barrayar | I am junking up this beautiful community with this junk

[ Commissioned? Another clone? What, like Vorkosigan was some Jacksonian Baron, growing a healthy body to take over later? Though...Actually, now that he's thinking about it, that doesn't sound all that implausible, does it? The son of the Butcher of Komarr was supposed to be tall and strong and healthy. A good powerful heir. Is it that hard to imagine the Butcher commissioning a new body for his son, the way he was supposed to be? Or would Vorkosigan himself have done it...? No, the clone decides. Not in his psych profile. Miles Vorkosigan had a ferocious white-knight syndrome - an intense need to prove himself. Presumably in order to compensate for his hideous form, since in Barrayaran culture the appearance of mutation had always been associated with moral degradation. Compensating.

Though then again, maybe that was just the appearance Vorkosigan presented to the outside world. The clone had certainly heard about the Vorkosigans' ability to present a respectable face while stabbing someone in the back. Maybe Miles was like his father the Butcher.

But this man...He looks afraid. Like the clone is going to eat him. But of course he does. Vorkosigan's a good actor, right? Charming, charismatic, just like the clone had to learn to be...Tried to learn to be. But it's not a bad imitation of the expressions that the Bharaputra clones had worn, when they'd whispered to one another about what they thought lay in store for them...Though they'd never looked so defiant. And God, why would Vorkosigan ever commissioned a clone with all those defects?

The clone puts his stunner away fully now. (Doesn't need it. If the bones are as fragile as they seem, breaking his neck will be easy. And no use letting that thought make him feel sick.) And he hitches his elbow up against the counter behind him, and laces his fingers together - an intensely Vorkosiganesque gesture. A careless attitude of power and confidence. ]

Okay. It sounds to me like one - or both - of us has been lied to by someone. No, I didn't commission you. Who am I supposed to have commissioned you from? And why?

[ The gesture makes Miles ill to watch. It's his all right, or so damned close to it that he could doubt himself for the faint differences he sees. Not only is there a clone - alternate? he hasn't ruled that out yet - but clearly they've studied him. Were prepared to take his name from him immediately, even in this place where there could surely be little reason to do so. So an instinct, well-worn, much like his own Naismith persona.

A clone intended to take his place, then. For - god knows what reason. Well. It's not as though he was using this name, right? And Gregor knows the truth. Gregor knowing the truth is the only solid thing in this whole dizzying merry-go-round. He mustn't get lost in his own lies, no matter how bewildering the man in front of him may be.

He lets his face go through a range of expressions - again, not hard, since discomfort and terror rise easily to the top of his mind - before settling on wary compliance. Feeling out this Lord Vorkosigan, his supposed progenitor. A demon feared for so long, and now turning up directly on his doorstep, in his house. ]

House Bharaputra. Life extension, except something went hideously wrong with the cloning process. I - I was never actually told you commissioned me but - well, the conclusion is obvious, isn't it? Why else?

[ No. Like hell. One of "Naismith's" legs is just a little shorter than the other. (How many times did the clone trip over that difference, when he'd come back from the surgery to adjust his own legs?) His back is hunched in a familiar way, a way that the clone recognizes from catching glimpses of himself in the mirror. Like hell. Unless what went wrong with the process was some sort of sympathetic quantum entanglement between the man in front of him and Vorkosigan himself, that twisted and reformed his every bone each time Vorkosigan hit some strange, inexplicable, medically-adjusted growth spurt, it's bullshit. Complete and total.

Besides - if something had gone wrong with the cloning process, they would have killed and incinerated him. Started anew. The clone for one idiotic moment starts drawing in breath to point that out, but - Miles Vorkosigan. Not the nameless clone with a too-intimate knowledge of Bharaputra's practices.

But what if...? The clone himself - he hadn't known his real purpose until the Komarrans had come for him, when he was fourteen. What if this man just is assuming? What if he doesn't know why he was made? What if Galen did have a back-up? What if this is him? It's...It's not impossible. An improved model, with all of Vorkosigan's fragilities... ]

I didn't. Bharaputra - that's a Jacksonian House, right? [ Knowledge, but not too much familiarity. An academic sort of awareness from his education.

