"Why indeed," Miles agrees mildly, secretly deeply relieved, but knows there's more to it than that. Only confirmed by what his clone follows up with, with the implications in it. Glaring implications, if Miles reads them right. He shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, his foot tapping restlessly on the ground.
"But you're only half-right," he goes on. "It doesn't matter whose hand is on the trigger when it's pulled. In the end, it's about responsibility. It doesn't spare you the blood on your hands -- only sends it by proxy."
He spreads his own hands, as if to demonstrate the blood Mark can't see, spilled like invisible ink over his hands. Talking about this doesn't make Miles any more at ease than anything else they've talked about thus far, but he won't lie. He's a soldier, and a commander, at that. Much though he's never once relished in it, he knows he has blood on his hands. Starting with that one jump pilot he'd permitted Bothari to torture, all those years ago...
"You don't need power not to kill," Miles says, leaning forward to tap his fingers on the tabletop. He fixes his clone with a serious gaze, lips pressed together, another entreaty to listen, to understand. "Unless the only distinction you're only interested in making here is whether or not you do it with your own hands. But sending someone else to do your dirty work? You still ruin more than one man in the process."
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"But you're only half-right," he goes on. "It doesn't matter whose hand is on the trigger when it's pulled. In the end, it's about responsibility. It doesn't spare you the blood on your hands -- only sends it by proxy."
He spreads his own hands, as if to demonstrate the blood Mark can't see, spilled like invisible ink over his hands. Talking about this doesn't make Miles any more at ease than anything else they've talked about thus far, but he won't lie. He's a soldier, and a commander, at that. Much though he's never once relished in it, he knows he has blood on his hands. Starting with that one jump pilot he'd permitted Bothari to torture, all those years ago...
"You don't need power not to kill," Miles says, leaning forward to tap his fingers on the tabletop. He fixes his clone with a serious gaze, lips pressed together, another entreaty to listen, to understand. "Unless the only distinction you're only interested in making here is whether or not you do it with your own hands. But sending someone else to do your dirty work? You still ruin more than one man in the process."