Dragonback 03 Dragon and Slave Read online

  "Any alarms?"

  "None that I could see," Draycos told him.

  Jack looked at the side of the box, noted the simple-looking lock that held the lid in place. This seemed way too good to be true. "I guess they figured hiding it back here was enough," he said. "Could you see the labels?"

  "Not well enough to read," Draycos said.

  "Well, keys are always worth checking out," Jack said, pulling out his lockpick. "Let's get this thing open."

  He had the lock popped in ten seconds flat. Even with the out-of-the-way location, he thought dryly, whoever had been in charge of extra keys must not have read the Chookoock family security manual. Taking half a step back, he swung back the door.

  And was slammed suddenly and violently backward as Draycos leaped out between him and the box.

  He flailed for balance, but the shove had been too hard. Gurgling helplessly in his throat, he fell back onto the tile floor. "Draycos!"

  "Stay down," the dragon said sharply. He was crouched beneath the box, his long neck twisted as he peered cautiously up at it. "I heard a spring twitch as you opened the door, and then a click. A trap may have been activated."

  "Oh, great," Jack muttered. Keeping low to the floor, he skittled around to the wall beside the box. Then, gingerly, he eased himself upward.

  One look was all it took. "There was a trap, all right," he said. "But it's already been sprung. Have a look."

  Carefully, Draycos straightened up. "There," he said, his tongue flicking out to point at the hinge side of the box lid. "There is the spring I heard."

  "That's the trigger," Jack agreed. "And there's the trap, that little hole between the first and second row of keys. See it?"

  "Yes," Draycos said. "I assumed it was merely a defect in the material."

  "It's supposed to look that way," Jack said. "It's the lens of a security camera, set to go off as the door is opened. One of us just got his picture taken."

  Draycos muttered something evil-sounding under his breath. "My fault."

  "Don't blame yourself," Jack told him, peering at the disguised lens. Probably a remote camera, with a light-pipe system carrying the image through the wall to somewhere else. "That kind of trigger is hard to detect. Especially when you're looking at it with the box closed the way you K'da do."

  "It is still a disaster," Draycos said in a low, pain-filled voice. "I have failed."

  "Let's not panic yet, okay?" Jack said. "You said you heard the click when the camera went off. When was that, exactly?"

  "It closely followed the sound of the spring," Draycos said slowly. "I believe I had already gone back to my three-dimensional form, hoping to protect you from any deadly weapon."

  And to take the full impact of that weapon on himself? Probably. Typical K'da warrior thinking. "So you think you'd already come out when the camera fired?"

  "Yes, I am certain," the dragon answered. "I was between you and the box at the time."

  Wedged in rather tightly between Jack and the box, too, as Jack remembered it, "So you were pressed up against the box," he said. "Blocking most of the light. And with, what, your back to the camera?"

  "Most likely my right shoulder," Draycos said. "I was twisting that direction, but did not yet have my back to the box."

  "So in other words, they haven't got a picture of Jack Morgan with his fingers in the candy dish," Jack concluded. "All they've got is a close-up of a K'da scale pattern."

  "But surely they will not be able to identify it," Draycos said hopefully. "No one here has ever seen a K'da."

  "We're assuming that, yeah," Jack said grimly. "Problem is, we don't know for sure. We do know that these guys supply Brummgan mercenaries to whoever the Valahgua are working with. What if they're not just suppliers, but also partners?"

  "If so, they may show the picture to the Valahgua," Draycos said. "You are right. We must destroy that picture."

  "If we can," Jack said, glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen clock. They were running dangerously low on time. "First things first. As long as we're here, let's take a look at these keys."

  The labels had, of course, been printed in Brummgan script. But someone had thoughtfully added hand-written translations in English and Dynsci, probably for the benefit of slaves for whom one of the Orion Arm's major trade languages was more familiar.

  And as Jack ran his eyes over the labels, he realized that the lack of security here wasn't nearly as big a mistake as he'd hoped. Most of the keys were to meat lockers, or pastry storage areas, or even one to a freezer temperature control. If they'd tipped off the Valahgua for this, they'd paid a pretty high price for pretty cheap goods.

