Lois Bujold - Cryoburn

A pulsing blue light was reflecting off the concrete wall, coming from the front of the building.

“Blue’s the color they use around here for emergency vehicles,” said Johannes uneasily.

“Pull around front.”

They arrived to see a pair of emergency medtechs dressed in blue scrubs yank a float pallet from the back of an unmarked van and hurry inside the sliding glass doors to the lobby. Both big fellows—one was tall, and the other looked as though he’d had some of those traditional wrestlers in his family tree. On both sides. Didn’t emergency services usually try to pair a woman in such a team? Well, not always, belike. With round the clock scheduling, as Roic knew from grappling with the guardsmen’s roster for Vorkosigan House and m’lord’s other two official residences, you took whatever combinations you could get.

“Wait here.” Roic slid out of their own van and went to take a peek in the back of the other. The rear doors had no windows, but had been left unlocked. Careless of the techs, if it was carrying drugs and expensive equipment. Roic quietly opened a door, looked inside, and raised his wristcom to his lips. “Interesting, Johannes. The cupboard is bare. This isn’t an ambulance, just a van.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Think I’ll just take a stroll inside and intercept those fellows coming out. You watch my back from there.” Roic still wasn’t sure what was happening, here, although he was formulating some rapid guesses.

An anxious young lady desk clerk was peering up the central hallway when Roic entered the lobby.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“One of our guests reported in very sick, apparently. He should have called the front desk—we would have assisted him…”

“Was he from off-world? D’you think he might have brought in something bad?” asked Roic. “Contagious?”

“No, no. Some sort of sudden seizure, I gather. He was lucky he could use his wristcom.” The clerk gathered her nerve. “I should go and lock up after them, make sure the gentleman’s property is secure.” She glanced back at Roic. “Were you checking in, sir? There’s only me on duty right now…”

“Take your time. First things first.” Roic waved her away. She trotted off up the hall to where a loaded float pallet was already being shifted out a doorway and turned. The tall man hitched an IV to a pole, bent, and checked his patient. Roic glimpsed a blanketed male form, firmly strapped down, an oxygen mask in place across his face muffling his moans. Roic stepped forward, radiating curiosity and concern, as the pallet floated out into the lobby flanked by its two escorts.

Dr. Leiber blinked up with bleared eyes and groaned behind his plastic mask.

“What happened?” Roic asked, following along out the front doors. “Is it anything dangerous? Do you need any help?”

“Thanks, no,” the tall one told him. “Everything’s under control.”

“So was it a heart attack?”

“We don’t know, yet,” said the tall one. “He just collapsed.”

“Drugs? Is this a bad area? I just landed, myself.” For once, Roic’s not-from-around-here looks and accent worked in his favor. “I was about to check in at this place and sleep off the jump-lag, but now I’m not so sure.”

The broad one scowled at him in irritation. “No, it’s fine. Go check in.” The pair swung the van doors wide and slid the pallet aboard, both climbing inside to secure it.

Roic stuck his head in after. “You sure?”

“Yes, it’s safe,” said the tall one, exasperated, from the windowless cargo area.

“Good,” said Roic, pulled his stunner, and shot them both.

That would save some heavy lifting. And scuffling. Roic hated scuffles. Just because he was big didn’t mean he liked getting hurt.

Johannes’s breathless voice sounded from his side, not his wristcom. “What the hell is going on?” When Roic had said Watch my back, he hadn’t meant from this close, but he couldn’t fault the lieutenant for curiosity. Johannes’s eyes widened, peering into the shadows.

Roic tucked his stunner away in its shoulder holster. “We just rescued Dr. Leiber. I’m not sure if he’ll see it that way, though.” He climbed into the cargo area, first checking both his victims for health. Stunner fire was by no means safe; it could trigger all sort of problems in people with underlying medical issues. Happily, these two seemed extremely fit. Having assured himself of their continued cooperation by the simple means of a light repeat stun to the base of each neck, he arranged them more tidily. He then turned to Leiber.

Roic was not called upon after all to trot out his encouraging We’ve saved you, be grateful, I’m taking you to a place of refuge speech, in which he had no faith; Leiber had lost consciousness. Roic hoped to hell it had just been a hypospray of knockout drugs, and not some deadly poison. Even if some bloody and secret murder was planned, if he were Leiber’s enemy he’d sure want him alive to question under fast-penta first. Actually, Roic wanted to question Leiber under fast-penta on his own behalf. That decision would be up to m’lord, though.

Leiber’s breathing continued evenly, and his skin did not turn any alarming colors. All right so far.

“Follow me to Madame Suze’s place,” he instructed Johannes. Dr. Durona would be there, among other useful amenities. He thought a moment. “No, better— lead me to Suze’s.”

He locked the back of the van, doused its flashing lights, and followed Johannes in convoy out of the parking lot. Roic wondered if m’lord’s approach to life, or at least to his Auditorial investigations, was rubbing off on him. He’d never used to be this cavalier about due process. It was hard to tell, sometimes, if m’lord’s style was the result of single-minded dedication to duty, habits of overweening Vor privilege, or simple insanity. Roic only knew that he had an inexplicable desire to whistle cheerfully, right now.

Instead he raised his wristcom to his lips, called m’lord, and gave a concise précis of his morning’s mission, if m’lord’s laconic order of, Roic, go nail that twit could be so grandly styled.

And then, being alone in the driver’s cab, he whistled all the way to Suze’s.

His imagination afire with possibilities, Jin sat at the consulate’s kitchen table and counted out, again, his share of the money Roic had solemnly distributed to him and Mina at breakfast that morning. Mina had already secreted hers in her backpack upstairs, but she watched him with interest as he reshuffled his stack of currency—five thousand nuyen, more than he’d ever had at one time in his life. Back in the good times, before his father had died, Jin had never been given more than five hundred even for his best birthday.

“What are you going to do with yours?” Mina asked.

“I’m not sure yet. I could buy food for my creatures for months with this. Or get something new. I always wanted to try keeping fish, but Aunt Lorna would never let me, and there was no way at Suze’s. You can’t cart fish around with you if you might have to go live on the street.”

Mina’s eyebrows knit. “Do you guess we’re going to be here that long?”

Jin hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think I have enough for a pony?”

“Where would you keep a pony? You need, like, lots of terraformed ground, I think. The back garden here’s not big enough.”

“Aunt Lorna’s patio sure wasn’t big enough,” Mina agreed. “At least Consul Vorlynkin has grass.”

Jin tried to picture this. The consulate’s patch of back lawn was barely larger than its living room. Nice for a chicken run, but he didn’t think it would work for anything much bigger. “Anyway,” he said bracingly, “you still have Lady Murasaki. Pony’s got four legs, spider’s got eight, so she has to be twice as good, right?”