Cryoburn - Lois McMaster Bujold [136]
Ah. Gregor. The cover message would go to the Emperor's eyes and ears only. For inspiration, Miles called up a still vid of Gregor in full uniform and his sternest glower, the official pose that Gregor had dubbed the rod up my Imperial butt look. Alas, it only inspired Miles to want to clown till he made that grave face crack a smile. No, Gregor had clowns enough in his life. Starting with about half of the Council of Counts, though they seldom made him smile.
Miles hit record once more, and began with crisp efficiency.
"Good day, Gregor. As my follow-up note to Vorlynkin's little misguided emergency message last week indicated, suspicions of WhiteChrys chicanery on Komarr have proven correct. The raw data and my summations are in the main body of my report. I'm not sure what to do with the bribe. I'm not going to give it back, but it's not going to be worth what Ron Wing promised, either, which makes dumping it directly onto the Imperial Service Veterans' Hospice a questionable proposition. But we can deal with that later. I'll stop at Solstice on my return trip if ImpSec Komarr and the Imperial Councilor want to ask further questions, though really, this should be enough to get them started.
"Oh, and with respect to Vorlynkin, I want a suitable Auditorial commendation to go on his diplomatic department record for exemplary assistance during my visit, or, ah, visitation. And after, as I'm running away tomorrow and dumping all of the cleanup on the poor fellow." Better him than me.
"Meanwhile, I suppose I'd better give you a quick synopsis of the erupting NewEgypt scandal, as it has impinged on my investigation. It all started when the local loony party broke into the cryo-conference and failed to carry me off, which I described in brief in my last report, but after that . . ."
As succinctly as he could, Miles summarized the events of the past days, from Jin's arrival at the consulate's back door through the successful arrest of the NewEgypt crew. He was a little out of breath by the time he finished. Miles tried not to wince as he imagined the look on Gregor's face as he heard all this out. Nonplussed? Pained? Bland? Gregor could out-bland Pym.
"So far, no criminal charges have been leveled against me, and I trust I'll be long gone from Kibou-daini before anyone on the other side thinks of it," he concluded in cheerful reassurance.
He sought for an upbeat note on which to end. "In the department of only on Kibou, we actually got to summon the dead to testify against the bad guys, which is a moment of cosmic justice if ever there was one."
What was that creepy old quote . . . ? Something read in his Academy days, or more likely on one of his Academy leaves, an ancient tale from Old Earth. Before cryonics was invented or even imagined, so seeming strangely prescient. The words were branded in his brain, though their literary source was long forgotten, buried under the chaos of his intervening decades and possibly a touch of lingering cryo-amnesia. I will break the door of hell and smash the bolts; I will summon the dead to take food with the living, and the living shall be outnumbered by the host of them . . .
Ah, not something he cared to share with Gregor, that. Gregor, as Miles had reason to know, already had enough creepy crap stuffed into his Imperial head that it was a wonder his skull hadn't exploded. But it did bring Miles to his finale.
"I shouldn't wonder if Mark's rejuvenation research here doesn't turn out to be more important, in the long run, than my mission. Too early to judge, but the Durona Group will be something to keep an eye on, and not just ImpSec's spy-eyes, either. A private word in the ear of Laisa's great-aunt, if she's looking for a better investment than WhiteChrys Solstice, might be a suitable reward for her first bringing the affair to our attention, come to think.