Cryoburn - Lois McMaster Bujold [34]
Vorlynkin said, "Lord Auditor Vorkosigan is not with you-right?"
"We haven't spotted him here. Any sign back there?"
A too-long pause. "We aren't quite sure."
What t'hell did that mean?
"When you get free, report in to the consulate at once," Vorkynkin went on. "Should I send Johannes to coordinate with the police?"
Roic scratched his head. "If m'lord's not here, there's no point t' get in a panic about us. I'll get back with the others."
"What about me?" said Raven, either indignant or amused, it was hard to tell.
"Who is that?" said Vorlynkin sharply.
"Dr. Durona. An acquaintance from Escobar, one of the delegates," Roic replied.
Raven obligingly leaned forward into range of the vid pick-up and smiled benignly. Vorlynkin frowned back.
"M'lord would want to know he was"-safe seemed a premature claim-"with me," Roic explained.
Vorlynkin said distantly, "You know, if you people would be more forthcoming, we could do our job of supporting you much better."
The faint bitterness in the consul's voice was more reassuring to Roic than the man could possibly imagine. It sounded quite like Vorlynkin had undergone some recent dealing with m'lord, one that he was loath to transmit over an unsecured comlink.
"Yes, sir," said Roic, in a mollifying tone.
He cut the com.
"Now what?" said Raven. "Just sit here and wait for the sirens?"
"There had better not be sirens," said Roic. "Best they drop down and secure the hostages first before making any noise." That was what he'd suggested, at least.
After a longer pause, Raven said, "The Liberators didn't really act like they wanted to kill us. Just convert us."
"Panic does odd things to people."
Raven sighed. "You could stand to be more reassuring, Roic, you know?"
Huddling around the indicator lights as if at a very tiny campfire, they waited in the darkness.
Miles rattled the consulate's wrought-iron front gate, found it locked, and stared over it wearily. Beyond a dainty front garden sat a dinky house, overshadowed by its grander neighbors, although at least it looked well-kept. Maybe it had once been servants' quarters? Kibou-daini had never been considered strategically important enough to spend much Imperial money upon, its system being in a wormhole cul-de-sac on the far side of Escobar, well outside of Barrayar's web of influence. This consulate existed mainly to ease the occasional Barrayaran or more likely Komarran trading venture through planetary regulations, aid any members of the Imperium who found themselves in local trouble, and direct and quietly vet the even rarer Kibou traveler planning to visit the Imperium. Miles's arrival was likely the most excitement the place had endured in years. Yeah, well, it's about to get more so.
The pre-dawn chill was damp and penetrating, his legs were cramped, and his back ached. He sighed and clambered awkwardly over the gate, retrieved his cane, stumped up the short walk, and leaned on the door chime.
The porch and hall lights flicked on; a face peered through the glass, and the door opened a crack. A young man Miles didn't recognize spoke in a Kibou accent: "Sir, you'll have to come back during business hours. We open in about two more-"
Miles wedged his cane through the opening, levered it wider, put his head down, and barged in.
"Sir-!"
The minion was only saved from a shattering blast of Auditorial ire by Consul Vorklynkin strolling through an archway at the back of the hall, saying, "What is it, Yuuichi? . . . Oh my God, Lord Vorkosigan!"
Showing a swift sense of self-preservation, Yuuichi fell back from between them.
Vorlynkin, tall and lean, was half-dressed in trousers, shirt, and slippers, bleary-eyed, and clutching a mug that steamed with the gentle perfume of hot green tea. Miles was so distracted by the smell that he was almost thrown off his well-rehearsed opening, but he'd had a lot of hours this past night to rehearse.
"Vorlynkin, what the hell have you done with my courier?"
Vorlynkin's spine snapped straight, unconsciously revealing a military hitch sometime