Chapters (2)
cheekbones, skin the color of coffee and cream, and bright copper-
colored hair, tightly curled as wire, cropped close to his head. His
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eyes searched the trio anxiously, widening a little at Miles; he had only seen Miles's face that morning, over the viewscreen. "Mr.
Naismith? I'm Carle Daum. Come in."
Daum closed the door behind them quickly, and fussed at the lock.
Miles deduced they'd just passed through a weapons scan, and the
Felician was sneaking a peek at his readout. The man turned back
with a look of nervous suspicion, one hand automatically touching his right hip pocket. His gaze did not linger elsewhere in the little hotel room, and Bothari's lips twitched satisfaction at Daum's unconscious revelation of the weapon he must watch for. Legal stunner, most
likely, thought Miles, but you never know.
"Won't you sit down?" the Felician invited. His speech had a soft and curious resonance to Miles's ear, neither the flat nasal twang, heavy on the r's, of the Betans, nor the clipped cold gutturals of
Barrayar. Bothari indicated he would prefer to stand, and took up
position to Daum's right, uncomfortably far over in the Felician's
peripheral vision. Miles and Mayhew sat before a low table. Daum sat across from them, his back to a "window," actually a viewscreen, bright with a panorama of mountains and a lake from some other
world. The wind that really howled far overhead would have scoured
such trees to sticks in a day. The window silhouetted Daum, while
revealing his visitors' expressions in full light; Miles appreciated the choice of views.
"Well, Mr. Naismith," began Daum. "Tell me something about your ship. What is its cargo capacity?"
"It's an RG class freighter. It can easily handle twice the mass of your manifest, assuming those figures you put into the com system
are quite correct . . . ?"
Daum did not react to this tiny bait. Instead he said, "I'm not very familiar with jump ships. Is it fast?"
"Pilot Officer Mayhew?" Miles prodded.
"Huh? Oh. Uh, do you mean acceleration? Steady, just steady. We boost a little longer, and get there nearly as fast in the end."
"Is it very maneuverable?"
Mayhew stared. "Mr. Daum, it's a freighter."
Daum's lips compressed with annoyance. "I know that. The
question is—"
"The question is," Miles interrupted, "can we either outrun or evade your blockade. The answer is no. You see, I've done my
homework."
Frustration darkened Daum's face. "Then we seem to be wasting
each other's time. So much time lost . . ." He began to rise.
"The next question is, is there another way to get your cargo to its destination? Yes, I believe," said Miles firmly.
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