Cryoburn-ARC (18 page)

M'lord added a trifle impatiently, "Men like Wing don't go around throwing their money at potential opponents at random, Vorlynkin. First they have to figure out that the target is bribable. I did my best to help him decide. Have a seat, Consul, Doctor. It's time we talked."

Vorlynkin's mouth, which had opened to emit some hot remark, sagged. "Lord Vorkosigan—is this a
sting
?"

"It is now." M'lord pulled out a station chair and plunked into it. "We weren't sure at first, which is why they sent me—I could be bait and trap at the same time, saving the Imperium on jumpship fares if nothing else."

Vorlynkin sank more slowly into a chair opposite; Roic breathed easier. The consul glanced in dismay at the secured comconsole. "M'lord—I
sent
the report."

"Don't apologize. Your next official visitor might really be on the take, after all. I don't intend to apologize to you, either, if it makes you feel any better. I've seen our diplomatic personnel bought out before. I had to make sure."

"You were
.
.
.
testing me?" That disturbing heat in Vorlynkin's eyes, which had started to fade, flared once more.

"Why do you suppose I hauled you along today and let you see all this?"

Vorlynkin's hands clenched on his knees, but slowly eased again. "I see. Very efficient."

"Do try to keep up." M'lord added more kindly, "It won't be easy; this case has baffled a few ImpSec analysts." He turned to Raven. "So, what did you learn of interest during the time you had with Storrs?"

Raven's mouth twisted in doubt. "I'm not sure I learned anything new. Their cryofreezing program seems perfectly legitimate—nothing wrong with their procedures from a technical standpoint. I asked to see a revival, but Storrs said there weren't any scheduled today, which by then didn't surprise me. He did show me the revival facilities. They looked quite adequate. He angled to find out if I would be interested in employment with WhiteChrys, and tried to find out my current pay rate. I said my main interests lay with cryorevival, as it's more medically challenging. He said he'd pass that along, although he didn't say who to. We came back and joined your show in progress, where you'd finished the dogs and were on to the ponies. Eh." Raven shrugged.

Vorlynkin blinked. "Lord Vorkosigan, is Dr. Durona your
agent
?"

"Civilian contract consultant," m'lord clarified, "being paid out of my case budget. Are you still collecting your Durona Group salary simultaneously, Raven?"

Raven smirked. "That's personal information."

"I'll take that as a yes. So don't hesitate to use Dr. Durona on double shifts, if needed."

Raven grinned and rose to prod the automatic beverage maker, strategically positioned near the secured comconsole and its satellite console. It coughed up something coffee-ish, judging by the smell. Raven picked up the cup and gestured politely toward his chair; Roic waved him back to it and took up a position propping the wall with his arms crossed, in a pose copied from a certain former ImpSec chief.

"To bring you up to speed, Vorlynkin," m'lord went on. "WhiteChrys was vetted and cleared by ImpSec when its advance teams first scouted Komarr eighteen months ago, but ImpSec was looking for connections with military espionage and the like. Their business plan passed the local Komarran commissions, and they were in. No one would have given them a second look for years, if it hadn't been for some good old-fashioned nepotism.

"Within the last few months, as the flagship facility we saw in Wing's vid was nearing completion, WhiteChrys began collecting contracts on future customers. Not unnaturally, they targeted Solstice upper-class elderly women's clubs. At the same time, another sales team made some limited strategic stock offerings to certain wealthy and influential Komarrans, to give the local powers-that-be a stake in the future success of their operations. I expect the two sales teams didn't compare hit lists, nor realize that
some
wealthy old ladies are retired Komarran traders who can read a balance sheet to a gnat's eyebrow.

"And one of those little old ladies looked at the two proposals before her and said, ‘This smells, but I don't see how,' so she took it to her beloved great-niece, who said, ‘You're right, Auntie, this smells, but I don't see how,' who took the problem in turn to her devoted husband, better known as Emperor Gregor Vorbarra. Who handed it to his loyal Imperial Auditor, saying, and I quote, ‘Here, Miles, you're better at diving into the privy and coming up with the gold ring than anyone I know. Have a go.' And I said, ‘Thank you, Sire,' and took ship for Kibou-daini."

