"That's one of the things I was hoping we could talk about, yes."

"Well, ah, I invite you to talk about it."

He glances around. "Not here? Not your embassy, either. I want some semblance of privacy that I won't have to pretend to be Miles Vorkosigan to achieve."

"Nah, go ahead," he says.

"Sure," says not-Miles agreeably. (His accent is not quite entirely London-centric, but whatever else is in there, it's not familiar.)

So they go sit in the diner and Ivan orders a coffee and a slice of pie and waits for not-Miles to explain who he is instead of Miles.

"The thing is..." he starts, when there isn't anyone else obviously in earshot. "I'm in kind of a difficult situation, and I'm looking for your help."

"Go on."

"You want the whole story in order, or just the summary version?"

"Summary will start me off."

"A vengeful Komarran expat ran off a couple clones of Miles, would've been when he was about six, raised us for a substitution plot, whichever one turned out better was supposed to impersonate him and kill a bunch of people, the man hasn't picked yet but it's getting down to the wire, I need you to help me rescue the other clone."

"Right - have you got a name, by the by?"

"Not that I've ever had a chance to use. The boss just calls us both Miles, and if he needs to tell us apart it's Miles One," vague elsewhereish gesture, "and Miles Two," gesture at self.

"Hah. Fine, then, call me Aaron. The other one gets to be Mark."

"Is that Aunt Cordelia's father's name, I couldn't call it to mind."

Nod.

"Okay. So I can go in and tell th'captain you tipped me off and I need, oh, how many people to assail this house for having Vorkosigans in it who don't wish to be there?"

"There's the boss and three loyal minions, all with stunners, and enough nerve disruptors to go around but they don't all carry those when they aren't expecting trouble. No other prisoners besides me and Mark. You might know better than I do how many people you need to deal with that."

"Sounds doable. What can you tell me about layout?"

He can give an extremely complete summary of the building's tactically relevant features, is what he can do.

Good, good. Ivan borrows a pen from the waitress and writes this all down on a napkin. "What else should I know?"

"I might have to pretend not to be on your side for a while when you arrive. Mark will probably just collapse as soon as it looks like there might be a rescue."

"Collapse of what?"

"Panic attack. He gets those when he tries to do something that might piss off the boss. He'll be fine afterward, just won't be much use in the fight."

"All right. And what form will your pretense take?"

"Staying out of the way and acting like I don't want to be rescued. But if the boss gives me a weapon I'm shooting him."

"All right, I can work with that."

Aaron smiles.

"Anything else?" Ivan finishes his pie.

"Don't think so. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Please don't turn out to have planned to assassinate people from your new vantage point all along, I'd be very disappointed."

"Ha. No," he says. "I like what I've seen of Miles's family, I have no plans to murder any of them."

"They're good folks."

"Yeah."

"So I... suppose I'll see you tomorrow, Aaron."

"Suppose you will," he agrees, and he gets up and leaves.

Galeni is really surprised by this surprise. It's lucky they found him only after stunning all three minions.

Whatever else he was about to say is lost to history when he is rudely interrupted by a nerve disruptor bolt to the head, coming from the direction of the conference room's other door.

"Yeah," says Aaron. "Hi."

"Panicking in a closet. This way."

"Will I have to carry him?"

"You could make me carry him instead."

"Can you?"

"Yeah."

"Would he rather it, do you suppose?"

"Hard to say. Seems plausible."

Aaron's brother s'pose is unavailable for comment.

Aaron scoops him up without a whole lot of trouble even though they are precisely the same size. (Where'd that nerve disruptor go? He certainly isn't holding it anymore.)

"I heard something about that," he says agreeably.

"Also, I am not sure that the embassy wants them there, either. And if we have to explain why that fellow is dead, the locals might want the murder weapon."

"If you want the murder weapon, I can put Mark in the car and go get the murder weapon," he says.

"I just want it accounted for and did not see you put it down, is all."

"Sharp eyes," he says, and laughs. "Fine, fine, I'm still carrying the damn thing, call me paranoid. Where'd you rather I put it?"

"Down, somewhere. Near where you fired it would probably make the forensics people happy? Perhaps, anyway, I don't know how forensics works."

"Sure. I'll get Mark in the car and then go put it down somewhere. Unless you'd rather the other way around."

"Other way around, please."

He puts Mark down. He produces the nerve disruptor. He puts the nerve disruptor down. He picks up Mark.