The clone shakes his head - his expression a mixture of astonishment, dread, and pity. Just the right blend of the emotions you're supposed to feign when hearing a stranger's story when it's that horrible. The indifferent sympathy that any coddled compassionate fool might have felt towards his creche-mates. And then he speaks with the unquestioning authority of a young lord. ] Damn, this is complicated...Tell me everything they did tell you. We can get to the bottom of this.

Edited 2016-01-23 13:32 (UTC)

[ The trouble is, he doesn't know how much this clone knows. Except, perhaps, that surely an actual clone would probably know quite a bit more about the whole process than Miles himself would. His story is cobbled together from what details he had known before coming here - no specific research, after all - and wound together with enough bullshit to choke an elephant. It makes a pretty smooth tale to tell to outsiders, who know nothing about his world to begin with. Not so here.

He sucks in a breath, a flicker of uncertainty showing in his face. The fact of the matter is that he has no details to give. Better feign suspicion and ignorance. This is "Lord Vorkosigan" he's talking to, after all. Why should he tell the man a damn thing? He shifts, uncomfortably, onto his own too-short leg. ]

Why? Why do you care? I'm a threat, aren't I? Your damn Barrayaran lackeys sure thought so. I haven't had a moment's peace since I escaped.

Edited 2016-01-23 13:40 (UTC)

Why I care is...not something I can tell you right now.

[ The clone considers this response a little stroke of genius. The most un-Vorkosigan thing he's done so far has been pulling his stunner on Naismith without any warning. Panicking. Give him enough of the story to justify it.

(And, on the remote - beyond-remote - off-chance that this isn't a lie...Give him a few hints. Why he might have been made. It's ridiculous, obviously, because this is Vorkosigan playing some bizarre game of pretend, for some reason thinking it'd be romantic and interesting to pretend to be a clone. Just some game of his. But...But in that remote, impossible chance that this is another one, just like him...

(Because that look of terror and hostility - it mirrors what the clone feels. What he always feels.) ]

But suffice to say there's a reason I tried to stun you when I saw you. And suffice to say...It might not have been for life-extension that you were cloned.

[ Huh. That's kind of infuriating. He feels a sudden, deep sympathy for Simon Illyan and everyone else who's been forced to put up with Miles' bullshit over the years. Though, he must admit that whoever this clone is, they're doing a bang-up job of imitating him. It's surreal. He's alarmed. He's fascinated.

What is the worst outcome of letting this play out? Giving up his own identity as Miles Vorkosigan? He'd already done that for the public eye when he took up the Naismith mantle instead - and it's not as though Gregor would be fooled. One telepathic prod would be the only thing needed. So ... let it play out. After all, one should never interrupt an enemy when they're making a mistake.

(If it's a mistake. Maybe he's the one making the mistake. God, what a mess he's made already.)

Regardless, he eyes "Vorkosigan" with the wariness he deserves after a comment like that. And says the first thing that pops into his head: ]

Oh, god. Don't tell me you wanted me for sex. Were you really that desperate?

Edited (hmmm this is better) 2016-01-23 13:55 (UTC)

[ The choke that answers that comment is completely the clone's - though he also thinks that Lord Vorkosigan would have uttered the same noise if he'd heard that comment. (Or...No, it's Lord Vorkosigan making that comment, isn't it? Right...?)

It's true that there have been clones made for that purpose. He knows that very well. But - We're repulsive. Our body is repulsive. And it's because of you, or him, or maybe the Butcher's perversions and love of sodomy or his evil wife's insane experimentations - But regardless. Who would want this? And his horror makes him run his mouth off a bit too much. ]

No! That's - Absolutely not. And it wouldn't even make sense - House Bharaputra, you said, not House Ryoval... [ And then he realizes: he's not supposed to have that much knowledge of Jackson's Whole. He tries to recover, acting like he needs confirmation. ] That's the one that does that sort of thing, right? Anyway, I said I didn't order you made. Someone else did.

[ Ha. Score one point for him. Miles himself hadn't been fully aware of that distinction - he'd known Bharaputra had been in the life extension business, and that clones made for that purpose did exist (as he'd been taunted with a few key times previously), but not which house. Ryoval. Got it.