Vorlynkin blinked again. Deeply. Roic reflected that the Imperium's shrewd Komarran Empress served Gregor in more ways than just the joint production of their several scarily smart children.

M'lord went on blithely, "The other thing wealthy old Komarrans tend to have is an excess of planetary voting shares—er, Raven, do I need to explain these to you?"

"Yes, please," said Raven, settling back and looking fascinated.

"The system, as usual, is a relict of Komarr's colonization history. The planet is presently unlivable—though undergoing long-term terraforming—all settlement is in sealed arcologies, the Domes."

"I knew that much
.
.
."

"Right. So to encourage the development of the domes, the early Komarran colonists set up a reward system. In addition to an inalienable one-person-one-vote that every Komarran is born and dies with, the colony awarded additional votes to those taking on the work and risk of creating more living space. These were inheritable, tradable, salable, and in general accumulate-able. The basis of the Komarran oligarchy as it now stands is clan possession of blocks of these planetary voting shares. The place is putatively a democracy, but some are measurably more equal than others. You follow?"

Raven nodded.

"So," said Vorlynkin, who had, after all, had two years to watch Kibou-daini in operation, "you think WhiteChrys plans to accumulate those votes wholesale?"

"I do now. Mind you, Komarr has a long history of attempted chicanery with its voting system. Over time it's accumulated a huge number of rules to thwart same. Among other things, voting shares can't be held outright by corporations—they have to be in the hands of individuals. There are tested systems for proxies, and so on. WhiteChrys's contracts passed muster with the Komarran regulators, and, if anybody had still been looking by that point, we'd have accepted that.

"My two working hypotheses are either that WhiteChrys has bribed some regulators—a possibility I now find quite compelling—or that they have figured out some way to game the rules system to hide their true intention till too late. Or both."

Roic couldn't help thinking that m'lord oughtn't to look
quite
so admiring, detailing this in front of the still-gently-steaming Vorlynkin. But, well, m'lord.

"The one thing that gave me pause was that there was no way this could be a get-rich-quick scheme, even if the Komarran system of voting shares gives it a turbo-boost compared to Kibou. The profit margin on what is arguably a service industry is razor-thin, yet WhiteChrys has been spending money like a drunken Vor lord. Why go to all this trouble for a payoff you'll never live to see? Until the last thing Wing said to me this afternoon, which was that he planned to have
himself
frozen on Komarr."

M'lord looked around proudly, as if expecting the room to burst into applause, and was plainly disappointed to receive three blank looks instead.

He inhaled, visibly backing up. "Unpack, Miles, right. What I now suspect is going on is a two-tiered scam. I think there is an inner cadre of White Chrys executives who plan to ride out the years in cryo-stasis, and all be revived in time to collect the goodies. In fact, if they're as smart as I think, they likely plan to take turns, so there's always someone on the team awake to look after their interests. While they quietly, automatically, bloodlessly
buy
Komarr. Or maybe not so bloodlessly, depending on whether you consider early freezing to be murder or suicide, or not. The slowest, subtlest, and, I have to say, creepiest planetary conquest scheme ever devised!"

Even Vorlynkin jumped at that, his lips parting in consternation. "Conquest!"

"I hardly know what else to call it. But I still have a hell of a lot of dots to connect before I can sign off on this investigation. As soon as we get your consulate deep data crawlers up and running, that's the first thing I want to look for—a list of WhiteChrys personnel who have lately shifted all their investments to WhiteChrys Solstice, and are planning to follow them in person. Because, given the numbers, I also think it possible that this is could be a secret group
inside
WhiteChrys who are gutting
their own company
to feather their nests."

"Whew!" said Raven, with proper admiration. M'lord bestowed a pleased smile upon him.

