Dragonback 03 Dragon and Slave

  He gasped, jerking back in shock and pain. And only then did his squinting eyes register what had just happened.

  Gazen's weapon wasn't an ordinary slapstick, he realized now. Instead, it was composed of a slightly flexible cylindrical spiral that could extend several feet outward at the flick of a wrist. Even as Jack clutched at his shoulder, Gazen lifted the slapstick back toward the ceiling, letting the extended sections slide smoothly back into the outer sheath. "When I ask a question, I expect an answer," he said. "Shall I repeat it for you?"

  Jack shook his head. "Yes, I'd like you to tell me what you think," he managed.

  "Better," Gazen said approvingly, waving the slapstick idly in his hand again. "I think this whole thing about your partner selling you to us was never more than a complete scam. I think he's sitting in your ship right now, monitoring your activities and waiting for you to reach your objective."

  He lifted his eyebrows. "Go ahead. Tell me I'm wrong."

  CHAPTER 21

  Jack thought his heart had been trotting along at a pretty good clip before. Now, as he stared into Gazen's face, he could feel it going into sprint mode. "I don't understand," he said. "What do you mean, selling me to you?"

  Gazen gave him a smile as thin as a con man's promise. "Oh, of course," he said. "I forgot. You knew nothing about that, did you?"

  "I still don't—I mean—"

  "You see, we have a problem here," Gazen went on. "The problem is that he's still sitting out there at the spaceport. If he'd really sold you as he claimed, don't you think he'd have taken off for parts unknown the minute he had his money?"

  Except that Gazen's payment hadn't been made in cash, Jack knew. It had been in the form of credit, good only at the Ponocce Spaceport. Uncle Virge couldn't go anywhere else, at least not if he wanted to spend that money. He opened his mouth to point that out—

  And strangled back the words just in time. He wasn't supposed to know anything about the deal, after all, including how the payment had been made. Mentioning the credit line would be a dead giveaway that he was still in contact with the partner who'd supposedly sold him into slavery.

  And from the look in Gazen's eyes, he realized with a creepy sensation, that was exactly what the slavemaster had been fishing for. Proof that Jack wasn't what he claimed to be.

  Jack's mouth was still open, waiting for words to come out. "He's probably trying to get me out," he improvised. He could hear a quaver in his voice, one that had nothing to do with his acting skills. "Maybe trying to work a deal with the authorities about that burglary charge."

  "Very good," Gazen said softly. Either Jack's act hadn't fooled him, or else he wasn't ready to abandon the bluff just yet. "Stubborn loyalty, naïve unthinking trust. Honor among thieves. Is that it?"

  "I don't know about honor," Jack said. "But he is my partner. We've been together a long time."

  "Of course," Gazen said. "Tell me something. Just for my own curiosity, you understand. Are you an actual member of the Daughters of Harriet Tubman? Or are you simply a stupid young fool they talked into doing this job for them?"

  Jack blinked. "A member of what?"

  "Don't insult my intelligence, McCoy," Gazen said, his voice abruptly as cold as Neptune's north pole. "If that's even your real name. I was watching just now as we discussed that useless Noy kid. You reacted far too strongly for a simple professional thief. I know the type, and none of them cares about anything but the continued safety of his or her own skin."

  "I don't care about Noy," Jack protested. Even to his own ears the words sounded lame. "I don't care about any of them."

  "Of course not," Gazen said, clearly not believing a word of it. "Did the people who hired you happen to mention that they've been a splinter up my fingernail for longer than you've been alive? Or that I hate everything and anyone associated with them? Hmm? Did they?"

  And then, suddenly, the name clicked. The Daughters of Harriet Tubman: the building Draycos had spotted across from the gatekeeper's house. "I don't know what you mean," he insisted. "I never even heard of them before."

  "Still, I have to admit they've come up with something new this time," Gazen went on. "Usually they try official protests or attempts to interfere with Chookoock family business. Sending in a thief to steal our records is beyond even their usual level of insolence."

