The recordings dispatched to the consulate, Miles was at last clear to tackle WhiteChrys, where all this had started what was beginning to seem a rather long time ago.  Happily, he had no trouble bulling through to an immediate appointment with Ron Wing.  Miles spent the drive out to the west end mentally rehearsing his role, so as not to crack his cover while still accomplishing his aim.

They were met in Wing's outer office by a smiling executive secretary, who rose to greet them.  Also rising from a comfortable-looking chair in the corner, though with a yawn not a smile, was a startling cat-like creature, with the tawny body of a miniature lion and wings not unlike Gyre's, but a disturbingly human-looking face.  A colorful little striped head-cloth in the style of Egyptian statuary was tied under its feminine chin.  It trotted to Roic, who froze, appalled, as it wound around his legs.  It butted his knees—it must have weighed ten kilos—looked up, and opened its mouth not to say, What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs at night? but a mere breathy half-meow.

"Stop that, Nefertiti," scolded the secretary, and hoisted the beast to deposit it on her desk.  The creature switched its tufted tail and looked offended.

Miles held out a hand for it to sniff as the secretary went on, "It's all right, she doesn't bite or scratch.  She does shed, though."  She added in cheerful explanation to the still stunned-looking Roic, "They were this year's promotional giveaway by our competitor and neighbor, NewEgypt."

"I didn't see them at the conference," said Miles.

"Oh, they all went the first day.  Very popular.  They come fitted with a vocabulary of over a dozen words, and are supposed to be great with children.  And good for home security."  That last was delivered in a less confident tone.

"Where, um, did they have them made?" Miles inquired.

"Some bioengineering company on Jackson's Whole, I understood," she said.

Of course.

"They were shipped frozen, and NewEgypt was able to save money by reviving them in their own labs.  But they prove rather tricky to maintain.  Very finicky eaters."

"Cat genes . . . mostly?" said Miles.

She looked rather doubtfully at the mini-sphinx, who stared back sphinx-like.  "I would think so.  Wouldn't you?  I'll tell Mr. Wing you are here, Lord Vorkosigan."

Wing bustled out promptly to greet his self-invited guests.  Leaving Roic in the outer office to chat up the secretary, and perhaps exchange riddles with the sphinx, Miles allowed himself to be ushered into Wing's inner sanctum by the man himself and settled in a comfy and elegant gel-padded visitor's chair.  Nice corner suite, windows on two sides overlooking the buildings and serene gardens of the complex; Miles was weirdly reminded of Suze's lair.