[ Madness in his genetic code. Byerly does have interesting feelings about his family, doesn't he, and there's a curious something in his eyes at that, a lift of his head. He does want to ask about that. ]

Work I did was special-ops, not spying. Less clandestine as in with a smile and a bottle of wine, and more clandestine as in a controlled explosion for an entry point and a rooftop extraction with minimal incidental fatalities. Maybe under a dozen, if we could manage it.

The work you usually did was with that, then? High society affairs. I'd hope even High Vor aren't nearly as pretentious as the Cetagandans tended to be, unless there's lords travelling around in bubbles somewhere.