At length, the doorseal popped, the vault-like door swung open, and the consul admitted them.  His eyes seemed electric blue, and he was breathing fast, as though he had been running.  "You're too late," he announced.

M'lord's brows rose.  "Not a first.  What for this time?"

A muscle jumped by Vorlynkin's scowling mouth.  "I just sent a full report of what I witnessed by tight-beam to General Allegre at ImpSec HQ, Barrayar.  I never thought I'd live to see a Vorkosigan sell himself for money.  My career may be slagged, but so will yours, my Lord Auditor."

"Ah, excellent.  That's done."  M'lord kicked the door shut; it sealed with a sigh that seemed insufficiently dramatic for Vorlynkin's mood.

"What?"  Vorlynkin's fists clenched.

"Not that every man doesn't have his price," m'lord went on amiably.  "As I'm sure Wing-san would agree.  I was more afraid that if he didn't come up to scratch today, I'd have that whole parade at the conference to do over again."

If the consul didn't stop inhaling, he was going to pop a lung, Roic thought.  He put in peaceably, "Stop baiting the poor fellow, m'lord."  Now that you have what you want, anyway.  Roic didn't want to have to wrestle the man to the floor if he went for m'lord's throat, which he seemed on the verge of doing.  Was that old phrase about being mad enough to spit nails supposed to apply to, like, roofing nails, or fingernails?  Around m'lord, Roic had never been sure.

M'lord added a trifle impatiently, "Men like Wing don't go around throwing their money at potential opponents at random, Vorlynkin.  First they have to figure out that the target is bribable.  I did my best to help him decide.  Have a seat, consul, doctor.  It's time we talked."

Vorlynkin's mouth, which had opened to emit some hot remark, sagged.  "Lord Vorkosigan—is this a sting?"

"It is now."  M'lord pulled out a station chair and plunked into it.  "We weren't sure at first, which is why they sent me—I could be bait and trap at the same time, saving the Imperium on jumpship fares if nothing else."

Vorlynkin sank more slowly into a chair opposite; Roic breathed easier.  The consul glanced in dismay at the secured comconsole.  "M'lord—I sent the report."

"Don't apologize.  Your next official visitor might really be on the take, after all.  I don't intend to apologize to you, either, if it makes you feel any better.  I've seen our diplomatic personnel bought out before.  I had to make sure."

"You were . . . testing me?"  That disturbing heat in Vorlynkin's eyes, which had started to fade, flared once more.

"Why do you suppose I hauled you along today and let you see all this?"

Vorlynkin's hands clenched on his knees, but slowly eased again.  "I see.  Very efficient."