He meets Vorkosigan's eyes. He can't not. That intensity transfixes him. He's...not lying, is he? He's being honest. He really means it. He really thinks that the clone matters...Not that Mark has ever been able to tell truth from lies. How long did it take him before he understood what was happening back at the clone-creche, after all? But those lies fed to him by the Bharaputra goons were always discreet, polished, practiced. Is it even possible to lie when you're crackling with that much emotion?

You are not expendable. Galen had said that to him, too. Sort of. You'll be a hero. You'll free our planet from tyranny. But that had been saying that...Mark had value because that there was a mission only he could do. Because of the way he'd been designed. A valued weapon, enormous in price, not wholly human. This is different. It's different -

He swallows.

"Yes, sir." His own voice is scarcely above a whisper. His eyes drop. He wants to scream. He wants to claw his own face off. He wants Lord Vorkosigan to pat him on the head and tell him he did well. An hour ago, he was thinking about how to kill this man...There's a wash of shame at how easily he's been suborned, but that barely even registers against the gratitude he feels towards this man who wants clones to live. All clones.

"You, um - " He runs his hand over his scalp in confusion and uncertainty. "Is it...allowed to...walk out of here, then?"