Cryoburn-ARC (16 page)

"Mark?"
So, you've finally caught up with that
. Another clue, one of several, that Miles's Auditorial visit to Kibou had come as a surprise to the cryocorp, and they were still on the scramble to peg him. Miles had met deep-laid plots, years in fruition; Wing's maneuvers smelled of stop-gap, maybe only days old. "My younger brother, actually."

"Really!" Wing smiled. "Do you think our Komarr expansion project would be of interest to him, as well?"

Yes, but not in the way you think
. "I'd prefer to keep Mark out of this. He's a very shrewd businessman. While I've labored my whole life in public service for very little reward, he's piled up profits to envy, passing me by. One of the things that most excites me about your project is the chance at last to beat him at his own game." Miles arranged his lips in a smile of vulpine sibling rivalry.

Wing got it at once, which said something about Wing. "I quite see." He added after a moment, "And does he have anything like your influence in public affairs, Lord Vorkosigan?"

"No, he pretty much keeps to the shop."

"Too bad."

"Not from my point of view."

"And the rest of your famous family? Are you on warmer terms with them?"

"Oh, yes. Though a chance to show them
all
up doesn't come along every day." Miles let his voice turn faintly whiny. "I've always had more to prove, on Barrayar." There, let Wing digest that. A nice balance between jealous greed and the promise of an influence worth peddling.
And
it would stand up to surface inquiry.
Thank you, Brother
.

Wing's brow furrowed in doubt. "Won't Dr. Durona report back to him?"

"Let's just say I'm working on that." Miles softened his voice so the hum of the cart kept it from carrying. "You know the old saying,
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?
"

Wing nodded. "That's a good one." He hesitated. "We've prepared a presentation on the Komarr Project for you, next. Should we invite the good doctor to view another part of the facility during that?"

"It won't be necessary. Unless you have some technical innovation you prefer not to disclose to potential rivals?"

"No, the Komarr installation will be based on tried and trusted technology. Our innovations are all to the business model."

"No problem, then. I gather Raven is one of those techie types—business goes right over his head." How provincial was this fellow Wing? Raven was from bloody
Jackson's Whole,
where the Deal was art, science, war, and survival-till-dawn. "Have you ever been off-world, Mr. Wing?"

"Yes, I had a trip to your Komarr last year, when we were setting up. All business, I'm afraid—I had very little time to tour. I never got outside of the Solstice Dome."

"Ah, that's a shame."

Back in the headquarters building, they were all trundled off to a top-floor conference room, elegantly appointed with more gnarly potted treelets and fine art glass. Aida at last persuaded them to consume assorted beverages—Miles and Vorlynkin stuck to green tea, Roic to coffee—after which they were subjected to a glossy holovid presentation all about the large WhiteChrys cryonics facility presently under construction in the Solstice Dome, Komarr's planetary capital. Try as he might, Miles could spot nothing about it that was not perfectly aboveboard. Neither, with access to far more detailed data, had ImpSec Komarr. And they'd looked it over closely, incidentally picking up, with WhiteChrys's full cooperation and applause, two overcharging contractors, an embezzling customs clerk, and a ring of warehouse thieves, although none of that was mentioned in Wing's snazzy vid.

Raven and Storrs joined them about halfway through. The vid wound up in a burst of optimistic-yet-tasteful music.

Miles leaned back in his incredibly comfortable conference chair, steepling his fingers. "So, why Komarr? If you wanted to expand off-world, wouldn't Escobar have been closer?"

Wing sat up, looking happy to answer. "We did look into it. But Escobar's own cryonics services are far more mature, and are further shielded from competition by what I can only call highly protectionist regulation. Our analysts concluded that Komarr, despite the extra distance, offered far more scope for growth, which is, after all, where most profits lie. Profits in which we hope Barrayarans like yourself will share, of course. Indeed, Solstice Dome is sharing already—all the work after the design stage was contracted locally."

