“What’s happening now with your investigation? How long can you stay?”

“Not much more than what you’ve heard on the news, I’m afraid,” he replied. “We can only take this downside break while the probable-cause crews finish collecting the pieces. We’re still missing some fairly important ones. The freighter’s tow was fully loaded, and had a tremendous mass. When the engines blew, bits of all sizes vectored off in every possible direction and speed. We desperately want any parts of its control systems we can find. They should have most of it retrieved in three more days, if we’re lucky.” “So was it deliberate sabotage?” Tien asked.

Uncle Vorthys shrugged. “With the pilot dead, it’s going to be very hard to prove. It might have been a suicide mission. The crews have found no sign yet of military or chemical explosives.”

“Explosives would have been redundant,” murmured Vorkosigan.

“The spinning freighter hit the mirror array at the worst possible angle, edge-on,” Uncle Vorthys continued. “Half the damage was done by parts of the mirror itself. With that much momentum imparted to it by the assorted collisions, it just ripped itself apart.”

“If all that result was planned, it had to have been a truly amazing calculation,” Vorkosigan said dryly. “It’s the one thing which inclines me to the belief it might have been a true accident.”

Ekaterin watched her husband, watching the little Auditor covertly, and read the silent disturbed judgment, Mutant! in his eyes. What was Tien going to make of the man, who openly bore, without apparent apology or even self-consciousness, such stigmata of abnormality?

Tien turned to Vorkosigan, his gaze curious. “I can see why Emperor Gregor dispatched the Professor, the Empire’s foremost authority on failure analysis and all that. What’s, um, your part in this, Lord Auditor Vorkosigan?”

Vorkosigan’s smile twisted. “I have some experience with space installations.” He leaned back, and jerked up his chin, and smoothed the odd flash of irony from his face.