She gave a gingerly half-nod.  "What Seiichiro had discovered was that a certain formulation of cryo-preservative that was on the market a generation or so ago broke down chemically after a few decades.  There must be thousands, maybe millions of people who were treated with it locked up in the corps freezers who are truly dead, not revivable.  Meaning their votes are void and their assets due to be returned to their heirs.  There must be billions of nuyen at stake from that alone.  And that's without even getting to the vast legal costs, plus all the procedures that will have to be devised to figure out which patrons from that period are which."

Miles blew out a soundless whistle, pieces of his puzzle slotting into place at light speed.  Commodified contracts, indeed!  Oh, he wanted an ImpSec meta-economics analyst to go with the forensic accountant from Escobar, and he wanted them now.  With all the data-penetrating equipment they could carry, pre-keyed to the peculiarities of Kibou's planetary net.

And he'd order them the moment he was back at the consulate.  But for the next few days, he was stuck with his old original organic brain.  A used model, at that, sadly battered by all the wear and tear.

What he said out loud was, "Yeah, that would sure account for it all."  Including, perhaps, poor Alice Chen, who'd been left by Leiber in Sato's place—as a decoy, or as a clue?  Or as a time-bomb?

"We thought this was a revelation that could truly jolt the cryocorps' hold on Kibou," said Lisa Sato.  "Even break their grip."  She stared around her cubicle, down at her lately-thawed hands.  "I suppose we were right."  Her brow furrowed.  "Wait.  You mean to say they've still kept this silent for the past year and a half?  It wasn't a secret the corps could keep forever—as more and more bad revives turn up from that generation, disproportionately, people are bound to notice the pattern.  That's part of why George wanted to strike quickly, for the maximum public impact.  Why didn't . . . oh."  She turned suddenly bleak eyes upon Miles, who flinched in anticipation of what was coming next.  "What happened to the six of us?  Why didn't anyone get the word out, after I was taken away?  Were we all taken away?"

"I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, Madame Sato, but that's what it looks like.  Kang, Khosla, and you were all frozen under questionable diagnoses within a few days of the rally.  George Suwabi supposedly crashed his lightflyer into a lake, and Madame Tennoji fell from her apartment house balcony to her death, after excessive drinking.  Needless to say, I should think it most interesting to see someone from your police homicide bureau reopen those two cases.  Er . . . did she drink to excess?"