Dragonback 03 Dragon and Slave

by Timothy Zahn

  Jack winced. "Sounds painful."

  "It is if you get too deep," Lisssa said. "She did. After she got bored and sent him back, like she always does, he got sick from infections in the cuts. It took him six days to die."

  "Nice kid," Jack murmured, hunching his shoulders. Draycos was sliding restlessly along his skin, and he could practically feel the dragon's anger.

  He didn't blame him. If things like this were why the K'da hated slavery so much, he was ready to join the club himself. "What about this one?" he asked Lisssa. "Do you know him?"

  It was a stupid question, he realized too late. Of course she would know all the other Doloms among the slaves.

  But her answer surprised him. "Not really," she said. "I think his name's Plasssit or Plusssit. Something like that."

  Jack frowned at her, but the thick tile-pattern of her face as she stared at the Brummgas was unreadable. "You don't know?" he asked. "I mean . . . he's one of your people."

  Her eyes shifted back to Jack. "What was your name again?" she asked pointedly. Just as pointedly, she turned her wide back to him and went back to her work.

  "Right," Jack murmured. The message was clear. Lisssa didn't want to know any of them. They were slaves, and she was a slave, and the only place to hide from that reality was inside herself.

  And so that was where she would stay.

  The Brummgas and the Dolom drove away, and for a moment there was silence. Then, the Klezmer resumed his music, and the slaves returned to their picking.

  Later, when the Klezmer came by, Jack put a handful of berries into his bowl. The old man murmured some thanks; and on a sudden impulse, Jack put in a second handful.

  For a long time afterwards he wondered why he'd done that. It had probably surprised him more than it had the Klezmer, especially considering that his own dinner or lack of it was on the line. Perhaps it was his reaction to Lisssa's selfish attitude that had sparked such unusual generosity.

  Or maybe it was just knowing that Draycos was watching. Draycos, and his blasted pain-in-the-neck K'da warrior ethic.

  He did notice that when the Klezmer went past Lisssa, she ignored him completely.

  As it turned out, his generosity didn't end up costing him anything after all. By the time the Brummgas set up at their tables, he had filled his bowl to the line. In fact, he'd continued past the line and loaded berries all the way to the very top. He turned in his bowl, collected his meal ticket, and joined the line of slaves heading to dinner.

  The meal hall looked about the way Jack had expected: long tables with plain wooden benches on both sides. The meal itself was actually better than he'd expected. It consisted of another of the cabbage rolls he'd had the night before, plus a bowl of the nutrient soup they'd been given at noon, plus a piece of multigrain bread of some kind, plus a small slab of real meat.

  The cabbage roll didn't taste quite as good as it had when he'd been starving. But it tasted good enough. He drank the soup, too, wiping the bowl with his bread to make sure he got every drop.

  The meat went quietly into a pocket to give to Draycos later.

  When the meal was over, each slave cleaned his utensils at a long tub of water and returned them to the cooking slaves. After that, Jack's plan had been to take a quiet walk off by himself, where he and Draycos could talk without being overheard.

  But during the meal he'd found his muscles tightening up from the strain of the day's work. Some of them were muscles he hadn't even known he had. By the time he hobbled out of the meal hall on stiff legs, the thought of doing anything but going straight to bed was long gone.

  He changed into his sackshirt, laying out his other clothing neatly over the end of his cot. Maerlynn came by once to see how he was doing, and left again after he assured her he was fine.

  She didn't offer to wash his clothes this time. That was probably something he would have to do on his own from now on. Tomorrow, when he wasn't so tired, he would ask someone how he went about doing that.

  He forced himself to stay awake for a few minutes after the lights went out, hoping that everyone else in the hut would get to sleep quickly. "Draycos?" he whispered when he judged he'd waited long enough.

  "They are all asleep," the dragon confirmed softly. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm pretty tired," Jack admitted, sliding the meat out from under his pillow where he'd hidden it. "Otherwise, I'm okay. Got some food for you here. Sorry it's not more."

  "It is quite adequate," Draycos assured him. His head rose up from Jack's chest, his crest pushing up the thin blanket. "I am not very hungry."

