The door hissed open, and Consul Vorlynkin stuck his head through.  "I've heard back from the lawyer, Lord Vorkosigan."

"Ah, good!"  M'lord waved him in; he stood, seeming a bit wary.  "What's the word on Jin?"

"As I thought, there is nothing we can legally do.  If he were an orphan without kin, you could apply for custody of him, but it would take some months and almost certainly be rejected by the Northbridge courts, especially if there was any hint of taking him off-planet."

"I didn't ask to adopt him, Vorlynkin.  Just rescue him from the police."

"In any case, my Lord Auditor, it's become moot—the police have already turned the boy over to his blood-kin, an aunt who is in fact his present legal guardian."

"Damn!"  M'lord slumped.  "Damn.  I hope Ako proves a more faithful zookeeper than I did."

"Well, it's not as if we could kidnap him," said Vorlynkin, with a faint smile.  M'lord eyed him.  Perhaps thinking better of this mild venture into humor, Vorlynkin cleared his throat and went back to looking bland.  Roic wondered if he should take Vorlynkin aside later and warn him not to say things like that around m'lord, and not because the Lord Auditor might take offense.

Roic rubbed sandy eyelids.  "Perhaps you'd best sleep on it, m'lord," he suggested, not without self-interest.  M'lord had plainly had the advantage of a shower and fresh clothes, but still looked as if he'd been up all night, as had they all.  And the shiny glitter in his eyes was a tip-off.  "Have you checked your neurotransmitter levels since you got back?"  The elevation of same being early warning of an impending seizure, and signal it was time to use the medical seizure-stimulator to short-circuit the fit—in some safe and controlled place.

M'lord addressed an unrevealing mutter to his shoes.

"Right," said Roic, in a very firm tone.

M'lord sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.  "Yeah, yeah."

"Can I go back to my hotel now?" asked Raven hopefully.

"Yes, but stay in touch.  In fact—Vorlynkin, please issue Dr. Durona a secured wristcom before he goes, eh?"

Vorlynkin's brows rose, but he said only, "Yes, my lord."

"I need more data," m'lord growled, to no one in particular.  He looked up appraisingly at the consul.  "All right, Vorlynkin.  If WhiteChrys or any of our other late hosts call to inquire after me, I want you to tell them that I am very upset by the disruption of the conference and the kidnapping of my Armsman.  In fact, I'm furious, and as soon as I recover from my ordeal I plan to stalk home and give a very bad report of the affair to anyone who will listen, starting with Emperor Gregor."

"Er . . . and are you?" asked Vorlynkin, sounding nonplussed.