  Then he spotted a single small and oddly-shaped key on one of the hooks in the bottom row, looking almost like an afterthought. Leaning down, he squinted at the label.

  And smiled tightly. As Uncle Virgil used to say, at least until he had decided it was safe to swear in Jack's presence—"Bingo," he murmured.

  "What?" Draycos asked.

  "A key to the slave hotboxes," Jack told him, taking the key and dropping it into his pocket. "And since it says hotboxes, plural, I'm guessing it opens all of them. That could be extremely useful."

  "They will notice the loss," Draycos warned.

  "Only if they look really closely," Jack said, shifting one of the spare keys onto the now-empty hook. "This ought to make it less obvious."

  "What about the camera?"

  "We'd have to take the whole box off the wall to see where the optic line goes," Jack said, closing the door and relocking it. "And then we'd have to trace it to the camera itself. We'll just have to hope no one bothers to check the pictures every day."

  "But if they do—"

  "Then we may be in trouble," Jack cut him off harshly. He didn't like this any more than Draycos did. But there wasn't a knitted, purled, or darned thing either of them could do about it. At least, not right now. "Or not. I doubt there are any Valahgua here in the house—you'd probably have smelled them if there were. And a close-up view of K'da scales isn't going to be very helpful to anyone else."

  "Perhaps," Draycos said reluctantly. "What now?"

  "We go back to Gazen's office," he told Draycos, heading for the door again. "And hope he's not getting up extra early this morning."

  Getting the recorder set up took longer than Jack had expected. The cable feed from the security camera vanished back into the wall a short distance from Gazen's office, and it took him and Draycos several precious minutes to track it into the conference room next door.

  Once there, though, things went quicker. From the inside of a handy ventilation grille, Draycos dug a short tunnel into the soft material to the point where the cable ran through the wall. Wiring the recorder into the circuit, Jack stashed the device out of the way and resealed the grille.

  "You realize, of course, that this communication cable is one of the wires we punctured earlier," Draycos pointed out.

  "That's okay," Jack assured him, brushing the last bits of telltale dust from beneath the grille, trying to spread it evenly across the floor. "They'll fix it as soon as they realize they're not getting a picture. Probably have it back up in an hour."

  "And then?"

  "That camera has a perfect view of Gazen's keyboard," Jack said. "We come back tomorrow and retrieve the recorder, and we ought to have a complete record of what it takes to get into the Chookoock family computer system."

  He felt a ripple across his skin as the dragon shook his head. "Sometimes you amaze me, Jack."

  "With my creativity?"

  "With your sheer nerve," Draycos corrected. "Who else would use an enemy's own security system against him?"

  "Oh, pretty much any thief worth his bail money," Jack said with a tight smile. "That's how we do our job."

  "How you did your job," Draycos corrected. "You are reformed now."

  "Right," Jack muttered. "Sure couldn't prove it by me."

  He stood up, brushing the remaining dust off his hands as he survey
ed the area. Not perfect, but good enough. Stepping to the door, he opened it a crack and peered out.

  He'd pushed his timing just a little too far. Across the big entry chamber, he could see muted lights and hear a quiet commotion coming from the kitchen. The breakfast crew, apparently, had started work.

  "The way to the stairway is still clear, if we hurry," Draycos murmured in his ear.

  Jack swallowed. "Let's go."

  Luck, or K'da warrior fortune, was with them. The slave activity was confined to the kitchen, and most of the residential area was still asleep. They ran across only one Brummga already on the move, and Draycos's ears caught his footsteps in time for Jack to duck out of sight behind a large decorative planter. Two minutes later, they were back in Her Thumbleness's room.

  "And now?" Draycos asked as Jack lay back down at the foot of the snoring Brummga's bed.

  "We try to get some sleep," Jack said, stretching out on the hard floor and closing his eyes. "I've got a feeling this is the most comfortable we're going to be for a while."