  "Yeah," Jack said, watching as the dragon wolfed down the meat in a single bite. "Right."

  "Truly," Draycos insisted. "You should sleep now."

  "No argument there," Jack agreed. "You going back to the thorn hedge?"

  "Yes," Draycos said. His head flattened again onto Jack's chest, and Jack felt him slithering along onto his right arm. He picked up the cue and turned onto his left side, draping the arm over the cot toward the floor.

  The dragon slid off his wrist, landing on the wooden floor without a sound. "See you later," Jack whispered. "Don't get caught."

  "I will be careful," Draycos said.

  "Good." Jack snorted gently. "I was just thinking. Remember back at the Whinyard's Edge recruiting center, when Jommy Randolph made that snide comment about the training being like summer camp?"

  "I remember," Draycos said. "And?"

  Jack made a face in the dark. "Compared to this," he said, "it was."

  Draycos brushed Jack's arm with his forepaw. "Good night, Jack," he said. "I will return soon."

  CHAPTER 10

  The next few days settled into a simple if unpleasant routine. Jack got up at daybreak with the other slaves and trudged out to the rainbow berry bushes. He worked, drank his noonday soup, worked some more, turned in his bowl, ate dinner, and trudged back to his bed.

  At first his muscles ached all the time. After a couple of days, as he got used to the work, they mostly ached at bedtime. A few days after that, they almost stopped aching at all. Almost.

  Every other day the Klezmer came by. Each time he did so, Jack made sure to give him a good handful of his berries.

  At first he tried to tell himself that he was just trying to blend in. Almost all the other slaves except Lisssa, he'd noted, seemed to give the old man something from their own bowls. Even Fleck, who didn't have to do any picking at all, usually had a handful ready to slip into the Klezmer's bowl.

  Jack also tried to convince himself he was just doing it to show up Lisssa's defiant selfishness, or that he just liked the music. But after the third time he finally had to admit the truth. Very simply, he enjoyed helping out the old man.

  It was a new experience for him, and it gave him a lot to think about in his long hours under the hot sun. Uncle Virgil had occasionally made back-scratching deals with other criminals or corrupt police, deals where he'd done a job in exchange for something else. But he would have fallen on the floor laughing if anyone had ever suggested he give away anything for free.

  His computerized alter ego, Uncle Virge, was of course incapable of falling on the floor. But Jack knew that if he ever heard about this he would certainly deliver a stern lecture on why Jack should be looking out strictly for himself.

  Which made Jack wonder just where the whole idea had come from in the first place.

  Was Draycos's warrior ethic starting to rub off on him? That was certainly possible. After two months of hearing about high-minded K'da ideals, anyone would start believing in them. Or was this coming from Maerlynn and the way she was always scurrying around helping her adopted children?

  That was it, he finally decided. Maerlynn. He wasn't really giving the Klezmer anything for free. All he was doing was passing on the good deeds he'd already gotten from Maerlynn. It was a back-scratch deal after all, except that he wasn't paying back Maerlynn directly.

  It made him feel better to think of it that way. Better, and a l
ot safer. He wasn't going off the deep end of the pool like some junior K'da warrior. All he was doing was paying back a debt.

  He probably would have felt even better if he'd really believed that.

  On the fifth day at work, he found himself so unbelievably grubby that he finally couldn't stand it anymore. There were a couple of cold showers in the washroom at the end of his sleeping hut, and that evening he postponed his bedtime long enough to give himself a quick rinse. It helped some, but with his clothes still dirty the feeling of being clean didn't last very long. When he asked Maerlynn about laundry, she told him the slaves usually waited until Tenthday, when they were given a day off of work.

  Tenthday, to his annoyance, turned out to be another two days away. Still, he'd lasted this long. He could certainly hold out until then.

  It was Ninthday when the routine fell apart.

  He was heading for the line at the tables with his bowlful of berries when a sudden shadow fell across his face. He looked up to find Fleck glowering down at him. "Hello, Fleck," he said, making a smooth sidestep around the big man. "How's tricks?"

