by Timothy Zahn
Because he'd stolen and conned and cheated people knowing full well that it was wrong. He'd taken the easy route himself, sitting back and letting Uncle Virgil tell him what to do.
So he had no business feeling superior to Lisssa and Maerlynn and the others. In a lot of ways, he'd been a slave, too.
And he'd only had Uncle Virgil to keep him there. Not a laser-equipped wall and a few acres of armed Brummgas.
"You will be using your sewer-rat program, I presume," Draycos commented. "Someday I must meet the creature it is named after."
Jack frowned down at what he could see of the dragon's head beneath his shirt. That was the second time in as many minutes that Draycos had cut through some unpleasant thoughts with an odd and vaguely humorous comment. Was he getting nervous?
Or could he somehow be sensing Jack's dark mood and trying to nudge him out of it? "I'm sure you'd both be charmed," he said, hitching his chair closer to the keyboard. "And yes, that's what we're going to use. Unless you want to try slicing open the computer and seeing if you can sift all the right zeros and ones out of it."
"No, thank you," Draycos assured him.
The display finished its sequence and cleared to an impressive image of the Chookoock family mansion with the rising sun shooting rays of light across the sky behind it. "They don't think much of themselves, do they?" Jack muttered, peering down at the keyboard. It was all done up in Brummgan letters, naturally. Carefully, making sure he got it right, he keyed in the first part of the sewer-rat sequence.
Nothing happened.
Draycos's head rose slightly from his shoulder. "When will something happen?" he asked.
"In theory, about three seconds ago," Jack said. He tried the sequence again, double-checking it as he did. Still nothing. "We got trouble," he told the dragon, calling up the computer's spec page. A triple column of Brummgan words scrolled down on top of the picture of the mansion.
Even with the alien words, one glance was all it took. "Great," he growled. "This piece of junk isn't using a human operating system. It's running something Brummgan. Pretty old-fashioned, too, from the looks of it."
The dragon's head lifted higher, pushing the collar against the side of Jack's neck. "The sewer-rat trick works only with human-designed systems?"
Jack let his hands fall uselessly back into his lap. "You got it."
"Did you not consider this possibility? This is a Brummgan facility, after all."
"Sure, but Gazen is a human." Pushing back from the desk, Jack crossed his foot across his knee. A brief stab of pain ran through the thigh as he did so, a souvenir of one of Her Thumbleness's casual kicks. "Besides, who doesn't use human operating systems these days?"
The dragon's tongue flicked out toward the computer. "The Chookoock family, apparently," he said.
"Yeah," Jack agreed. Pulling out the hidden comm clip, he clicked it on. "Uncle Virge?"
"I'm here," the computer voice came back. "Are you all right, lad?"
"I'm alive," Jack said sourly. "For a slave, that's doing pretty good. Where are you?"
"Still at the Ponocce Spaceport," Uncle Virge said. "I've been putting Gazen's credit line to use fixing some of the damage and deterioration we've collected over the past few months."
"I hope you aren't letting them take apart anything vital," Jack warned. "We may need to get out of here on a minute's notice."
"Don't worry, I'm not," Uncle Virge said. "I hope that means that this call is good news."
"Actually, it's kind of mixed," Jack said. "The good news is that I'm in Gazen's office. The bad news is that the Chookoock family's using an old Brummgan operating system."
"How old?"
"Uh—" Jack peered at the complicated script, trying to find the registration date.
"There," Draycos said. A foreleg rose from the back of Jack's right hand, an extended claw pointing to the lower left part of the display. "If I read correctly, that would be . . . forty years ago."
Uncle Virge whistled softly. "Forty years? I'm sorry, lad, but all the tricks I know are for modern computers with modern operating systems. Not for something that came off the Ark."
Jack sighed. "I was afraid of that."
"What about other information sources?" Draycos asked. "Surely someone has broken into such systems in the past."
"Yeah, what about that?" Jack asked. "Any of Uncle Virgil's old friends ever work on Brum-a-dum? Or could someone have a file in a thieves' database somewhere?"
