Mark Pierre Vorkosigan / "Peter Kane" (
jacksonian) wrote in
barrayar2016-01-22 09:49 pm
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I am junking up this beautiful community with this junk
All the other starters are so beautiful but instead I'm coming in and ruining everything with this useless post with this sad sack
Comment to this post and I will write you something
Comment to this post and I will write you something
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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?
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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?
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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.
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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.
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[ 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.
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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?
I liked v.1 very much
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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. ]
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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.
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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?
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[ 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.
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[ Hole in your story, Naismith. Let me help you with that... ]
But - Greg Vorthys? There's another Vor here?
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[ 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.
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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.
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[ 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.
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(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. ]
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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.
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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.
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... 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.
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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.
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[ 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?
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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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