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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[There's a short thrill at having it succeed. Yes. He's not totally lost. He's not alone, worthless, foresworn to his oaths-- anyway, he has potential allies, ones he can work with. Miles has done a lot more on a lot less, he tells himself, and it's sheer practicality driving him here, not the nearly vicious, exhilarated satisfaction he gets from playing Naismith.

Really. He has to. This is more a job for Naismith than Vorkosigan, and he isn't taking the Admiral out of retirement with the expectation that he'll get to keep him. It's just a short jaunt, he promises himself, for as long as he's here. No one present even understands the difference between Naismith and Vorkosigan the way someone from his Nexus would, immediately, by name or accent. It's purely for his own mental balance. But even Miles can't delude himself enough to appoint himself Admiral again, when the Dendarii are nowhere near, and even if they were, the extant ones aren't under his purview. No, Miles reins himself in, tempers his forward momentum to a dull roar, painful as it is.

He bites down on the reflexive urge to follow it up with Rank?] Thank you. [It never hurts to be polite. Miles's tone is still brisk, but he's never been a disciplinarian as a commander and it's mild, alert, confident. His accent slides, without his noticing, into flatter vowels; Betan, or to an Earther's ear, something like American.] Miles Naismith, but just Naismith for now, I think. Ranks would be entirely premature.

What do you specialize in, Braun? [He needs an assessment of his capabilities.]

[Which is exactly what he won't be getting. Reiner might be responding well to his brisk tone of voice, but he's no fool. He lasted years before his identity was discovered back home, and he's intending to live much the same here. It's harder, no lie. Eren and Armin are out there; they have too much information on them. Killing them however was no option. At best they could hope to coexist, if not peacefully, then at least in a strange, tense sort of cease-fire.]

Titan extermination using the vertical manoeuvre gear.

[Miles is of course clueless that this might not be the full story. He is aware that if there's more to it than that, anything not told to him is certainly not at his disposal, if even this much is. First he needs a plan, obviously, before officially approaching them.

Two more days to a workable outline, he estimates.

His brain snaps quickly back to attention at this new piece of information.] Vertical maneuver gear? [he asks curiously.] Just how big are these titans?

[He makes a short, thoughtful noise, crossing his arms.]

Depends on the kind. The little ones are three to six meters, then there's the seven meter class, eight to fourteen meter ones, fifteen meter ones, and the unusual ones that fall outside of the normal classifications. The biggest titan humanity has ever faced was sixty meters tall.

[Who just happens to be the initiative less kid Miles is talking to in another conversation. What a danger. Humanity's biggest enemy!]

Edited 2014-01-29 17:45 (UTC)

The little ones? Good God. Sixty meters isn't an enemy, it's a small freighter! [Thinking of things in terms of how large the equivalent spaceship would be? Of course.]

No wonder you need vertical scaling gear. You take that on yourself? [A split second later, he follows the connection and adds,] And Annie does, too?

[Honestly, for his size, Bertolt has very few defences when transformed. It is something that always worries Reiner a little. His titan was slow, certainly, but it was nothing compared to Bertolt's. All he had going for him was his size, and the steam he could emit. Beyond that, it would be rather simple to cut away his neck.

Which naturally is nothing he is going to share with this guy.]

That's what we were trained for. The military police doesn't really take on titans in the way the survey corps does, though.

[Those with the highest marks were those kept farthest away from the titans. Humanity's corruption was ultimate at times.]

[He can't help his curiosity here. He'd understood from Annie that the MP were a lofty position, which makes sense from his perspective-- they have to keep the regular military in line. ImpSec had a similar problem and Miles had been ImpSec for years.]

And you're survey corps, [he fills in.] If not, er, scaling the titans, what do the military police do?

[Drink and gamble, mostly.]

First and foremost, they form the King's guard, making sure our king is protected at all times. Apart from that, they serve as a general police force and are in charge of collecting taxes. It's a pretty prestigious position. Most of everybody dreams of getting into the Military Police, but they only take the top ten trainees of each year.

Edited (THAT PHRASING KEPT BUGGING ME) 2014-02-01 22:50 (UTC)

[So he really had been right about how prestigious it was. Since part of Miles's job these days was spotting corruption, he's alive to the implications. A frown tugs at his mouth.]

