Dragon And Soldier Read online

  He glanced down at the dragon's head, just visible beneath his collar opening. "Speaking of facts and figures, thanks for bailing me out when Basht started lobbing pan-fried rocks into our laps. I'm amazed you even bothered reading all that stuff, let alone memorized it."

  "I am a poet-warrior of the K'da," Draycos reminded him. "The gathering of military information is part of my profession."

  "Yeah, maybe," Jack said suspiciously. "Let me guess: you made up a little song about the Edge's expeditions. Right?"

  There was a short pause, and then the dragon's voice rose in gentle melody from beneath his shirt. "On Eagles' Rock two hundred strong, where humans fight a Trin-trang throng," the dragon sang. "Eight hundred fight at Sunright here:Agri and seven friend Shamshir."

  Jack rolled his eyes. "Words fail me."

  "Thank you," Draycos said dryly. "There are thirty more verses if you would care to hear them."

  "Some other time."

  They walked in silence a few more steps. "I trust you realize," Draycos said at last, "that this is a trap."

  "Oh, I know," Jack assured him. "Let's hear your take on it."

  "They know that someone tried to break into their system last night," the dragon said. "They suspect it was you, but are not certain. They therefore offer you the chance to learn their access codes, in the hope that you will try again tonight."

  "Not bad," Jack said. "You're getting better at this sneaky stuff."

  "I will take that as a compliment," Draycos said gravely. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome," Jack said. "Only one thing. Unless they also think I'm dumber than dirt soup, they know I won't try another midnight stroll. Not with them alerted like this."

  "What then do they expect?"

  "I figure there are two possibilities," Jack said. "One, that I'll go straight off the chutzpah meter and try to break into the records while Basht is standing right there teaching me how to do it."

  "What is a chutzpah meter?"

  "Chutzpah is sheer, blatant nerve," Jack growled. Having to stop every third sentence to explain something was starting to get really old. The minute they were back on the Esse-nay, he promised himself, he was going to sit the dragon in front of a dictionary and not let him get up until he'd memorized it. "The classic definition is a kid on trial for murdering both parents, who pleads for mercy on the grounds that he's an orphan."

  "An interesting term," Draycos said thoughtfully. "An equally interesting concept. What is the other possibility?"

  "That I'll wait until we get to Sunright and try to tap into the computer at the outpost they're sending us to."

  "Will an outpost computer have the information on the Djinn-90 fighters that we seek?"

  "I don't know," Jack said. "I hope so, since that's mostly what I am planning to do." " 'Mostly'?"

  "Right," Jack said, smiling tightly. "You see, they'll figure they can just put a watchdog program on the computers before I arrive. That way, the minute I try to break in, they'll have me."

  "But you will instead be using your special access system?"

  "Actually, we can do even better than that," Jack told him. "The local Edge group will have to have a mainframe set up somewhere, and it certainly won't be off at some little observation outpost."

  "It will be in their main encampment." "Right," Jack agreed. "And since the outpost computer has to be able to talk to that one, it'll need a transmission pathway. And unless they went to the trouble of stringing a cable out into the middle of nowhere, that means a radio link." Draycos stirred suddenly on his skin. "The Essenay." "Bingo," Jack said, nodding. "Once I give Uncle Virge the access codes, he can tap into the signal and pull up whatever the mainframe has on Djinn-90 fighters. And since I won't have used the outpost computer to do it, they won't be able to trace it back to me."

  Draycos was silent a moment. "That will require us to travel to Sunright," he pointed out. "You will be entering a combat zone."

  "That is the downside to this whole thing," Jack admitted. "What do you know about observation outposts? Do they get attacked much?"

  "That depends on the situation," Draycos said. "If the outpost is not considered a danger, it may be left alone as a ranging marker for artillery attacks."

  "And if it is considered a danger?"

  "It will be destroyed," Draycos said. "As quickly as possible."

  Jack grimaced. "I suppose eavesdropping on the other side's communications would fall into that second category?"

  "Correct," Draycos said. "Assuming the other side is aware of it."