  He tilted his head toward his computer. "I trust you had no trouble with my files?"

  "I didn't touch your computer," Jack said. "I told you, I only came in—"

  "Of course, as they say, it doesn't always take a genius to create a clever plan," Gazen cut him off. "Sometimes an idiot can fall over one by accident."

  He smiled faintly. "But as they also say, you can't make lox without smoking a few fish. In this case, you're that fish."

  Again, he flicked out the slapstick. Jack flinched away, the movement sending another splash of pain through him. But the tip of the weapon passed harmlessly past his left shoulder. Gazen was just playing with him. "What that means is that you're going to disappear," the slavemaster continued, his voice as calm as if he were ordering dinner. "You will be prepared for service; and then you will be quietly smuggled off-planet and delivered to your new owners."

  He waved the slapstick idly. "Leaving your friends at Tubman to sit around their meeting rooms, sipping their tea and eating their scones. Wondering occasionally whatever happened to you."

  A heavy silence filled the room. Jack tried to swallow, but his mouth and throat were as dry as a summer's day in the Gobi. Certainly he'd been in tighter situations than this one, facing ruthless people like Snake Voice and the enemy mercenary he'd dubbed Lieutenant Cue Ball.

  But all the others had at least seen him as a person, someone to be manipulated or squeezed or maybe bargained with. Gazen saw him as nothing more than an old hat he might sell for a little pocket change.

  And somehow that fact was more chilling than any of the man's veiled threats. Death he could face, and maybe talk or wiggle or con his way out of. A lifetime of slavery stretching out in front of him was a more horrible thought.

  And for perhaps the first time, he truly understood why it was that Draycos hated slavery so much.

  Draycos.

  And suddenly the spiderweb of fear and pain Gazen had spun with his words and slapstick collapsed into the proper perspective. Jack wasn't alone here, after all. Not by a long shot.

  And humming away almost within arm's reach was Gazen's computer. Already up and running, with all the passwords already entered.

  Exactly the situation he'd been looking for.

  A kaleidoscope of possibilities flashed across his mind like the lights of a broken status board. He could do it; right here, right now. A simple order to attack, and he would get to see the expression of horror on Gazen's face as he saw a poet-warrior of the K'da come boiling out of Jack's shirt collar.

  Not that the expression—or the face—were likely to last very long. Slapstick or no slapstick, the dragon would make hamburger out of him in nothing flat. Jack could dig out the mercenary data, they could cut their way through however many Brummgan guards were loitering around outside, and head for the main gate. It was almost too easy.

  And then he took another look at Gazen's face. He was watching Jack closely, like some interesting specimen squirming under a microscope.

  No, not like a specimen under a microscope. Like an approaching spaceship that seemed way too harmless to be real. A ship that somehow, somewhere, had hidden weapons that had to be located and identified.

  The setup wasn't almost too easy. It was too easy.

  This was a test. The whole thing; from the humming computer, to the deliberate mention of Noy's sickness, to even being in here alone with Gazen.

  The slavemaster was trying to goad him into some kind of reaction. Feeding him rope and waiting for him to take it, obligingly tie a noose, and hang himself.

  Which meant Gazen's apparent helplessness was an illusion. The first move Jack made in that direction, an
d it would be as if somebody had dumped a bucket of Brummgas over his head.

  He took a careful breath, quieting his emotions. No, Gazen was still motivated by money, and Jack was worth a lot of it. According to Uncle Virge's eavesdropped timetable, there were still a few days before they would be ready to ship him off the planet. He would continue to play innocent—or at least as innocent as he could under the circumstances—and wait for the right opportunity.

  An opportunity, and a timing, of his choosing. Not Gazen's.

  "You're taking this remarkably well, I must say," Gazen murmured into Jack's thoughts. "Perhaps you're expecting to be rescued? If so, I'd advise you to lay that hope to rest. It won't happen. Guaranteed."

