"Mm," said Miles.  "Well, the WhiteChrys part is a train that has left its station, and can run on rails to its appointed end.  So far.  This NewEgypt involvement is a side-issue that grew complicated."  His jaw set.  "I'm trying not to leave undue collateral damage upon a local kid who befriended me, at some cost to himself.  Good intentions, Mark.  My path is paved with them."

"So glad I don't have any of those."  Mark's glance grew uncomfortably shrewd.  "It's not your planet, you know.  You can't fix it."

"No, but . . . well, no.  But."

"Well, try not to leave too much rubble in your wake.  I can use this place."

"So you said."  Miles hesitated.  "Life extension, you say.  Does this one look better that the last two Durona developments you were so excited about?  That, excuse the expression, died on the lab benches?"

"Maybe.  The one human trial looks hopeful so far.  Lily Durona, if you were wondering."

It was Miles's turn to raise his brows.  "All right, I'm officially impressed, if Lily was willing to try it on herself."

Mark's smile went a little flat.  "Lily," he said, "ran out of time to wait."

Miles drummed his fingers on his trouser seam.  "Has it been tried on an older male, yet?  Speaking of running out of time."

Miles and his clone-brother exchanged very similar looks.

Mark said, "Do you think he could even be persuaded to try it?"

"Mm, not by me, perhaps.  Our mother might give it a go.  Betan, you know, anything for science."

"That's one more reason I'm anxious to move these human trials along."

"You might actually be more successful at persuading him if it were still billed as dodgy.  Hit those old Vor service-to-the-Imperium reflexes, and all."

"That's so strange."

Miles shrugged.  "That's the Count-our-father."  He added, "So, if your deal goes through, would you and Kareen be spending much time on Kibou?"

Mark shook his head.  "Once it's set up and running, I figure to turn it over to Raven to develop.  Past time he was promoted.  So far, this is not the knock-out competition to the clone-brain transplant business I was hoping for, but it's early days yet."  Mark smiled slowly.  "On the other hand, if it proved sufficiently profitable, maybe I could hire my own space mercs and attack the Jacksonian cloning lords directly."

Miles grimaced.  "Do you remember the last time you tried that?"

"Vividly.  Don't you?"

"Patchily," said Miles dryly.

Mark winced.

"In the event, though I've no doubt Admiral Quinn could do the job, I would beg you to hire a different outfit."  Just in case this wasn't quite a joke.  With Mark, on this subject, it could be hard to tell.  "What are you two doing next?  Do you have a hotel?"

"No, we came straight from the shuttleport.  Next, we've made arrangements to meet Fuwa here."

"Isn't that after local business hours?"

Mark shrugged.  "I'm on system ship-time."

"Can I sit in?"