"That's how the two gentlemen dressed in the medical kit traced you, I imagine.  Armsman Roic, here"—Miles waved his hand; Roic nodded amiably—"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to introduce you two properly earlier—Roic followed them.  More or less.  And took you away from them.  Did you recognize them, by the way?"

"Hans and Oki?  Of course.  The Gang of Four's pet muscle."

"Highly paid, these coworkers of yours?"

"Oh, yah."  Leiber smiled sourly.  "And great job security, too."

"As good as yours?"

"Not as far as I know.  Lucky for them."  Leiber squinted.  "Took me away how?"

"Stunner," said Roic.

"That's illegal!"

"No, actually, I have a local permit.  Bodyguard, y'know."

Official government bodyguard, in point of fact.  Which was as close as Vorlynkin had been able to get to Armsman on the Prefecture's application form.  Roic had acquired even odder designations in past ventures, true.

"Who the hell are you people, anyway?"  Leiber sat up indignantly; Roic tensed a trifle.  "Did you steal Lisa from me?"

"Her cryochamber is safe," said Miles, truthfully.  It was still tucked away down the hall.

"Not for long if NewEgypt's onto me!"

"You're safe too, for the moment.  We're holed up in an old decommissioned cryofacility on the south side of town, if you want to know.  Out of sight, out of mind."

"Not likely," muttered Leiber, subsiding.

"How about this," said Miles.  "I'll tell you what I know, and you tell me what I don't know."

"Why should I?"

"We'll come to that.  To start with, I really was a Barrayaran delegate to the cryo-conference."

"You're no doctor.  Or academic."  Leiber frowned.  "Prospective patron?"

Not if I can help it.  "No, I'm an Imperial Auditor.  A high-level investigator for my government.  Among my several tasks here is to study the social and legal problems Kibou-daini faces as a result of its deep engagement with cryonics.  I shall inevitably be tapped as an advisor to upgrading Barrayar's admittedly-archaic legal codes, to avoid repeating your mistakes, if we can."  Granted, that wasn't his explicit task, but Gregor was bound to think of it sooner or later.  Miles shuddered to foresee another few years of arm wrestling subcommittees from the Councils of Counts and Ministers, just like his last gig about galactic reproductive and cloning technologies.  On the bright side, he could go home every night; on the less bright, work would follow him there . . .  "The punishment for a job well done, as it were.  But it didn't take long to figure out that the only troubles the conference seriously addressed were the technical ones."

Raven waved agreement.

Miles went on, "The rest was pretty much cryocorps sales pitches.  So I went looking on my own."

"For troubles?  Well, you've found mine."

"Indeed, and instructive they are."

Leiber hunched, looking offended.