Lois Bujold - Cryoburn

“I’m so pleased,” said Wing, “that you have allowed us to make up for some of the inconveniences you have lately suffered, Lord Vorkosigan.”

Miles made an it’s-not-your-fault wave of his free hand, undercut by a thin grimace, and returned, “We can only be grateful that no one was seriously injured or killed in the whole escapade.”

“Truly,” agreed Wing. “In exchange, this does allow us to give you a much more detailed look at our facility than the general tour would have.”

“Some exchange does seem due, yes.”

“Would you care for some refreshments? Tea? Or shall we follow galactic custom and begin right away?”

“I’d prefer to jump straight in, actually. My time here is not unlimited.”

“Right this way, then…”

The whole party shuffled off after Wing at Miles’s cane-pace, not altogether feigned. Between his underground ordeal and the usual after-effects of the damned seizures, his aches and pains were catching up with him. Aida stuck to his side, as if ready to catch him should he fall over. The prettiest public parts of the HQ building were quickly displayed, then they were wafted by float cart over to another building where actual intake of patrons occurred. Both the front lobby and the back loading docks seemed busy.

“Our patrons come from two sources,” Wing explained, leading them down the medically-scented corridors. “Some, who’ve suffered sudden and unexpected metabolic shut-downs, are actually processed by the hospitals, and then transferred to us for long-term storage. Others, who choose a less chancy mode, come in to our clinics and have us do the processing on-site.”

“Wait, they come in alive ?” asked Roic.

“The healthier you are when frozen, the better your chances of a healthy revival,” said Storrs.

“That’s quite true,” murmured Raven.

Roic’s brows drew down, and he shot a glance at Miles, who could only say, “Alas, yes.”

“Would you care for a closer look at the technical processes?” said Wing. “That section isn’t normally on the public tours, of course. We have some twenty or so freezings scheduled for today. The transfers are of course usually unscheduled.”

Miles, who had once endured the whole process far too intimately, if not consciously, waved aside the macabre treat; Roic looked relieved. Vorlynkin bore it all with a wooden expression. Raven, at Miles’s thumbs-up behind his back, took the suggestion and went off with Storrs. Miles was glad to exit the processing building; the smell of the place, while not unpleasant, was doing odd jumpy things to his backbrain.

“And how many cryorevivals do you do here in a day?” Miles asked Wing, once they were safely back in the float cart and in motion. He and Wing shared the front seat with the best view, Aida sat facing rearward at their backs, and Vorlynkin and Roic shared the last bench, not quite out of earshot.

Wing hesitated only slightly. “I would have to look that figure up.” He glanced back as the cart bowled along through the well-kept grounds. “How did you come to know Dr. Durona?” Included in this jaunt at Miles’s—well, not request; Raven had simply been announced in the seat count for the groundcar.

“He and my assistant Roic were rather thrown together during the kidnappings. A bonding experience, I gather.”

“Ah, that would explain it. Your Roic looks a fellow I’d want to duck behind in a crisis, too.” It was plain Wing had no trouble translating assistant as bodyguard . No one, looking at Roic and Miles together, ever thought anything else. Miles was fairly sure Wing had not yet decoded the complexities of Armsman . Wing went on, “I was intrigued to learn you have a relative who is a major shareholder in the Durona Group. Unless the name Vorkosigan is common on Barrayar?”

“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?”