The Dendarii are of course more than happy to bring Miles up to the Triumph.
Right. He has a couple of hours before he has to meet Lieutenant Bone and head downside for their bank meeting; he goes looking for Captain Elena Bothari-Jesek, who out of the three Dendarii who know his true identity is the one who is neither currently under arrest in London nor wanted for a capital crime on Barrayar.
Elena does a combination wave/salute when he comes in, smiling the smile of someone who is in the background very concerned about money.
Miles shoos a couple of stray techs out of the wardroom; they clear off, leaving him alone with Elena.
"I've got a security mission for you," he says. "Extremely secret. You're the only person I have right now who can do the job. I need you to get on the fastest available commercial transport to Tau Ceti, and take a message from me - Lieutenant Vorkosigan me - to ImpSec Sector HQ at the embassy there. I have... concerns... about my official line of communication through my commanding officer, and I want you to double-check that someone in that string has not walked off with our eighteen million marks."
"...I'm not anxious to interact with the Barrayaran command structure."
"I know," he says. "But who else am I going to send? Elli got arrested for saving me from an assassination attempt an hour ago. Baz is still officially wanted for desertion. And I've waited too long already. I should have done this ten days ago, the first time the money didn't show."
"Because Illyan thinks it bolsters the bloody cover," sighs Miles.
"Thank you. Sorry. I'd send someone else if I could." He hands her a data disk. "Give this directly into the hand of Commodore Destang on Tau Ceti. Don't give anyone else a chance to sniff it first. And God, I hope it's not Destang himself who's screwing us. My primary suspicion, which I've embedded in a camouflaging nest of other theories in this message, is that Captain Galeni diverted our funds into his pockets. About the only reason I'm not thoroughly convinced just yet is that he hasn't rabbited with it - would you stay openly on the same planet as a mercenary admiral whose payment you just embezzled? I sure wouldn't."
"I'd do no such thing," agrees Elena. "I'll get ready to go right away."
True to his word to the surgeon, he waits until the very last possible moment to extract himself from the plastic immobilizer, ditching it in a public bathroom outside the bank fifteen minutes before he is due to arrive. Freed of its poky blue embrace, he fancies he cuts a very dashing figure in his silver-buttoned grey velvet dress tunic, white-trimmed grey silk trousers, and shiny black boots. He leaves off standing on tiptoe to admire himself in the mirror and exits the bathroom with a spring in his step.
That might be why someone can sneak up behind him and pick him up.
"Awk! Put me down!"
There is a half-beat of stillness as the terror and confusion drain away, replaced by a somewhat less awestruck variant of an expression she may already have seen before.
Then he recovers, breaks into a grin, and says in a charming Betan accent, "On second thought, pick me up again and run away with me to a remote tropical island."
"Ah, damn - no, I'm sorry. You've got the wrong Miles." He spreads his hands. "My deepest apologies, ma'am. I'd heard Vorkosigan had gotten married, but I'd never seen a holo. I am addressing - Lady Vorkosigan, am I not?"
(His shoulder hurts. So does his soul. He cannot allow himself to display the least hint of either.)
She nods, just a little, more conversational automatic habit than acknowledging that he can possibly not already have this information.
"Admiral Miles Naismith, commanding, Dendarii Free Mercenary Fleet. I apologize again for - presuming, just now. I try not to flirt with married women; it's bad for my health. Especially when the woman in question is my sister-in-law." Wait, where did that come from...?
She says, at length: "I apologize. You're impossible to tell apart."
"Yes, I know," says Admiral Naismith. "I gather that he has a bit of a complex about me. Jealous of my success, I must assume. Perhaps he's cooled down about it now that he's a married man...?"
"Oh, dear," sighs Naismith. "Well. I hardly expect him to accept marriage counselling from an estranged clone-brother he's never personally met. Does he still think I'm Cetagandan manufacture, by the way, or has that theory been ruled out...?"
"I have no idea where he thinks you came from, but if he advances the theory when I bring it up with him I will be able to assure him that you are not."