The king's guard collects the taxes? That seems like it'd encourage some self-determined raises.

[He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment and glancing away. He's good at playing the role of the chagrined soldier.]

I can't deny that. It's mostly made up of people who joined either for the prestige or the safety, after all. Though I can't really fault them for that.

[And suddenly, he's thinking of Marco. Bright-eyed, idealistic, sometimes almost painfully naive Marco. He had wanted to join out of nothing more than a straightforward desire to protect the King and serve the people. Reiner had watched him train for three years, dedicating himself to getting into the top ten, always so devoted to his role as a soldier that Reiner hadn't been able to do anything but admire that.

And then he had died, a day away from fulfilling his goal, while someone like him got to live. The world was unfair.]

Not all of them though. There's some good and honest kids too, the kind that joined for their ideals rather than the food. I don't know if it's enough to make a difference though.

[Another food joke. Miles understands the implications behind all these statements all too well, however.]

That's the trick of it, isn't it? [he agrees.] You have to get the ratio skewed the other way. Ideals over food, and hope the ideals live long enough that they can be tempered into reality.

So where do you fall? [He can't just talk philosophy-- he has to push it, make it personal. Miles leans in, interested.] On the ideals to food scale.

Edited (to / too error REALLY SELF) 2014-02-02 17:57 (UTC)

Ideals or food, huh?

[He sounds almost thoughtful. Sometimes he wishes choice could've been part of his actions, but it never had been. A warrior did not always get to choose the duty it must carry out. It had to be done. Whether he still believed in the ideals and half-truths they had filled his head with as a kid or not, some things had to be seen through to the end.

But since coming to the wall, whatever early notions of heroism had quickly given away until but one driving force remained.]

I can't say I joined for anything like that. All this time... All I ever wanted to do was to go home.

[That makes him thoughtful for a moment.] I see. And now? Is that still your goal?

[This fellow's life is clearly more complicated than Miles might have credited at first. He doesn't want to make any presumptions, and similarly he wants to know his overall goal. If he's going to try to gain his cooperation (the word recruit isn't quite right-- recruit into what?) then it's necessary information. Not just to manipulate him, but because Miles generally likes to leave his tag-alongs in a better condition than how he found them. Though he doesn't think of it in those terms, it's straight forward magnanimity on his part.]

[His eyes narrow a little, something burning bright in them.]

Yes. I'll do anything for that.

[Not just for the sake of going home himself, but more importantly to bring Annie and Bertolt home. Bringing them home is paramount to anything at this point. Their mission seems lost from what he can see, he cannot go back to how anything was. At best they can home, and hope their coming home without results won't be taken too hard.]

[Miles sets back in his chair, satisfied.]

Then we're in agreement. [There's a calm, collected air to him, a sign of just how comfortable he is with authority. It shrouds him without him thinking about it. He doesn't mean to, he does try not to be overbearing, but Miles is defined by those that support him and they're invisible shadows at his back even now.

Shadows he must return to.] I have my own duty.

Yeah?

[A brow rises.]

And what would that duty be?

[A grin follows because he has learned how well people respond to a bit of friendliness.]

Come on, how do they say it... I show you mine, you show me yours? I told you about mine. Least we can do is make it even here, right?

[Miles is far from immune to friendliness. He relaxes somewhat and offers his own wry smile back. Since he's told Annie a fair amount already, it seems foolish to withhold here; he assumes they share information.]

I have a duty to my Emperor, my planet, my district. [At one point that would include the Dendarii, but no more.] A whole heap of duties. I haven't been Imperial Auditor very long-- embarrassing to be pulled away from it so precipitously.

[If it wasn't for sharing ill-gotten information, they wouldn't even talk most days.]

They said our worlds are on pause, but who knows if that is true.

[It doesn't matter so much for him. He has the two people he needs right here, and back home, the mission was a failure anyway.]

So, what does an Imperial Auditor do? Anything as impressive as it sounds like?

Doubtful. What's the point of cloning us if time is stopped? It's conflicting information. ... Er, hopefully you'd known that already.

[Awkward pause. Right, let's just go on. By all rights this topic shouldn't be any less awkward, but as before, Miles is perfectly comfortable with the absurd amount of power his position grants him back on Barrayar, and in fact he doesn't even abuse it. He was born and raised for authority like this, and he's altruistic to a romantic extent.]

