Chapter Three
Miles trailed Jin through another unlocked metal door, down some stairs into a disturbingly darkened corridor, through a utility tunnel, and into yet another building. Subliminal sounds and smells, as well as better lighting, suggested this one was occupied, and indeed, around another turn they came to what had obviously once been an employee kitchen and cafeteria. About a dozen people lingered there, some cooking, some eating. All watched in wary silence as the pair passed, except for a young woman working at an industrial-sized mixer who spotted Jin, waved a large spoon in the air, and called him to breakfast.
Jin faltered, sniffing at the aroma of baked goods wafting from her vicinity, but then smiled and shook his head. “Later, Ako! I got a guest!” Miles stared back over his shoulder as Jin drew him onward.
Along a corridor two flights up, they passed a row of doors to what formerly, Miles thought, might have been offices, but now seemed to be living quarters. Through the open ones he saw filtered daylight, and piles of personal junk variously tidy or messy, the sort of shabby, battered goods that only folks who feared they couldn’t get more would ever use, or save. The people he glimpsed seemed to be mostly dozing in bedrolls on the floor, or puttering quietly. A few residents squinted back at Miles as they passed. While they seemed a mix of ages, a disproportionate number were elderly. Maybe the able-bodied young ones, like Ako-the-cook, were out doing things?
This place was drawing power and water enough to maintain decency, if not such luxuries as lift tubes. No signs of buckets used as chamber pots, stairwells doubling as urinals, or cookfires set in wastebaskets or bathtubs. So where was the power coming from, and the sewage going to? Was someone here paying for utilities, or were they being secretly siphoned from the municipal systems? The answers, Miles thought, might be revealing, if only he had time to pursue them.
Up another floor lay a corridor with fewer doors. Jin stopped at one on the end and knocked briskly. He waited a minute, leaning his shoulders on the wall and swinging one foot, then rapped again, louder.
“Yah, yah,” a gruff voice sounded from within. “I hear you. Don’t get your undies in a knot.”
The door opened a hand-span. Miles dropped his gaze to not much higher than his own eyelevel, and found a seamed face scowling back at him. “What’s this?” the grumbling voice demanded sharply. “Oh, it’s you, Jin. What are you doing, bringing a stranger up here?”
“Yani and I found him last night,” said Jin. “He was lost.”
The red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “What, is that Yani’s druggie?”
Miles cleared his throat, conscious of his piratical beard stubble. “Drugged, ma’am, but not a druggie. I had an unfortunate allergic reaction to some medication, in the course of which I was robbed and stumbled into the Cryocombs. It took me quite a while to find my way out again.”
“You’re not from around here.”
“No, ma’am.”
Jin jumped in: “He wants to use your comconsole, Suze-san.”
The scowl deepened. “You can’t call out on it. It only inloads.”
This seemed unlikely to Miles, but for starters, he would take whatever he could get. It was plain this Suze really didn’t like him here. An un-trusted outsider who Saw Too Much could come to a bad end, in a secretive community. Granted he hadn’t spotted any bully boys, but murder didn’t take muscle; slyness would do as well. “I just want to check the news, ma’am. Till I get my wallet and IDs back, I have to beg kindness from strangers.”
Suze snorted. “You find many kindly strangers where you come from?”
“I’ve always found enough.” A dozen times over, Miles’s life had been handed back to him by people he barely knew. “I figure it gives me an obligation to take my turn being one.”
“Huh,” said Suze.
“Jinni and Lucky both like him,” Jin testified in anxious aid.
Thin lips quirked. “Oh, well, if the rat and the cat both agree, who am I to argue… ?” After another moment, the door swung open, and Jin shooed him in.
Suze might have been any age from a hard-worn eighty to a well-preserved century. She had certainly, Miles thought, been a head taller a couple of decades back; now she would need sturdy shoes to top five feet, but instead wore flat plastic sandals that snapped her dry-skinned heels as she stepped. That head was covered with frizzed and unruly gray curls. She might have seemed younger if she’d smiled, but the frown-grooves were deeply set around her pursed mouth. Her loose trousers, shirt, and over-shirt were not a set, but being black, black, and black, they could not mis-match.
Her quarters consisted of two rooms. An antechamber filled with much the same sort of junk storage Miles had glimpsed below-stairs might once have been the domain of some receptionist. The room beyond, a generous corner office with windows on two sides, had surely been executive territory. A rumpled bedroll lay along one inner wall; he spied the comconsole, with desk and chair, along the other. A battered table held a ewer and washbasin, damp towels, and a faint scent of soap competing with the close, old-woman air of the place. The tall storage cupboard, doors shut, might have held anything. A couple of spare swivel chairs, a couch leaking stuffing, and two armchairs, all used office furniture, suggested that Suze might not be as reclusive as she looked.
Suze gestured him to the comconsole. “It’s open.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Miles said, sliding into the station chair. Suze and Jin watched over his shoulder. Finding the local news feeds took only moments. He selected Nexus standard English from a menu of some dozen supported local language options, half of which he could not identify. Although Barrayaran Russian was most certainly not among them, which might come in handy should he need private speech with his bodyguard—if Roic was still alive…
As he’d suspected, yesterday morning’s uproar at the cryo-conference was well covered. The vid commentary, as usual, was cursory and not too informative, but the detail-supplements proved more useful; they included a complete list of the kidnapped, with pictures, and pleas from the local authorities for anyone with information to step forward. Roic and Miles were both on the list, as was Dr. Durona, unfortunately. Two different extremist organizations, neither of which Miles had previously heard of—so much for his ImpSec reports on Kibou-daini—were claiming credit, or blame, for the kidnappings.
“That’s you!” said Jin in excitement, pointing to Miles’s face on the holovid. Miles didn’t think it a flattering shot, but apparently it was recognizable. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, just now. Jin went on, “Miles Vor—vor—vorkaseegain.”
“Vor-ko-suh-g’n,” Miles corrected automatically.
“So, you were caught up in that stupid mess,” said Suze. “Galactic, are you?”
She was not as unaware of the news as Jin. Interesting. “The kidnappers seemed to be targeting off-worlders. A group of us had been assembled in the lobby for a guided tour. It was listed on the public schedule, so the snatch wasn’t necessarily an inside job.”
“You just said you were robbed.”
“So I was, right down to my shoes. But the sedative they jabbed me with as they were dragging me off was an unfortunate choice. Instead of knocking me out, it made me manic. I broke away.”
“Why didn’t you go back to the hotel?”
“Well, and then there were the hallucinations. About ten hours of them, I think.”
Suze regarded him in deep suspicion. Miles hoped it sounded too screwy a tale to have been made up.
Nine delegates taken—no, eight, subtracting Miles, although the kidnappers hadn’t confessed to losing him. The Barrayaran consulate here, tiny as it was, would surely already have reported this, though the message could not yet have arrived home. Damn. Admiral Miles Naismith, free mercenary, had never owned a home address, nor hostages to fortune. Lord Auditor Miles Vorkosigan did. He couldn’t not report in. And yet, what an interesting chance to become temporarily invisible had been handed to him…