"I can look," Uncle Virge said, his voice tight. "But unless we're very lucky, I don't think we'll have enough time to find anything."
An uncomfortable shiver ran up Jack's back. "Why not?"
"Gazen has set up a special slave auction for five days from now," Uncle Virge said. "The prize item up for sale is you."
CHAPTER 18
"Okay," Jack said, trying to keep his voice calm and casual. "That's not so bad. Matter of fact, that might be the best way to get me out of here. Let them sell me, then I'll duck out on the buyer once we're off-planet."
"I wouldn't count on that if I were you," Uncle Virge warned. "Or don't you think the Chookoock family has dealt with unwilling slaves before?"
Jack felt his throat tighten. "You mean not just handcuffs or those control collar things they used on us on Sunright?"
Uncle Virge snorted gently. "Amateur stuff, used by people in a hurry. No, I expect the Chookoock family will be more thorough. A lot more thorough."
"So you're telling me I'm in trouble?"
"I'm telling you this whole plan was insane to begin with," Uncle Virge said flatly. "I'm telling you it's time to give up, pull the plug, and get out while you still can."
Jack stared at the picture on the display, his eyes tracing along the patterns of the stone making up the mansion walls. Big stones. Hard stones. As hard and cold and unfeeling as the people who lived within them. Even the mercenaries he'd dealt with had cared more about people than Gazen and the Chookoock family did.
What in space was he doing here, anyway?
"Jack?" Uncle Virge prompted. "Come on, lad, it's over. Cut your losses and let's blow this pop stand."
"And what will we do then?" Draycos asked. "Where will we go for the information we need?"
"Where we should have started in the first place," Uncle Virge said. "We dump this in StarForce's lap and let the professionals handle it."
"We've been through this, Uncle Virge," Jack said. "We can't let anyone else know about Draycos."
"Maybe we don't have to," Uncle Virge said. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but all we want is to keep Draycos safe from whoever the Valahgua have teamed up with. Right?"
Jack frowned. He knew that tone of voice. There was some trick here. "All right," he said cautiously. "So?"
"So we go to StarForce," Uncle Virge said. "But we go anonymously."
"Pardon?" Draycos asked.
"Anonymously," Uncle Virge repeated. "We don't let them know who we are."
"I understand the word," Draycos said. "I do not understand the logic. How can we convince them of the truth without revealing my existence?"
"Ah, but we don't have to convince them of anything," Uncle Virge said. "That's the beauty of it. All we have to do is drop them an anonymous tip that some mercenary group is using Djinn-90s to smuggle contraband. They get all hot and huffy and rush off to investigate."
"Assuming they believe us," Jack said. "They must get a million anonymous tips a day."
"Even if they do believe, how does that help us?" Draycos added.
"Easy," Uncle Virge said. "We just watch over their shoulders while they investigate. They find our mercenary group, and there we are."
Jack rubbed his cheek. On the surface, it sounded reasonable enough. Best of all, he could do it from the comfort of the Essenay instead of from a dirty slave colony.
"What if they are delayed, or are too slow?" Draycos asked. "What if they give up their investigation and we do not know about it?"
"Nonsense," Uncle
Virge scoffed. "We'll be on them like white on rice. We'll know everything they do, practically before they do it."
"And if we miss something important?" Draycos persisted. "We have less than three and one-half months before the full refugee fleet arrives. We cannot afford to waste any of that time."
"It wouldn't be a waste," Uncle Virge insisted. "StarForce knows what they're doing."
"No, he's right, Uncle Virge," Jack said. "We can't afford to take ourselves out of the game."
"But we wouldn't be," Uncle Virge said, almost pleading now. "And we could still poke around on our own if you wanted to. We could check with people who watch merc groups, or even go back to sorting through Djinn-90 sales records."
Jack shook his head. "No," he said firmly. Firmly, but with a wispy smoke ring of regret floating about the words. He hadn't realized just how much he wanted out of this until Uncle Virge dangled the possibility in front of him. "The timing's too tight to play games."
