"Yes. He knows that. Not 'I know that', that's interesting too... I hadn't thought of it until you said, but it was there when I looked. It's very much like I have a copy of Miles's soul available to consult at will. What a charmingly morbid thought. Did it come pre-installed, I wonder, or did I put it together from all those biographical facts? I can't tell. I've known him for as long as I can remember. Oh, here comes my childhood, won't that be fun..."

"What is your favorite food?" asks Ivan desperately.

"Everything. I love to cook. Nice save. I appreciate it. What's your favourite food, do you have one? I suspect Miles of a taste for maple mead but I don't have that one verified."

"Yeah, he likes maple mead. I'm not picky. I like croissants. Chocolate ones."

"Mm, chocolate croissants... now I want to go bake something." He giggles. "Imagine if I had a compulsive cooking reaction, to complement his compulsive poetry. Lying undiscovered until you unwittingly asked me about food. Wouldn't that be hilarious?"

"I think you might have trouble with the kitchen guy if you tried to do it here."

"Probably yes. That wouldn't end well. But the mental image of you chasing me through the halls trying to tackle me before I reach the kitchen is spectacular."

"Would you get very far? If you were only trying to reach the kitchen and not knock me unconscious, I mean. You've got short legs."

"Right, you haven't seen Miles on fast-penta. He... accelerates. Longer legs would not be enough. Luckily for everyone, I seem to have an almost normal reaction... more range of emotion than I was expecting. And that part where I went totally non-verbal was not mentioned in anything I've read."

"Do I want to know what happened there?"

"Nothing bad. Very detailed mental imagery of the exact thing you were asking about, but no words to explain it with until the replay was over."

"Huh. I haven't heard of that either, but this isn't exactly my specialty."

"Yes. Still, you got the job done. You're very good at that, when presented with a job."

"Eh. Thanks."

Mark giggles. "Was that the wrong thing to say? Not that I could have chosen any differently. But I won't be on fast-penta forever. Now there's a horrifying thought..."

"Do I want to know this one?"

"Being on fast-penta forever," he elaborates. "I'd probably kill myself. Chronic loneliness hasn't done it, but chronic verbal incontinence very well might."

"It'll wear off soonish."

"What a comfort. And hopefully you'll still tolerate me afterward. God knows why. I'm not sure I'd tolerate me if I had the option not to."

"You're not that bad."

"I'm not?"

"No? Talking about croissants: not actually torture."

"Iiiii'm hilarious."

"You aaaaare," he giggles. "I knoooooow."