Duv gets another blow to the head for that bit of sass, but Piotr holds up a hand and the soldier stops immediately mid-swing in a follow-up. Piotr's expression is hard, intent, but there's no joy in it, even in the flashes of triumph. Just a terrifying wall of sheer will.

"Now," he says evenly, kicking a small, battered chest next to his feet in front of him, "we have a baseline."

Piotr flips open the top and pulls out a handful of something thin and rust-colored, each about half the length of man's finger. "You may not know this, being Komarran," he starts, sounding dangerously conversational, "though having been on our planet for some time and seeing how incomplete the terraforming is, I'm sure by now you know that much of Barrayar's native flora is toxic to humans when ingested. Useless for food. But up here, in select parts of the Dendarii mountains -- and this, I wouldn't expect even a Barrayaran to know, if he's not a district man -- there grows a particularly hardy species of grass. Nearly as tough as bamboo, though it doesn't grow as fast."

Piotr fans the blades of grass in his palm, mindful of their points. "Lieutenant," he says, holding his hand out. The officer at Duv's left carefully retrieves the handful of grass from him, and Piotr watches, unblinking, as the officer takes the pointed end of one blade of grass and slowly pushes it under Duv's thumbnail.

"Now," Piotr says again, his voice hard, "are you working for the Cetagandans?"