  He slid his slapstick back into the holster at his waist. "Or perhaps it's just that you're too stupid to comprehend the fate that awaits you," he added in a nastier tone. "Perhaps a small taste will help spur your imagination. Guards!"

  The door slammed open, and three Brummgas bounded into the room. Their headlong rush seemed to falter, the rear one almost stumbling over the other two, as they caught sight of Jack still sitting quietly in his chair. "Yes, Panjan Gazen?" one of them said, looking uncertainly between Gazen and Jack.

  "He needs more of a lesson than the regular hotboxes can provide," Gazen said.

  His dark eyes focused one final time on Jack's face. Then, as if in complete dismissal of Jack as both puzzle and person, he turned back to his computer. "Take him away," he said over his shoulder, "and put him in the frying pan."

  CHAPTER 22

  Jack cleared his throat as the Brummgas surrounded his chair. "Aren't you forgetting one small thing?" he asked.

  Reluctantly, it seemed, Gazen turned back around to face him. "And that is . . .?"

  "Her Thumbleness will be expecting me to play with her today," Jack said. "She's likely to be upset if I don't turn up."

  Gazen's eyes flicked to the Brummgas. "Her Thumbleness needs to learn she can't have everything she wants."

  "Absolutely," Jack agreed. "But I wouldn't want to be the one who has to teach her that."

  Gazen smiled thinly. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I can handle Her Thumbleness."

  His eyes flicked to the Brummgas again. "The frying pan," he ordered again. "Make it the full treatment."

  The frying pan turned out to be a small metal shed tucked out of sight in a clump of bushes about fifty yards from the mansion's kitchen entrance. Probably hidden, Jack thought cynically, so as not to disturb the more delicate members of the Chookoock family. Other than that, it looked pretty much like the regular hotboxes he'd become acquainted with over the past couple of weeks.

  Uneasily, he wondered what extras Gazen had added to give it such an ominous name.

  The answer came as the lead Brummga led the way around to the far side of the frying pan and levered up the door. The other hotboxes had been plain tin structures, with plain tin insides. This one, in contrast, was lined with a bright copper mesh, with horizontal and vertical wires carefully separated by thin black rubbery spacers.

  The Brummgas shoved him inside and swung the door closed again. The lock clicked, and with a muttering of deep voices the aliens clumped their way back toward the main house. "I had wondered what was meant by the name frying pan," Draycos murmured when the footsteps had faded away. "These wires are electrical, correct?"

  "Afraid so," Jack agreed grimly, searching the walls and ceiling for evidence of listening devices. There hadn't been any in the other hotboxes, but one so close to the main house might run under different rules.

  An instant later he jerked violently as a jolt of current burned through him. "Ow!"

  "Are you injured?" Draycos asked anxiously.

  "No, I'm just fine," Jack gritted out, his teeth clenched against the fresh waves of pain rolling through his body. The shock itself hadn't been all that painful, but it had reawakened all the nerve endings already scrubbed raw by Gazen's slapstick.

  He wondered if Gazen had thought about that part before throwing him in here. Odds were, he had.

  "Jack—"

  "No, it's okay," Jack reassured the dragon. "Really. If they wanted to kill me, there are easier ways."

  "Nevertheless, it is clearly painful," Draycos said. "Move as far as you can to the side."

  "You must be kidding," Jack said, looking around. Like the regular hotboxes, there wasn't enough spare room in here for a decent hamster cage. "Move to what side where?"

  "Press your body against the right-hand wall," Draycos ordered, sliding around on Jack's back. "And raise the lower part of your shirt."

  Another jolt sparked through the mesh. This time, Jack's spasming legs drove the back of his head against the ceiling. "Now; move quickly," Draycos said as the current shut off and Jack sagged back down. "Before it happens again."

  "Sure," Jack muttered, tasting blood where his clenching teeth had caught the side of his tongue. Rolling partway onto his side, he pressed his chest against the wires and raised the back of his shirt.

