Borders of Infinity

have to be able to reach a wider audience, if I'm ever to pay my way back home. Back to my people. I want . . . out of here, before I fall down that gravity well.' She jerked an upper thumb in the general direction of the planet they orbited. 'People go downside here, who never come up again.' She paused. 'Are you afraid of Baron Fell?'

'No!' said Thorne, as Miles said, 'Yes.' They exchanged a sardonic look.

'We are inclined to be careful of Baron Fell,' Miles suggested. Thorne shrugged agreement.

She frowned, and maneuvered to the table. She drew a wad of assorted planetary currencies out of her green silk jacket and laid it in front of Miles. 'Would this bolster your nerve?'

Thorne fingered the stack, flipped through it. At least a couple thousand Betan dollars worth, at conservative estimate, mostly in middle denominations, though a Betan single topped the pile, camouflaging its value to a casual glance. 'Well,' said Thorne, glancing at Miles, 'and what do we mercenaries think of that?'

Miles leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. The kept secret of Miles's identity wasn't the only favor Thorne could call in if it chose. Miles remembered the day Thorne had helped capture an asteroid mining station and the pocket dreadnought Triumph for him with nothing but sixteen troops in combat armor and a hell of a lot of nerve. 'I encourage creative financing on the part of my commanders,' he said at last. 'Negotiate away, Captain.'

Thorne smiled, and pulled the Betan dollar off the stack. 'You have the right idea,' Thorne said to the musician, 'but the amount is wrong.'

Her hand went uncertainly to her jacket and paused, as Thorne pushed the rest of the stack of currency, minus the single, back to her. 'What?'

Thorne picked up the single and snapped it a few times. 'This is the right amount. Makes it an official contract, you see.' Bel extended a hand to her; after a bewildered moment, she shook it. 'Deal,' said Thorne happily.

'Hero,' said Miles, holding up a warning finger, 'beware, I'll call in my veto if you can't come up with a way to bring this off in dead secret. That's my cut of the price.'

'Yes, sir,' said Thorne.

Several hours later, Miles snapped awake in his cabin aboard the Ariel to an urgent bleeping from his comconsole. Whatever he had been dreaming was gone in the instant, though he had the vague idea it had been something unpleasant. Biological and unpleasant. 'Naismith here.'

'This is the duty officer in Nav and Com, sir. You have a call originating from the downside commercial comm net. He says to tell you it's Vaughn.'

Vaughn was the agreed-upon code name of their pick-up. His real name was Dr. Canaba. Miles grabbed his uniform jacket and shrugged it on over his black T-shirt, passed his hands futilely through his hair, and slid into his console station chair. 'Put him through.'

The face of a man on the high side of middle age materialized above Miles's vid plate. Tan-skinned, racially indeterminate features, short wavy hair greying at the temples; more arresting was the intelligence that suffused those features and quickened the brown eyes.Yep, that's my man, thought Miles with satisfaction. Here we go. But Canaba looked more than tense. He looked distraught.

'Admiral Naismith?'

'Yes. Vaughn?'

Canaba nodded.

'Where are you?' asked Miles.

'Downside.'

'You were to meet us up here.'

'I know. Something's come up. A problem.'

'What sort of problem? Ah—is this channel secure?'

Canaba laughed bitterly. 'On this planet, nothing is secure. But I don't think I'm being traced. But I can't come up yet. I need . . . help.'

'Vaughn, we aren't equipped to break you out against superior forces—if you've become a prisoner—'

He shook his head. 'No, it's not that. I've . . . lost something. I need help to get it back.'

'I'd understood you were to leave everything. You would be compensated later.'

'It's not a personal possession. It's something your employer wants very badly. Certain . . . samples, have been removed from my . . . power. They won't take me without them.'

Dr. Canaba took Miles for a mercenary hireling, entrusted with minimum classified information by Barrayaran Security. So. 'All I was asked to transport was you and your skills.'

'They didn't tell you everything.'

The hell they didn 't. Barrayar would take you stark naked, and be grateful. What was this?

Canaba met Miles's frown with a mouth set like iron. 'I won't leave without them. Or the deal's off. And you can whistle for your pay, mercenary.'

He meant it. Damn. Miles's eyes narrowed. 'This is all a bit mysterious.'

Canaba shrugged acknowledgment. 'I'm sorry. But I must . . . Meet with me, and I'll tell you the rest. Or go, I don't care which. But a certain thing must be accomplished, must be … expiated.' He trailed off in agitation.

Miles took a deep breath. 'Very well. But every complication you add increases your risk. And mine. This had better be worth it.'

'Oh, Admiral,' breathed Canaba sadly, 'it is to me. It is to me.'

Snow sifted through the little park where Canaba met them, giving Miles something new to swear at if only he hadn't run out of invective hours ago. He was shivering even in his Dendarii-issue parka by the time Canaba walked past the dingy kiosk where Miles and Bel roosted. They fell in behind him without a word.

Bharaputra Laboratories were headquartered in a downside town Miles frankly found worrisome; guarded shuttleport, guarded syndicate buildings, guarded municipal buildings, guarded walled residential compounds; in between, a crazy disorder of neglected aging structures that didn't seem to be guarded by anyone, occupied by people who slunk. It made Miles wonder if the two Dendarii troopers he'd detailed to shadow them were quite enough. But the slithery people gave them a wide berth; they evidently understood what guards meant. At least during daylight.

Canaba led them into one of the nearby buildings. Its lift tubes were out-of-order, its corridors unheated. A darkly-dressed maybe-female person scurried out of their way in the shadows, reminding Miles uncomfortably of a rat. They followed Canaba dubiously up the safety ladder set in the side of a dead lift tube, down another corridor, and through a door with a broken palm-lock into an empty dirty room, greyly lit by an unpolarized but intact window. At least they were out of the wind.

'I think we can talk safely here,' said Canaba, turning and pulling off his gloves.

'Bel?' said Miles.

Thorne pulled an assortment of anti-surveillance detectors from its parka and ran a scan, as the two guards prowled the perimeters. One stationed himself in the corridor, the second near the window.

'It scans clean,' said Bel at last, as if reluctant to believe its own instruments. 'For now.' Rather pointedly, Bel walked around Canaba and scanned him too. Canaba waited with bowed head, as if he felt he deserved no better. Bel set up the sonic baffler.

Miles shrugged back his hood and opened his parka, the better to reach his concealed weapons in the event of a trap. He was finding Canaba extraordinarily hard to read. What were the man's motivations anyway? There was no doubt House Bharaputra had assured his comfort—his coat, the rich cut of his clothing beneath it, spoke of that —and though his standard of living surely would not drop when he transferred his allegiance to the Barrayaran Imperial Science Institute, he would not have nearly the opportunities to amass wealth on the side that he had here. So, he wasn't in it for the money. Miles could understand that. But why work for a place like House Bharaputra in the first place unless greed overwhelmed integrity?

'You puzzle me, Dr. Canaba,' said Miles lightly. 'Why this mid-career switch? I'm pretty well acquainted with your new employers, and frankly, I don't see how they could out-bid House Bharaputra.' There, that was a properly mercenary way to put it.