  Fleck's own sidestep wasn't nearly as smooth as Jack's. But it did the job just fine, planting him squarely in front of Jack again. "You got too many," he said.

  "I've got too many what?" Jack asked. He was tired and hungry, and not in a mood for games.

  "What do you think?" Fleck growled, jabbing a finger at Jack's chest. "Berries. You got too many berries."

  Jack looked down into his bowl with astonishment. "What in the world are you talking about?"

  "You're only supposed to fill to the line," Fleck said. "Not all the way to the top. What, you think the Brummgas are going to give you a bonus?"

  "What, you don't like a kid my age doing better than the rest of you?" Jack shot back. Without waiting for an answer, he started to walk away.

  Fleck's rough hand on his arm made it clear the conversation wasn't over. "I'll tell you what I don't like, kiddy-face," he said. "I don't like you poking your stick into the bug hill. If you keep showing the Brummgas you can pick more berries in a day, they'll make everyone pick that many."

  It was, Jack realized later, a perfectly reasonable argument. He certainly wasn't interested in giving the Brummgas ideas for working their slaves any harder than they already were. And if Fleck had just given him a minute to think it through, everything would have been fine.

  Unfortunately, Fleck didn't. "So you stop now," he insisted.

  And reaching into Jack's bowl, he scooped out a handful of berries.

  "Hey!" Jack snapped. He grabbed the other's wrist and shoved it away, then jumped back, trying to get out of reach.

  Once again, the big man showed he was faster than he looked. He took a long step forward, slapped Jack's hand aside, and grabbed the strap that held the bowl around his neck. With a tug that seemed to snap Jack's head back against his shoulders, he yanked the boy toward him. "You don't do that," he said, very quietly, from three inches away. His breath smelled like stale nutrient broth. "Not to me. Not ever."

  Jack stared straight into that ugly face. There was a punch Uncle Virgil had taught him, he remembered, a punch he'd guaranteed would drop any bully flat on his rear. Out of sight at his waist, he curled his right hand into a fist and braced himself.

  And then, he felt the warning touch of K'da claws against his arm. He hesitated—

  "Stop," a flat Brummgan voice ordered.

  Jack turned his head, letting his hand drop back to his side. One of the Brummgas standing guard over the berry collection process was striding toward them, a slapstick clutched in his hand. "You," he said, jabbing the slapstick toward Fleck. "Release him."

  Fleck did so. Jack reached up and rubbed the back of his neck where the strap had dug into his skin. "It's all right," he said. "We were just—"

  Without a word the Brummga slashed the slapstick across the side of his face.

  Jack spun around and tumbled to the ground, a flash of pain arcing through him. His bowl bounced against his chest as he hit, spilling the berries all around. "Wait!" he managed as the Brummga lowered the slapstick toward him. "I didn't—"

  The end of his protest bubbled into a groan as the tip slashed across his chest, this second tingle rattling his teeth. The weapon was on its lowest setting, without enough juice to knock him unconscious. But it had more than enough to hurt.

  "You not argue with Red Stripe," the Brummga growled, pointing at Fleck's red sash. He raised the slapstick for emphasis; in spite of himself, Jack winced back in reaction. "You understand? You not argue with Red Stripe."

  "I understand," Jack said, his teeth chattering together with pain and shock and fury.

  The Brummga waved the slapstick again, apparently just to see Jack's reaction. "Good. Don't forget."

  He looked at Fleck and pointed the slapstick at Jack. "Hotbox," he ordered.

  "Yes, Your Commandary," Fleck said, bowing his head. Reaching down, he grabbed Jack's arm and hauled him to his feet. With his free hand, he unlooped the now nearly empty bowl from around his neck and handed it to the Brummga. "How long?"

  The other eyed Jack as if measuring him. "One night," he decided. "He will work tomorrow."

  Fleck glanced at Jack. "Tomorrow is Tenthday, Your Commandary," he said.

  "He will work regardless," the Brummga said. "He will bring a full bowl, or he will not eat."

  Fleck bowed again. "Yes, Your Commandary. It shall be done."

  For a moment the Brummga continued to watch Jack, as if expecting an argument. Maybe even hoping for an argument.