Out to the car they go then!

Out to the car indeed.

And at the car, Veli wants them both searched for weapons. Although he says 'lord' while he insists on it.

Aaron shrugs and produces one stunner and is very agreeable about being inspected for further weapons, of which the ensuing inspection does not discover any.

Mark continues to be totally unresponsive to the outside world and also does not have any weapons concealed about his person.

Aaron seems content not to talk on the journey.

"They'll probably put you in the room by mine. 've got a monstrously awkward letter to write Aunt Cordelia and Uncle Aral. I believe I'll make them break the news to Miles."

"Sorry about that," says Aaron, laughing softly.

"Hardly your fault."

"True."

"How long will Mark be, er, out?"

"An hour or two all told, I bet. May be longer what with being searched and all."

"He'll remember all this afterward, if that's what you mean."

"Right then. Hello Mark. Sorry about the panic attack."

"Apology accepted on his behalf."

Imagine that.

And indeed Mark and Aaron get the room next to Ivan's, and are told where the food is, and Ivan goes to write his awkward letter.

Aaron deposits Mark in their room. Aaron retrieves food. Aaron figures out where to retrieve clothes from and gets some of those too. Aaron remains in their room.

That evening Ivan knocks.

"Hi. ...Which one are you."

"Still Aaron."

"Thought I'd check on Mark, is he recovering okay?"

"Yes," says an Aaronlike although differently-intoned voice from the parts of the room not visible from the door.

"That's good! You two settling in all right?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You're entirely welcome. I have sent Aunt Cordelia and Uncle Aral the awkward letter. They'll get it in a week and a half, ish."

"Won't that be a surprise."

"Yes, I imagine."

He laughs. "I hope they're not too upset."

"Well, I imagine Uncle Aral pacing a lot. Aunt Cordelia will probably be very Betan about it."

"Very Betan?"

"...I'm not sure how else to summarize it. She's probably... got some businesslike attitude towards finding two unplanned clones of her child have been raised by a villain backed up by lots of cultural history, a pithy saying, and a very down-to-earth handbook entitled So Your Child Was Cloned Twice Without Your Knowledge?"

Aaron giggles.

"Yeah, that does sound typical," says Mark.

"Anyhow, turns out th'Captain is your captor's son. Weirdest thing. Squeaky clean far as I can tell though."

"Yeah," says Mark.

"Let me know if you two need anything, will you?"

"Absolutely," Aaron assures him.

And Ivan leaves them be.

They're a quiet bunch, are these extra Vorkosigans. Mark just doesn't seem to leave their room at all, and Aaron is polite and friendly but not very talkative when he's out fetching food or other necessities. (He doesn't ask Ivan for anything.)

Ivan checks in on them once a day, usually in the late afternoon when he's done with work but hasn't gone out for the night yet. "Mark, why are you always cooped up in here?"

"Because I'm a terrifying abomination who shouldn't interact with people if I can avoid it," says Mark.

"You'll learn. Or you won't, I suppose."

"May I ask what manner of warning sign exactly should be on the door? 'Do not enter, abomination' is non-specific."

"Eh," he says. "Hard to explain." He pauses consideringly for a moment, then—

"Extreme trouble relating to people, if I had to summarize," he says, in an unnervingly accurate imitation of Miles.

Ivan backs into the doorframe with a thump. "The fuck did you just do."

"Abominated at you, apparently."

"You Milesed!"

"Yes. I was having trouble explaining on my own, so getting Miles to do it seemed the obvious thing, he often understands my problems better than I do. I did not predict that Milesing would turn out to be an abominable action."

"Are you claiming to have Miles stuffed in one of your hemispheres sufficient to run social errands for you?"

"I've been trained to impersonate him, did you imagine I was bad at it?"

"I imagined you'd expect to pass long enough, but that wasn't passing, that was -" vague gesture.

"Aaron can't do it. He has the accent and the mannerisms but he doesn't have the - the soul. It's why Ser Galen was having such trouble deciding between us; I'm otherwise useless and much more openly rebellious, but I'm a perfect assassin and a perfect Miles."

"I see."

"D'you understand what I mean about being a terrifying abomination now?"

"No, not really. I mean, I was surprised but I'm not sure I'd go all the way to 'terrifying abomination'. 'Disconcerting irregularity?'"

Shrug. "Well, if you prefer. But that's why I try not to talk to anyone who isn't Aaron."

