Ivan is fine for the first little while. It's dark, it's damp, it smells like sea, eh. He can't really get comfortable, but at least his headache is slowly fading and there is no longer a nerve disruptor pointed at him.

And then about the time when his eyes think they ought to have adjusted, that they should be able to see, that if there were anything anywhere in the universe Ivan would have a full visual report on it

the space

closes

in

and he starts feeling for the walls and finding them much closer than he thought they were, every time he touches one, and it's too dark, and it's too small

and he screams.

Meanwhile:

The Dendarii are four and a half hours into their twenty-four-hour recall. Miles could cut that shorter if he judged it absolutely necessary, but he'd rather let his soldiers complete their leave. They deserve it.

He's just verifying with Lieutenant Bone that the funds from Tau Ceti have been dispensed to all appropriate locations when the comm officer calls her department looking for him.

"Sir? You have a call from the downside commercial network. I don't recognize the man, but he says you want to talk to him."

"He does, does he?" Miles can't imagine what the hell it could be, but he's curious. "I'll take it here. Record it just in case, but don't listen in yourself. Lieutenant, if you could let me borrow your comconsole privately...?"

"Yes, sir," the head of Accounting says agreeably. She departs into the hall. The comm officer nods to Miles, and his face vanishes from the vid plate, to be replaced a moment later by...

Oh shit.

"I have something of yours," says David Galen, glaring intently at him from a chair in what looks like a public comconsole booth. Mark steps into the frame, stands at Galen's shoulder, and stares hollowly into the vid pickup. Miles flinches from that look as from a physical blow; it's like the stare of a soul from the deepest pits of Hell, so tormented they have forgotten all hope, forgotten even how to cry out in pain.

"Hello, Ser Galen," he says, controlling his voice to evenness. "Hello, Mark."

"Admiral," Galen sneers. He has clearly found out about the Dendarii. Has Mark turned...? That does look like the face of someone who has recently betrayed everything he loves. But no time - Miles focuses on Galen's next words. "I will not repeat myself. You will meet me in exactly seventy minutes, at the Thames Tidal Barrier, halfway between Towers Six and Seven. You will walk out on the seaward side to the lower lookout. Alone." He smiles a small, thin, absolutely vicious smile. "Then we'll talk. If any condition is not met, we will simply not be there when you arrive. And Ivan Vorpatril will die at 0206."

Mark flinches, barely perceptibly, at that last; then the vid goes blank before Miles can respond.

Miles sits frozen for several seconds, staring through the holo display that is no longer there. All the curses he knows, in four languages and multiple dialects, seem totally inadequate to the situation.

Then he keys up the comm officer again. "Seal that record, to be accessed on my authorization only, and fire off a copy to the immediate attention of Captain Thorne in Intelligence, attaching whatever information you can provide about its origins." And oh, doesn't Miles wish he'd told the man to trace it from the start... but they should still be able to pinpoint the booth with a bit of work.

"Yes, sir," says the comm officer. Miles cuts the com and nearly bolts from the room, directing Lieutenant Bone back into her office with a hasty gesture as he passes her in the hall. Bel should have plenty of time to review the record and wonder what the hell is going on while Miles sprints to Intelligence.

Damn does he ever wish he hadn't duly turned in that secured commlink when he left the embassy; if he had a secure line to Captain Galeni, if he could just call and ask after Ivan... he can still do it, but he can't do it while hurling himself down a lift tube, he'll need to be sitting at a comconsole in front of the helpful but complicating Thorne. And he has approximately thirty more seconds to think of a plausible explanation for Mark. If only he could keep this all between him and Elli and a squad or two under her command - but no, he needs Thorne because he needs Intelligence, because in case Captain Galeni cannot or will not provide sufficient information on Ivan's whereabouts, he has seventy minutes to track his cousin down. It probably won't be enough. It almost certainly won't be enough. But he cannot fail to try.

