Miles, Mystery & Mayhem - Lois McMaster Bujold [218]
Ryoval pursed his lips. "Let's discuss a tissue sample, then. It would do her no damage, and you could continue to enjoy her unique services uninterrupted."
"It would damage her uniqueness. Circulating counterfeits always brings down the value of the real thing, you know that, Ry." Baron Fell grinned.
"Not for some time," Ryoval pointed out. "The lead time for a mature clone is at least ten years—ah, but you know that." He reddened and made a little apologetic bow, as if he realized he'd just committed some faux pas.
By the thinning of Fell's lips, he had. "Indeed," said Fell coldly.
At this point Bel Thorne, tracking the interplay, interrupted in hot horror, "You can't sell her tissues! You don't own them. She's not some Jackson's Whole construct, she's a freeborn galactic citizen!"
Both barons turned to Bel if the mercenary were a piece of furniture that had suddenly spoken. Out of turn. Miles winced.
"He can sell her contract," said Ryoval, mustering a glassy tolerance. "Which is what we are discussing. A private discussion."
Bel ignored the hint. "On Jackson's Whole, what practical difference does it make if you call it a contract or call it flesh?"
Ryoval smiled a little cool smile. "None whatsoever. Possession is rather more than nine points of the law, here."
"It's totally illegal!"
"Legal, my dear—ah—you are Betan, aren't you? That explains it," said Ryoval. "And illegal, is whatever the planet you are on chooses to call so and is able to enforce. I don't see any Betan enforcers around here to impose their peculiar version of morality on us all, do you, Fell?"
Fell was listening with raised brows, caught between amusement and annoyance.
Bel twitched. "So if I were to pull out a weapon and blow your head off, it would be perfectly legal?"
The bodyguard tensed, balance and center-of-gravity flowing into launch position.
"Quash it, Bel," Miles muttered under his breath.
But Ryoval was beginning to enjoy baiting his Betan interruptor. "You have no weapon. But legality aside, my subordinates have instructions to avenge me. It is, as it were, a natural or virtual law. In effect you'd find such an ill-advised impulse to be illegal indeed."
Baron Fell caught Miles's eyes and tilted his head just slightly. Time to intervene. "Time to move on, Captain," Miles said. "We aren't the baron's only guests here."
"Try the hot buffet," suggested Fell affably.
Ryoval pointedly dropped Bel from his attention and turned to Miles. "Do stop by my establishment if you get downside, Admiral. Even a Betan could stand to expand the horizons of his experience. I'm sure my staff could find something of interest in your price range."
"Not any more," said Miles. "Baron Fell already has our credit chit."
"Ah, too bad. Your next trip, perhaps." Ryoval turned away in easy dismissal.
Bel didn't budge. "You can't sell a galactic citizen down there," gesturing jerkily to the curve of the planet beyond the viewport. The quaddie Nicol, watching from behind her dulcimer, had no expression at all on her face, but her intense blue eyes blazed.
Ryoval turned back, feigning sudden surprise. "Why, Captain, I just realized. Betan—you must be a genuine genetic hermaphrodite. You possess a marketable rarity yourself. I can offer you an eye-opening employment experience at easily twice your current rate of pay. And you wouldn't even have to get shot at. I guarantee you'd be extremely popular. Group rates."
Miles swore he could see Thorne's blood pressure skyrocketing as the meaning of what Ryoval had just said sunk in. The hermaphrodite's face darkened, and it drew breath. Miles reached up and grasped Bel by the shoulder, hard. The breath held.
"No?" said Ryoval, cocking his head. "Oh, well. But seriously, I would pay well for a tissue sample, for my files."