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"What format do you want them in?"

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"Depends how complicated they are. If it's something that can be transmitted with purely verbal instructions, I'd rather you just tell me; it makes the message shorter. If that would get intractable, any standard image format on a data disk will do, or you can draw them on flimsies and I can take holos."

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"Nah, for unbound specified-individual circles it's just literally a circle with 'I summon the demon Campbell Mark Swan' written around it. It's bindings that get complicated. You might be an angel or a fairy instead - or maybe it won't work at all, because alternate universe - but otherwise the format's the same. The would-be summoner should finish enclosing the circle last, and it must be completed on a floor, in any drawing material, with enough room for us to appear - if you're doing bindings it's polite to leave still more room than that because we couldn't leave until attached to a task but that's not an issue here."

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"All right. Now to hope this room has as good a comconsole as I expected it to..." He goes over to a medium-sized desk against one wall, sits at it, and makes a satisfied sound.

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"Have computers somehow spent the last millennium getting bigger and less portable?"
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"Portable computing devices exist, but they're unpopular for privacy reasons," he explains.

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"Cryptanalysis won?" surmises Cam.

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"In a sense. Data security holds its own, but sacrificed portability to the cause. Anyway."

He starts composing his message.

"'In the event of my apparent death, please personally draw four circles on the floor'—what qualifies as floor, Cam? Paper on floor obviously did the trick."
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"A mostly flat surface someplace with gravity exceeding ten percent of a gee and not tilted more than twelve degrees in any radius, markings pointing up."

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"—'where floor is defined as,' thank you, 'any flat surface within twelve degrees of perpendicular to more than 0.1G gravity, facing up. Around each circle write, respectively: I summon the demon Campbell Mark Swan, I summon the demon Mark Pierre Vorkosigan, I summon the fairy Mark Pierre Vorkosigan, I summon the angel Mark Pierre Vorkosigan. Critical safety measure: write the words before completing the circle. No, I am not going to explain further. If I'm not dead at the time, there will be no effect'—right?"

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"Well, if you dismiss me then the circle for me will work. Unless it does not do that for alternate universe reasons."

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He shrugs. "Close enough. All right. Now I just have to pick a keyphrase."

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"I don't think I can help you there."

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"If you could, it wouldn't be a very secure method."

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Cam snorts and starts organizing the notes he took during the history lesson.

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Mark thinks for another half-minute or so, and then seals up the message, attaches a note with the clue, and sends it.

(Dear Miles: What did you compare me to, in our memorable first conversation? —Mark)

"There, that's taken care of. Next item: transportation to Jackson's Whole?"
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"Yes please."

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He starts looking that up.

"Jackson's Whole isn't exactly a popular tourist destination... the next ship leaves in eight days, late afternoon in this time zone."
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"And how much more expensive and complicated is it to offer a jump pilot a free ship in exchange for one-way passage?"

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"Much, much more complicated. Other options exist, however... let me check something."

Lists of ships currently in Escobar orbit start scrolling by on the holoscreen. Mark skims them.
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Cam peers over his shoulder.

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He moves on from ships currently in-system to ships recently departed, then to ships with flight plans filed that indicate imminent arrival.

"Aha," he says, halfway through that last. "I knew they'd show up eventually, everything comes through Escobar if you give it long enough, and they favour it as a rendezvous point... You remember I mentioned stories I could tell about Miles? He somehow managed to wind up in command of a mercenary fleet at the age of seventeen. Largely by accident, from what I gather. Miles has a caliber of accident beyond mortal ken. His fleet's fastest ship is arriving in Escobar orbit tomorrow evening. I could borrow his Admiral Naismith identity and commandeer it, or we could show up with lots of money and throw ourselves on Bel's questionable mercy. I do have lots of money."
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"I don't know who this person is well enough to be thrilled with the prospect of deceiving them. If we're going to throw lots of money at somebody, why one of his ships instead of some other that's available for hire?"

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"Because ships available for hire to take you anywhere in the galaxy you damn well please are rare. Some might even be outside my generous budget. And the Dendarii Free Mercenaries are verifiably trustworthy, an advantage not to be discounted when chartering someone to fly you to Jackson's Whole."

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"Okay. Can you give me a general idea how many clones are in the pipeline at any given time, is there liable to be one we can save if we leave now and not if we leave in eight days?"

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