(Please don't tell this Miles he sounds like Galeni. He would not take the comparison well.)

Twenty-five. Or twenty-six, depending on whatever the fuck that comment meant. Miles sucks in a breath, clearly calculating in his head. Twenty-five ... that was the year he'd been on Earth, wasn't it? After the encounter on Earth, given that this man had called him Mark at first. But long before the events that had led to his own death.

The thought makes him go utterly still for a moment even as his mind kicks into high gear. He repeats his earlier look, flicking his gaze over younger Miles' neck and confirming what he'd seen earlier: no cryo-revival scars. This version of himself hasn't died yet. This version hasn't made the mistake that Miles had, might never have to ... The same ragged, cracked sort of laugh that had been building in his own throat - had already escaped his younger self's - suddenly explodes past his lips. Is this the answer the universe is giving him? You're doomed, Miles Vorkosigan, but here's another chance for your past self?

"Thirty," he answers at last, when the laugh subsides into a choked cough. "As of - god, I don't even know any more. A few weeks ago?"