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the corridor, the second near the window.
"It scans clean," said Bel at last, as if reluctant to believe its own
instruments. "For now." Rather pointedly, Bel walked around Canaba and scanned
him too. Canaba waited with bowed head, as if he felt he deserved no better.
Bel set up the sonic baffler.
Miles shrugged back his hood and opened his parka, the better to reach his
concealed weapons in the event of a trap. He was finding Canaba
extraordinarily hard to read. What were the man's motivations anyway? There
was no doubt House
Bharaputra had assured his comfort -- his coat, the rich cut of his clothing
beneath it, spoke of that
-- and though his standard of living surely would not drop when he transferred
his allegiance to the
Barrayaran Imperial Science Institute, he would not have nearly the
opportunities to amass wealth on the side that he had here. So, he wasn't in
it for the money. Miles could understand that. But why work for a place like
House Bharaputra in the first place unless greed overwhelmed integrity?
"You puzzle me, Dr. Canaba," said Miles lightly. "Why this mid-career switch?
I'm pretty well acquainted with your new employers, and frankly, I don't see
how they could out-bid House Bharaputra." There, that was a properly mercenary
way to put it.
"They offered me protection from House Bharaputra.
Although, if you're it ..." he looked doubtfully down at Miles.
Ha. And, hell. The man really was ready to bolt.
Leaving Miles to explain the failure of his mission to Chief of Imperial
Security Illyan in person. "They bought our services," said Miles, "and
therefore you command our services. They want you safe and happy.
But we can't begin to protect you when you depart from a plan designed to
maximize your safety, throw in random factors, and ask us to operate in the
dark.
I need full knowledge of what's going on if I'm to take full responsibility
for the results."
"No one is asking you to take responsibility."
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"I beg your pardon, doctor, but they surely have."
"Oh," said Canaba. "I ... see." He paced to the window, back. "But will you do
what I ask?"
"I will do what I can."
"Happy," Canaba snorted. "God . . ." he shook his head wearily, inhaled
decisively. "I never came here for the money. I came here because I could do
research I couldn't do anywhere else. Not hedged round with outdated legal
restrictions. I dreamed of breakthroughs . . . but it became a nightmare. The
freedom became slavery. The things they wanted me to do . . . ! Constantly
interrupting the things I
wanted to do. Oh, you can always find someone to do anything for money, but
they're second-raters. These labs are full of second-raters. The very best
can't be bought. I've done things, unique things, that
Bharaputra won't develop because the profit would be too small, never mind how
many people it would benefit -- I get no credit, no standing for my work
-- every year, I see in the literature of my field galactic honors going to
lesser men, because I cannot publish my results . . ." He stopped, lowered his
head. "I doubtless sound like a megalomaniac to you."
"Ah . . ." said Miles, "you sound quite frustrated."
"The frustration," said Canaba, "woke me from a long sleep. Wounded ego -- it
was only wounded ego. But in my pride, I rediscovered shame. And the weight of
it stunned me, stunned me where I stood. Do you understand? Does it matter if
you understand? Ah!" He paced away to the wall, and stood facing it, his back
rigid.
"Uh," Miles scratched the back of his head ruefully, "yeah. I'd be glad to
spend many fascinating hours listening to you explain it to me -- on my ship.
Outbound."
Canaba turned with a crooked smile. "You are a practical man, I perceive. A
soldier. Well, God knows
I need a soldier now."
"Things are that screwed up, eh?"
"It . . . happened suddenly. I thought I had it under control." "Go on,"
sighed Miles.
"There were seven synthesized gene-complexes. One of them is a cure for a
certain obscure enzyme disorder.
One of them will increase oxygen-generation in space station algae
twenty-fold. One of them came from outside Bharaputra Labs, brought in by a
man -- we never found out who he really was, but death followed him. Several
of my colleagues who had worked on his project were murdered all in one night,
by the commandos who pursued him -- their records destroyed
-- I never told anyone I'd borrowed an unauthorized tissue sample to study.
I've not unravelled it fully yet, but I can tell you, it's absolutely unique."
Miles recognized that one, and almost choked, reflecting upon the bizarre
chain of circumstances that had placed an identical tissue sample in the hands
of Dendarii Intelligence a year ago. Terrence
See's telepathy complex -- and the main reason why
His Imperial Majesty suddenly wanted a top geneticist. Dr. Canaba was in for a
little surprise when he arrived at his new Barrayaran laboratory. But if the
other six complexes came anywhere near matching the value of the known one,
Security Chief
Illyan would peel Miles with a dull knife for letting them slip through his
fingers. Miles's attention to
Canaba abruptly intensified. This side-trip might not be as trivial as he'd
feared.
"Together, these seven complexes represent tens of thousands of hours of
research time, mostly mine, some of others -- my life's work.
I'd planned from the beginning to take them with me.
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I bundled them up in a viral insert and placed them, bound and dormant, in a
live . . ." Canaba faltered, "organism, for storage. An organism, I thought,
that no one would think to look at for such a thing."
"Why didn't you just store them in your own tissue?"
Miles asked irritably. "Then you couldn't lose "em."
Canaba's mouth opened. "I ... never thought of that.
How elegant. Why didn't I think of that?" His hand touched his forehead
wonderingly, as if probing for systems failure. His lips tightened again. "But
it would have made no difference. I would still need to
. . ." he fell silent. "It's about the organism," he said at last. "The . . .
creature." Another long silence.
"Of all the things I did," Canaba continued lowly,
"of all the interruptions this vile place imposed on me, there is one I regret
the most. You understand, this was years ago. I was younger, I thought I still
had a future here to protect. And it wasn't all my doing -- guilt by
committee, eh? Spread it around, make it easy, say it was his fault, her doing
. . .
well, it's mine now."
You mean it's mine now, thought Miles grimly.
"Doctor, the more time we spend here, the greater the chance of compromising
this operation. Please get to the point."
"Yes . . . yes. Well, a number of years ago, House
Bharaputra Laboratories took on a contract to manufacture a ... new species.
Made to order."
"I thought it was House Ryoval that was famous for making people, or whatever,
to order," said Miles.
"They make slaves, one-off. They are very specialized. And small -- their
customer base is surprisingly small. There are many rich men, and there are, I
suppose, many depraved men, but a House [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
