Miles glances up at Elli's reconstructed face and sighs. "Yeah, no kidding. To tell you the truth, I wasn't thinking about personal risk at all. I probably couldn't have done it if I had been. All I could think about was getting that woman out as fast as possible, before the fire had a chance to spread. After I got out, that's when the personal risk aspect hit me. I hope that news lady with the holovid camera didn't catch me having the shakes." He wishes the news lady hadn't caught anything at all, except maybe a wide shot of Miles rolling out of the storefront, his face conveniently obscured by blasts of flame. Public news vids of Admiral Naismith are going to be a security nightmare, both as regards his survival and as regards his identity.

But there's not much he can do about it, short of infiltrating the news network and destroying all copies of the vid file, and he feels that would be ultimately counterproductive. Not that it doesn't tempt him.

Topside, the fleet surgeon treats his burns and bruises and scrapes, hands him a bottle of pain medication, and diagnoses his aching back as a case of pulled muscles. Miles lies to her about how long he plans to lie down for, and escapes immediately to go talk to the fleet finance officer while the trailing end of his adrenaline high has not quite dissipated.

Lieutenant Bone is very excited to see him, until she takes in his appearance and realizes he's not there bearing the crucial credit transfer at last. They settle in for a chat.

Miles listens to her explanation of fleet finances and how the credit cards ended up refused; it turns out, not surprisingly, that Private Danio is an idiot. The credit account for personnel on leave is designed to be accessed only through Fleet Central Accounting, and kept near-empty most of the time until a bill comes round and Fleet Central Accounting must dole out enough funds to cover it. Private Danio's card having gone straight for the empty credit account by number, it naturally bounced. In fact, Lieutenant Bone explains, she does the same thing for all the fleet's credit accounts, and thereby frees up their liquid assets to be circulated in local markets and generate some interest while the fleet is docked anywhere with a financial net to speak of. Miles commends her good sense.

"And how are the odd jobs coming along?" he asks.

"Well, we bounced back up over the minimum threshold in the investment account this morning... it's a decent effort, but it's not enough, sir, and that's a fact. You told me fourteen days ago that we'd have our funds in ten days. Then four days ago you said it would be another ten. Our reserve funds are swirling down the drain; I don't know if we can keep going much longer." She hesitates. "But I think I have an idea..."

"Go on," says Miles, leaning forward.

"If we went to a major bank and got a short-term loan against some major capital equipment - the Triumph, say - well, we might have to brush a few things under the rug to slide it past them, but once we had the money it would be real money. You'd have to sign for it, of course, as senior corporation officer."

Miles contemplates this. The flagship on which they sit is technically owned by Commodore Tung, but Commodore Tung is on leave. They could have the whole thing settled by the time he gets back. Well, they could.

"Do it," he says. "Make an appointment. Whatever you need."

"Yes, sir," she says; he can see the positive effect that a concrete plan is having on her posture and demeanour already. Miles hauls himself out of his chair and limps off down the corridor in search of a shower.

The shower is restorative, but also gives him an unhealthy amount of time to think about potential consequences of the day's events. He abandons the scorched and foam-flecked uniform, dons a fresh one, and goes looking for Elli to face the unhappy task of taking a shuttle back downside and limping into the embassy. No doubt Captain Galeni has a special glare prepared. Miles cannot regret his effect on the situation at the wineshop, but he does very much regret getting his face splashed across the news. What the hell is he going to do to keep Admiral Naismith and Lord Vorkosigan separate now?

What is he going to do if Linya asks him about the short Betan mercenary who saved a woman from a fire accidentally started by his own subordinates?

Maybe she won't ask him. Maybe she will figure this falls under things she isn't supposed to know about. Which would be practically as good as openly admitting to her that Admiral Naismith and Lord Vorkosigan are one and the same. But at least it wouldn't end in lying to her face, which is the only thing he can honourably imagine doing if she asked him straight out, God help him...

By the time he locates Commander Quinn he is looking distinctly frazzled.