"What, a desk job in Domestic Affairs? I beg to differ." That was, perhaps, the sharpest bite in all this tangle: that he'd sacrificed everything up to and including his integrity to save an identity that was scheduled to be taken away from him within a year anyway. If he had known, he would have . . . what? What, huh?

Gregor's lips thinned in serious displeasure. "I've spent a lifetime having my affairs managed by old men. You were the first man of my generation I thought I might successfully place in a position of real power and responsibility in the upper echelons of what is ironically called my government."

And I screwed up, yes, we know, Gregor. "You have to give them this much credit, they weren't old when they started serving you. Illyan's brevet field promotion to Chief of ImpSec was at what, age thirty? And he was going to make me wait to thirty-five, the hypocrite."

Gregor was shaking his head. If he says, "Miles, Miles, whatever are we going to do with you?", I'm walking out of here. But what he said instead was, "So what are you planning to do now?"

Almost as bad. But Miles stayed seated. "I don't know. I need . . . some time off, serious time off. Time to think. Medical leave and travel time aren't really the same thing."

"I . . . request, that you not attempt to make independent contact with the Dendarii Mercenaries. I realize that I and ImpSec combined probably couldn't stop you, if you were determined to hijack them and take off. But there's no way I'd be able to save you from a treason charge this time."

Miles, managing not to swallow guiltily, nodded perfect understanding. He'd always known that would be a one-way trip. "The Dendarii don't need a commander with convulsions either. Till I get my head fixed—if it can be fixed—it's a null temptation." Perhaps fortunately. He hesitated, then let his primary anxiety surface in the most neutral wording he could muster. "What will the status of the Dendarii Fleet be now?"

"That would seem to depend on its new commander. How will Quinn want to play it?"

So, Gregor was not planning to unilaterally dispose of all of Miles's creative efforts. Miles sighed inward relief, and chose his next words carefully. "She'd be a fool to throw away our—her—Imperial retainer. And she's nobody's fool. I see no reason the fleet cannot continue to be the same resource for ImpSec under her that they were under me."

"I'm willing to wait and see how it works out. See if she can deliver the successes. Or not."