"Should have been Naismith from the beginning then, and kept Vorkosigan secret," shoots back Miles, with the infinite practicality of someone who hadn't actually had to make the choice himself.

But that's not really the most important point here. He goes quiet as his younger self begins to mete out the story in pieces, punctuating it on his end with more sips of mead. It makes his own stomach drop just picturing it: Dagoola IV by way of unmitigated nightmare, with the very planet crumbling under your feet. God. If this didn't give his younger self nightmares, he'll eat the empty bottle once they're done with it. He's still badly shaken up by that last shuttle ride up.

"You look," he says at last, slowly, "pretty good for a dead man."