Despite this broad hint, the Professor did not break into an enlightening lecture. He just sat in his station chair, his chin cupped in his palm. After a moment, he leaned forward and called up a dizzying succession of data files from the probable-cause investigation. Ah. Here it is. A wriggly graph appeared, flanked by a list of elements and percentages running down one side. A fast pass through the data from Bollan produced another, similar list. The Professor leaned back. Ill be damned.
What? said Miles.
I did not expect to get this lucky. That, he pointed to the first graph, is an analysis of the composition of a very melted and distorted mass fragment we picked up topside. It has nearly the same composition fingerprint as this fourth device, here. The figures which are a tiny bit off are just the sort of lighter and more volatile elements Id expect to lose in such a melt. Huh. I didnt think wed ever be able to reconstruct the source of those blobs. Now we dont have to.
If that was the fourth, said Miles slowly, wheres the fifth?
The Professor shrugged. The same place as the first, second, and third?
Do you have enough information from the inventory to reconstruct its power supply? At that point, wed have the whole machine mapped, wouldnt we?
Mm, maybe. It will certainly supply some parameters. How much power? Continuous, or phased? Bollan had to know, to supply the proper coupler ah. He noodled again with the specs and fell into a study of the complicated diagram.
Miles rocked impatiently on his heels. When he felt he could no longer maintain his respectful silence without the top of his head blowing off, he said, Yes, but what does it do?
Just what it says, presumably. Generates a five-space distortion field.
Which does what? To what?
Ah. The Professor sank back in his station chair and rubbed his chin ruefully. Answering that may take a little longer.
Cant we run comconsole simulations?
To be sure. But to get the right answer, one must first correctly frame the question. I want-humph!-a mathematical physicist specializing in five-space theory. Probably Dr. Riva, shes at the University of Solstice.
If shes Komarran, ImpSec will object.
Yes, but shes here on-planet. Ive consulted her before, when I investigated a politically suspicious wormhole jump accident on the Sergyar route two years ago. She thinks sideways better than any of the other five-space people I know.
Miles was under the impression that all five-space math experts thought sideways to the rest of humanity, but he nodded understanding of the importance of this character trait.
I want her; I shall have her. But before I drag her out of her comfortable academic routine, I think I want to visit Bollan in person. Your Colonel Gibbs is very good, but he cant have asked all the questions.
Miles considered denying personal ownership of ImpSec and anyone in it, but recognized ruefully that he was now identified as the authority on ImpSec among the Auditors just as Vorthys was identified as the engineering expert. Its an ImpSec problem, he pictured some future conclave of his colleagues concluding. Give it to Vorkosigan. Right.
The trip to Bollan Designs plant did not prove as enlightening as Miles had hoped. A hop in a suborbital shuttle to a dome one Sector west of Serifosa soon brought Miles and Vorthys face-to-face with Bollans upset owners. Since theyd already thrown open all their records to ImpSec that morning, they had little more to offer the Imperial Auditors. The administrative people knew only of financial and contractual details with Soudhas mythical private research institute that had supposedly ordered the work; some techs whod worked in the fabrication shop had very little to add to the specs already in Vorthyss possession. If the missing engineer had been as innocent of the true identity of the customer and purpose of the device as were the rest of the Bollan employees, hed have had no reason to flee; Bollan Design had committed no crime that Miles could identify.
However, the techs were able to recall dates of several visits from men answering to descriptions of Soudha, Cappell, and Radovas, definitely one from Soudha as recently as the previous week. Their supervisor had never included them in these conferences. They had been told never to discuss the odd Necklin generators outside their work group, as the devices were experimental and not yet patented, trade secrets soon to transmute into profit (or loss). The progression so far had looked a lot more like loss than profit.
The customers had always picked up the finished devices from the plant themselves, not had them delivered anywhere. Miles made a note to find out if Waste Heat had owned their own large transport, and if not, to have ImpSec check out recent lift-van rentals of anything big enough to have hauled those last two generators.
Nosing around the plant while the Professor went off to speak High Engineering to the bilingual, Miles felt himself increasingly drawn to the hypothesis that the chief designer had gone missing voluntarily. Upon closer examination it had been found that many of the mans personal notes had apparently gone with him. Bollans plant security was not military grade, but it would be a stretch to imagine Soudhas hurried Komarrans first murdering the man, then smoothly and surgically removing quite so many comconsole records from quite so many locations without inside help. Anyway, Miles didnt wish the man dead in a ditch. He wished him very much alive, at the business end of Tuomonens hypospray. That was the trouble, people anticipated fast-penta now. Modern conspirators were a lot more tight-lipped than back in the bad old days of mere physical torture. Three days ago, if someone had told Miles that Gibbs was going to hand him what amounted to complete design specs of Soudhas secret weapon on a platter, he would have been delighted to imagine his case nearly solved. Ha.
Miles and Vorthys arrived back at Ekaterins apartment that light too late for dinner, but in time for a hand-made dessert obviously tailored to the Professors tastes, involving chocolate, cream, and quantities of hydroponic pecans. They all sat around Ekaterins kitchen table to devour it. Whatever Nikki had encountered from his playmates today, it hadnt been unpleasant enough to affect his appetite, Miles noted with approval.
How was school today? Miles asked him, ashamed to let such a deadly boring triteness fall from his lips, but how else was he supposed to find out?
All right, Nikki said around a mouthful of cream.
Think youll have any trouble tomorrow?
Naw. The tone of his monosyllables had returned to its normal preadolescent adult-wary indifference; no more the breathy panicked edge of this morning.
Good, Miles said affably. Ekaterins eyes were smiling, Miles noted out of the corner of his own. Good.
When Nikki finished bolting his dessert and galloped off, she added wryly, And how was work today? I wasnt sure if the extra hours represented progress, or the reverse.
How was work today. Her tone seemed to apologize for the prosaic quality of the question. Miles wondered how to explain to her that he found it altogether delightful, and wished shed do it again. And again and Her perfume was making his reptile-brain want to roll over and do tricks, and he wasnt even sure she was wearing any. This mind-melting mixture of lust and domesticity was entirely novel to him. Well, half novel; he knew how to handle lust. It was the domesticity that had ambushed his guard. We have advanced to new and surprising levels of bafflement, Miles told her.