God, not to mention the dangers of Mark getting his hands on the Dendarii, with Galen holding his leash - also very much a problem for Intelligence, how to detect a substitute Admiral; at least Miles knows for sure that Mark's bones are totally normal, except for the plastic synthetics in his legs to match Miles's. He must be sure to give this information to Captain Thorne on his way out.

And will he call Captain Galeni? With some time for the mental dust to settle, a certainty is starting to settle on him. He'd bet a fully outfitted warship that Ivan has been kidnapped; it was written all over Mark's face in letters of fire. What else was written there? Some useful data, perhaps? He'll take the time to review the recorded call, when he arrives.

He bounces out of the lift tube on a trajectory that would have landed him an extended hospital stay before he had his leg bones replaced, barely stumbles, dashes down the last stretch of corridor to Bel's current post, slaps the palm lock, and staggers panting into the room.

Thorne's dealing with the thing brought to its immediate attention. And tracing it without having to be told.

"Console in a tube station. I can have people there in minutes, but the radius will have ballooned by then, sir," it says.

"Yeah," he says. "God... there's no point."

A half-second to catch his breath.

"Okay. I assume you're wondering who that was. The talkative one is a nasty piece of work by the name of David Galen. The short one's name is Mark. He is - as am I - a clone of a rather boring man who happens to be a very convenient route to causing chaos on a planet that shall remain nameless. Mark escaped his masters only recently, and as you saw, Galen has just reclaimed him. And kidnapped someone I would find quite irreplaceable. I mean to rescue them both, but I expect I'm going to have to attend that meeting to do it. If... if it comes up, Mark is a stunningly good mimic and would have no trouble passing himself off as me, but a close medical scan will distinguish us; my bones are riddled with old breaks, his are normal and whole." A wry smile flits across his face. "Improved model."

"Noted, sir. What sort of backup do you want on your meeting?"

"Put a patrol in the air over the Tidal Barrier. I'll take Commander Quinn, too. Have her meet me at the shuttle bay with a couple of med scanners. File a flight plan for my shuttle - there's enough of us still on the ground for somebody's aircar to meet us at the shuttleport, yes? Arrange it. I'm going to give that recording a once-over before I leave, in case I missed something the first time."

He thinks over this list of instructions, then adds, "And if Galen attempts to smuggle himself onto a Dendarii vessel by any means, shoot him. He is not to be trusted under any circumstances. I have no doubt he means this as a ploy to embroil the Dendarii in his personal vendettas."

Miles watches the recording. This time he ignores Galen almost completely, and studies Mark's face.

Hollow despair - a flicker of something, pain perhaps, when Miles says his name - hollow despair - hollow despair - another flicker at 'Then we'll talk' - and the barely-visible flinch when Galen announces the hour of Ivan's death.

Not a lot to go on. But Miles thinks he knows how he wants to play this.

God, he hopes he's right.

"I'm out of here," he says, and heads for the shuttle bay.

He flashes an acknowledging grin over his shoulder, and makes it to his shuttle mere moments after Quinn.

"Hello, Elli. We're off to play hero," he greets her. "That waste of breath Galen escaped from prison and promptly got his hands on Mark and Ivan, the latter of whom he is holding hostage. I hope to prove to him that Mark is not as far under his control as he thinks."

Miles spends the entire trip, from the Triumph down to the shuttleport and through shuttleport security and onto a Dendarii aircar and over to the seawall, nearly vibrating out of his skin with impatience. He calms down at last when they land in a parking lot near the meeting point.

First to pop out and disable the transmit indicator light on his wristcom, then a comm check with Elli, who will be monitoring this conversation from afar in case it doesn't go well. Freshly escaped from prison, Galen is unlikely to have access to the kind of extensive and subtle anti-spying measures that might alert him to this little ruse. Next Miles conceals two stunners about his person, double-checks the rest of his equipment, and heads out to the seawall. Up and over and through and down - his rappelling harness comes in handy for the descent to the lower walkway. Around the curve of the seawall, heart pounding, come on Mark don't let me down—

The walkway ends in a little roundish space. Galen and Mark are standing there, stunners drawn, flanking the hatch in the wall. Both weapons swivel to point at him. He stands empty-handed, palms turned out, and quirks his eyebrows.

