An unreadable pause. "Yes, my Lord Auditor."
Capable of irony, was he? Good. Probably.
"It'll be just like watching a play," Roic reassured him. Vorlynkin's brows quirked, albeit not in an especially reassured way. Dr. Durona, engaged in examining the variegated hostas lining the walk, straightened and turned his braided head with interest as the groundcar's rear compartment canopy rose and a woman exited.
She was as sleek as the groundcar, if considerably more delicate. Her long black hair was drawn back and bundled with enameled combs in an elegant construction that Miles was sure Raven must envy. Kibou natives wore a variety of fashions both local and galactic-inspired; Miles had been here just long enough to decode her garb as business-traditional, female version. A skin-skimming top, a fitted undercoat, and the loose cord-fastened outer coat might be worn by either men or women, but then, instead of the wide trousers tied in at the ankles adopted by men, she showed off trim calves with a short skirt and leggings. All in subtle autumnal shades that set off her deep brown eyes. The overall effect was simultaneously upper-class and sexy, like a very expensive courtesan-Miles had once had the geisha tradition explained to him on a visit to Earth itself, on its island of origin, a side-benefit of having a bride with a mania for gardens. The sense that this woman was a weapon aimed directly at him came mainly from her diminutive height, which nearly matched his own, and the fact that she wore flat sandals.
"Good morning, ohayo gozaimasu." She favored them all with a formal bow, but her smile zeroed in on Miles. "Lord Vorkosigan, Consul Vorlynkin, Durona-sensei, Roic-san. Wonderful, you're all here. I am Aida, Mr. Ron Wing's personal assistant for today. I will escort you to WhiteChrys's new facility, and answer any questions you may have along the way."
I'll bet not mine, thought Miles, but returned appropriate greetings and allowed the pretty young lady to shepherd them all into the spacious groundcar. Miles wondered how much her boss had scrambled to find a hostess of that height on such short, as it were, notice.
Ron Wing was the man Miles had been holding out for yesterday, while Vorlynkin fielded oblique messages and visibly refrained from tearing his hair. Wing's official title was Head of Development; he was one of WhiteChrys's chief operating officers, and the man in ultimate charge of the Komarr expansion effort. It was his underlings who had spent so much effort cultivating Miles, and vice versa, during the cryonics conference. Now we'll see what's on the other end of their string.
Roic, Aida, and Raven took the rear-facing seat; Miles and Vorlynkin settled opposite. No one even risked bumping heads with each other in the shuffle.
"Reminds me of my Da's old groundcar," Miles murmured to Roic.
"Nah," Roic whispered back, as the driver in the front compartment, who had not been introduced, set them smoothly in motion. "This isn't even half the mass. No armor plating."
Soft-voiced Aida offered a startling variety of drinks from the car's bar, which everyone politely refused after Miles did. Miles tilted his face to the polarized canopy to get a better look at the capital from an above-ground vantage for a change. No actual mountains cradled Northbridge, but it had been long enough since the glaciers had retreated here for streams to have carved the moraines into something other than scraped-flat. The native plant species, rudimentary at best, had pretty much been displaced by urban landscaping based on Earth imports. The city was city, grown up around an infrastructure of galactic-standard transport and technology. If Miles hadn't walked through it himself, he'd have no guess of what strangeness lay below.
The view grew more interesting when they reached the west end and approached the Cryopolis proper.
"The Cryopolis began to be developed some forty years ago," Aida informed them in good guide style, "when further extension of cryofacilities beneath the city grew too expensive. Now Northbridge has grown out to meet it, and it has become its own municipality, named Western Hope."
"And how many representatives does Western Hope field to the Territorial Prefecture's legislature?" Miles inquired.
"Fourteen," she replied brightly.
As many as the parent-city itself, though it occupied a fraction of the area. "Interesting."
Roic's head swiveled around. "What t' heck…??"
"Pyramids!" said Dr. Durona happily, craning too. "Dozens of 'em! Is there a river around here called Denial?"
Miles reminded himself to repress Raven, too, at the earliest private opportunity.
Aida's permanent smile grew briefly pained, but recovered at once. "Those are the facilities of our largest cryonics services competitor, NewEgypt."
About a kilometer of sandstone wall was pierced by a high gate, flanked by huge statues of somber seated figures sporting slim canine heads.
"I saw those before," said Roic, "back at the conference. There was a fellow wandering around in a skimpy costume with a big plastic dog head, handing out flyers. Seemed more like an advertisement for a Jackson's Whole bioengineering firm."
Miles could fill in that one. "The figures are of Anubis, the Egyptian god of the dead," he explained. "They had a number of other gods with animal heads-hawks, cats, cows-that had various figurative meanings. That's actually not a dog but a jackal, which was a carrion-eating scavenger in their ancient deserts. A natural association with death for a preindustrial folk, I suppose." He glanced at Aida and refrained from expanding the parallel, though he did wonder if anyone had bothered to check the translations on those hieroglyphs decorating the walls, or whether they really read something like Ptah-hotep is a louse! or Unas owes Teti one hundred wheat sheaves and a firkin of figs.
Aida glanced at the receding figures and sniffed. "As you can see, they've taken up that era from Old Earth as their corporate theme."
More of a theme park, Miles thought.
Aida added with reluctant admiration, "The pyramids are their cryo-storage facilities. NewEgypt has found that patrons will pay a premium for the more limited luxury space on the upper levels."
"Luxury space?" said Roic. "Isn't it all t' same, once you're frozen? I mean, technologically?"
He glanced at Raven, who murmured, "One certainly trusts so…"
"Yes, but the cryo-contracts are selected and signed by the living people," Aida explained. "It has been a very appealing and successful program for NewEgypt. They've trademarked that entire historical period to block imitators." She added in a tone of some disappointment, "They were giving away live sphinxes at the conference this year, but our department head was too late to get us one."
With effort, Miles didn't blink, and so he had a good view of the next facility along their route, which featured glass towers and glittering spires wrapped with lines of colored light. The groundcar was well sound-insulated, but he could have sworn a faint bass beat penetrated the canopy. "Music?"
"Shinkawa Consolidated," their guide explained. Sure enough, they passed another gate, with the cryocorp's name displayed over it in shifting rainbow hues. "I believe they are trying to appeal to a younger crowd."
Miles tried to digest that. It wasn't going down. "Surely that would be the smallest market segment."
"Patrons are normally older when their contract is activated, yes," said Aida. "But personal affordability is improved the sooner you sign on and begin your payments. It's actually been a very effective strategy for Shinkawa. If I didn't have a cryo-contract through my own employer, as part of my benefits package, I'd consider them myself." She hid a giggle behind one well-manicured hand. "Though I probably shouldn't tell you that."