"Barrayar 15 - Miles Vorkosigan 13 - Diplomatic Immunity" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bujold Lois McMaster)

Roic shrugged. УHe died of t' radiation after Vorkosigan Vashnoi was destroyed. M'grandmother would never talk about him much, so I don't know.Ф

УPity.Ф

Lieutenant Smolyani poked his head around the corner. УWe're locked on to the Prince Xav now, Lord Auditor Vorkosigan. Transfer tube's sealed and they're ready for you to board.Ф

УVery good, Lieutenant.Ф

Miles followed Roic, who had to duck his head through the oval doorway, into the courier's cramped personnel hatch bay. Smolyani took up station by the hatch controls. The control pad twinkled and beeped; the door slid open onto the airlock and the flex tube, beyond it. Miles nodded to Roic, who took a visible breath and swung himself through. Smolyani braced to a salute; Miles returned him an acknowledging nod and a УThank you, Lieutenant,Ф and followed Roic.

A meter of stomach-lifting zero-gee in the flex tube ended at a similar hatchway. Miles grasped the handgrips and swung himself through and smoothly to his feet in the open airlock. He stepped from it into a very much more spacious hatch bay. On his left, Roic loomed formally, awaiting him. The flagship's door slid closed behind him.

Before him, three green-uniformed men and a civilian stood stiffly to attention. Not one of them changed expression at Miles's un-Barrayaran physique. Presumably Vorpatril, whom Miles barely recalled from a few passing encounters in Vorbarr Sultana's capital scene, remembered him more vividly, and had prudently briefed his staff on the mutoid appearance of Emperor Gregor's shortest, not to mention youngest and newest, Voice.

Admiral Eugin Vorpatril was of middle height, stocky, white-haired, and grim. He stepped forward and gave Miles a crisp and proper salute. УMy Lord Auditor. Welcome aboard the Prince Xav.Ф

УThank you, Admiral.Ф He did not add Happy to be here; no one in this group could be happy to see him, under the circumstances.

Vorpatril continued, УMay I introduce my Fleet Security commander, Captain Brun.Ф

The lean, tense man, possibly even grimmer than his admiral, nodded curtly. Brun had been in operational charge of the ill-fated patrol whose hair-trigger exploits had blown the situation from minor legal brangle to major diplomatic incident. No, not happy at all.

УSenior Cargomaster Molino of the Komarran fleet consortium.Ф

Molino too was middle-aged, and quite as dyspeptic-looking as the Barrayarans, though dressed in neat dark Komarran-style tunic and trousers. A senior cargomaster was the ranking executive and financial officer of the limited-term corporate entity that was a commercial convoy, and as such bore most of the responsibilities of a fleet admiral with a fraction of the powers. He also had the unenviable task of being the designated interface between a potentially very disparate bunch of commercial interests, and their Barrayaran military protectors, which was usually enough to account for dyspepsia even without a crisis. He murmured a polite, УMy Lord Vorkosigan.Ф

Vorpatril's tone took on a slightly gritty quality. УMy fleet legal officer, Ensign Deslaurier.Ф

Tall Deslaurier, pale and wan beneath a lingering touch of adolescent acne, managed a nod.

Miles blinked in surprise. When, under his old covert ops identity, he had run a supposedly independent mercenary fleet for ImpSec's galactic operations, Fleet Legal had been a major department; just negotiating the peaceful passage of armed ships through all the varied local space legal jurisdictions had been a full-time job of nightmarish complexity. УEnsign.Ф Miles returned the nod, and chose his wording carefully. УYou, ah... would seem to have a considerable responsibility, for your rank and age.Ф

Deslaurier cleared his throat, and said in a nearly inaudible voice, УOur department chief was sent home earlier in the voyage, my Lord Auditor. Compassionate leave. His mother'd died.Ф

I think I'm getting the drift of this already. lang=EN style='mso-ansi-language: УThis your first galactic voyage, by chance?Ф

УYes, my lord.Ф

Vorpatril put in, possibly mercifully, УI and my staff are entirely at your disposal, my Lord Auditor, and are ready with our reports as you requested. Would you care to follow me to our briefing room?Ф

УYes, thank you, Admiral.Ф

Some shuffling and ducking through the corridors brought the party to a standard military briefing room: bolted-down holovid-equipped table and station chairs, friction matting underfoot harboring the faint musty odor of a sealed and gloomy chamber that never enjoyed sunlight or fresh air. The place smelled military. Miles suppressed the urge to take a long, nostalgic inhalation, for old times' sake. At his hand signal, Roic took up an impassive guard's stance just inside the door. The rest waited for him to seat himself, then disposed themselves around the table, Vorpatril on his left, Deslaurier as far away as possible.

Vorpatril, displaying a clear understanding of the etiquette of the situation, or at least some sense of self-preservation, began, УSo. How may we serve you, my Lord Auditor?Ф

Miles tented his hands on the table. УI am an Auditor; my first task is to listen. If you please, Admiral Vorpatril, describe for me the course of events from your point of view. How did you arrive at this impasse?Ф

УFrom my point of view?Ф Vorpatril grimaced. УIt started out seeming no more than the usual one damned thing after another. We were supposed to be in dock here at Graf Station for five days, for contracted cargo and passenger transfers. Since there was no reason at that time to think that the quaddies were hostile, I granted as many station leaves as possible, which is standard procedure.Ф