Free Cryoburn-ARC by Lois M. Bujold

first time, the notion occurred to Miles that it might not be vote-grubbing alone, nor even the lack of medical progress in reversing geriatric decay, that caused the cryocorps to freeze more patrons than they revived.
    Yani had now segued into a long screed about how his cryocorp had cheated him, evidently by not delivering him into this new world physically youthful, rich, and famous, which was roughly where Miles had come in on this rant. Yani seemed a time-traveler who had found out the hard way that he did not like his destination any better than his point of departure, failed to notice the one common factor was himself, and now could not go back. So just how many like him were haunting the streets of Kibou? Miles made the emptiness of their mugs an excuse to grab both and take them for refills.
    As he was washing his mug and topping up Yani's, Miles murmured to the cook, "Is it true Yani was rejected for being a revive?"
    She snorted. "I daresay nobody wanted him around a hundred years ago, either. I don't know why he thought that would have changed."
    Miles muffled a smile. "I daresay."
    The half-smile caught her eye, and she looked at him more closely. "You're not very old. Are you sick?"
    Miles blinked. "Do I look that hung-over?"
    "I thought that might be why you were here."
    "Well, I have a chronic medical condition, but I don't much care to discuss it." How had she guessed? A seizure disorder hardly showed on the outside like, say, skin lesions. Miles suspected a conversation at cross-purposes, again, and that he'd just been handed a clue. So what was it?
    But before he could follow this up, she turned away and said, "Oh! Tenbury-san!"
    A lot of heads swiveled at the entry of a man in threadbare coveralls, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and an enormous quantity of hair, but the looks were mostly followed up with brief nods or friendly waves. The greetings were returned as silently. The man trod into the kitchen area. He shoved his hand into his thatch of brown-gray beard to scratch his chin, greeted the cook with another nod, and held out a familiar carafe, which she took to rinse and refill with coffee. "Your lunch is all ready, Tenbury-san," she called over her shoulder. "Sack's in the fridge."
    The man grunted thanks and went to poke inside the industrial refrigerator. He was not, Miles, realized, actually of a bearlike build under all the mad hair, but lanky and pale. He pulled out a cloth sack, turned, and eyed Miles. "You're new."
    "I'm a friend of Jin's," Miles answered, not quite directly. Or at least, he collected me .
    "Really? Where is the boy?"
    "I sent him to run an errand for me."
    "Eh. Good. Time he did some work."
    "There's a faucet leaking in two-ten," the cook informed him.
    "Right, right. I'll bring my tools after dinner," said the man. He took the carafe and trod out.
    "Who was that?" Miles asked, as the cook picked up her spoon again.
    "Tenbury. He's the custodian here."
    Miles dimly remembered that term going by a few times earlier, and wondered if its meaning was as far outside the usual as Suze the Secretary's. But if he really wanted to know where the power came from and the sewage went to, now was his chance. Should he wait for Jin to broker an introduction? Miles didn't have infinite time to explore, here . . . his feet were already in motion, deciding for him.
    He waved his own thanks to the cook, dropped the refilled mug by Yani, rapped a friendly farewell on the tabletop, and made it to the door just in time to tail Tenbury's receding footsteps. The worn rubber soles on Miles's scavenged shoes were as silent as he'd hoped. Hinges squeaked; Miles nipped around the corner to discover a door closing again on another stairwell. He drew a breath and followed.
    The steps descended into stygian blackness. His breath quickened. To his intense relief, a sudden glow reflected off the walls ahead—Tenbury had unshipped a hand light. So, the man didn't see in the dark like a werewolf, good.