"Actually, I would prefer not to give the slightest hint to anyone on Kibou that we've tumbled to them.  The ideal revenge would be to let WhiteChrys get their hand so far into the cookie jar on Komarr that they can't get it out, then cut it off at the wrist by changing the contract rules just enough on 'em to make them drop the votes.  Leaving them to be exactly what they feigned to be, a marginally profitable service company.  That would hurt enough to be a warning to others.  Brute nationalization is a last resort—it would piss off the rest of the Komarran business community regardless of the rights of the case.  It'll take some study—I'm afraid we're going to be up to our ears in lawyers before this is done—but with luck my part of the task will be over by then."  M'lord glanced up at Vorlynkin.  "So what do you think of your Lieutenant Johannes?  He's young, which makes him both poorer and potentially more gullible.  Is he reliable enough for this?"

"I . . ." Vorlynkin was given pause.  "I've never had cause to doubt him."

"And your local clerk, Yuuichi what's-his-name, Matson?"

"I've never had cause to doubt him, either.  But we've never had a situation like this before."

"That you knew," sighed m'lord.  "Yet routine travel visas for WhiteChrys personnel have been handled through the consulate all this time."

"Yes, but all we ask is business or tourism?  Plus a quick background check for criminal records."

M'lord's eyes crinkled in speculation.  "I wonder if we should add a box to tick off—Reason for travel: creepy planetary conquest . . . no, I suppose not."

Vorlynkin said slowly, "What if I hadn't tried to turn you in just now?"

"Then you wouldn't be part of this debriefing, and I'd be on the lookout for ways to nail you to the wall, too.  In passing."  M'lord stretched and rolled his shoulders.  Vorlynkin looked, Roic felt, properly thoughtful at last.

"Now, the other thing," m'lord began, but was interrupted when the sealed door chimed.

Lieutenant Johannes's voice issued from the intercom.  "Consul?  Lord Vorkosigan?"

"Yes?" responded m'lord.

"Um . . .  Your half-sized courier's just turned up at the back door.  And he's not alone."

M'lord's brows rose; Vorlynkin's drew down.  Raven cocked his head in curiosity.

"Don't let him get away, Johannes," m'lord called back.  "We'll be right there."

Motioning Roic to unseal the door, m'lord grabbed his cane and levered to his feet.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine