Cryoburn - Lois McMaster Bujold [110]
"I'm not sure I follow you." I'm afraid I do. Damn. This dog won't fight.
Wing shook his head. "Every other responsible cryocorp operating team would agree with me. This isn't something to publicize. It could be very damaging not only to WhiteChrys, but to the whole industry, even to the economy at large."
"So you're talking not a joint suit, but a, but a, a joint cover-up?" Don't sputter, Miles told himself.
"Cover-up is too strong a term." Wing sighed as if in regret. "Though it would certainly be preferable all around. But if this problem has come so close to the surface that even an off-worlder's casual inspection can uncover it, it's clearly far too late for concealment to be effective. The news must be about to break."
Not so casual as all that, but Miles wasn't about to tell Wing the details.
Wing tapped his fingertips on the black glass of his desktop. "A small head-start for us, I think. And then-yes-I think it would be best for me to go to our competitor colleagues myself. Considering the aspects of this that threaten us all. Perhaps in a few weeks. Ah, yes! Lord Vorkosigan, your investment will be safe with us. Just leave it to me!" He sat back, smiling again, although gears plainly turned behind his eyes.
"But where, in all this, do those NewEgypt bastards get nailed to the wall?" Miles tried to keep his tone plaintive and not outraged.
"Have you ever heard the phrase, Living well is the best revenge?"
"Where I come from, someone's head in a bag is generally considered the best revenge."
"Well, ah, hm. Different cultures and all that. Well. You have delivered me a great deal to do this afternoon, none of which was on my previous schedule." A broad hint, that, for Miles to decamp and let Wing go grapple with his damage control.
Miles could just picture it; the corps drawing together not in collision but in collusion. "You've given me a lot to think about, Wing-san."
"And the reverse, I'm sure. Some tea, before you go?" Wing was clearly torn between social etiquette and getting on with this new crisis.
Cruelly, Miles said, "Why, yes!" Thus combining living well and revenge, he supposed, if a petty one. They repaired to the outer office, where the secretary was already engaged in filling Roic with green tea and almond cookies, and giving him admiring and grateful glances. The sphinx made plaintive noises from behind the bars of a large . . . sphinx-carrier.
"I'm so glad you're taking her," said the secretary, with a nod at the cage while pouring for Miles and her boss from a delicate porcelain pot. "She's a very loving creature, and quite tame, but she just doesn't fit our décor."
"Ah!" said Wing, brightening. "Have you finally found her a home, Yuko? Good work! I'll be so glad to get that litter box out of the executive washroom."
Miles stared reproachfully at Roic. "We're getting a sphinx?" Why? Or possibly, Why me, God?
Roic looked uncomfortable. "I said I knew someone who'd love t' have her."
"Ah." Miles trusted Roic had received some value in return. Information, hopefully. The secretary seemed a little too old for him, but whether her interest in his Barrayaran manliness was romantic or maternal hardly mattered, as long as it was friendly. And forthcoming.
Miles limited his revenge to one cup, then let himself be gently ushered out. Two underlings were produced to cart away the sphinx's food, dishes, toys, extra hats, and sanitary arrangements. Roic lugged the carrier, and oversaw it all stuffed into the back of the consulate's lift van. The sphinx's voice rose in unholy protest as they drove out under the red torii gate once more. "Aowt! Aowt!"
"Which way now, m'lord? Any other stops?"
"Not . . . yet, I think. My brilliant plan for fixing this mess and getting us all on our way back home just tanked. Tell you all about it on the way back to town."
"Yes, m'lord."
Jin let himself