Miles in Love - Lois McMaster Bujold [45]
"I'm interested in the new corpse they found this morning topside in association, apparently, with our soletta disaster. You've heard of it?"
"Only just. I haven't had a chance to view the preliminary report yet."
"I just did. It's not very informative. Tell me, what's your standard operating procedure for identifying this poor fellow? How soon do you expect to have anything substantive?"
"The identification of a victim of an ordinary accident, topside or downside, would normally be left to the local civil security. Since this one came within our orbit as possible sabotage, we're running our own search in parallel with the Komarran authorities."
"Do you cooperate with each other?"
"Oh, yes. That is, they cooperate with us."
"I understand," said Miles blandly. "How long is ID likely to take?"
"If the man was Komarran, or if he was a galactic who came through Customs at one of the jump point stations, we should have something within hours. If he was Barrayaran, it may take a little longer. If he was somehow unregistered . . . well, that becomes another problem."
"I take it he hasn't been matched with any missing person report?"
"That would have sped things up. No."
"So he's been gone for almost three weeks, but nobody's missed him. Hm."
General Rathjens glanced aside at some readout on his own comconsole desk. "Do you know you are calling from an unsecured comconsole, Lord Vorkosigan?"
"Yes." That was why all his and the Professor's reports and digests from topside were being hand-carried to them from the local Serifosa ImpSec office. They hadn't expected to be here long enough to bother having ImpSec install their own secured machine. Should have. "I'm only seeking background information just now. When you do find out who this fellow is, how are the relatives notified?"
"Normally, local dome security sends an officer in person, if at all possible. In a case like this with potential ImpSec connections, we send an agent of our own with them, to make an initial evaluation and recommend further investigation."
"Hm. Notify me first, please. I may want to ride along and observe."
"It could come at an odd hour."
"That's fine." He wanted to feed his back-brain on something besides second-hand data; he wanted action for his restless body. He wanted out of this apartment. He'd thought it had been uncomfortable that first night because the Vorsoissons were strangers, but that was as nothing to how awkward it had become now he'd begun to know them.
"Very well, my lord."
"Thank you, General. That's all for now." Miles cut the com.
With a sigh, he turned again to the stack of terraforming reports, starting with Waste Heat Management's excessively complete report on dome energy flows. It was only in his imagination that the gaze from a pair of outraged light blue eyes burned into the back of his head.
He had left the workroom door open with the thought—hope?—that if Madame Vorsoisson just happened to be passing by, and just happened to want to renew their truncated conversation, she might realize she had his invitation to do so. The awareness that this left him sitting alone with his back to the door came to Miles simultaneously with the sense that he was no longer alone. At a surreptitious sniff from the vicinity of the doorway, he fixed his most inviting smile on his face and turned his chair around.
It was Nikki, hovering in the frame and staring at him in uncertain calculation. He returned Miles's misdirected smile shyly. "Hello," the boy ventured.
"Hello, Nikki. Home from school?"
"Yep."
"Do you like it?"
"Naw."
"Ah? How was today?"
"Boring."
"What are you studying, that's so dull?"
"Nothin'."
What a joy such monosyllabic exchanges must be to his parents, paying for that exclusive private school. Miles's smile twisted. Reassured, perhaps, by the glint of humor in his eye, the boy ventured within. He looked Miles up and down more openly