Wing took a seat behind his big black glass comconsole desk, folding his hands and looking up in wary inquiry. "You say you have an emergency, Lord Vorkosigan?"

Miles picked a sphinx hair off the sleeve of his gray jacket and tried to remember what he was about. "No, I'd say you do." He sat back and scowled, wishing his feet touched the floor.

Wing seemed alert, but not alarmed. "How so?"

"I've spent a few days poking around Northbridge after the conference, and after our conference. Figuring out just what I'm getting into with my new investment. There turns out to be a hitch. Did you know?" Miles let his scowl go suspicious, in hopes of putting Wing on the defensive.

Wing merely said, "Hm?"

Miles reminded himself to keep in character while he delivered the bad news; smart enough to be believed, not so smart as to be a threat. "The structure of my compensation for services to be rendered depends on the value of my WhiteChrys Solstice shares rising, not falling. If they fall, I will be left holding not a profit, but a debt!"

"They won't fall," said Wing confidently.

"I beg to differ. Your parent company, here, is about to suffer a major financial blow."

Wing did not immediately go on soothing him, but said, "How so?"

"You know all those commodified contracts you've bought from NewEgypt? You've been sold a lot of dud dead. It turns out that a particular brand of cryo-fluid on the market between fifty and thirty years ago breaks down after a couple of decades, rendering patrons nonrevivable. Brains turned to slush, as my technical consultant so vividly phrased it. Increasingly, any revivals from that period which used that product are likely to fail. Your patrons' kin are owed back millions in nuyen and all those votes."

Wing's lips parted in genuine surprise. "Is this true?"

"You can check it yourselves, as soon as you point your labs in the right direction."

Wing sank back in his chair. "I certainly shall."

"NewEgypt is your culprit. The commodified contracts scam originated from there, as I understand it-generated by a fellow named Anish Akabane, their chief financial officer."

Wing nodded slowly. "I know him. Clever bastard!" He sounded more admiring than outraged.

"It seems to me you have a clear case against NewEgypt, you and every other cryocorp in Northbridge who's been suckered. You might even combine forces in a joint suit."

Wing squinted in no-doubt-rapid thought. "Only if it could be proved they knew."

"It could be proved they knew at least eighteen months ago. You can certainly bring the bandits down."

Wing held up a hand. "Slow down, Lord Vorkosigan! I share your outrage, but I don't think the course you suggest will work to protect your investment."

Leaving aside the airy nature of Miles's investment. "Sir?"

"This is confidential? You've told no one else?"

"I started with you. I'd planned to go on down the row of every corp in the Cryopolis, after."

"I'm so glad you came to me first. You did the right thing."

"So I hope, but what do you mean?"

"We have to think first of protecting the value of WhiteChrys and the interests of its shareholders, including yourself. First-after checking the facts, of course-we have this clear, if obviously limited, opportunity to unload our own liabilities. It would be the height of irresponsibility not to seize it. It would be far better for WhiteChrys to let this problem come out slowly and naturally from other sources, rather than springing it on the public all at once and creating an avoidable crisis."

"I'm not sure I follow you." I'm afraid I do. Damn. This dog won't fight.

Wing shook his head. "Every other responsible cryocorp operating team would agree with me. This isn't something to publicize. It could be very damaging not only to WhiteChrys, but to the whole industry, even to the economy at large."

"So you're talking not a joint suit, but a, but a, a joint cover-up?" Don't sputter, Miles told himself.

"Cover-up is too strong a term." Wing sighed as if in regret. "Though it would certainly be preferable all around. But if this problem has come so close to the surface that even an off-worlder's casual inspection can uncover it, it's clearly far too late for concealment to be effective. The news must be about to break."

Not so casual as all that, but Miles wasn't about to tell Wing the details.

Wing tapped his fingertips on the black glass of his desktop. "A small head-start for us, I think. And then-yes-I think it would be best for me to go to our competitor colleagues myself. Considering the aspects of this that threaten us all. Perhaps in a few weeks. Ah, yes! Lord Vorkosigan, your investment will be safe with us. Just leave it to me!" He sat back, smiling again, although gears plainly turned behind his eyes.

"But where, in all this, do those NewEgypt bastards get nailed to the wall?" Miles tried to keep his tone plaintive and not outraged.

"Have you ever heard the phrase, Living well is the best revenge?"

"Where I come from, someone's head in a bag is generally considered the best revenge."

"Well, ah, hm. Different cultures and all that. Well. You have delivered me a great deal to do this afternoon, none of which was on my previous schedule." A broad hint, that, for Miles to decamp and let Wing go grapple with his damage control.

Miles could just picture it; the corps drawing together not in collision but in collusion. "You've given me a lot to think about, Wing-san."

"And the reverse, I'm sure. Some tea, before you go?" Wing was clearly torn between social etiquette and getting on with this new crisis.

Cruelly, Miles said, "Why, yes!" Thus combining living well and revenge, he supposed, if a petty one. They repaired to the outer office, where the secretary was already engaged in filling Roic with green tea and almond cookies, and giving him admiring and grateful glances. The sphinx made plaintive noises from behind the bars of a large…?sphinx-carrier.

"I'm so glad you're taking her," said the secretary, with a nod at the cage while pouring for Miles and her boss from a delicate porcelain pot. "She's a very loving creature, and quite tame, but she just doesn't fit our decor."

"Ah!" said Wing, brightening. "Have you finally found her a home, Yuko? Good work! I'll be so glad to get that litter box out of the executive washroom."

Miles stared reproachfully at Roic. "We're getting a sphinx?" Why? Or possibly, Why me, God?

Roic looked uncomfortable. "I said I knew someone who'd love t' have her."

"Ah." Miles trusted Roic had received some value in return. Information, hopefully. The secretary seemed a little too old for him, but whether her interest in his Barrayaran manliness was romantic or maternal hardly mattered, as long as it was friendly. And forthcoming.

Miles limited his revenge to one cup, then let himself be gently ushered out. Two underlings were produced to cart away the sphinx's food, dishes, toys, extra hats, and sanitary arrangements. Roic lugged the carrier, and oversaw it all stuffed into the back of the consulate's lift van. The sphinx's voice rose in unholy protest as they drove out under the red torii gate once more. "Aowt! Aowt!"

"Which way now, m'lord? Any other stops?"

"Not…?yet, I think. My brilliant plan for fixing this mess and getting us all on our way back home just tanked. Tell you all about it on the way back to town."

"Yes, m'lord."

Jin let himself quietly out of the isolation booth, where both his mother and Mina were napping, Mina curled on the foot of the bed like a cat. His mother looked washed-out and pale, a little scary but nothing like that other woman Miles-san and Raven-sensei had failed to revive. Jin's joy at finding her alive had crashed through him like a great wave, but now that the first flush of relief was receding, he felt all tumbled and strange. Everything was uncertain again, with the grownups back in charge. Where would they go to live now? What would happen to his creatures? Would they make him go back to school? How soon? Would he have to be stuck in with kids a year younger than him?