"I expect," said Miles judiciously, "once everyone on a planet has been sold a cryo-contract, there's no place left to go but outward." He didn't add,
Though there's one born every minute,
but it was a struggle.

"It's the hazard of a mature market, yes, I'm afraid. Although some interesting work has been done in the past year with commodifying contracts."

"Beg pardon?"

Wing's voice warmed with genuine enthusiasm. "Cryonics contracts have not been historically uniform, having been collected over many years by many institutions, often under different local laws. They yield on wildly varying bases, any of which might have grown or shrunk since the contract was activated. Companies themselves have split, combined, gone bankrupt or been bought out. Formerly, contracts and the responsibility for them have changed hands only along with the institutions holding them. But it was recently realized that a secondary market in individual contracts could provide considerable opportunity, either for profit-taking or to raise operating capital."

Miles felt his brow corrugating. "You're buying and selling the
dead
?"

"Swapping all those frozen bodies around?" Roic's horrified expression was much less controlled.

"No, no!" said Wing. Storrs seconded his boss with vigorous headshake,
No, no, no!

"That would be absurdly wasteful," Wing went on. "The patrons mostly stay right where they are, unless a facility is being upgraded or decommissioned, of course. The patrons are held on a reciprocal accounting basis, company to company. It's only their contracts that are traded." He added piously, "It's hoped that, over time, this will result in a more uniform and fairer contract structure industry-wide."

Miles translated this as,
When we've squeezed the sponge dry, we'll stop
. Judging by Raven's remarkably blank smile, quite as if he hadn't understood a single word, he was making the exact same construction.

"And, er, will you be applying that model to Komarr?" Miles asked.

"Unfortunately, no. There is no one there to trade with." Although he sighed, Wing did not seem to be especially distressed by this. Miles read that as,
We plan to be a monopoly.

"This is all quite stunning," Miles said honestly. "And what do you think of it all, Vorlynkin?" He cast the consul a jovial wink. "Ready to sign up? I suppose it's all old hat to you, though."

"Not
.
.
.
really," said Vorlynkin. "Most of my work has dealt with the concerns of the living. I had to expedite returning the remains of one poor Barrayaran tourist who was killed glacier-diving last year—very dangerous sport—and sign off on the delivery of a couple of Kibou business people who'd died of natural causes in the Empire and been shipped home. One frozen, one as ashes. There were complaints about the latter from the kin, which I forwarded to those responsible." Vorlynkin added diplomatically—how else?—"I do appreciate this behind-the-scenes view, Wing-san. It's proving an eye-opener for me." The glance under his lashes was at Miles, though.

They were all gathered up again and conveyed to lunch, which was served in a low building overlooking more gardens and a koi pond. The space was all paper screens and tatami mats, plus more art glass and those flower arrangements consisting of a handful of pebbles, three sticks, two buds, and a blossom. They sat on silk cushions at a couple of low lacquer tables. Miles had Wing on one side and Aida on the other, all to himself; Storrs hosted Vorkynkin, Roic, and Raven at the second table. A pair of servers brought in a succession of delicate dishes all looking like miniature sculptures, and Miles finally allowed Aida to serve him an odd-tasting clear wine in a flat ceramic cup. He wondered if the vessel's design was meant to be self-limiting; anyone too drunk must spill the contents down their front. He managed not to, barely.

Aida facilitated the conversation onto a series of pleasant, neutral topics, all the while inching nearer, her coat and undercoat loosened to strategically reveal the swell of her breasts beneath her low-cut top. Miles suspected pheromone perfumes, but the message hardly needed the boost; this young lady could be part of his bribe if he wished. Alas, Aida had shown no sign of knowing enough dirt to cultivate, and anyway he didn't need to look
every
kind of corruptible. There was such a thing as artistic restraint. Miles pulled out his holovid cube and showed off pictures of his magnificent wife and adorable children, and she backed off, although he also vented a few complaints about the high costs of raising a family, and Wing inched nearer, encouraging him in this vein. Miles drank more weird wine and grinned foolishly.