  CHAPTER 20

  Jack had hoped to get in at least a couple of hours of sleep before the roof fell in on him. But he'd been asleep no more than half an hour when he was jolted awake by the slamming of the door against the wall. He'd barely pried his eyes open when rough Brummgan hands grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him to his feet.

  "Hey," he protested, blinking his eyes against the glare of light spilling in from the hallway. "What's going—?"

  One of the Brummgas cut off the question with a slap to the side of his head. "Quiet, slave," he growled, slapping Jack again to emphasize the point. "Come."

  With a Brummga gripping each arm, he was carried through the door and out into the hall, the sound of Her Thumbleness's snoring fading away behind him. Down the hall they went, then down the stairs, with Jack's feet only occasionally touching the floor. It was, he thought once, what it must feel like to get caught in a river flash flood.

  Gazen was waiting in his office, seated in the comfy chair Jack had so recently had the chance to try out. "Thank you," he said to the Brummgas as they deposited Jack on the floor in front of him. "Leave us."

  Silently, the Brummgas went out, closing the door behind them. For a long minute Gazen just stared at Jack, his face a smooth mask, his dark brown eyes impossible to read. "Well," he said at last, his voice as unnaturally calm as his expression. "Here we are again."

  Jack shrugged slightly. "I guess so," he said.

  An instant later he was on his knees, a knife-edge of pain ripping through his shoulder. "Some respect, if you please," Gazen said, his voice still calm. Waving idly in his hand like a stalk of wheat in a gentle breeze was a long, thin slapstick Jack hadn't even seen him holding.

  "Yes, sir," Jack managed.

  An instant later he'd gone from knees to stomach, a new focus of agony deep within his left thigh. " 'Sir'?" Gazen's voice came through the haze. " 'Sir'? That's not my title, slave."

  Jack clenched his teeth against the pain, trying desperately to remember what the Brummgas had called him when he'd first been brought inside the white wall. Pancake? Panrig? Panjam?

  Panjan. That was it: Panjan. "I'm sorry, Panjan Gazen," he said.

  And bit back a scream as a third slapstick blow caught him across his back. "Panjan is a Brummgan title," Gazen said, his voice almost too quiet to hear over Jack's own gasping. "Not proper for a human to use. Try again."

  Jack shook his head, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through him. "I don't know . . . what you want," he panted. "I don't know . . . what to say."

  He braced himself for another blow. But it didn't come. "That's better," Gazen said. "You're starting to understand."

  Suddenly, there was a shoe filling Jack's field of view. He winced back, fully expecting that the next thing he felt would be that shoe connecting hard with his cheek.

  But again, the expected didn't happen. "Get up," Gazen said.

  Jack tried to obey. He really did. But his muscles were still shaking too badly from the slapstick's sting. "I—"

  He twitched violently back as the tip of the slapstick swept past his eyes. The movement sent fresh waves of pain washing over him, almost as bad as if Gazen had actually hit him. "I said get up."

  Setting his teeth together, Jack forced his hands under his chest. Slowly, inch by inch, he got himself pushed up off the floor. Rolling over onto his side, he looked up at Gazen.

  The man was back in his chair. Still fingering his slapstick, he was watching Jack with the same vaguely interested expression someone might give a slug working its way through the grass.

  And that really was all he was to Gazen, Jack realized dully. A slug, living under his feet with a bunch of other slugs. All of them alive only because they weren't quite worth the trouble of killing.

  Clenching his teeth some more, he got back to the task of getting up.

  It seemed to take forever. But finally, his shirt soaked with sweat, his body feeling like he had a three-alarm sunburn, he pulled himself more or less upright.

  "Impressive," Gazen said. "You're tougher than you look, McCoy. I'll have to remember to use a stronger setting next time."

  He waved the slapstick for emphasis. Instinctively, Jack flinched back, the movement nearly throwing him off balance again.

  That one earned him a cold half-smile. "And you're a quick learner on top of it," Gazen added. "Good. I trust we won't have to repeat this lesson."

