tushanshu | ( video )

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[A man appears on the network of indeterminate age, extremely short-- under five feet tall, easily-- with a slight hunch to his posture and Germanic features. His eyes are sharply alive, bright with challenge. There's no hesitation as he speaks, in a gravelly kind of accent that sounds almost Russian, the words flowing quickly as he makes them up on the spot.

Right now, he desperately needs intel of all kinds, and eventually a spotter to watch him while he uses his seizure inducer. That fact he's assiduously ignoring. He'd checked his neurotransmitter levels this morning, and he has at least three days, even with all the stress of arrival. No, four days, probably. Five. Really, he can go a lot longer without one than the ImpSec medical staff had given him credit for. --Focus, Vorkosigan.]

So. I see you all have quite a neat set up here. Let's not waste time. Who can bring me up to speed, ex tempore? Surely we have more intelligence than "don't say its name" on our bogey man. Since confirmed facts are likely to be scarce, personal accounts would be acceptable.

I'm also taking proposals for getting miserably drunk at the bar, as is traditional in times of drawn out peril. I need someone to drag me home, y'see; alcohol has quite a soporific effect on my constitution. [And Ivan is unfortunately not here to do the dragging. Miles ignores the resulting pang that inspires in him.

Then he hesitates imperceptibly, the memory of his previous catastrophic failure to report his seizures clanging loudly through his brain. No. He can't ignore this, much as he'd like to. The only thing that scares Miles more than never going home is turning into a vegetable, mindless and drooling. He can at least do the preliminary investigation about options.]

Information about local medical facilities would be appreciated as well. They're not all-- er, at this level of technology, are they? [He looks dubious about anyone surviving on that level of medical care, but immediately recovers with a wide, convincing smile.] I'd just like to know preemptively for when I wake up with a skull splitting headache.

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[Reiner gives a gruff sigh, letting his hand slide up from his neck to scruff through his hair again.]

Geeze, makes a guy wish he was back home, you know? Fighting titans isn't easy, but at least then I knew what I was fighting.

[Things are so much easier when he can hit them with a sword.]

[He snorts in amused agreement. It's a bit of gallows humor, but Miles is well familiar with that.]

I haven't even gotten to make my first official Auditorial visit, [he complains. Miles does look like he's itching to receive his orders.] Just the traditionally unannounced one I did as a temp assignment.

With all that stuff, you never did explain what it is you do exactly. Something about being someone's voice.

[In some ways it is easier to focus on this guy and push away the turmoil in his head. He can focus on that later, once he has been able to put a knife to his palm to check if he can still heal. It's not a complete confirmation, but even knowing that his healing is still there would be somewhat of a comfort. If only there was a quiet enough place here where they could test their transformations, but the city for sure is too busy.]

[Proud as he is of the position, he doesn't mind explaining it. Miles raises his hands and spreads them expansively.] I do whatever the Emperor needs me to do. It's his Voice I speak with. It's a very short chain of command.

It tends to be investigative, though. Mysterious death in the upper echelons of command? Inexplicable hold up in galactic diplomacy? Anything that needs Gregor's personal attention where he can't spare it-- or can't go. [For security reasons, the Emperor can't leave Vorbarr Sultana very often, something Miles knows can drive Gregor up the wall.]

Impressive. Sounds like all the work and none of the glory.

[There is no real bite to that, and it spoken with a wry grin. More there is the sort of common understanding shared by soldiers that know that for all their hard work, their superiors will receive the praise.

Behind that though, he is memorizing every scrap of information. Investigations, figuring things out. It makes this diminutive, weirdly shaped man so much more dangerous, in the same way that Armin is dangerous. Force they can deal with, wounds can be healed, but eyes that see the little details and are able to link them together... those were their downfall once.]

Unless I hugely off base here.

[Miles grins back freely. He likes the friendliness inherent in the joking demeanor. He's an irreverent little twit and he knows it; he doesn't mind making fun of his system, and he's more than a bit secretly lonely right now. Not that he's admitting that to himself.]

Gregor has even more work than glory, if you can believe that, so I can't hold it against him if he passes some off to me. It's an honor, anyway. [Which he means sincerely.] But no, Lord Auditors are quite famous. The appearance of one tends to make any loyal Barrayaran search their conscience on the spot-- moreso if they're disloyal, I suppose.

[It was his previous job that was all work and no glory. Thirteen years in covert ops, and Miles couldn't tell a soul on Barrayar how he'd served them. It drove him nearly mad a few times, for others to look at his service record and know only that he'd been Lieutenant for a decade with no promotion, and no visible outward reason why. A lowly galactic courier had been his public face when he was back on planet. Imperial Auditorship was a relief in several ways-- he could be public, if not honest, about his doings.

He could explain all that about ImpSec, but Miles sees no reason to advertise that so publicly just yet.]

