on his memory.

As the shuttle lifts, Miles cranes to watch London dwindle away below. There the river, there the coastline, defined by the massive seawall that maintains the city's undrowned state. Somewhere in that warren, if he hasn't already bolted, Ser Galen is dragging Mark on a psychological choke-chain, to an unknown destination for an unknown purpose... Miles hopes dearly that his Dendarii can find them before Destang's cleanup crew.

And what the hell's he going to do then?

Buy Mark outright, maybe, pretending to Galen that he desires a replacement body with slightly fewer problems than his own, and thereby allow Galen to slip past Barrayar's reach while Mark comes home with Miles. Except that Miles is not sure he wants Galen to slip past Barrayar's reach, particularly not after completing such a vicious bargain. Hell.

Back aboard the Triumph, he puts out several fleet-wide notices. All personnel planetside to go on a six-hour recall alert; all individual work contracts conflicting with this directive to be cancelled. All ships to start 24-hour preflight checks.

Then he heads to Intelligence to check up on the search.
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Thorne's on duty. "Admiral," it says when Miles appears.

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"Hi, Bel." Miles grabs a seat. "Give me everything the surveillance team picked up from Galen's house after we rescued the Barrayaran military attaché."

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Thorne obligingly fast-forwards through some silence and -

"So what's the business with the divorce proceedings, or did it never happen and I never heard it, sir?"
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"Officially, it never happened and you never heard it. Less officially..." He trails off into a slightly shifty shrug.

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Thorne snorts. It fast-forwards through that which never happened and it never heard. It picks up with bad-quality audio of the Komarran guards waking from stun, receiving a comconsole call from Galen, supplying him with a slightly edited take on how the dramatic rescue occurred, and being told that they are fools and should not try to contact him again.

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"I assume we traced the source of that call, and it dead-ended somehow or other?"

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"Tube station public comconsole," says Thorne. "Search radius was a hundred klicks by the time we had someone down there. And he hasn't touched the house since, though the guards were still there when the Barrayaran embassy fellows took over minding it. Have the Barrayarans paid us yet?"

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"Oh yes," says Miles. "Handsomely. No problem there. But although we're no longer working for them, finding Galen - I want us to continue working. I have a personal stake, now." He frowns pensively.

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"A personal stake. Sir, aren't you playing this a bit close to your chest?"

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"Yes," he sighs. "It's unfortunately a rather complicated subject... all right. Consider a covert substitution plot, aimed at unspecified political goals, for which one or more clones are run off and carefully altered to match the damaged original. Ser Galen has one such clone in his possession, and is currently on the run after an unsuccessful attempt to make the switch. For the purposes of anyone who comes by enough information to ask the question, I am another and it's not to be discussed any further than that. I consider that clone," he makes a vaguely planetward gesture, "my brother, and I want to save him from both the man who currently has control of him and the Barrayaran assassination teams who are after them both."

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Thorne frowns seriously. "Yes, sir." Pause. "If it comes up, how do we tell you apart?"

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"If you radiograph our bones, his come up normal and mine are visibly fragile and damaged. Except the long bones of the legs, where we both have synthetics. Have everybody carry medical scanners when we go after him, and when in doubt, scan."

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"Will do, sir."

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"If I'm tremendously lucky," he adds, "I won't have to go after him personally and the risk of confusion will be minimal. But, uh... he does a really good impression of me, I'm told. So if you have doubts, don't hesitate to check. I'm going to be trying to get those assassination teams called off through other channels, but to be honest... I don't expect to be that lucky. And now I'd better go give Lieutenant Bone her money."

Off he goes, to find Lieutenant Bone. She is positively ecstatic. He directs her to pay off the mortgage on the Triumph in addition to clearing the fleet's miscellaneous minor debts, and presents her with the challenge of creating an untraceable credit chit for half a million marks payable to the bearer. She seems pretty pleased about that one too. Miles, lacking further tasks to keep him occupied, goes to bed and frets for a while until he finally falls asleep.
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