"Elf. Elf. I'm bloody psychic, when did that happen?" says Ivan, pointing at her.

"I'm not an elf - what in the world -"

"Alt! I get an alt!"

"Not that I'm not deeply charmed by the surprise, but would someone like to explain what is going on...?"

"Sorry - this magic bar opens up to a wide variety of universes and sometimes there's several of somebody. I'm Linyabel, this is my husband Miles, that's his cousin Ivan, Miles's alt Stalas and clone Mark are upstairs."

"...I'm Isabella, and this is my husband, Lalita. And I'm not an elf, I'm a half-Vulcan half-human."

"Stalas is a dwarf," says Miles. "As in the fantasy creature. Apparently his world has elves."

"Well, Vulcans are not elves, although the comparison has been made," says Lalita.

"Vulcans are a humanoid species originally from the planet of the same name. Hybrids like me tend to mostly look like Vulcans to human observers, to the point where you'd be unlikely to tell the difference if a full Vulcan walked in next to me, but the same is nearly as true in reverse."

"In our world humans are the only intelligent species we've found," says Linya. "Although to hear some people on the planet we live on tell it I don't count. What an interesting assortment."

"Why wouldn't you count?"

"Barrayarans as a group are myopic about genetic engineering," says Linya, waving a hand.

"Also," Miles adds, "her empire invaded our empire before either of us was born and there is some lingering ill will over it."

"Myopic in what sense, specifically?" inquires Lalita.

"The origins are in general paranoia about harmful mutations due to a population-wide dose of radiation that made them a serious concern during a period of low technological access, but it contaminates attitudes about positively unusual genetic backgrounds like mine and visible physical conditions that aren't genetic in origin, too."

...He looks at Miles.

"Yes," says Miles, "that last part was referring to me."

"You could pass for haut," Ivan remarks to Lalita. "If you dressed up like one."

"'Haut' being the word for my kind of genetic engineering. And he's right, more or less - your phenotype wouldn't be particularly in vogue for your age group, but otherwise."

"I've never been told I have an unfashionable phenotype before," he says, laughing. "And which age group would that be?"

"If you were haut I'd guess you were forty-something."

"Two hundred and eighty-something would be closer."

"It's not. I'm not going to live that long, and Vulcans can top two centuries."