Vorlynkin ran his hands through his hair. "How do you plan to nail the bastards? Bribing an Imperial Auditor may be as illegal as all hell on Barrayar, but we're on Kibou-daini. Even if you could prove it—and I'm afraid my testimony would be suspect, here—I doubt Wing would get more than a slap on the wrist."

"Actually, I would prefer not to give the slightest hint to anyone on Kibou that we've tumbled to them. The ideal revenge would be to let WhiteChrys get their hand so far into the cookie jar on Komarr that they can't get it out, then cut it off at the wrist by changing the contract rules
just
enough on 'em to make them drop the votes. Leaving them to be exactly what they feigned to be, a marginally profitable service company.
That
would hurt enough to be a warning to others. Brute nationalization is a last resort—it would piss off the rest of the Komarran business community regardless of the rights of the case. It'll take some study—I'm afraid we're going to be up to our ears in lawyers before this is done—but with luck my part of the task will be over by then." M'lord glanced up at Vorlynkin. "So what do you think of your Lieutenant Johannes? He's young, which makes him both poorer and potentially more gullible. Is he reliable enough for this?"

"I
.
.
." Vorlynkin was given pause. "I've never had cause to doubt him."

"And your local clerk, Yuuichi what's-his-name, Matson?"

"I've never had cause to doubt him, either. But we've never had a situation like this before."

"That you knew," sighed m'lord. "Yet routine travel visas for WhiteChrys personnel have been handled through the consulate all this time."

"Yes, but all we ask is
business or tourism?
Plus a quick background check for criminal records."

M'lord's eyes crinkled in speculation. "I wonder if we should add a box to tick off—
Reason for travel: creepy planetary conquest
.
.
.
no, I suppose not."

Vorlynkin said slowly, "What if I hadn't tried to turn you in just now?"

"Then you wouldn't be part of this debriefing, and I'd be on the lookout for ways to nail you to the wall, too. In passing." M'lord stretched and rolled his shoulders. Vorlynkin looked, Roic felt, properly thoughtful at last.

"Now, the other thing," m'lord began, but was interrupted when the sealed door chimed.

Lieutenant Johannes's voice issued from the intercom. "Consul? Lord Vorkosigan?"

"Yes?" responded m'lord.

"Um
.
.
.
Your half-sized courier's just turned up at the back door. And he's not alone."

M'lord's brows rose; Vorlynkin's drew down. Raven cocked his head in curiosity.

"Don't let him get away, Johannes," m'lord called back. "We'll be right there."

Motioning Roic to unseal the door, m'lord grabbed his cane and levered to his feet.

Chapter Nine

The kitchen of the consulate seemed homey, if spacious by Jin's standards. Maybe it was the cool dusk falling in the back garden that made it so warm and bright. Maybe it was all the dishes piled in the sink that made it look so, well, kitchen-y, as if a fellow could wander in and out to snack at will without being yelled at, even. But the noise of all the footsteps clumping up from the basement made Jin shift uneasily, and when Mina's little hand stole into his and clutched hard, he didn't shake her off.

Jin's timid knock had been answered by Lieutenant Johannes, who'd taken one look, cried
You!
and hustled them both inside, though he'd looked askance at Mina; added
Wait right there, don't move
; and thumped downstairs before Jin could get three words into his much-rehearsed explanation of how the police had taken Miles-san's money. So Jin was expecting the fierce-eyed Consul Vorlynkin, but behind him loomed the biggest Barrayaran Jin had seen yet, half a head taller than the tall consul. He wore clothes that reminded Jin of a military uniform, had short wavy brown hair and a firm square-jawed face, and looked older than Johannes but younger than the consul. Mina stared up at him with her mouth hanging open.

The big Barrayaran so filled up what had, till a moment before, seemed a wide doorway that it took a moment for Jin to notice the slim fellow with his hair in a neat dark braid who followed him, and another moment to spot Miles-san in their wake.