"No bodyguard? No backup? No weapon?" Galen says sharply. "What are you playing at, Vorkosigan?"

"I came here to talk." He lets his gaze flick back and forth between them, Galen leaning forward slightly with an expression of deep hatred, Mark standing straight with no expression at all. Except around his eyes. Those eyes are a window into the coldest level of hell.

"The more fool you." Galen lowers his stunner, and draws a nerve disruptor.

Miles has to work very hard not to flinch. The silver bell of the weapon's muzzle draws his gaze like a magnet. "It's not too late to stop," he says quietly.

"Stop? Why would I want to stop?"

"I came to talk. Will you listen?"

"To your lies? I don't think so. But it's convenient that you really did come alone. It will make this easier."

"Let me do it," Mark says abruptly. His bleak stare shifts to something vicious and hungry.

"What?" says Galen, flicking an incredulous glance at him.

"I'm going to be playing a mercenary admiral and I've never killed anyone. I want to start with him. Let me do it."

"You've hardly been a model of good behaviour lately. You just spent a week living with him; if you want to kill him so badly, why didn't you do it then and save us the trouble?"

"No exit strategy. I've sure as hell got one now, you saw to that. Let me do it," Mark repeats intently.

Galen considers him for a long moment, studying the way he stares at Miles, a mirror of Galen's own unconcealed loathing. Then he hands over the nerve disruptor.

And Mark shoots him.

And then there are two of Miles, and the one holding a nerve disruptor shudders and makes it vanish and hauls open the heavy door behind him.

"This way!"

Down the corridor to the pumping chamber—

"Are you serious," hisses Miles-proper.

"Yes," Mark says flatly, almost losing character for a moment as he bites out the word. Miles shuts up and gets out his grav harness. They cooperate with near-telepathic efficiency to open the access hatch. Miles sticks his head in, glimpses a human figure in the dimness, makes sure the grapple is anchored solidly on the wall, and throws the harness down.

Light?

Light does not exist, light was a figment of his imagination and he has since gone terribly unbearably sane -

Ivan squints and stops his hoarse helpless noisemaking, breathes deeply, reaches with raw and ragged hands for the harness and tangles himself up in it to be hauled up back into light and space and not imminent death.

Miles hits the control to reel him up, and Mark helps pull him out of the hatch.

For once it is in fact Miles who is happier to see him; Mark is not currently happy about anything. Fractionally less depressed now that Ivan has been retrieved, maybe.

"Elli? Time for pickup," says Miles into his wristcom.

"And they'd better do something about that body before the sea gets it," says Mark.

"What's the fastest route to somewhere an aircar can pick us up?"

"Straight up the Tower Six lift tube."

"Copy that, Elli? Send somebody to dispose of Galen and meet us outside Tower Six." Miles glances at Ivan. "Preferably just you in the aircar. I'm thinking we'll head straight to the embassy."

"It was all Mark," says Miles. "I just showed up and provided an excuse for him to talk Galen into handing over the nerve disruptor."

Mark has nothing to say about this. He turns and heads for the lift tube. Miles detaches the harness from Ivan and the wall, which also gives him time to assess Ivan's ability to walk.

Ivan can walk. His legs are fine, and now that he is not in a tiny gap in a seawall his brain is recovering too; these are the ingredients for walking.

"Figured you had something in mind," Ivan mutters.

If that was addressed at Mark, he doesn't appear to notice.

Up the lift tube they go.

"Hello, Elli," greets Miles. "Load up, everybody, time to—oh for fuck's sake, Mark, if you're still in earshot get your ass back here immediately."

No Mark appears. Miles growls under his breath.