He suspects that he can fill in the technical details of his own story if he goads "Vorkosigan" at just the right moments. Better do that rather than get himself caught in a tangle that he can't explain his way out of. ]

Who, then? I was hardly told anything. Only that I was supposed to be a copy of this Vor lord, and that escape would mean he would be after me just as hard.

[ He spreads the fingers of his hand in a gesture of uncertainty. Vorkosigan gesture. Very Vorkosigan gesture. ]

Honestly? We don't know. I don't know if ImpSec knows, or if Illyan's just keeping it a secret from us. But there's been intel that someone made a clone as part of some plot against my-father-the-Count. [ Vorkosigan so often says that as a phrase, all in one rush, with just the faintest hint of drollness - like it's an inside joke, with no concern for who or who isn't on the inside of that joke. Part of his charisma, the clone had always noticed. He assumes you're one of his, and then you just fall into being his. Not like Galen with his revolutionaries - Galen kept control through hard dedication to a mutual ideal of a free Komarr. The Jacksonians kept loyalty through money, and lots of it. Vorkosigan gets loyalty by just demanding it, and for some reason people give it.

The clone prefers the Jacksonian model. ]

That might be you. It's starting to sound like that's you.

[ It all hangs together. After all, any clone takes a certain minimum number of years to be raised to adulthood, no matter what measures may be taken to age them sooner. Miles would have been a baby, surely. There couldn't be a plot against him specifically ... right? No, not with the body that Miles - that this clone - had ended up with. A potential replacement for himself must needs be a healthy one. That would be the fastest way to dislodge his own claim to the Vorkosigan countship.

So ... something else. Another sort of replacement. A plot against this father does make more sense. He begins to pace a bit, the gesture a singularly Naismith one that he had picked up during his adventures. (Well. Not completely. But more pronounced, nowadays.) ]

I assure you, I have no such intentions. I'd much rather stay far away. As far away as possible.

Edited 2016-01-23 14:30 (UTC)

[ The clone's response is a lordly snort. He inspects his nails in mock-casualness. ]

Think you might tell Illyan that? It'd save me having to memorize all those passwords that I need to recite to prove I'm still me. To say nothing of keeping him from going gray quite so fast.

[ What are you doing? Passing along Galen's ramblings about ways this plot could be foiled... Well, what he's doing, he guesses, is making himself convincingly Lord Vorkosigan. ]

[ Passwords, eh. Miles knows there are no such things - all Illyan would need to do was recite something word-for-word and expect complete comprehension. He still suppresses a very real shudder at the thought of discussing this sort of thing with Simon Illyan. ]

Ha. As if you could get me that close to Simon Illyan. I'm not a complete idiot, you know. I wouldn't come back from that encounter intact.

[ Yes - the conclusion Galen had reached was that Lord Miles Vorkosigan/Count Miles Vorkosigan/Emperor Miles Vorkosigan the Assassin and Restorer of the Glory of Komarr was to stay far, far away from Illyan. He hadn't had to work hard to convince the clone of that one. The head of ImpSec had a...reputation. And complete loyalty to the Butcher. And an eagerness to eliminate threats. The clone was a threat.

I wouldn't come back intact, either. ]

So you know who that is, at least. How much do you know about Barrayar? And how did you become Miles Naismith? Did my mother's Betan relatives help you?

Bits and pieces. Greg Vorthys told me most of what I know. Otherwise ...

[ Hmm. That's an excellent suggestion, actually. It suits, neatly, and he can think of enough holes in his own history that would allow a clone a brief window to contact the Naismiths and be gone. ]

Yes, however briefly. They were my first stop - or rather, Beta Colony was. A much friendlier place for an escaped clone to get off to. They have this wild idea that I'm rightfully the Count's son in my own right.

I'm surprised they didn't pass word along to her.

[ Hole in your story, Naismith. Let me help you with that... ]

But - Greg Vorthys? There's another Vor here?

I'd be surprised too. But - well, the Betan Countess is infamously liberal, and if I'd had any shot at a family ... it would be through her.

[ Right back at you. At the mention of Gregor, though, Miles can't help but brighten. He has too much affection for the man to do otherwise. ]

A practically exiled one. He ran - I know how you Barrayarans are about that.