  "Figures." Jack sighed. "Okay. So the goal is to get there, pull the records, and disappear before the Shamshir figure it out."

  "If they have not done so already," Draycos warned. "Perhaps it would be better to leave now and try a different group."

  For a long moment Jack was sorely tempted. He already had his comm clip handy, hidden at his waist beneath his shirt. He could just keep walking until they reached the perimeter, jump the fence, and have Uncle Virge and the Essenay in and out before the Edge even knew what had happened.

  Then it would be out to another mercenary group, one that wasn't already suspicious of him like the Edge was. He had enough fake IDs aboard the ship to try a dozen of them if he had to.

  But he'd already invested six days here, not to mention the time they'd spent getting to Carrion in the first place. And time was definitely something they couldn't afford to waste. "No," he said, trying to feel like he really meant it. "We've come this far. Let's see it through."

  "You do this for my people," Draycos said quietly. "Once again, I am in your debt."

  "Yeah, well, I wouldn't start writing checks just yet if I were you," Jack warned.

  "Pardon?"

  Jack closed his eyes. "Skip it."

  Chapter 10

  Four days later, the recruits graduated.

  Jack had never been through a graduation ceremony before. Of course, he'd never been in a school before, either. All of his formal education had been given to him aboard the Essenay, with Uncle Virgil more or less presiding over the procedure.

  He would have laid good odds, though, that this graduation was vastly different from most.

  The ceremony didn't last very long, for one thing. Grisko and the other drill sergeants got the recruits into formation and ran them through a few maneuvers in front of a small group of officers in full dress uniform. Colonel Elkor and Lieutenant Basht were among them, but Jack didn't recognize any of the others.

  After the maneuvers, they all stood at attention while Elkor gave a speech. A short speech, fortunately, mostly consisting of telling them how lucky they were to be members of the Whinyard's Edge and how proud the Whinyard's Edge was to have them. After that, Lieutenant Basht read off the squad and platoon listings, told them they would be leaving camp at oh-seven-hundred the next morning, and ordered them to fall out.

  And after that, the sergeants loaded their new mercenaries aboard transports and flew them to a nearby town for a party.

  "A curious ritual," Draycos commented as Jack headed toward the restroom for his third time. "But is not alcohol a depressant to your people?"

  "Sure is," Jack confirmed, looking around as he pushed his way past the groups of brand-new Edgemen crowding the tavern. Most of them were already half drunk, either laughing and staggering or else passed out on the tables where they sat. A few were huddled in corners, looking miserable, probably trying not to throw up. "I don't know why Grisko and the others are even putting up with this, let along encouraging it." Draycos remained silent until Jack reached the privacy and relative quiet of the restroom. "There is no deep mystery to their actions," the dragon said. "The children are drinking alcohol to pretend they have become adults. The officers allow it because they believe the experience will bond the members of each platoon together."

  Jack snorted. "Mostly what it'll do is make them feel lousy," he said. "Not a single one of these kids has any idea what they're doing. Probably the first time any
of them has even tasted the stuff." "Unlike you?"

  Jack shrugged. "Uncle Virgil taught me to drink in case I ever had to do it for some con scheme," he told the dragon. "And right after he did, he told me to never even look at the stuff if I didn't absolutely have to. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm still on my first beer, and I've only finished half of that. Mostly, I've been drinking water."

  "I had noticed," Draycos said. "I see that in some areas Uncle Virgil did indeed have good judgment."

  "What Uncle Virgil had was a well-developed survival instinct," Jack said as he dug under his shirt and pulled out his comm clip. "In our business even a little fog in the brain could be fatal. Fogged reflexes, too. I never knew when we might have to drop everything and make a run for the tall grass."

  He took a deep breath as he lifted the comm clip. "Uncle Virge isn't going to like this," he warned.

  Uncle Virge didn't. "This is not the deal we made, Jack lad," the computer growled. "Not the deal at all."

  "You don't hear me doing cartwheels of joy either, do you?" Jack asked. "There just isn't any other way."

