Cryoburn - Lois McMaster Bujold [140]
The grownups started talking about lawyers and lawsuits and NewEgypt's evil executives, all under arrest, and Mom's old political action committee and what would happen to it next, which they'd been doing nonstop for days, practically the whole week since Suze-san's place had almost been burned down, so Jin drifted away to watch Nefertiti. Mina, equally bored, followed him.
The sphinx was crouched down in the patch of purple and white violets.
"Oh, no!" cried Mina. "She's eating them!"
Jin, worried that the consul might be attached to his violets-thin green stems, at this point, mostly-grabbed the sphinx and dragged her away, scolding.
"Fud," mumbled Nefertiti, squashed lavender petals dribbling from her mouth.
"Vorlynkin-san!" Mina called in anxiety. "Will eating violets make Nefertiti sick?"
Jin's mother gulped in dismay, except that she was also laughing, but Vorlynkin seemed barely taken aback. "I shouldn't think so. Edible flowers are sometimes put on salads, and violets, I believe, are among them. They're also served candied. It would doubtless be prudent not to let her eat too many at a time, however."
Jin and Mina both slumped in relief, for slightly different reasons, perhaps. Vorlynkin-san knew all kinds of nifty things. And he smiled at Jin's mom. And Jin's mom smiled back, which wasn't something she'd done much, lately. He was actually an all-right-all-round sort of fellow, though he needed to be brought up to speed on zoolology, if he was . . . going to stick around.
So that's all right, thought Jin.
Miles selected a table at the edge of the balcony overlooking the Escobar transfer station's main concourse. From here, one had a doubly dizzying view, of the people passing two floors below, and of a broad slice of star-specked space and Escobar's rim, glowing with light and color, through the transparent wall above. He set out three coffee bulbs, took a seat, and gestured Roic to another.
The armsman accepted a coffee bulb but shook his head at the seat, preferring to lean against the balcony rail and gaze around, appearing, alas, exactly like a bodyguard trying to look like a tourist. Roic was not fond of these exposed positions. Miles always enjoyed this cafe, when passing through here-this addition to the station was about ten years old, he recollected.
Mark appeared, spotted him-well, Roic-waved, and trod over. Miles's commercial ship was not leaving for some hours, so Mark had delayed catching the hourly downside shuttle in favor of a few more minutes with his brother. Sharing the same ship from Kibou-daini had thrown them together for a longer stretch of time than they'd had in years, even if they'd both spent much of the time en route in their separate cabins devising detailed directives to send ahead to their respective associates. Busy and absorbed was, on the whole, good. Beat the hell out of insane and dead, for example.
Mark sat down, swept up the last bulb, popped the cap with his thumb, took a swig, and grimaced. When he had time, Mark was a bit of a gourmet, finicky in his tastes for food and drink. Miles didn't think the flavor was so bad, for transfer station bulb coffee. As a practical matter, you had to allow the modifiers.
"Sorry I'm late," said Mark. "At the last moment before disembarking, I got a message from Kareen, and I wanted to play it right away."
In the privacy of his cabin. Miles nodded understanding. Mark had left Kareen and Raven behind to start the set-up for the new Durona clinic, and incidentally keep an eye on the progress of Jin's affairs, while Mark went ahead to deal with the details on the Escobar end. The separation from his partner, temporary though it was, left him notably cranky. Miles thought of Ekaterin and sighed.
"News good or news bad?" Miles asked. Though if there were anything very bad, he should have received a tight-beam from Vorlynkin.
"Not bad. Kareen reports Raven successfully