Actually, yes. It isn't finance related anymore-- at least not usually. I speak with the Emperor's Voice. [You can hear the capitals.] I am his representative and his hands wherever he needs me. It's a position of immense trust. Barrayaran subjects have to obey me with the same alacrity they would Gregor himself.

[Miles has slid into the position more smoothly than any other thing he's attempted before in his life. It's unbelievably well suited to him.]

[That is actually some new information to him. Not helped by the fact that the concept of clones is a completely new one to him.]

Can't say I did, but that just means I've got to be filled in, right? Starting with... what are clones?

[He'll come back to that Imperial Auditor part later. It might be an important thing to know in the future, so they can figure out what use they might get out of this strange, tiny man, but it is nothing as pressing as knowing what is going on in this place right now.]

What are-- [He stops, surprised, and mentally backs up a few paces. But he explains with a brisk efficiency, without any judgement over Reiner's lack of knowledge.] Clones are an exact replica of a person, made with their DNA. Genetically identical. But they're their own... being. Sentient and separate. They can be murdered same as anyone else, and they have their own will. Brain transplants can be performed to put the-- ah, original into the body of the clone, but it's risky and, as I said, murderous.

I consider my clone to be my brother. [Which is the Betan way of doing things. And that is a personal issue with a subtle line of steel to it.

As for the Imperial Auditorship, it does mean Miles has the authority to make alliances or enemies on behalf of the entire planet of Barrayar, but he's not going to point that out to anyone who doesn't think of it themselves. Alternate dimension this might be, but if he can get here, so can the rest of his galaxy, hypothetically.]

[He listens to the explanation with the expression of someone introduced to too many concepts at once, struggling to make sense of it all and pick out the importance behind them. Genetics? DNA? Transplants? It's all a little bit too much for him.

He's quiet for a few moments as he tries to work it all together, his brows furrowed.]

They... made copies of us?

We are the copies, [he corrects, then goes quiet for a second. This is a linchpin to what's making Miles feel like he's about to fall apart at any time, but he doesn't let on.]

Which doesn't make sense for a host of reasons, but that's-- what the information I've found says.

Edited (forgot to select an icon) 2014-02-04 00:49 (UTC)

[He goes still at that, obviously thrown by this new information. His eyes flick, to the ground, to the side, not really settling on anything as he thinks.

He still doesn't understand the why and how behind it, but that is not something he needs to know to understand what was done to them, what they might potentially know about them now. Did whoever copied them know about what they really were? With Reiner's limited understanding of science, he can only imagine the copying to have taking place in the same way one would build a second bridge. Every part would have been examined before being put into place. Had that happened? Did they know everything?

His fingers twitch, wanting to go up to the back of his neck and cover it, but he suppresses the gesture.

The idea that whoever was behind this might know exactly what they were was as terrifying as the idea that perhaps their abilities had not been copied over. They weren't human. Even if that was taken away from them, it didn't make them human. It just made them weak. So many of his assumptions about this place had been riding on the idea that they could still transform, could still heal, could still be the warriors they were. Without those skills, all they had was their 3DMG with their pathetic supply of gas and blades.

Suddenly he realizes he has been quiet too long, and he jerks his eyes back to up to Miles. An embarrassed grin spreads on his face as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. He plays the gesture off as further sign of his embarrassment, but really, this has left him shaken enough that he needs the comfort of covering his neck for just a moment.]

Man, that's-- I'm not sure if I'm going to sleep well tonight knowing there are two Annies around now.

[Miles hates to be the bearer of traumatizing news-- he feels like he always is, with all the notices of death letters he'd personally written over the course of his life-- and he keeps quiet as Reiner processes it, saying nothing. Miles has his own, long standing fears associated with cloning, but they're complex and well articulated already, and it does him no good to go over them again to himself.

With that on his mind, he volunteers,] There's two of me. I have a clone normally, that is. Back home. My brother Mark. Pity he's not here-- I could ask him how to deal with being a copy of me.

[There's a slight, darkly sarcastic edge to that statement, years of weighted history behind it, but Miles means it as a light diversion.]

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