Cryoburn - Lois McMaster Bujold [55]
"You were . . . testing me?" That disturbing heat in Vorlynkin's eyes, which had started to fade, flared once more.
"Why do you suppose I hauled you along today and let you see all this?"
Vorlynkin's hands clenched on his knees, but slowly eased again. "I see. Very efficient."
"Do try to keep up." M'lord added more kindly, "It won't be easy; this case has baffled a few ImpSec analysts." He turned to Raven. "So, what did you learn of interest during the time you had with Storrs?"
Raven's mouth twisted in doubt. "I'm not sure I learned anything new. Their cryofreezing program seems perfectly legitimate-nothing wrong with their procedures from a technical standpoint. I asked to see a revival, but Storrs said there weren't any scheduled today, which by then didn't surprise me. He did show me the revival facilities. They looked quite adequate. He angled to find out if I would be interested in employment with WhiteChrys, and tried to find out my current pay rate. I said my main interests lay with cryorevival, as it's more medically challenging. He said he'd pass that along, although he didn't say who to. We came back and joined your show in progress, where you'd finished the dogs and were on to the ponies. Eh." Raven shrugged.
Vorlynkin blinked. "Lord Vorkosigan, is Dr. Durona your agent?"
"Civilian contract consultant," m'lord clarified, "being paid out of my case budget. Are you still collecting your Durona Group salary simultaneously, Raven?"
Raven smirked. "That's personal information."
"I'll take that as a yes. So don't hesitate to use Dr. Durona on double shifts, if needed."
Raven grinned and rose to prod the automatic beverage maker, strategically positioned near the secured comconsole and its satellite console. It coughed up something coffee-ish, judging by the smell. Raven picked up the cup and gestured politely toward his chair; Roic waved him back to it and took up a position propping the wall with his arms crossed, in a pose copied from a certain former ImpSec chief.
"To bring you up to speed, Vorlynkin," m'lord went on. "WhiteChrys was vetted and cleared by ImpSec when its advance teams first scouted Komarr eighteen months ago, but ImpSec was looking for connections with military espionage and the like. Their business plan passed the local Komarran commissions, and they were in. No one would have given them a second look for years, if it hadn't been for some good old-fashioned nepotism.
"Within the last few months, as the flagship facility we saw in Wing's vid was nearing completion, WhiteChrys began collecting contracts on future customers. Not unnaturally, they targeted Solstice upper-class elderly women's clubs. At the same time, another sales team made some limited strategic stock offerings to certain wealthy and influential Komarrans, to give the local powers-that-be a stake in the future success of their operations. I expect the two sales teams didn't compare hit lists, nor realize that some wealthy old ladies are retired Komarran traders who can read a balance sheet to a gnat's eyebrow.
"And one of those little old ladies looked at the two proposals before her and said, ‘This smells, but I don't see how,' so she took it to her beloved great-niece, who said, ‘You're right, Auntie, this smells, but I don't see how,' who took the problem in turn to her devoted husband, better known as Emperor Gregor Vorbarra. Who handed it to his loyal Imperial Auditor, saying, and I quote, ‘Here, Miles, you're better at diving into the privy and coming up with the gold ring than anyone I know. Have a go.' And I said, ‘Thank you, Sire,' and took ship for Kibou-daini."
Vorlynkin blinked again. Deeply. Roic reflected that the Imperium's shrewd Komarran Empress served Gregor in more ways than just the joint production of their several scarily smart children.
M'lord went on blithely, "The other thing