Vorlynkin blinked again. Deeply. Roic reflected that the Imperium’s shrewd Komarran Empress served Gregor in more ways than just the joint production of their several scarily smart children.
M’lord went on blithely, “The other thing wealthy old Komarrans tend to have is an excess of planetary voting shares—er, Raven, do I need to explain these to you?”
“Yes, please,” said Raven, settling back and looking fascinated.
“The system, as usual, is a relict of Komarr’s colonization history. The planet is presently unlivable—though undergoing long-term terraforming—all settlement is in sealed arcologies, the Domes.”
“I knew that much…”
“Right. So to encourage the development of the domes, the early Komarran colonists set up a reward system. In addition to an inalienable one-person-one-vote that every Komarran is born and dies with, the colony awarded additional votes to those taking on the work and risk of creating more living space. These were inheritable, tradable, salable, and in general accumulate-able. The basis of the Komarran oligarchy as it now stands is clan possession of blocks of these planetary voting shares. The place is putatively a democracy, but some are measurably more equal than others. You follow?”
Raven nodded.
“So,” said Vorlynkin, who had, after all, had two years to watch Kibou-daini in operation, “you think WhiteChrys plans to accumulate those votes wholesale?”
“I do now. Mind you, Komarr has a long history of attempted chicanery with its voting system. Over time it’s accumulated a huge number of rules to thwart same. Among other things, voting shares can’t be held outright by corporations—they have to be in the hands of individuals. There are tested systems for proxies, and so on. WhiteChrys’s contracts passed muster with the Komarran regulators, and, if anybody had still been looking by that point, we’d have accepted that.
“My two working hypotheses are either that WhiteChrys has bribed some regulators—a possibility I now find quite compelling—or that they have figured out some way to game the rules system to hide their true intention till too late. Or both.”
Roic couldn’t help thinking that m’lord oughtn’t to look quite so admiring, detailing this in front of the still-gently-steaming Vorlynkin. But, well, m’lord.
“The one thing that gave me pause was that there was no way this could be a get-rich-quick scheme, even if the Komarran system of voting shares gives it a turbo-boost compared to Kibou. The profit margin on what is arguably a service industry is razor-thin, yet WhiteChrys has been spending money like a drunken Vor lord. Why go to all this trouble for a payoff you’ll never live to see? Until the last thing Wing said to me this afternoon, which was that he planned to have himself frozen on Komarr.”
M’lord looked around proudly, as if expecting the room to burst into applause, and was plainly disappointed to receive three blank looks instead.
He inhaled, visibly backing up. “Unpack, Miles, right. What I now suspect is going on is a two-tiered scam. I think there is an inner cadre of White Chrys executives who plan to ride out the years in cryo-stasis, and all be revived in time to collect the goodies. In fact, if they’re as smart as I think, they likely plan to take turns, so there’s always someone on the team awake to look after their interests. While they quietly, automatically, bloodlessly buy Komarr. Or maybe not so bloodlessly, depending on whether you consider early freezing to be murder or suicide, or not. The slowest, subtlest, and, I have to say, creepiest planetary conquest scheme ever devised!”
Even Vorlynkin jumped at that, his lips parting in consternation. “Conquest!”
“I hardly know what else to call it. But I still have a hell of a lot of dots to connect before I can sign off on this investigation. As soon as we get your consulate deep data crawlers up and running, that’s the first thing I want to look for—a list of WhiteChrys personnel who have lately shifted all their investments to WhiteChrys Solstice, and are planning to follow them in person. Because, given the numbers, I also think it possible that this is could be a secret group inside WhiteChrys who are gutting their own company to feather their nests.”
“Whew!” said Raven, with proper admiration. M’lord bestowed a pleased smile upon him.
Vorlynkin ran his hands through his hair. “How do you plan to nail the bastards? Bribing an Imperial Auditor may be as illegal as all hell on Barrayar, but we’re on Kibou-daini. Even if you could prove it—and I’m afraid my testimony would be suspect, here—I doubt Wing would get more than a slap on the wrist.”
“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 traveclass="underline" 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
The kitchen of the consulate seemed homey, if spacious by Jin’s standards. Maybe it was the cool dusk falling in the back garden that made it so warm and bright. Maybe it was all the dishes piled in the sink that made it look so, well, kitchen-y, as if a fellow could wander in and out to snack at will without being yelled at, even. But the noise of all the footsteps clumping up from the basement made Jin shift uneasily, and when Mina’s little hand stole into his and clutched hard, he didn’t shake her off.