Yes, Byerly thinks in furious frustration. A very, very special kind. The kind who won't just walk away, even though it'd be smarter, even though his zealous service to Barrayar in this time might cause a damned time paradox and make it so he wasn't even born. The kind of idiot who takes nothing seriously except his oath to his Emperor and to ImpSec, and so who won't put his own well-being and the well-being of the fabric of the universe ahead of that promise. The kind of idiot who keeps forgetting that sometimes, these Old Vor sons of bitches just decide that they know what the truth is, and won't ever, ever listen to you, even when what you're saying is plainly the truth, even when you wouldn't lie about it, even when they have no reason to stick to their own story except stupid pride and hatred of you...

For just a brief, quick flash, the look that Byerly shoots Piotr is pure Vorrutyer. A look of arrogant, contemptuous, elegant hatred, haughty superiority and dislike. Not the sort of look that a (putative) serviceman should be shooting a superior officer - but exactly the sort of look that Vorrutyers have given Vorkosigans at various points throughout Barrayaran history.

"Fine," he says, jerking his shoulder to shift the grip of the burly armsman gripping his right. His joints are starting to ache. "Then turn me loose to shovel snow and drool and shamble about like the special sort of idiot I am, sir. I serve at your pleasure." However misguided that pleasure might be.