"He has a very personal system for running the place," Galeni observed. "It's quite Vorish, really. Most non-Barrayaran organizations attempt to define their tasks so as to make the people who hold them interchangeable parts. It assures organizational continuity."

"And eliminates inspiration. Illyan's leadership style isn't very flashy, I admit, but he's flexible and infinitely reliable."

Galeni cocked an eyebrow. "Infinitely?"

"Usually reliable," Miles corrected quickly. For the first time, Miles wondered if Illyan was naturally drab. He'd always assumed it was a response to the high-security aspects of Illyan's job—a life with no handles for enemies to grab and twist. But maybe instead his colorless approach was how he dealt with whatever it was about the memory chip that had overwhelmed others?

Galeni placed his hands out flat across his knees. "I've told you what I've observed. Do you have any suggestions?"

Miles sighed. "Watch. Wait. What you've got here so far isn't even a theory. It's a handful of water."

"My theory is there's something very wrong with this handful of water."

"That's an intuition. Which is not an insult, by the way. I've learned a deep respect for intuition. But you mustn't confuse it with proof. I don't know what to say. If Illyan is developing some sort of subtle cognitive problems, it's up to his department heads to . . ." What? Mutiny? Go over Illyan's head? The only two people on the planet with that kind of elevation were Prime Minister Racozy and Emperor Gregor. "If this is something real, other people are going to notice it eventually. And it's better that it should be pointed out first by anyone else in ImpSec but you. Except me. That would be worse."

"What if they all feel that way?"

"I . . ." Miles rubbed his forehead. "I'm glad you talked to me."

"Only because you were the one person I knew whose knowledge of Illyan had a really long baseline. Otherwise . . . I'm not sure I should be talking about it at all. Not outside of ImpSec."

"Nor inside of ImpSec either. Though there's Haroche. He's worked directly under Illyan for almost as long as I did."

"That may be why I found it difficult to approach him."

"Well . . . talk to me again, huh? If anything else disturbs you."

"Maybe it's all hot air," said Galeni, not very hopefully.

Miles could recognize denial at a hundred meters, these days. "Yeah. Um . . . you want to change your mind about that drink?"

"Yeah," sighed Galeni.

Two mornings after this, Miles was deeply involved in an inventory of his closets' limited civilian contents, making a list of gaps and wondering if it would be simpler to just hire a valet and say "Take care of it," when his bedroom comconsole chimed. He ignored it for a minute, then clambered up off the floor next to the pile of discarded clothing and slouched to answer it.

Illyan's stern face appeared, and Miles's spine automatically straightened. "Yes, sir?"

"Where are you?" Illyan asked abruptly.