Miles chooses to keep his opinions of Galeni's taste in entertainment to himself.

Hell. So now there's a fake Miles running around... maybe Ivan will notice something's up. Or Elli will. Or - God, if Linya visits him again - Miles clenches his fists until his bones creak, then forces himself to relax. Surely she would notice, before the clone could - he unclenches his fists again. Think about something else. His Dendarii, in the hands of that impostor, probably being neglected, ignored, misused - fuck. Miles resolves firmly not to consider any personal implications, lest he break all his own fingers in impotent rage.

What about the impersonal implications? Imperial implications, even? The purpose of this clone is not to drive Miles crazy - that's just a fringe benefit. The clone is... a weapon, directed at... who? Well. Aral Vorkosigan, of course. Fuck. Aral Vorkosigan and, through him, Barrayar. And what is his objective? Assassination? Intrigue? Miles isn't going to find out from inside this cell, he doesn't think.

He flops down on the hard bench, puts his arm over his eyes to block out the glare of the light, and tries to sleep. Success is mixed at best.