Cryoburn - Lois McMaster Bujold [50]
They were all gathered up again and conveyed to lunch, which was served in a low building overlooking more gardens and a koi pond. The space was all paper screens and tatami mats, plus more art glass and those flower arrangements consisting of a handful of pebbles, three sticks, two buds, and a blossom. They sat on silk cushions at a couple of low lacquer tables. Miles had Wing on one side and Aida on the other, all to himself; Storrs hosted Vorkynkin, Roic, and Raven at the second table. A pair of servers brought in a succession of delicate dishes all looking like miniature sculptures, and Miles finally allowed Aida to serve him an odd-tasting clear wine in a flat ceramic cup. He wondered if the vessel's design was meant to be self-limiting; anyone too drunk must spill the contents down their front. He managed not to, barely.
Aida facilitated the conversation onto a series of pleasant, neutral topics, all the while inching nearer, her coat and undercoat loosened to strategically reveal the swell of her breasts beneath her low-cut top. Miles suspected pheromone perfumes, but the message hardly needed the boost; this young lady could be part of his bribe if he wished. Alas, Aida had shown no sign of knowing enough dirt to cultivate, and anyway he didn't need to look every kind of corruptible. There was such a thing as artistic restraint. Miles pulled out his holovid cube and showed off pictures of his magnificent wife and adorable children, and she backed off, although he also vented a few complaints about the high costs of raising a family, and Wing inched nearer, encouraging him in this vein. Miles drank more weird wine and grinned foolishly.
WhiteChrys would have kept refilling Miles's cup till he slid under the table, he was sure. He only wound up the party by repeated hints about Vorlynkin needing to get back to his duties. Aida slipped across to entertain the other group, while Wing took Miles on a turn around the pond, "to clear our heads." Miles's head, at least, cleared quite quickly when Wing at last got down to some very specific details about how Miles's new shares were to be secretly transferred. He supposed he shouldn't think of it as Quick work, my Lord Auditor; from foreplay to coitus in one afternoon. But who was being screwed? And why, why, why was he being bribed?
"I truly believe in the Komarr project," Wing told him, with apparent sincerity. And a touch of euphoria, though Miles couldn't tell if it was induced by the wine or the closing of the negotiations; to Wing, he suspected, they were interchangeable. The man harbored an almost Jacksonian passion for winning in the Deal. "In fact, I've switched all my own stock and options from WhiteChrys to WhiteChrys Solstice. I've even placed my own cryo-contract with the new facility, that's how much I'm behind it. So you see I've put my money and my life where my mouth is." His dark eyes almost sparkled with this revelation.
And Miles, connections boiling up at last, thought, Ye gods. I think you've just handed me your head.
Chapter Eight
The wolf spider was perky and sharp in a black coat with white stripes and neat dots, like an aristocrat in a historical holovid dressed for a night on the town. Jin could clearly count all eight eyes in its fierce little face, two bright black buttons looking back at him, crowned by four more above, and another on each side of its head. Beneath its-no, beneath her abdomen clung a bundle of fine white fluff, like a tiny cotton ball-an egg case? Was she going to be a mama spider? Prone on