Diplomatic Immunity

“My recommendations and agreements will be reviewed by my work gang on Union Station—which is the Board of Directors of the Union of Free Habitats.”

Well, so there was a committee, but happily, they weren't here. Miles pegged her as being roughly the equivalent of a senior Barrayaran minister in the Council of Ministers, well up to his own weight as an Imperial Auditor. Granted, the quaddies had nothing in their governmental structure equivalent to a Barrayaran Count, though they seemed none the worse for the deprivation—Miles suppressed a dry snort. One layer from the top, Greenlaw had a finite number of persons to please or persuade. He permitted himself his first faint hope for a reasonably supple negotiation.

Her white brows drew in. “They called you the Emperor's Voice. Do Barrayarans really believe their emperor's voice comes from your mouth, across all those light-years?”

Miles regretted his inability to lean back in a chair; he straightened his spine a trifle instead. “The name is a legal fiction, not a superstition, if that's what you're asking. Actually, Emperor's Voice is a nickname for my job. My real title is Imperial Auditor—a reminder that always my first task is to listen. I answer to—and for—Emperor Gregor alone.” This seemed a good place to leave out such complications as potential impeachment by the Council of Counts, and other Barrayaran-style checks and balances. Such as assassination.

The security officer, Ve

Yeah, but you should see my Da . . . Miles cleared his throat. “As the Emperor is commander-in-chief of the Barrayaran military, his Voice is automatically the ranking officer of any Barrayaran force in his vicinity, yes. If the emergency so demands it.”

“So are you saying that if you ordered it, those thugs out there would shoot?” said Ve

Miles managed a slight bow in his direction, not easy in free fall. “Sir, if an Emperor's Voice so ordered it, they'd shoot themselves .”

This was pure swagger—well, part swagger—but Ve

Miles continued, “Nevertheless, while it's not hard to get any group of persons excited enough to shoot at things, one purpose of military discipline is to ensure they also stop shooting on command. This is not a time for shooting, but for talking—and listening. I am listening.” He tented his fingers in front of what would be his lap, if he were sitting. “From your point of view, what was the sequence of events that led to this unfortunate incident?”

Greenlaw and Ve

Ve

Here was a new player on stage. Miles kept his expression neutral. “Assaulted in what sense?”

“Broke into her living quarters, roughed her up, threw her around, broke one of her arms. They evidently had been sent in pursuit of a certain Barrayaran officer who had failed to report for duty—”

“Ah. Would that be Ensign Corbeau?”

“Yes.”

“And was he in her living quarters?”

“Yes—”

“By her invitation?”

“Yes.” Ve

“By the way,” Sealer Greenlaw broke in, “your Ensign Corbeau has lately requested political asylum in the Union.”

This was new, too. “How lately?”

“This morning. When he learned you were coming.”

Miles hesitated. He could imagine a dozen scenarios to account for this, ranging from the sinister to the foolish; he couldn't help it that his mind leapt to the sinister. “Are you likely to grant it?” he asked finally.

She glanced at Boss Watts, who made a little noncommittal gesture with a lower hand and said, “My department has taken it under advisement.”

“If you want my advice, you'll bounce it off the far wall,” growled Ve

“I should like to interview Ensign Corbeau at the earliest convenience,” said Miles.

“Well, he evidently doesn't want to talk to you ,” said Ve

“Nevertheless. I consider firsthand observation and eyewitness testimony critical for my correct understanding of this complex chain of events. I'll also need to speak with the other Barrayaran—” he clipped the word hostages , and substituted, “detainees, for the same reason.”

“It's not that complex,” said Ve

“That , unfortunately, has yet to be demonstrated,” Miles countered instantly. “The trouble is that from our point of view, the arrest of Ensign Corbeau was not the begi

Ve

“How hard—or easy—is it for a downsider to disappear in Quaddiespace?”

“If I may answer that,” Bel Thorne broke in smoothly, “as that incident impinges on my department.”

Greenlaw motioned assent with a lower hand, while simultaneously rubbing the bridge of her nose with an upper.

“Boarding to and from galactic ships here is fully controlled, not only from Graf Station, but from our other nexus trade depots as well. It is, if not impossible, at least difficult to pass through customs and immigration areas without leaving some sort of record, including general vid monitors of the areas. Your Lieutenant Solian does not show up anywhere in our computer or visual records for that day.”

“Truly?” Miles gave Bel a look, Is this the straight story?

Bel returned a brief nod, Yes . “Truly. Now, in-system travel is much less strictly controlled. It is more . . . feasible, for someone to pass out of Graf Station to another Union habitat without notice. If that person is a quaddie. Any downsider, however, would stand out in the crowd. Standard missing-person procedures were followed in this case, including notifications of other habitat security departments. Solian has simply not been seen, on Graf Station or any other Union habitat.”