  "Of course there is," Uncle Virge said, suddenly gone all soothing and persuasive. "Look, lad, it's over. I know you've done your best. But the hand's been lost, the jackpot's been taken off the table, and it's time to face reality. You and your poet-warrior friend have no choice but to take this to the StarForce."

  "We've been through this, Uncle Virge," Jack reminded him. "It isn't safe for Draycos to show himself around."

  "But it's safe for him to drag you into a war zone?" Uncle Virge countered. "Besides, if Draycos gets himself killed, what happens to his people?"

  "I will not be killed," Draycos said calmly. "Nor will I allow Jack to be harmed."

  "Big promises," Uncle Virge huffed. "How exactly do you intend to make amends if you're wrong? A signed apology from the grave?"

  "I'm not going to argue with you," Jack cut him off. He was nervous enough without bringing up the subject of graves. "We're going, and that's that. You want to hear the plan, or don't you?"

  "Go ahead," Uncle Virge muttered, sulking now.

  Jack laid it out for him. Uncle Virge was not impressed. "That's the plan?" he demanded scornfully. "That house of buttered toast is the best our poet-warrior can come up with? No wonder his people are losing their war."

  Jack winced, not daring to look down at Draycos. "Yes, that's it," he told Uncle Virge stubbornly. "The only question is whether we do it on our own or whether you come along to help. Well?"

  "Of course I'll help," Uncle Virge muttered, back to sulking again. "You know where you'll be?"

  "It's the Edge's November Six outpost," Jack told him. "According to the map they showed us, it's just to the south of Bear Mountain in the southwestern part of the Gray Hills. Can you pull up a map?"

  "Yes," Uncle Virge said. "Yes, I have it."

  "Basht said we'd be flying into a major Parprin town called Mer'seb," Jack told him. "From there, our squad will take a transport up to November Six. I'm guessing Mer'seb is where the Edge's HQ and mainframe computer are, but you'll need to check on that. Got it?"

  "Of course," Uncle Virge said.

  "Okay," Jack said. "Incidentally, you weren't by any chance poking around the training camp last—let's see—last Tuesday night, were you?"

  "Certainly not," Uncle Virge said. "I'm right here in the spaceport where you left me. Why?"

  "Just wondering," Jack said. "There was a something off by the fence that night that had the patrols stirred up for awhile, that's all."

  "Did it cause you any trouble?"

  "Actually, it did us a favor," Jack said. "That's what opened up the grounds and gave us a clear run at the HQ building."

  "Where you weren't able to get what we needed," Uncle Virge said pointedly. "Which is why we're going with this other lunatic plan. Some favor."

  Jack felt his lip twitch. "I suppose." "But I suppose we're stuck with it now," Uncle Virge went on. "I don't suppose you happen to know where the actual battle lines are drawn on Sunright?"

  Jack glanced down at Draycos, got a sideways slide of the head in return. "Not a clue," he said. "But we should be able to figure it out once we see which direction the shots are coming from."

  "Not funny, Jack lad," Uncle Virge said darkly. He had a point. "Sorry," Jack apologized. " 'With tired arms,'" Draycos murmured, " 'and eyes fatigued, the soldiers stood to mark the deed.' "

  "That isn't funny, either," Uncle Virge growled.

  "Sorry for both of us, in that case," Jack said, frowning down at Draycos. What had that been all about? "I have to go. We'll see you on Sunright."

  He clicked off the comm clip and tucked it away again inside his shirt. "Well, he's not happy," he commented. "But he didn't go completely frantic on us, either. That's a good sign."

  "Or else he merely recognizes he has no choice but to obey."

  "Maybe," Jack conceded. "What was that 'tired arms' thing you said to him?"

  "It was part of a poem," Draycos said. "I have been working on translating my poetry into your language. I often recite parts of it to Uncle Virge late at night, while you sleep."

  Jack had to grin at that. Uncle Virgil had always despised poetry, which meant that the computerized Uncle Virge probably did, too. "I'll bet he just loves that. So what part didn't he think was funny?"

