Cryoburn-ARC by Lois M. Bujold Page B

plan."
    The kitchen was a modest tidy room, with a round dining table squeezed into a sort of bay overlooking the walled back garden. The windows mostly reflected the room's bright interior, but beyond, the night's damp blackness was turning to bluer shadow. The blond kid, the attaché Johannes, turned from the microwave and almost dropped whatever pre-packaged bachelor fare he'd just heated. At his boss's head-jerk, he hastened to pull out a chair for the very important, if very unkempt, visitor. Miles fell into it, trying not to let his gratitude overcome his exasperation, because the latter was about all that was keeping him functional.
    "Can I get you something, my lord?" asked the lieutenant solicitously.
    "Tea. Also a shower, dry clothes, food, sleep, and a secured comconsole, though I'd settle for just the comconsole, but let's start with the tea." Or else he risked pillowing his head on his arms and going for the sleep first, right here. "Did you get my don't-panic message off to Barrayar, and my wife? Coded, I trust?"
    Vorlynkin said, a little stiffly, "We notified ImpSec Galactic Affairs on Komarr that we'd heard from you, and that you were not in the hands of the kidnappers."
    "Good enough. I'll send my own update in a bit." Miles trusted it would overtake any word anyone had been maladroit enough to hand on to Ekaterin, or he'd have some groveling to do when he got home. "Meanwhile, I've had no news since yesterday. Have you heard more on the hostages taken from the cryo-conference? Anything on Armsman Roic?"
    Vorlynkin slid into his chair a quarter-wedge around the table from Miles. "Good news there, sir. Your Armsman managed to escape his captors long enough to reach a comlink of some sort and call the Northbridge authorities. The police rescue team reached them not long ago—we've been up all night following developments. It seems everyone was freed alive. I don't know how long it will take him to get back—he said he had to stay till he'd given his testimony.
    "Ah, yes. Roic has a deal more sympathy for police procedure than I do." Miles took his first swallow of hot tea with profound relief. "And the boy—wait. And who might you be?" Miles eyed Yuuichi, who had taken refuge with Johannes on the far side of the kitchen.
    "This is our consulate clerk, Yuuichi Matson," Vorkynkin put in. "Our most valuable employee. He's been here about five years." The clerk cast his boss a grateful look and slanted Miles a civil bow.
    The consulate's only employee, actually. And since Vorlynkin had been here two years, and Johannes had only arrived last year, Matson was also the oldest, in time of service if not age. Who do you trust, my Lord Auditor? In a situation like this, no one but Roic, Miles supposed, but misplaced paranoia could be as great a mistake as misplaced faith. Careful, then, but not bloody paralyzed. "So what happened to Jin?"
    "We dispatched him back to you exactly as you directed, my lord. We did take the precaution of placing a microscopic ping tracer in the envelope, however."
    Not exactly the don't follow him that Miles had written, but it would be hypocritical to quibble over fine points now. Results, after all.
    "By early evening, the envelope had come to rest in what we think is the evidence room of the Northbridge central police station—it's in that building, anyway. The boy Jin, after apparently passing through the hands of the police, ended up at the juvenile detention center, where he's been all night. With that much to go on, Lieutenant Johannes was able to access the public arrest records for yesterday, and identify him by process of elimination. It seems the boy's full name is Jin Sato, and he's a runaway who's been missing for over a year!"
    "Yes?" said Miles. "I knew that."
    Vorlynkin's diplomatic tones grew notably strained. "How the devil —sir!—did you come to involve a child like that in your affairs—whatever they are?"
    "He's eleven," said Miles.
    "Eleven! Worse and