Diplomatic Immunity

“Oh, thank God. We received a report that you were attacked.”

“All over now. They missed. Station Security is here now.”

There was a brief pause. Vorpatril's voice returned, fraught with implication: “My Lord Auditor, my fleet is on full alert, ready at your command.”

Oh, crap . “Thank you, Admiral, but stand down , please,” Miles said hastily. “Really. It's under control. I'll get back to you in a few minutes. Do nothing without my direct, personal orders!”

“Very well, my lord,” said Vorpatril stiffly, still in a very suspicious tone. Miles cut the channel.

Greenlaw was staring at him. He explained to her, “I'm Gregor's Voice. To the Barrayarans, it's as if that quaddie had fired on the Emperor, almost. When I said someone had nearly started a war, it wasn't a figure of speech, Sealer Greenlaw. At home, this place would be crawling with ImpSec's best by now.”

She cocked her head, her frown sharpening. “And how would an attack on an ordinary Barrayaran subject be treated? More casually, I daresay?”

“Not more casually, but on a lower organizational level. It would be a matter for their Count's District guard.”

“So on Barrayar, what kind of justice you receive depends on who you are? Interesting. I do not regret to inform you, Lord Vorkosigan, that on Graf Station you will be treated like any other victim—no better, no worse. Oddly enough, this is no loss for you.”

“How salutary for me,” said Miles dryly. “And while you're proving how unimpressed you are with my Imperial authority, a dangerous killer remains at large. What will it be to lovely, egalitarian Graf Station if he goes for a less personal method of disposing of me next time, such as a large bomb? Trust me—even on Barrayar, we all die the same. Shall we continue this discussion in private?” The vidcams, evidently finished with Bel, were zooming back toward him.

His head swiveled around at a breathless cry of, “Miles!” Also zooming toward him was Ekaterin, Roic lumbering at her shoulder. Nicol and Garnet Five followed in floaters. Pale of face and wide of eye, Ekaterin strode across the detritus in the lobby, gripped his hands, and, at his crooked smile, hugged him fiercely. Fully conscious of the vidcams avidly circling, he hugged her back, making sure that no journalists alive, no matter how many arms or legs they possessed, could resist putting this one up front and center. A human-interest shot, yeah.

Roic said apologetically, “I tried to stop her, m'lord, but she insisted on coming here.”

“It's all right,” said Miles in a muffled voice.

Ekaterin murmured unhappily in his ear, “I thought this was a safe place. Itfelt safe. The quaddies seemed like such peaceful people.”

“The majority of them undoubtedly are,” Miles said. Reluctantly, he released her, though he still kept a firm grip on one hand. They stood back and regarded each other anxiously.

Across the lobby, Nicol flew to Bel with much the same look on her face as had been on Ekaterin's, and the vidcams flocked after her.

Miles asked Roic quietly, “How far did you get on Solian?”

“Not far, m'lord. I decided to start with the Idris , and got all the access codes from Brun and Molino all right, but the quaddies wouldn't permit me to board her. I was about to call you.”

Miles grinned briefly. “Bet I can fix that now, by damn.”

Greenlaw returned to invite the Barrayarans to step into the hostel management's meeting room, hastily cleared as a refuge.

Miles tucked Ekaterin's hand into his arm, and they followed; he shook his head regretfully at a reporter who flitted purposefully toward them, and one of Greenlaw's Union Militia guards made a stern warding motion. Thwarted, the quaddie journalist pounced on Garnet Five instead. With a performer's reflex, she welcomed him with a blinding smile.

“Did you have a nice morning?” Miles asked Ekaterin brightly as they picked their way over the mess on the floor.

She eyed him in some bemusement. “Yes, lovely. Quaddie hydroponics are extraordinary.” Her voice went dry as she glanced around the battle zone. “And you?”

“Delightful. Well, not if we hadn't ducked. But if I can't figure out how to use this to break our deadlock, I should turn in my Auditor's chain.” He stifled a fox's smile, contemplating Greenlaw's back.

“The things one learns on a honeymoon. Now I know how to coax you out of your glum moods. Just hire someone to shoot at you.”

“Peps me right up,” he agreed. “I figured out years ago that I was addicted to adrenaline. I also figured out that it was going to be toxic, eventually, if I didn't taper off.”

“Indeed.” She inhaled. The slight trembling in the hand tucked in the crook of his elbow was lessening, and its clamp on his biceps was growing less circulation-stopping. Her face was back to being deceptively serene.

Greenlaw led them through the office corridor behind the reception area to a cluttered workroom. Its small central vid table had been swept clean of ringed cups, flaccid drink bulbs, and plastic flimsies, now piled haphazardly on a credenza shoved to one wall. Miles saw Ekaterin into a station chair and sat next to her. Greenlaw positioned her floater at chair-height opposite. Roic and one of the quaddie guards jockeyed for position at the door, frowning at each other.

Miles reminded himself to be indignant and not ecstatic. “Well.” He let a distinct note of sarcasm creep into his voice. “That was a remarkable addition to my morning's speaking schedule.”

Greenlaw began, “Lord Auditor, you have my apologies—”

“Your apologies are all very well, Madam Sealer, but I would happily trade them for your cooperation. Assuming you are not behind this incident,” he overrode her indignant splutter, continuing smoothly, “and I don't see why you should be, despite the suggestive circumstances. Random violence does not seem to me to be in the usual quaddie style.”

“It certainly is not!”

“Well, if it's not random, then it must be connected. The central mystery of this entire imbroglio remains the neglected disappearance of Lieutenant Solian.”

“It was not neglected—”

“I disagree. The answer to it might—should!—have been put together days ago, except that Tab A seems to be on one side of an artificial divide from Slot B. If pursuing my quaddie assailant is the Union's task”—he paused and raised his eyebrows; she nodded grimly—”then pursuing Solian is surely mine. It's the one string I have in hand, and I intend to follow it up. And if the two investigations don't meet in the middle somewhere, I'll eat my Auditor's seal.”

She blinked, seeming a little surprised by this turn of discourse. “Possibly . . .”

“Good. Then I want complete and unimpeded access for me, my assistant Armsman Roic, and anyone else I may designate to any and all areas and records pertinent to this search. Starting with the Idris , and starting immediately!”

“We cannot give downsiders license to roam at will over Station secure areas that—”

“Madam Sealer. You are here to promote and protect Union interests, as I am to promote and protect Barrayaran interests. But if there is anything at all about this mess that's good for either Quaddiespace or the Imperium, it's not apparent to me! Is it to you?”

“No, but—”

“Then you agree, the sooner we dig to the center of it, the better.”

She tented her upper hands, regarding him through narrowed eyes. Before she could marshal further objections, Bel entered, having apparently escaped Venn and the media at last. Nicol bobbed along beside in her floater.

Greenlaw brightened, and seized on the one auspicious point for the quaddies in the chaos of the morning. “Portmaster Thorne. Welcome. I understand the Union owes you a debt of thanks for your courage and quick thinking.”

Bel glanced at Miles—a trifle dryly, Miles thought—and favored her with a self-deprecating half salute. “All in a day's work, ma'am.”