Komarr
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This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. First printing, April 1999 Distributed by Simon & Schuster Printed in the United States of America |
ISBN: 0-671-57808-1Copyright © 1998 by Lois McMaster Bujold All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. A Baen Books Original Production by Windhaven Press Electronic version by WebWrights |
NOTHING IS EVER SIMPLE . . ."When I was working on your comconsole yesterday morning, I accidentally ran across your file on Vorzohn's Dystrophy. I apologize. I can only plead that ImpSec training inculcates some pretty bad habits." He took a deep breath. "What can I do for you, Madame Vorsoisson? I am at your service." The little man half-bowed, an absurdly archaic gesture, sitting wrapped in his towels like some wizened old Count from the Time of Isolation in his robes of office. "There's nothing you can do for me," Ekaterin said woodenly. He hesitated. "Is anyone helping you?" Help. What a concept. She felt as though she might melt through the floor of the bubble car at the mere thought. She retreated from the terrible temptation. "I'm not ill. We don't require assistance." She raised her chin defiantly, and added with all the frost she could muster, "It was very wrong of you to read my private files, Lord Vorkosigan." Uncle Vorthys met them at the apartment door, still in shirtsleeves and with a data disk in his hand. "Ah! Vorkosigan! Back earlier than I expected, good. I almost rang your comm link." He paused, staring at their damp and bizarre bedragglement, but then shrugged and went on, "We had a visit from a second courier. Something for you." "A second courier? Must be something hot. Is it a break in the case?" Vorkosigan shrugged an arm free of his towel-shawl and took the proffered disk. "I'm not at all sure. They found another body." "The missing were all accounted for. A body part, surely—a woman's arm, perhaps?" Uncle Vorthys shook his head. "A body. Almost intact. Male. They're working on the identification now. They were all accounted for." He grimaced. "Now, it seems, we have a spare." |