[ Some crony of yours, Vorkosigan? the clone thinks with withering contempt. Or - he tries to. Instead crony has in his mind sort of more of the qualities of friend, and contempt feels close to envy. Doesn't matter. There's some loyalty to this Vor that's lighting up his face...But Vorthys? A relative of...shit, the Imperial Auditor, right...Shit. Some of the Vor relationships that Vorkosigan would know are hard for him to remember. How many hours spent in front of the screen, studying pictures, faces - the study sessions sometimes filled with eagerness, sometimes with dread...always depending on Galen. Anyway. Greg Vorthys. Not one he knows.

And - he ran? I know how you are about that? Do Barrayarans run? Is that a crack about Vorkosigan? They've been chasing him for so long as he hares off from planet to planet - Is it some observation that Naismith has made about his progenitor, that Vorkosigan runs? The clone plays it safe, turns it into a joke: ]

You'll have to forgive us. We're only just now getting our chance. We were held in captivity for a very long time - it's exciting, getting to test your freedom for the first time.

So it's not all Vor you want to keep away from.

I mean the rather dim view you all seem to have about deserters. It's made his life difficult as well.

[ There's a hole for you, brother-clone. Best patch it fast.

Now that he's past the initial shock, it's almost ... fun playing this game against a version of himself. Testing his own cover, feeling it out against someone who probably won't kill him. Probably. (Surely Miles would be dead by now if that were the point - his neck is fragile enough, among other things.) He makes a mental note to tell Gregor all the details later and decide what they ought to do long term. In the meantime it seems fruitful to continue to Naismith as hard as possible.

In any case, his reactions to the topic of "Greg" continue to be blissfully honest. The easiest part of the whole thing. ]

I take Vor one at a time, please and thank you. He has proved to be exceptional beyond measure. [ A beat. ] Even you may not be so bad if you don't intend to kill me just yet.

[ Shit. The clone takes note. Right. Deserters...He probably needs to be hostile against this - No. Vorkosigan is liberal. Betan mother. He'll have a practical outlook towards this Vorthys.

(The clone wants to be sick. He's making mistakes. Lots of mistakes. He can't afford to make mistakes. Galen taught him that - he has to be completely perfect in his cover. He needs to learn quickly, learn everything he can from Vorkosigan. Or Naismith. Whoever this is. He can feel the acidic sourness of that cheese in his stomach and wants to go throw it all up right at once. What happens if his cover falls apart? What does Vorkosigan do then?

(Who does he become then?) ]

Thanks. I think.

[ A wry smile covers up all his screaming nerves and chattering thoughts. ]

Anyway, of course I don't intend to kill you. I can't say I'm happy that this whole clone thing is turning out to be true, but that doesn't mean I have any hostility towards you. You didn't ask for this.

[ There. That's about as much kindness as he'd give a clone. Seems plausible. ]

[ A reasonable reaction. And yet, Miles finds himself disagreeing with it. Lack of hostility is all he would offer? No ... a mental image of his mother comes to mind; he can just about hear her voice resounding in his ears. Miles, what have you done with your baby brother?

Because that is truly who this man in front of him would be. His brother, under Betan law and his mother. His father ... a harder sell, he thinks, but he's sure the man would come around in the end. He'd had to think through the scenario himself while discussing his family as Naismith.

He must win this man over, one way or another. As Naismith if possible - that seems a much safer choice than upending the man's cover. He knows too well how much identity can be tied up in such a thing. And he has no idea who this man considers himself to be under all that ... Let the man have Vorkosigan, for now, and see what happens. ]

Neither did you, apparently. That ... resolves the worst of my issues. Admittedly. [ Reluctantly, like he's just now deciding to trust Vorkosigan. Which he is. ] I had almost hoped for a villain.

Edited (the ] wanted to party too) 2016-01-23 16:00 (UTC)

[ It's...No, it's not an echo of the clone's thoughts. That's wrong. He didn't want a villain. He didn't care about whether or not he got a villain. Why would he? The mission was to assassinate. Galen had talked a lot about the evil of the Butcher, and Miles Vorkosigan's hideous and dissolute lifestyle - ranting and raving when he was in his tempers - and the clone always believed him but he didn't really care. He had his job. His job would restore Komarr, which was what Galen wanted, and so when he was younger that was what he wanted. Now, now that he's had more time to think about things and consider his future...Well. He's going to end up doing what's expected of him. What else can he do?