Uncle Virge sniffed loudly. "And exactly how much time have you wasted playing this slave game?"
"That's different," Jack said, glaring at the computer display. "It's here, right in front of me. I just have to figure out how to get at it."
"And then what?" Uncle Virge asked. "What if you do find the group involved? Are you and Draycos going to take them on all by yourselves? Them, and however many of the Valahgua have moved into the Orion Arm?"
Jack glanced down at Draycos's head. "We'll figure out that part when we get there."
"Of course," Uncle Virge said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Forgive me if I'm being difficult, but don't most professional assault teams do just a little more planning before hitting the beaches?"
"Uncle Virge, look—"
"No, you look, Jack lad," Uncle Virge interrupted. "Point one: you two can't stop the Valahgua alone. Not a chance. Point two: you probably can't even find the Valahgua and their allies alone. Tell me I'm wrong."
"Uncle Virge—"
"And point three," Uncle Virge went on quietly. "It seems to me that you've more than paid back your obligation to Draycos and his people. It's time for you to point him to the proper authorities, give him a hearty handshake—"
"Hold on a second," Jack cut him off. "I agreed to help Draycos save his people, remember? His part was to get me out of that jam with Braxton Universis, and he did. This is my half of the deal."
"Yes, I remember," Uncle Virge said. "I also remember that he spent maybe three weeks on your problem, while you've already put in a month and a half on his. With no end in sight, I might point out. Doesn't seem very fair to me."
It didn't seem very fair, Jack had to admit. Especially since Draycos's part of the deal hadn't involved anything nearly as unpleasant as what Jack had had to go through, first as a junior mercenary soldier, and now as a slave.
And the dragon wasn't even arguing the point, he realized suddenly. He was just lying there quietly against Jack's skin, waiting for the discussion to be over.
Waiting for Jack to make a decision.
Jack felt his lip twist. Yes, he hated this. He really did. And Uncle Virge was right on all the other points, too. Even if he did manage to shake loose the data they were looking for, did any of them honestly think they could take on the bad guys all by themselves?
Uncle Virge was arguing for fairness. Draycos, Jack knew, would argue on the basis of right and wrong. That keeping a promise was the right thing to do, whether it seemed like a good deal or not.
But at the moment, neither argument mattered a rat's nest to Jack. What mattered was that he'd suffered through two weeks of slavery; and he was not going to let those two weeks go to waste. Come hell or high water or interstellar tax audits, he was going to get what he'd come here for.
Fairness could go jump. The noble K'da warrior ethic could go pole vault. It was Jack's professional pride that was on the line here.
"Yeah, well, life never claimed to be fair in the first place," he told Uncle Virge. "And I've still got a couple of ideas to try."
"Jack, lad—"
"In the meantime, how about making yourself useful?" Jack said. "See what you can dig up about forty-year-old Brummgan computer systems."
Uncle Virge gave a sigh. "If you like," he said. "But I would strongly—strongly—suggest that you reconsider. The minute they start getting you ready for the sale, our chances of getting you out go way down."
"I'm not worried," Jack said, wishing that was actually true. "Look, I've got to go. I'll talk to you later."
He turned off the comm clip and returned it to its hiding place. "That was our bi-monthly argument with Uncle Virge about chucking this whole thing," he commented as he smoothed the sole back in place. "I don't know why we have to keep going over the same territory this way."
"Decisions of ethics and behavior are not one-time events," Draycos told him. "A person must renew such decisions each day. Sometimes several times in the same day."
"I suppose," Jack said. "Seems like an awful waste of effort, though."
"Not really," Draycos said. "Each time you make such a decision, you grow stronger and more resolved. You become able to face even more difficult challenges."
"Great," Jack growled. "Make the tough choices, and they get tougher."
For a moment Draycos was silent. " 'A tree within a quiet glade will break in gentle rains,' " he murmured. " 'But one upon a windy coast can face the hurricanes.' "
Jack rolled his eyes. "Don't try to tell me that one comes from an old K'da warrior poem."