"D'you want me to leave you alone? I am supposed to look in on you but I could just stick my head in and not try to make conversation if you'd rather."

"Supposed to?"

"I'm not saying I would ignore you two forever if th'captain didn't want to keep track of your general whereabouts but I am saying I would not remember to visit on a daily basis."

"Mm. Well. I don't mind you talking to me."

"That's good, I wouldn't want to abominate you."

Snort.

"Where's Aaron?"

"Foraging."

"The cafeteria isn't made of thickets and woods."

Mark giggles.

Aaron is there! He is acquiring food. Actually he has already acquired the food and is most of the way through eating it. Unusual; he rarely stays out any longer than he has to.

"'Lo, Aaron, how're you?" asks Ivan, plunking next to him with a bowl of soup.

"Pretty good, and yourself?"

"I'm all right. Mark Milesed at me."

"Yeah, he does that."

"It was uncanny."

"Guess I'm used to it."

"Well, and neither've you have ever met Miles in person. I s'pose you must've had some vid but like most people he is seldom being recorded."

"Yeah, that's why my Miles imitation is so bad. Well, comparatively. Mark, though, he says it's like he has an internal copy of Miles's soul that he can run at will."

"How does one come by such a thing?"

"I'd say 'intensive study and copious torture', but that didn't give me one, so who knows."

Aaron laughs. "Sorry."

"Not me who had to live through it."

"True. Still, there's no call for me to make you think about it. You clearly don't think it's funny. Maybe I should be joking with your Captain Galeni instead. He had to live through Ser Galen's idea of actual parenting, God help him. What must that have been like?"

"Oh, it's Junior. Hi, Junior," Aaron says sunnily. "Your old man was a vicious fucker and I'm glad I shot him. How're you doing?"

"I'd apologize, but I don't actually like lying."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Anybody ever tell you you sound just like your dad?" asks Aaron. His voice is steady but his hands are shaking.

Galeni dodges. Ivan tackles Aaron.

Aaron is theoretically a trained assassin but at the moment he is acting more like an enraged small animal, complete with biting.

"Ow - fuck - Aaron, calm down!" says Ivan, wrestling him into a more secure and less biting-friendly hold.

Telling people to calm down is notoriously ineffective at achieving this result. Witness the lack of calm.

"Aaron you little shit stop trying to bite me!" says Ivan, struggling to his feet without the use of his arms.

At least he is no longer succeeding?

Aaron does not answer! He is too busy trying to... no, actually, he is no longer too busy trying to bite Ivan. Now he is too busy crying, instead. This is arguably an improvement.

Ivan hauls him all the way back to his room and kicks the door a couple times.

"Little bastard launched himself at Galeni and fucking bit me!"

"Aaron, for fuck's sake." He shakes his head. "Leave him with me, please."

Ivan drops Aaron onto his bed. "Learn some fucking self-control," he mutters, and he edges out of the room without turning his back on Aaron.

Aaron burrows under a blanket and doesn't say anything.

"Sorry," says Mark.

"You didn't try to start a brawl in the cafeteria, what do you have to be sorry for, you've been perfectly civilized the entire time."

"I'm apologizing on his behalf since he is currently unavailable for comment."

"Fair enough. Don't let him out without my escort till further notice, I'll be by to take him to breakfast or just bring it in for you both if he's in a mood."

Mark nods.

"Either of you want to come to the cafeteria or should I just bring you your bread, water, vat bacon, eggs...?"

"I'll go," sighs Mark.

"Right. Aaron, no wandering off, th'captain doesn't care to run into you again and needs the run of the place to do his job."

"He doesn't feel up to talking to anyone yet but he understands and he's not going anywhere," says Mark.

Mark is very quiet. Mark acquires foods.

Ivan also acquires foods. "You'll know what Aaron'll want better than me."

"Yes."

And when they have foods for Aaron too Ivan walks Mark back to the room.

On the way back it occurs to him to ask, "Did you find out about the courier yet?"

"The who? No."

"Oh. This embassy's courier to Tau Ceti was being extensively blackmailed by Ser Galen. Less of a problem now, of course."

"...Well, less, but I'm sure they'll still be glad to know it. Well, for certain values of glad. Thanks."

"Happy to help."

"You don't look happy. What's the matter?"

"It's an expression. I am not a very happy person."

"Ah."

Here is the room. Aaron receives food.

Or at least Mark goes into the room with food. Aaron is still under his blanket.

Ivan leaves them be.