Welcome to your future life, Miles Vorkosigan. Your older self really fucking wants to get off this ride too.

Miles takes another grim sip of his mead, coughing a little as it burns his throat. "I didn't either. I'd assumed - I mean, I hadn't even planned for such a contingency. I knew that all my key officers would know me well enough." And Miles had trusted Bel utterly, dammit. His mistake apparently. Move on. He's not done with this story yet. "Anyway. I got them out somehow. Barely. But I was hit by a sniper at the end of the operation, and that was it."

Now he tugs at the collar of his shirt, pulling it back to reveal the spiderweb just below his collarbone. A very nasty mark even with the Duronas' good work.