"Not a warrior poem, no," the dragon said. "But I spent some time on the seashore once, and what I observed there—"
"Never mind," Jack interrupted. "I'm sorry I asked."
"As you usually are with such things," Draycos said, a hint of humor peeking through. "What do we do now?"
"Good question," Jack confessed. "Let me think." For a long minute he stared at the stubborn computer, shifting plans and ideas around in his mind like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
He couldn't get into the system. Therefore, he had to sneak in when the system was already up and running. That would be pretty tricky. Alternatively, he could be here when Gazen first started up the computer in the morning and read the codes as they were fed in. That would be even trickier.
But then, as Uncle Virgil had been fond of saying, tricky was the Morgan family middle name. "Okay," he said, shutting off the computer. "Time to switch to Plan B."
"Which is?"
"You'll see," Jack said, standing up and glancing over Gazen's desk. A small but distinctive paperweight caught his eye. Easy to carry, and something Gazen would definitely miss. Perfect. Picking it up, he dropped it into his pocket.
"What is that for?" Draycos asked as Jack started for the door.
"A souvenir of our visit," Jack said. "Come on, we've got work to do."
"Where are we going?" Draycos asked as Jack eased the door open a crack.
"To the kitchen," Jack told him, looking carefully outside. No one was in sight. "I just hope they haven't gotten started on breakfast yet."
"The kitchen?" Draycos asked, sounding confused. "Why?"
Jack smiled tightly. "I'm hungry."
CHAPTER 19
The kitchen was deserted when Jack and Draycos arrived. Deserted and dark both, with only a handful of small night lights showing.
"The food supplies will be back in the pantry," Draycos pointed out as Jack wove his way carefully through the maze of shadows.
"I was kidding about being hungry," Jack told him. His stomach growled. "Mostly, anyway."
He stopped beside the recipe desk, and the corner-mounted recorder he'd seen on his first trip through the place. "This is why we're here," he said, pulling the recorder from its attachment.
"What is it?" Draycos asked.
"A recorder," Jack said, turning it toward one of the lights for a better look. "Video and audio both. I figure there's no reason to let that camera in Gazen's office go to waste."
He glanc
ed around, looking for tools. A butter knife and seafood fork would probably do, he decided. "Watch the door," he ordered Draycos, heading for a stack of silverware drawers. "Let me know if you hear any movement over by the slave stairs."
There was a surge of weight on his shoulders as the dragon leaped out from the back of his shirt collar. Silently, he padded off toward the door.
The recorder was a simple, off-the-shelf model, with few complications and not a single shred of security. It took Jack only a minute to take off the outer casing, strip the guts out of the gadget, and put the casing back together. Reattaching the empty shell to the desk, he put the recorder equipment into his pocket and headed for the exit. "Finished," he called softly. "Draycos?"
He rounded a preparation island and stopped. There was the door straight ahead, a wide, dark shadow against the pale white kitchen walls. The dragon was nowhere to be seen. "Draycos?"
"Here," the other called from somewhere to Jack's left. "Come and see."
Frowning, Jack followed the voice. Behind a large food warmer, he found Draycos standing against the wall. Above his head was a wide, flat gray box set into the wall at Brummgan eye-level. "Trouble?" Jack asked.
"Just the opposite," Draycos said. "I was scouting and found the box you see above me. Do the words on it say what I believe they say?"
Jack stepped close and squinted at the box. In the dim light the lettering was hard to make out. "Spare . . . spare something," he said. "Spare . . .?"
"Spare keys?" Draycos suggested.
Jack felt his heartbeat pick up slightly. Spare keys? "This is definitely worth a look," he agreed. Pressing his back against the box, he held a hand out to Draycos. The dragon put a forepaw on it and melted up his sleeve. There was the usual shifting on his skin as he leaned out over the box door.
And there was it was again: the same odd sensation Jack had felt outside Gazen's office. As if the dragon were somehow slipping . . .
Another wiggle, and he was back. "There are six rows of hooks inside, with five in each row," he reported. "Each hook is labeled, and holds one to three keys."