Sounds like you could make one hell of an MP.

[He figures that is what the police could've been if it weren't so mired by its own corruption.]

Should I ask how someone ends up with a position like that or is that too private?

It's sort of like the MP for the MP, [he says speculatively.] Who watches the watchers, as I said to Annie.

Mmm, the long version is private, the short version is not. [Miles decides rapidly how much he wants to reveal, and offers a careless shrug.] My father was Regent when I was small, until Emperor Gregor came of age. We know each other pretty well. He trusts my loyalty.

[That's a much profounder statement than it seems on the surface from the casual way Miles says it. Years of doubt preceded that trust, and Miles is prouder of it, and more intensely relieved, than almost any other accomplishment to date.]

[Considering Miles only knows the short version of his story, and not the long story, Reiner can't exactly object to that. Though it does make him keep in mind there is probably more to the story that this guy is hiding.]

Trustworthy guys tend to be hard to come by.

[He sure isn't one, for example.]

I knew a guy once who wanted nothing more than to serve our king.

[Regardless of everything, there is a note of grief in his voice. And doesn't that make him the cruelest guy? He had cared for these kids, all of them in the 104th, but that hadn't stopped him from carrying out their mission. He had allowed these kids to trust him knowing that their deaths at his hands were nothing short of inevitable.]

[Miles is always hiding something. The closer you get to him, the more you find out that he's hiding. He's kinder to strangers than to his loved ones.

The man being mentioned here is someone who's dead, he assumes grimly. Miles goes quiet for a second, before offering,] We're all serving something. King, Emperor, ideal. Even self-interest. You just have to know what they're trustworthy to.

You're probably right about that. Not always a pleasant discovery though.

No... It's not.

[Miles sighs.]

Sometimes the discovery about what you serve isn't pleasant either.

[Or the discovery of what you really want to serve, but he doesn't mention that.]

Probably but-- [a short pause.] that is the sort of thing a soldier needs to deal with at times. We're supposed to fight for everybody's sake, after all. Sometimes that means putting up with some more... unpleasant things.

Well, that's how I feel about it anyway.

[He quickly agrees.] It's the right way to feel. Our duties overcome our personal feelings, obviously. [Miles says that with the kind of attitude that conveys the sky is also blue.]

But it does help when the two... align.

Right.

[Another scratch to the head then.]

Sorry. Feels like this turned kinda heavy. You only just got here, right? You're probably dealing with enough as it is already.

[Miles is quick as ever to dissuade any notion that he is somehow fallible.] I can deal, [he says crisply.] Soldiering is heavy business. I'm not unfamiliar with that.

But I appreciate the consideration. As long as I have something to do, I'll be fine.

[And what about when he runs out of things to do? Miles isn't thinking about that.]

Depending on what you are used to doing, you might find this place kinda boring in that regard.

[Reiner does. Going from constant laborious training to this nothing at all is a hard adjustment, especially when coupled with the fact that the thing they have been living for since they've been nearly a decade younger is something they cannot obtain here.]

I'm sure you could find a job though.

[Miles does in fact look somewhat queasy at the thought.] I don't do well with boredom. I'll find something. [Saying he doesn't do well with boredom is a drastic understatement. He looks restless already just thinking about it.]

Though I'm not well suited to civilian life. I need something engaging.

Good luck. I found something but it is hardly anything engaging.

[Unless Miles had a hidden love for carrying heavy stuff around, but Reiner was doubting that.]

Maybe we could start a security business, [Miles says thoughtfully, apparently coming up with the enterprise in the span of half a second.]

I'm familiar with the business aspects of running it. [Sort of. Close enough.] If you find yourself in the mood for anything more engaging, let me know.

[He makes a curious noise at that. It sounds like a far better job than carrying boxes and getting his ass ogled by old market ladies.]

You know what, if you figure that out, just let me know. Might not be a bad opportunity.

[Miles brightens. First one secured, good. He'd just need a few more before he could go into real business.

With a half-grin, he salutes, a vague wave toward his temple.] Will do.

[Maybe two. Where Reiner goes, Bertolt has a tendency of following. Possibly Annie, depending on how interesting Miles can make guarding things.]

I should probably leave you to it then. I guess you can use this thing to find me if you need here.

[He has that tone inherent to people dealing with technology they neither understand nor really trust.]

Or else just leave a message at my place. ME-2D

[You know. Pinned to the door or slid in the letterbox or anything sensible and not technology related.]

That's right next door, [he notes, pleasantly surprised. Why did you tell him that, Reiner, now you'll get Miles randomly dropping in and harassing you to accompany him on things he needs muscle for ~~in short, you are now substitute Ivan~~.]

I'm in ME-2C. See you, Braun.

[This spur-of-the-moment business plan is definitely coming to fruition now.]

[He can't be your replacement Ivan. He is not that interested in women.]

See you.

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