  Jack shook his head, not daring to try to speak. "Good," Gazen said. That seemed to be his favorite word this morning. "There's a chair behind you. Sit."

  It hurt almost as much to sit down, Jack discovered, as it had to drag himself to his feet in the first place. But at least now he didn't have to worry about his knees giving way. "Now," Gazen said briskly, laying the slapstick on the desk beside his computer. "You were in here tonight. Why?"

  Jack took a deep breath. Originally, his plan had been to deny everything, in the hope of maneuvering Gazen into telling him exactly what he knew about Jack's nighttime activities. But the slapstick beating had demolished any interest in playing psychological games with this man. "I was tired of picking berries and playing punching bag for Her Thumbleness," he muttered between slightly numb lips. "I thought this would be a way to remind you that I was more valuable than that."

  "And exactly how valuable do you think you are?"

  Jack started to shrug, remembered what had happened the last time he did that. "I disabled your security system and got into your office," he said. "I took this to prove it."

  He pulled the paperweight from his pocket and set it on the nearest corner of Gazen's desk. "Not just anyone could do something like that and get away with it."

  Gazen's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Do you really think you got away with it?"

  Jack winced. "No, not really."

  "Good," Gazen said. "Then all we have to do is decide what exactly I'm going to do with you."

  Jack's pulse was pounding unpleasantly hard in his neck. The basic assumption here had always been that he was worth too much money to kill out of hand. Now, looking into Gazen's dead eyes, he wasn't at all sure about that anymore. "I'm a professional thief," he said carefully. "A good one, too. I could do those kinds of jobs for you."

  "I've got my own thieves," Gazen said. "What do I need you for?"

  Jack's pulse picked up a little more speed. Had Gazen given up on the auction Uncle Virge had mentioned? Or was this a psychological game of his own? "People don't expect a kid like me to be a thief," he said.

  "Especially when that thief goes under another name?" Gazen suggested. "Or did Heetoorieef merely get your name wrong when you checked in with him?"

  "No, I gave him the wrong one," Jack admitted.

  "Why?"

  That was a darn good question, Jack decided. It deserved a good answer, too.

  Problem was, he didn't have one to give. "It was mostly because—"

  He broke off as a knock came at
the door. "Enter," Gazen called.

  The door opened, and an extra-wide Brummga lumbered in. "Morning slave report, Panjan Gazen," he announced, handing Gazen a data tube.

  "Thank you," Gazen said, plugging the tube into his computer. He flipped a few pages, his eyes skimming across the display. "Still sick, I see."

  He looked back at Jack. "The next time you borrow a name, try to pick someone who isn't already showing up on the sick reports," he said. "Or did you think Brummgan computer systems would be too stupid to notice something like that?"

  Jack felt his throat tighten. The day of the magic show, he remembered, Noy had been coughing a lot. "I didn't know he was sick," he said.

  "And didn't care either, I suppose." Gazen shifted his eyes back to the computer display. "Put him in an isolation hut," he told the Brummga. "We don't want this spreading to the rest of them."

  "Treatment?" the Brummga asked.

  "None," Gazen said darkly. "I'm tired of this. The boy's always been more trouble than he's worth."

  "Like his parents," the Brummga said.

  "Exactly like his parents," Gazen agreed, an edge of contempt in his voice. "Put him in a hut and leave him there. If he gets well, fine. We'll get a little more work out of him." He pulled the tube out of the computer and handed it back. "If he doesn't, make sure you decontaminate the body before you get rid of it."

  The Brummga nodded as he took the tube. "I obey, Panjan Gazen." He lumbered back out, closing the door behind him.

  "Now," Gazen said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. "Where were we?"

  Jack took a careful breath—"Oh, that's right," Gazen said before he could speak. "You were going to spin me some lie as to why you used a false name when you were brought in here."

  He picked up the slapstick and began waving it gently around again. "Would you like me to tell you what I think?" he asked.

  Jack was still trying to decide whether he was supposed to answer when Gazen flicked the slapstick toward him—

  And a fresh slash of pain burst across on his shoulder like a bolt of lightning.