  "It was a poem about the Battle of Chatii," Draycos said, his voice low and grim. "There the K'da and Shontine held a bridge against the Valahgua while a group of alien civilians escaped behind them. What the warriors did not know was that some of the civilians had been turned by the enemy, and soon they were being attacked from both sides."

  Jack winced. "I can see why he didn't like it. Did they all—I mean ... die?"

  "Actually, most of them escaped safely," Draycos said. "It was your comment about not knowing where the battle lines were drawn that brought that part of our war to my mind. So it was not Uncle Virge near the camp that night."

  "I guess not," Jack said. "I hadn't really thought he would have been that careless, anyway."

  "Which returns us to the question of what did stir up the patrols," Draycos pointed out.

  "I don't know," Jack said. "Maybe they were just jumping at shadows."

  "Trained soldiers usually do not do that."

  "I suppose." Jack looked down at the dragon's head beneath his shirt. "By the way, I want to apologize for what Uncle Virge said about your people losing their war."

  "No apology is necessary," the dragon said calmly. "I understand his motivation. Having failed to argue us out of our plan, he was attempting to shame us out of it."

  "Ah," Jack said. Yes, that was definitely something from Uncle Virgil's old bag of tricks. "Anyway, I'm sorry. I'm glad you didn't take offense."

  "I did not say I did not take offense," Draycos said. His voice was still calm, but there was a thin layer of ice on it. "I merely said I understood. Either way, though, the fault is not yours."

  Jack swallowed. "Okay," was all he could think of to say. "Well. Let's get back to the party."

  The transports left the camp at precisely oh-seven-hundred the next morning, bright and shiny and efficient.

  Unfortunately, the same could not be said of their passengers.

  Most of them, to quote one of Uncle Virgil's favorite phrases, looked like death warmed over and stuck to the pan. Most were pale and limp, some looked like they'd just done a twenty-mile hike, and a few were practically sleepwalking as they stumbled aboard the transports.

  Amid such company, Jack knew, someone as fresh and un-hungover as he was would be a little too noticeable. He picked a role somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, hanging his head as he shuffled along. Occasionally, he made sure to bump into the person on either side of him.

  The transfer to the various spacecraft that were waiting for them an hour later wasn't much better, but at least no one got accidentally left behind. As far as Jack ever heard, none of them fogged their way aboard the wr
ong ship, either.

  The trip to Sunright took seven days. Tango Five Zulu was one of three squads from their training group going to this particular world. Sergeant Grisko and Lieutenant Basht were along, too, though Basht made it clear he would only be staying long enough to write up a report on the current situation there.

  There were also two hundred regular Whinyard's Edge mercenaries aboard, heading in to reinforce the eight hundred troops already there.

  The numbers struck Jack as rather ominous. A twenty-five percent increase in ground forces meant the Edge was either making a major push for victory or scrambling madly to avoid defeat.

  Either way, it was likely there was going to be shooting. Possibly a lot of it.

  Starting with the second day of the flight, after everyone had recovered from their hangovers, Basht had Tango Five Zulu start their equipment preparation. They now had the actual fold-top computers they would be taking up to November Six with them, and it took the better part of two days to load the various codes and data onto them from the ship's main system.

  The rest of the time was spent practicing the computer drills they'd learned back on Carrion. They would continue practicing, Basht declared several times, until they were able to run them in their sleep.

  Jack wasn't sure they ever got that good at it. But he had to admit that Basht pushed them at least halfway there. By the time they reached Sunright, the whole squad was dreaming about the drills.

  Finally, yet all too soon, they had arrived.

  The town of Mer'seb was nestled into a narrow river valley, its tightly packed buildings surrounded by tall, thickly forested hills. A slow river wound lazily through the center of town from the east, taking a sharp southern turn a half mile or so beyond the western edges.

  Between the town and the river curve was a large area of mostly flat stone. It was on this natural landing pad that the Whinyard's Edge spaceship set down.

  The adult Edgemen had obviously been through this routine before. They lined up at the airlock hatchway in full combat gear, rifles and machine guns slung for marching.