Miles, Mystery & Mayhem - Lois McMaster Bujold [78]
In a flat voice, and with plenty of corroborative physical details, Miles described their confusing clash with the ba. The only item he changed was to report the ba reaching for its trouser pocket before he'd yelled his warning. He brought the tale up to the moment of Ivan's heroic struggle and his own retrieval of the loose nerve disruptor, and bounced it over to Ivan to finish. Ivan gave him a dirty look, but, taking his tone from Miles, offered a brief factual description of the ba's subsequent escape.
Since it lacked face paint, Miles could watch Vorreedi's face darken, out of the corner of his eye. The man was too cool and controlled to actually turn purple or anything, but Miles bet a blood pressure monitor would be beeping in plaintive alarm right now.
"And why did you not report this at our first meeting, Lord Vorkosigan?" Benin asked again, after a long, digestive pause.
"I might," said Vorreedi in a slightly choked voice, "ask you the same question, Lieutenant." Benin shot Vorreedi a raised-brow look, almost putting his face paint in danger of smudging.
Lieutenant, not my lord; Miles took the point. "The pod pilot reported to his captain, who will have reported to his commander." To wit, Illyan; in fact, the report, slogging through normal channels, should be reaching Illyan's desk right about now. Three days more for an emergency query to arrive on Vorreedi's desk from home, six more days for a reply and return-reply. It would all be over before Illyan could do a damned thing, now. "However, on my authority as senior envoy, I suppressed the incident for diplomatic reasons. We were sent with specific instructions to maintain a low profile and behave with maximum courtesy. My government considered this solemn occasion an important opportunity to send a message that we would be glad to see more normal trade and other relations, and an easing of tensions along our mutual borders. I did not judge that it would do anything helpful for our mutual tensions to open our visit with charges of an unmotivated armed attack by an Imperial slave upon the Barrayaran special representatives."
The implied threat was obvious enough; despite Benin's face paint, Miles could tell that one had hit home. Even Vorreedi looked as if he might be giving the pitch serious consideration.
"Can you . . . prove your assertions, Lord Vorkosigan?" asked Benin cautiously.
"We still have the captured nerve disruptor. Ivan?" Miles nodded to his cousin.
Gently, using only his fingertips, Ivan drew the weapon from his pocket and laid it gingerly on the table, and returned his hands demurely to his lap. He avoided Vorreedi's outraged eye. Vorreedi and Benin reached simultaneously for the nerve disruptor, and simultaneously stopped, frowning at each other.
"Excuse me," said Vorreedi. "I had not seen this before."
"Really?" said Benin. How extraordinary, his tone implied. "Go ahead." His hand dropped politely.
Vorreedi picked up the weapon and examined it closely, among other things checking to see that the safety lock was indeed engaged, before handing it equally politely to Benin.
"I'd be glad to return the weapon to you, ghem-Colonel," Miles went on, "in exchange for whatever information you are able to deduce from it. If it can be traced back to the Celestial Garden, that's not much help, but if it was something the Ba acquired en route, well . . . it might be revealing. This is a check that you can make more easily than I can." Miles paused, then added, "Who did the ba visit from the station the first time?"
Benin glanced up from his close contemplation of the nerve disruptor. "A ship moored off-station."
"Can you be more specific?"
"No."
"Excuse me, let me re-phrase that. Could you be more specific if you chose to?"
Benin set the disruptor down, and leaned back, his expression of attention to Miles, if possible,