WhiteChrys would have kept refilling Miles's cup till he slid under the table, he was sure. He only wound up the party by repeated hints about Vorlynkin needing to get back to his duties. Aida slipped across to entertain the other group, while Wing took Miles on a turn around the pond, "to clear our heads." Miles's head, at least, cleared quite quickly when Wing at last got down to some very specific details about how Miles's new shares were to be secretly transferred. He supposed he shouldn't think of it as
Quick work, my Lord Auditor; from foreplay to coitus in one afternoon
. But who was being screwed? And why, why,
why
was he being bribed?

"I truly
believe
in the Komarr project," Wing told him, with apparent sincerity. And a touch of euphoria, though Miles couldn't tell if it was induced by the wine or the closing of the negotiations; to Wing, he suspected, they were interchangeable. The man harbored an almost Jacksonian passion for winning in the Deal. "In fact, I've switched all my own stock and options from WhiteChrys to WhiteChrys Solstice. I've even placed my own cryo-contract with the new facility, that's how much I'm behind it. So you see I've put my money
and
my life where my mouth is." His dark eyes almost sparkled with this revelation.

And Miles, connections boiling up at last, thought,
Ye gods. I think you've just handed me your head
.

Chapter Eight

The wolf spider was perky and sharp in a black coat with white stripes and neat dots, like an aristocrat in a historical holovid dressed for a night on the town. Jin could clearly count all eight eyes in its fierce little face, two bright black buttons looking back at him, crowned by four more above, and another on each side of its head. Beneath its—no, beneath
her
abdomen clung a bundle of fine white fluff, like a tiny cotton ball—an egg case? Was she going to be a
mama
spider? Prone on the floor of the musty garden shed, Jin stiffened with excitement, then drew slowly backwards, careful not to startle her into scuttling into the cracks in the floor or walls before he could find something to capture her in. She was a good size for her breed, over three centimeters, quite as long and wide as the end joint of Jin's thumb, so she was certainly a grownup spider. She seemed to wait patiently for him.

Jin stared around the shed in some frustration. It was taking a lot longer to walk from his aunt and uncle's outlying northwest suburb to the near south side of the city than he had imagined. It was partly from Mina lagging and complaining as soon as she'd grown tired, just as Jin had expected, but mostly he was afraid he'd got turned around and lost during their long trudge last night. Streets curved unexpectedly, mixing him up, and the towers of the city center, glimpsed now and then from a hill or clear space, looked much the same from any direction.

This shelter had been a splendid find, early this morning. They'd stopped to buy half-liters of milk in a corner store of a neighborhoody area, then spent the next few blocks looking for a place to hide out during school hours. One house had a
For Sale
sign out front, and a peek through the windows revealed it cleared of furniture and empty of people, safe. It had been locked up tight, but the door to the shed around back proved unlatched. The garden was high-walled and full of sheltering bushes and trees, good to hide them from prying busybodies. Better yet, they'd found an outdoor spigot with the water still turned on. Mina's lunch bars were holding out, if getting boring, but finding water had been more of a problem, though during the long march yesterday they'd twice lucked out with city parks that offered not only drinking fountains, but bathrooms. Mina had proved very cranky about going behind a bush, even in the concealing dark.

The shelves of this shed had been cleared of likely containers, unfortunately, as well as of garden tools except for one bent and rusty trowel. Jin's eye fell on his sleeping sister, curled up with her jacket folded under her head, her zippered yellow backpack beside her, decorated with smiling but anatomically mis-drawn bees. He squatted down and began rooting through it. Ah, there!

"Hey!" mumbled Mina, sitting up and yawning. Her sleep-pale face was marked with creases from her makeshift pillow, and her hair hung every which way. What was it about sleeping in the daytime that made people so hot and rumpled? "Are you stealing my money?"