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and Empress Laisa, to give Ekaterin a much-needed holiday from a spouse who diagnosed all complaints as a sign of boredom, to be alleviated with an exciting new task. Since Lady Vorkosigan already ran an enormous household, rode herd on four children under the age of six and a teenage son from a prior marriage, played political hostess for her husband in his roles both as an Imperial Auditor and as the Count's heir, had undertaken supervisory responsibilities for agriculture and terraforming in the Vorkosigan's District, and tried desperately, in her spare seconds, to maintain a garden design business, bets were on below-stairs as to when she would break and respond to m'lord's idea of husbandly help by defenestrating the little man from the fourth floor of Vorkosigan House. This trip seemed a reasonable substitute to Roic.
    But even the most loyal armsman had to go to the loo sometimes, which was why, economy be hanged, Roic argued constantly for a back-up man, or better, two, on these excursions. He'd returned . . . night before last?—or had he lost more than one day in this dazed captivity?—to the main room of the reception to discover m'lord gone, though a quick ping found him up a floor, past some winding stairs, in an even more private section of the party. Their wristcoms ran a scrambled security channel; no come-here-I-want-you code called, so Roic jittered impatiently and controlled his nerves. When m'lord at last trod back down the winding stairs, spotted Roic, and joined him, tugging down his cuffs in a self-satisfied way, his appearance was anything but reassuring. To anyone who knew him well, that is. It was the manic glitter in his eyes, and the fleeting smile, and the general air of elation. The damndest things could elate him.
    "What?" Roic had murmured in alarm, and "Later," m'lord had replied. "The walls have ears."
    Roic had to grind his teeth till midnight found them back in their shared room, where m'lord unpacked the anti-bug silencer for the first time, and his message encoder as well. He sat at the room's sole desk and began typing.
    "And so?" asked Roic. "Why do you look so happy all of a sudden?"
    "I've had my very first break in this case, after days of dead time. Someone just tried to bribe me."
    Roic stiffened. An attempt to bribe an Imperial Auditor could warrant the death penalty, on Barrayar. But we're not on Barrayar, more's the pity . "Er . . . and this is a good thing?"
    "Where there's smoke, there's fire, they say." M'lord continued cheerfully keying in whatever he was composing for Imperial Eyes Only. "Or maybe mirrors. Mind you, it was a subtle and elegant bribe. I'm almost glad I'm not dealing with idiots, here. Oh, Laisa, you were right, you were right. However did your cute Komarran nose know?"
    "What did you say?" asked Roic anxiously.
    "That's right, you were never in a galactic mercenary outfit. Or covert ops. They both have tested policies for bribes. Back in my old fleet, the rule was accept everything, register it with Command, and go do exactly what you were going to do anyway. Covert ops was similar—accept and follow up as far as the string leads. Because strings run two ways, you know. Play it out, pull it in . . . see what's on the other end . . . Hah!" He finished his entries with a flourish.
    "What kind of bribe?" Roic pressed. "Or—should I not know?" Please, don't make me work in t' damned dark!
    "Some very interesting stock options in the Shiragiku - sha—the White Chrysanthemum Cryonics Corporation, in full. WhiteChrys is the company in process of establishing a franchise on Komarr, you know. I could get in on the ground floor at a very favorable rate, it seems. In fact, they would lend me the money at no interest, to be paid back after my value doubles. Because what could be better for them than to boast a local stockholder with my insanely high connections? Though I am not, curiously enough, offered voting stock. The votes are reserved for their sub-zero