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recovered. Just a moment." Rian rose, went to one of the cabinets, and
unlocked it with the encode-ring, fished from its chain around her neck. She
rummaged within, and removed a clear block about fifteen centimeters on a side
with the scarlet bird pattern incised upon the top, returned to her desk, and
placed it over the comconsole's read-pad. She tapped out some codes, and a
light flashed briefly within the block. "Very well, ghem-Colonel. I leave it
entirely to your judgment. You knew our late Lady's mind on this. You are
fully authorized, and may draw your resources as needed from the Star Crèche's
special fund."
"I thank you, Haut. I will report our progress." The ghem-colonel nodded, and
keyed off.
"What was that all about?" Miles asked brightly, trying not to look too
predatory.
Rian frowned at him. "Some old internal business of the haut-genome. It has
nothing to do with you or Barrayar, or the present crisis, I assure you. Life
does go on, you know."
"So it does." Miles smiled affably, as if fully satisfied. Mentally, he filed
the conversation away verbatim. It might make a nice tidbit to distract Simon
Illyan with later. He had a bad feeling he was going to need some major
distractions for Illyan, when he got home.
Rian put the Great Seal of the Star Crèche carefully away again in its locked
cabinet, and returned to her station-chair.
"So can you do it?" Miles pursued. "Have a lady you trust meet me, with a ba
servitor's uniform and real IDs, the false rod, and some way to check the real
one? And send her up to Prince Slyke's ship on some valid pretext, with me in
her train? And when?"
"I'm . . . not sure when."
"We have to set the meeting in advance, this time. If I'm going to go
wandering away from my embassy's supervision for several hours, you can't just
call me away at random. I have to cover my own a concoct a cover story for my
own security, too. Do you have a copy of my official schedule? You must, or we
could not have connected before. I think we should rendezvous outside the
Celestial Garden, this time, for starters. I'm going to be going to something
called the Bioestheties Exhibit tomorrow afternoon. I think I could make up an
excuse to get away from there, maybe with Ivan's help."
"So soon . . ."
"Not soon enough, in my view. There's not much time left. And we have to allow
for the possibility that the first attempt may have to be aborted for some
reason. You . . . do realize, your evidence against Prince Slyke is suggestive
only. Not conclusive."
"But it's all I have, so far."
"I understand. But we need all the margin we can get. In case we have to go
back for a second pass."
"Yes . . . you're right . . ." She took a breath, frowning anxiously. "Very
well, Lord Vorkosigan. I shall help you make this attempt."
"Do you have any guesses where on his ship Prince Slyke might be inclined to
store the Great Key? It's a small object, and a big ship, after all. My first
guess would be his personal quarters. Once aboard, is there any way of
detecting the Great Key's location? I don't suppose we're so fortunate as to
have a screamer circuit on it?"
"Not as such. Its internal power system is an old and very rare design,
though. At short range, it might be possible to pick it up with an appropriate
sensor. I will see that my lady brings you one, and anything else I can think
of."
"Every little bit helps." There. They were in motion at last. He suppressed a
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wild impulse to beg her to throw it all over and flee away with him to
Barrayar. Could he even smuggle her out of the Cetagandan Empire? Surely it
was no more miraculous a task than the one now before him. Yes, and what would
be the effect on his career, not to mention his father's, of installing a
refugee Cetagandan haut-woman and close relative of Emperor Fletchir Giaja's
in Vorkosigan House? And how much trouble would trail him? He thought
fleetingly of the story of the Trojan War.
Still, it would have been flattering, if she had indeed been trying to suborn
him, if she'd at least tried a little harder. She had not lifted a finger to
attract him; not an eyebrow arched in false invitation. She seemed
straightforward to the point of naiveté, to his own ImpSec-trained, naturally
convoluted mind. When someone fell deeply and hopelessly in love with
somebody, that somebody ought at least to have the courtesy to notice. . . .
The key word, boy, is hopelessly. Keep it in mind.
They shared no love, he and Rian, nor the chance of any. And no goals. But
they did share an enemy. It would have to do.
Rian rose in dismissal; Miles scrambled up too, saying, "Has ghem-Colonel
Benin caught up with you yet? He was assigned to investigate the death of Ba
Lura, you know."
"So I understood. He has twice requested an audience with me. I have not yet
granted his request. He seems . . . persistent."
"Thank God. We've still got a chance to get our stories straight." Miles
quickly summed up his own interview with Benin, with special emphasis on his
fictional first conversation with Rian. "We need to make up a consistent
account of this visit, too. I think he'll be back. I rather encouraged him,
I'm afraid. I didn't guess Prince Slyke would give himself away to you so
quickly."
Rian nodded, walked to the window-wall, and, pointing to various sites within
the laboratory, gave Miles a brief description of the tour she'd given Prince
Slyke yesterday. "Will that do?"
"Nicely, thanks. You can tell him I asked a lot of medical questions about . .
. correcting various physical disabilities, and that you couldn't help me
much, that I'd come to the wrong store." He could not help adding, "There's
nothing wrong with my DNA, you know. All my damage was teratogenic. Outside
your purview and all that."
Her face, always mask-like in its beauty, seemed to grow a shade more
expressionless. Rattled, he added, "You Cetagandans spend an inordinate amount
of time on appearances. Surely you've encountered false appearances before."
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