Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [238]
Ungari left Overholt to Miles, or vice versa. It was a little hard to tell who had been left in charge of whom. Overholt seemed to be acting less like a subordinate and more like a nanny all the time, discouraging Miles's attempted explorations of the Consortium, insisting he keep safely to his hostel room. They waited now to board an Escobaran commercial liner slated for a nonstop run to Escobar, where they would report to the Barrayaran Embassy, which would no doubt ship them home. Home, and with nothing to show for it.
Miles checked his chrono. Another twenty minutes to kill before boarding. They might as well go sit. With an irritable glance at his shadow Overholt, Miles trudged wearily down the concourse. Overholt followed, frowning general disapproval.
Miles brooded on Livia Nu. In fleeing from her erotic invitation he'd surely missed the adventure of his short lifetime. Yet that hadn't been the look of love on her face. Anyway, he'd worry about a woman who could fall madly in love at first sight with Victor Rotha. The light in her eyes had been more on the order of a gourmet contemplating an unusual hors d'oeuvre just presented by the waiter. He'd felt like he'd had parsley sticking out of his ears.
She might have been dressed like a courtesan, moved like a courtesan, but there'd been none of the courtesan's eagerness to please about her, nothing servile. The gestures of power in the garments of powerlessness. Unsettling.
So beautiful.
Courtesan, criminal, spy, what was she? Above all, who did she belong to? Was she Liga's boss, or Liga's opponent? Or Liga's fate? Had she killed the rabbity man herself? Whatever else she was, Miles was increasingly convinced, she was a key piece in the puzzle of the Hegen Hub. They should have followed her up, not fled from her. Sex wasn't the only opportunity he'd missed. The meeting with Livia Nu was going to bother him for a long time.
Miles looked up to find his way blocked by a pair of Consortium goons—civil security officers, he corrected his thought ironically. He stood, feet planted, and lifted his chin. What now? "Yes, gentlemen?"
The big one looked to the enormous one, who cleared his throat. "Mr. Victor Rotha?"
"If I am, then what?"
"An arrest order has been purchased for you. It charges you with the murder of one Sydney Liga. Do you wish to outbid?"
"Probably." Miles's lip curled in exasperation. What a development. "Who's bidding for my arrest?"
"The name is Cavilo."
Miles shook his head. "Don't even know him. Is he with Polian Civil Security, by chance?"
The officer checked his report panel. "No." He added chattily, "The Polians almost never do business with us. They think we ought to trade them criminals for free. As if we wanted any back!"
"Huh. That's supply and demand for you." Miles blew out his breath. Illyan was not going to be thrilled about this charge on his expense account. "How much did this Cavilo offer for me?"
The officer checked his panel again. His brows rose. "Twenty thousand Betan dollars. He must want you a lot."
Miles made a small leaky noise. "I don't have that much on me."
The officer pulled out his come-along stick. "Well, then."
"I'll have to make arrangements."
"You'll have to make arrangements from Detention, sir."
"But I'll miss my ship!"
"That's probably the idea," the officer agreed. "Considering the timing and all."
"Suppose—if that's all this Cavilo wants—he then withdraws his bid?"
"He'll lose a substantial deposit."
Jacksonian justice was truly blind. They'd sell it to anyone. "Uh, may I have a word with my assistant?"
The officer pursed his lips, and studied Overholt suspiciously. "Make it fast."
"What d'you think, Sergeant?" Miles turned to Overholt and asked lowly. "They don't seem to have an order for you. . . ."
Overholt looked tense, tight mouth annoyed and eyes almost panicked. "If we could make it to the ship . . ."
The rest hung unspoken. The Escobarans shared the Polian disapproval of Jacksonian Consortium "law." Once aboard the liner, Miles would be on Escobaran "soil"; the captain