Cryoburn-ARC by Lois M. Bujold

and nav links and so on."
    The emergency channel was easy to find. Within minutes, Roic had talked his way back through the system to the Northbridge police. His years as a street guard gave him a good idea of just what to say to smoothly reach the folks with clout, and the boat's navigation aid provided a precise location. He reported, briefly, his experiences and Raven's to the startled but pleased Northbridge detective officer in charge of the—by now highly publicized, Roic sensed in his tone—kidnapping case. To Roic's intense worry, it seemed no one had found Lord Vorkosigan yet. As the Northbridge police scrambled, Roic closed the link and leaned back.
    "Now what?" asked Raven.
    "Now we wait."
    "For rescue? Do you think we ought to do something for the others?"
    "Lying low's better. No point in stirring up anything if our captors aren't going to miss us for a while yet. Let the Kibou fellows do their job, and hope they get here first." Roic recalled some of m'lord's cautionary lectures on local liability, a concern that m'lord himself seemed to take to heart only intermittently.
    Speaking of locals . . . Roic leaned forward again and searched out the number of the Barrayaran consulate in Northbridge. Unfortunately, the public net only supplied the public number, not the secured emergency link coded on his wristcom, presumably discarded back in the city by his captors for well-founded fear of tracers. A polite recorded voice told him to call back during office hours, or leave a message. The muted background music was a popular Barrayaran military march that gave Roic a twinge of homesickness. He was halfway through recording a succinct report on his current situation when, to his relief, he was interrupted by a live human.
    Roic recognized Lieutenant Johannes, the young driver who—along with Consul Vorlynkin himself, because m'lord was, after all, m'lord—had picked them up at the shuttleport nigh on a week ago and transported them to the conference hotel. Military attaché, ImpSec of sorts, and for all Roic knew, cook, gardener, and the consul's batman. He felt a dim sense of comradeship, contemplating Johannes.
    "Armsman Roic!" Johannes's voice was curt and anxious. "Are you all right? Where are you?"
    Roic began his summary once more; halfway through, the strained face of Consul Vorlynkin joined Johannes's image above the vid plate.
    "If you follow up with the Northbridge police from your end, you'll likely know as soon and as much as we do," Roic finished.
    Vorlynkin said, "Lord Auditor Vorkosigan is not with you—right?"
    "We haven't spotted him here. Any sign back there?"
    A too-long pause. "We aren't quite sure."
    What t'hell did that mean?
    "When you get free, report in to the consulate at once," Vorkynkin went on. "Should I send Johannes to coordinate with the police?"
    Roic scratched his head. "If m'lord's not here, there's no point t' get in a panic about us. I'll get back with the others."
    "What about me?" said Raven, either indignant or amused, it was hard to tell.
    "Who is that?" said Vorlynkin sharply.
    "Dr. Durona. An acquaintance from Escobar, one of the delegates," Roic replied.
    Raven obligingly leaned forward into range of the vid pick-up and smiled benignly. Vorlynkin frowned back.
    "M'lord would want to know he was"— safe seemed a premature claim—"with me," Roic explained.
    Vorlynkin said distantly, "You know, if you people would be more forthcoming, we could do our job of supporting you much better."
    The faint bitterness in the consul's voice was more reassuring to Roic than the man could possibly imagine. It sounded quite like Vorlynkin had undergone some recent dealing with m'lord, one that he was loath to transmit over an unsecured comlink.
    "Yes, sir," said Roic, in a mollifying tone.
    He cut the com.
    "Now what?" said Raven. "Just sit here and wait for the sirens?"
    "There had better not be sirens," said Roic. "Best they drop down and secure the hostages first before making any