  But Jack had learned his lesson, and remained silent. With a rumble from his chest, the Brummga turned away and plodded back toward the collection table.

  As he did so, something else caught Jack's eye. Another car was approaching the slave colony, carrying two Brummgas and a wildly painted Dolom. Lisssa had been right: Crampatch's daughter got bored quickly with her private slaves.

  "Come on," Fleck growled, turning Jack around and giving him a shove toward the hotboxes.

  "What about my berries?" Jack asked, looking back at the berries lying on the ground, many of them smashed. A hard, tiring day's work, all gone.

  Fleck gave him another shove. "You didn't want dinner tonight anyway, did you?" he asked sarcastically. "Think of it as a lesson learned cheap."

  "The guy with the big stick is always right," Jack murmured. "I already know that one."

  Five minutes later, he was back in the hotbox. "Here we go again," he muttered. "Our home away from home. Looks just the way we left it, too."

  "I am sorry, Jack," Draycos murmured from his right shoulder.

  Jack shrugged. "It's not like there was a lot you could have done to help," he pointed out reasonably. "Besides, you already did. If you hadn't stopped me from decking that big jerkface, I'd probably have drawn a week in here."

  "Still, I am sorry I could not prevent it," Draycos persisted.

  "Forget it," Jack said, trying not to let his anger at Fleck and the Brummgas spill over onto Draycos. "Tell you what. As soon as your people get settled in on Iota Klestis, we'll bring a few of your buddies in and make Fleck pick up every berry he spilled. And eat them. How's that sound?"

  Draycos seemed to think that one over. "You are joking, of course."

  "Mostly," Jack said. "But it's still kind of nice to think about."

  "But not very productive."

  "Maybe not," Jack said. "But there's not a whole lot of productive I can be at the moment."

  "Still, it is not good for your mind to dwell on such things," Draycos said. "It can have a negative effect on your judgment."

  "You didn't seem to have any trouble killing that guy aboard the Star of Wonder," Jack said.

  "That was different," Draycos said, a little stiffly. "That was justice. It is not at all the same as revenge."

  "I know," Jack conceded. He really shouldn't toy with Draycos and his warrior ethic this way, he knew. But it was just too easy sometimes to ho
t-start the dragon's buttons and play a little tune on them. "How much longer will it take you to get through that hedge?"

  "Not long," Draycos said. "Perhaps two days. Three at the most."

  "And then?"

  "Once we are both at the hedge, I will cut through the last few branches," Draycos said. "We will then be clear to enter the Chookoock family areas."

  "And from then on it's up to me," Jack said, nodding. "Then you'd better get to work. The sooner we get out of here, the better."

  CHAPTER 11

  They waited until the camp was dark and quiet. Then, Jack slid his hand under the door, and Draycos slipped out into the night.

  The trip to the thorn hedge had become a familiar one over the past few days. Draycos moved silently along the uneven ground, habit and experience keeping him to shadows and cover wherever possible.

  His mind, though, was a million restless leaps away. The injustice of what had just been done to Jack still throbbed in his brain like an angry percussion master with a full set of concert drums.

  For that matter, this whole situation was beginning to get beneath his scales. This was an important mission, and part of his job was to keep personal feelings from affecting his judgment.

  But in this case, knowing that and doing it were two very different things. This was a slave colony, and it was simply not possible for a poet-warrior of the K'da to completely suppress his anger and contempt.

  And as to Jack's idea about coming back to make Fleck regret his actions, it was sadly short of the mark. What this place needed was not a few of Draycos's friends, but six assault squads of K'da and Shontine warriors. Three squads to free the slaves, the other three to burn the entire place to the ground.

  He flicked his tail sternly. That was not a proper thought for a warrior, and he knew it. Justice was a vital part of the K'da warrior ethic. Vicious, bitter vengeance was not.

  And any chance for justice was still a long way in the future. Jack could claim that everything beyond the hedge was his job if he wanted to, but Draycos knew better. There was a large expanse of ground they would have to deal with before they even reached the mansion. Worse, much of that ground was open, without any cover to speak of.