"But as long as your response to hallucinations is accepting bread and jam instead of making me figure out this weird Earth-model warmer, I'm not too insulted."

"Sure, why not."

"I was hoping you'd say that," he says with a flash of a grin—

—that flows seamlessly into a different grin. "Because it occurred to me that Miles Vorkosigan doesn't get panic attacks." He straightens his shirt, jerks his chin up, finishes his bread and jam, and refills his glass. "Damn, the world is a much nicer place all of a sudden. What a depressing little shit that Mark is. So what's the plan from here? Brief me."

"Well, that's very uncanny, but Miles doesn't like me that much. Uh, you and me go back to the embassy, I write one hell of a report, they probably bunk you with me for the time being while they're sorting out the legal issues of having just assailed a houseful of Komarran expats in London."

"I wish 'em all the best. Are they not going to opt for the time-honoured solution of smuggling everybody back to Barrayar for a secret trial, with optional death during attempted escape on the way? Why does 'th'captain'" (Miles can't mimic Ivan that accurately, either) "want 'em alive?"

"I'm pretty sure he's related to Galen. Not so much that I had an absolute order not to kill the guy but he seemed to prefer it, and it makes our legal woes much the lesser too."

"Interesting wrinkle, that." He finishes his latest glass of water. "Okay, I'm good to go."

"How long can you keep this up?" wonders Ivan, heading for the exit.

"Indefinitely. I'm going to keep it up until I'm somewhere I feel reasonably safe returning to the personality that's due a crippling panic attack any minute. I seem to have been right about the insulating effects of this one." He snaps his fingers as something occurs to him. "Right, while I'm enjoying unaccustomed freedom of thought—your courier to Sector HQ on Tau Ceti is in Galen's pocket. Has been for years. One of those snowballing blackmail cases. You probably want to tell your captain and get him nailed to the floor the next time he comes through."

"Will do, any other exciting intel?"

"Nothing so juicy. I can give you my life story, but I have a distant recollection of what your face looked like when you got a couple hints from five-year-old me, so maybe I'd better save it. Assuming you've arrested Galen and his three little minions - you have, right? - you can apply fast-penta at your leisure and get the goods that way."

"Yep, the men've got them in the other car and are trundling them away." Ivan can drive this car. Into the driver's seat he hops. "You will never have to lay eyes on them again."

"I live in hope. Which is a novel and interesting experience." He gets into the passenger seat.

"I was very forgettable, huh?"

"I was five. Do you remember dreams you had when you were five?"

"No, but you seemed very confident you weren't dreaming."

"Must've changed my mind after I woke up."

"That would be the sort of thing that would convince one of having dreamt, yeah. I hope the hug managed to last you anyway. By the way, I apologize if I accidentally patronize you on account of your having been five earlier this afternoon."

"Apology accepted in advance," he says, declining to comment on how well the hug did or did not last him.

"Good, because you were extremely tiny and growly and it was only a few hours ago. Hard to shake the first impression when it's that."

"In retrospect I'm honestly surprised I didn't try to bite you or something. Five was that kind of year."