It's weird, though, looking in the face of his future victim. His own face. Killing himself. It's very...Shit. Very in line with...Freud? Jung? Vorkosigan would know which one, wouldn't he. Genius that he is.

You'll get a villain yet.

He hesitates. He knows...The smart thing to do will be to take this opportunity to get to know him. Study him. Learn his habits. That's what he'd be ordered to do. But...But he'll get found out if he stays. He knows it. Vorkosigan will get tired of this game and act. Or - or something. And it's...He can't even imagine sharing a house with him. He can't imagine what will happen if he ends up growing some sort of sympathy for him. That's what might happen, right? He'll come under his sway. This would keep emotional distance...

Or maybe I'm just scared to have to be stacked up next to the original every day. ]

I'll see what I can do about getting moved out. I can't think you'd want to see me all the time. Even if I'm not a villain.

[ Miles, meanwhile, considers that. The Naismith part of him agrees that he'd much rather be as far away from his progenitor as possible. Vorkosigan chimes in cheerfully that it would be unsettling for Gregor, and dangerous as all hell if this man decides to snap one day. Even with the telepathic link, it would cause a dizzying confusion for a critical moment, not to mention the possibility of being murdered in one's sleep.

... They could be murdered anyway, one day. The best defense is a good offense. The decision is made in an instant, and a brilliant smile - the likes of which would only be seen on Naismith and not Vorkosigan - cracks his face. ]

On the contrary. I'd like you to stay, if Greg doesn't mind the occasional confusion. If you [romise not to change your mind about not minding having a clone later?

[ And more genuine sentiment bubbles to the top of his mind, wild with the sudden thought. ]

Under Betan law, we'd be brothers anyway.

[ We'd be...

What? What insanity is this? The clone can't help himself. He stares at Naismith with confusion - and not a bit of suspicion - and not a bit of horror, too. Brothers. Vorkosigan is no brother to him. Naismith wouldn't be, either. Is that really Betan law? Further proof that Betans are all lunatics. His closest family is a uterine replicator. His only family. And clones from his creche whose personalities are now no more than incinerated bio-waste. So what sort of provocation is this meant to be? What kind of test? Did he say that just to provoke the clone into reacting with appropriate revulsion?

Brothers.

Nonsense. Nonsense. He tries to shake himself mentally, like a dog shedding water - but unfortunately, like for that dog, like with water, the sheer ridiculous insanity clings to his memory. Brothers. His voice is a little too harsh and a little too strident for cheery, babbly Lord Vorkosigan. But he feels like the reaction is about right. ]

That was a quick jump - from fear to wanting to inherit in less than a minute.

Oh, no. No worries there. I have my mercenary fleet, and as you are the progenitor you're obviously the real heir. I still wouldn't set foot on Barrayar for a million Betan dollars.

[ He can feel that familiar momentum starting up, the sort that usually results in really good or really bad ideas. He has no idea which one this is yet. It's exhilarating. For just a moment, he pauses to savor the thrill of adrenaline going through him. ]

My greatest strength as Admiral is in recognizing good personnel, and promptly drafting them. In that, my snap judgments are usually the best.

[ His grin is somehow still brighter. Manic and wild with possibility. ]

What do you say, Lord Miles? Fancy having a little brother?

[ No. No. What's he doing? What's he trying to accomplish? Unconsciously, a few of the clone's automatic Vorkosigan traits drop away from him. He stops leaning on the counter. Subtly, with gesture by gesture, as Miles speaks, shifts from arrogance to defensiveness, until by that last question he's actually backed up a step. Put physical distance between them. Shifts into an almost battle-ready position. But his eyes - he's staring at Naismith, and he doesn't even blink once. He feels dizzy.

A little brother. He's insane. He's completely insane... He licks his lips. ]

It seems like there are...two different things going on there. Are you recruiting personnel, or applying to become part of my family?

[ How is it possible to pronounce my family wrong? There aren't any vowels that ought to be able to be said incorrectly in there. In a Barrayaran accent it sounds just the same as in his native Jacksonian accent. And yet still it comes out sounding incorrect. ]

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I liked v.1 very much

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