"Captain Illyan," Byerly corrects, suppressing a wince at the hardness of Piotr's grip (though it's not like there's any way that the old stick's estimation of him could drop any further; Byerly feels as though he could outright proposition the man here and now and it would actually bring Count Old Vor some pleasure and relief, if only because then he could cut off By's balls or whatever the punishment for that was back in this benighted time). This, he suspects, is not going to go well; hell, he'll be lucky if Piotr doesn't skin him alive for saying these insane sounding things. But, well...The look he shoots Piotr is identical to the one he wears before taking a swig of maple mead. This is going to be miserable, but here we go.

"Count General Vorkosigan, I'm a Vorrutyer. Byerly Vorrutyer, to be exact, is my name. I'm sure that you're not familiar with any Byerly Vorrutyers of my age - I believe the only other Byerly currently alive is creaky and decrepit." As creaky and decrepit as you'll one day be, you dusty old crow.

"This is because I've come from a very different sort of Barrayar." At the last moment, he decides to hold back on time travel; best to keep things vague, in case he has to backtrack later. "One with all sorts of galactic weaponry, yeah, and a prole Chief of ImpSec - he's truly a revelation, by the way - and not a Cetagandan on the entire planet. Or, well, not a Cetagandan with any ill intention, we do have that ambassador. His only offenses against Barrayar are - " Crimes against good taste gets swallowed - it's unlikely Vorkosigan will appreciate that quip - in favor of: "Diplomatic ones."