"Ah . . . let's just say, I did not end up in that cryo-chamber as the result of a training accident." Though it was surely a learning experience.

"Hm. Well, that's most certainly not my department. ImpSec is a law unto itself; ImpSec's own medical corps would have to decide what you're fit for. As far as the rest of the Service goes, you'd need extraordinary mitigating circumstances to engineer yourself anything but office work."

I could provide some, I bet. But desk work was no temptation, no threat to the continued existence of Lord Vorkosigan. To spend the rest of his career in charge of the laundry, or worse, as weather officer on some backwater base, waiting forever for promotion—no, be sensible. He'd doubtless end up in a comfy cubicle down in the bowels of ImpSec, analyzing data garnered by other galactic affairs agents, collecting pay raises on a regular schedule—but spared the stresses of promotion to Department Head, or Chief of ImpSec. Going home every night to sleep in his own bed in Vorkosigan House, just like Ivan toddling off to his flat. Sleeping alone? Not even that, necessarily.

If only he hadn't falsified that thrice-damned report.

Miles sighed. "This is all entirely hypothetical, I'm afraid. As for the scheduled-seizures idea . . . it's not really a cure, is it."

"No. But while you're waiting for someone brighter than myself to come up with one, it will control your symptoms."

"Suppose no one brighter than yourself comes along. Will I have these damned things for the rest of my life?"

Chenko shrugged. "Honestly, I have no idea. Your condition is unique in my neurological experience."

Miles sat silent for a time. "All right," he said at last. "Let's try it. And see what happens." He smiled briefly at Gregor's habitual turn of phrase, a private joke.

"Very good, my lord." Chenko made a flurry of notes. "We'll need to see you again, mm, in about a week." He paused, and looked up. "Forgive my curiosity, my lord . . . but why in the world would an Imperial Auditor wish to be reinstated into the Service as a mere ImpSec lieutenant?"

ImpSec captain. I wanted to be reinstated as an ImpSec captain. "I'm only an acting Auditor, I'm afraid. My tenure ends when my case is closed."

"Um, and . . . what is your case?"

"Highly sensitive."

"Oh, quite. Sorry."

Shutting down his comconsole, Miles reflected on Chenko's very good question. He didn't seem to have a very good answer for it.

CHAPTER TWENTY