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Karaoke is a charming old Earth pastime in which music which normally has lyrics is played without them and supplying vocals is left as an exercise to the participant. Ivan was coaxed into going by a local handing out drink vouchers for the bar which offers the activity, and there he got slightly tipsy, sang the only three Barrayaran songs in the entire catalogue, made out with a somewhat drunker girl, got her number, and stumbled home while some Earthling was stumbling through interminable verses of some song. It has not been a bad evening.

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Between the tubeway's exit and the embassy's entrance, there happens to be someone coming the other way on the sidewalk who looks a whole awful lot like Ivan's cousin Miles, if Ivan's cousin Miles had suddenly and inexplicably grown a fashion sense.
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Blink blink.

"Hi?" Ivan says, on the grounds that this is almost always a safe thing to say to strangers who are not immediately pointing weapons at you, and also pretty okay if Miles has dropped by with a fashion sense newly installed.
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"Hi," says the stranger who is not immediately pointing a weapon at him. "Can we talk?"

That's... not Miles. Miles natively has a Barrayaran accent much like Ivan's, except when he comes over all hills-like, and he can do a good Betan much like his mother's, but he does not have any settings that sound like a Londoner.
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"Please don't take this the wrong way, but who the blazes are you?"
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"That's one of the things I was hoping we could talk about, yes."

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"Well, ah, I invite you to talk about it."

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He glances around. "Not here? Not your embassy, either. I want some semblance of privacy that I won't have to pretend to be Miles Vorkosigan to achieve."

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Ivan, too, looks around.

"It's possibly my imagination is running off with me a bit but can I be quite assured that that's not a terrible idea? For example, will you object if I comm th'captain about my intended whereabouts."
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"Nah, go ahead," he says.

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Ivan comms his captain, says he may be out a bit later than usual and if some sort of emergency should call for his presence he will be in this diner over there.

"I hope the diner will suffice. Place is dead at this hour."
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"Sure," says not-Miles agreeably. (His accent is not quite entirely London-centric, but whatever else is in there, it's not familiar.)

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So they go sit in the diner and Ivan orders a coffee and a slice of pie and waits for not-Miles to explain who he is instead of Miles.

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"The thing is..." he starts, when there isn't anyone else obviously in earshot. "I'm in kind of a difficult situation, and I'm looking for your help."

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"Go on."

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"You want the whole story in order, or just the summary version?"

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"Summary will start me off."

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"A vengeful Komarran expat ran off a couple clones of Miles, would've been when he was about six, raised us for a substitution plot, whichever one turned out better was supposed to impersonate him and kill a bunch of people, the man hasn't picked yet but it's getting down to the wire, I need you to help me rescue the other clone."

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"Well," says Ivan, "all right, where is he?"
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That elicits a smile.

"A little old house in a quiet neighbourhood. I can give you the address. I have to be back in two hours or it'll tip off the boss, but there's time to plan."
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"Right - have you got a name, by the by?"

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"Not that I've ever had a chance to use. The boss just calls us both Miles, and if he needs to tell us apart it's Miles One," vague elsewhereish gesture, "and Miles Two," gesture at self.

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"That is extremely awkward and if you don't choose something I'm going to accidentally start calling you Dimitri in my head and it will be very hard to get me to pick up on a later selection."
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"Hah. Fine, then, call me Aaron. The other one gets to be Mark."

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"Is that Aunt Cordelia's father's name, I couldn't call it to mind."

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Nod.

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