  Draycos lifted up from his lower back, squeezing himself into the remaining space. The sudden change in the number of occupants shoved Jack hard against the wall, forcing the side of his face up against the cold metal as well.

  He closed his eyes, muscles tightening in anticipation and dread. If another shock came now, there would be nowhere for him to even twitch away to. Draycos's own body would hold him against the mesh until the current knocked him unconscious.

  Or else seriously burned him. Maybe even killed him.

  Gazen would be very unhappy if that happened. Slaves of the Chookoock family were not supposed to do anything, not even die, without official permission.

  The kind of permission Noy had been given this morning.

  Abruptly, Draycos melted back onto Jack's skin. "What?" Jack demanded as the unexpected loss of pressure sent him rolling over onto his back.

  "I have altered the wiring," the dragon said, a grim satisfaction in his voice. "It will no longer send current through the mesh."

  "Great," Jack growled. "At least, not until someone notices and sends out a repairman. Then they'll see what you've done, and wonder where I got any tools—"

  "No one will come," Draycos interrupted him. "No one will notice. I have not simply connected the outer wires together, but have run them through a small piece of wood. If I have calculated correctly, the wood will indicate a similar level of electrical resistance as a human body."

  Jack shook his head. "I have no idea what any of that means."

  From below him came a sudden crackle of electricity. He tensed, but no shock stabbed into his skin. "It means," Draycos said as the crackling stopped, "that any instruments they have attached to the system will show that it is still hurting you."

  "Oh," Jack said. "Well . . . okay. Thanks."

  "You are welcome."

  For a minute neither of them spoke. Jack shifted around, trying to get comfortable. It was a futile task, as every move brought fresh agony to his muscles. But oddly enough, and rather to his own surprise, his thoughts weren't on his own aches and pains.

  Instead, they were with Noy. He could practically see the younger boy's face floating in front of his eyes there in the gloom of the frying pan. He could hear his voice, too, cheerful but with a hidden defiance lurking beneath it. Unlike Greb and Grib, Noy hadn't simply accepted his slavery as if it were just the way things had to be, even though he'd been born into it.

  But then, Maerlynn had said something about his parents trying to escape once. Maybe they'd managed to teach him about freedom before they'd died.

  And now Noy was sick, stuck away somewhere in the isolation hut Gazen had ordered him tossed into. Sick, and weak, and hungry. Maybe dying.

  All alone.

  Another crackle came and went. "You are very quiet," Draycos said softly. "Are you in pain?"

  Jack's first impulse was to lie about it. Compassion had not exactly been at the top of Uncle Virgil's list of prized qualities. He'd consi
dered it a sign of weakness, in fact, and had done his best to hammer that same way of thinking into Jack's skull. Since his death, it had been a task Uncle Virge had done his best to continue.

  But Jack was getting tired of that kind of life. He was also getting tired of lying. "I was thinking about Noy," he told Draycos. "Wondering how he was doing."

  For a moment the dragon was silent. Automatically, Jack braced himself for the scorn and ridicule that would have come instantly from either version of his uncle. "His situation did not sound good," Draycos agreed. "Do you think there is anything we can do for him?"

  "It could be dangerous," Jack warned. "You game to give it a try?"

  "Absolutely," Draycos said, sounding vaguely insulted. "Did you have any doubt?"

  Jack smiled. The K'da warrior ethic. "No, not really," he said.

  "Good," Draycos said firmly. "What is your plan?"

  "Come on, give me a break," Jack protested. "I just started thinking about this. You expect me to have a plan already?"

  "Of course not," the dragon murmured. "Forgive me."

  "But I'm working on it," Jack assured him, wincing as he shifted aching shoulders again. "Gazen sure is a fun person to have around, isn't he?"

  "In my opinion, he is mentally unstable," Draycos said firmly. "But one thing still bothers me."

  "Only one?"

  "The Daughters of Harriet Tubman," Draycos went on, ignoring the comment. "If Gazen dislikes them so much, why does he tolerate their presence near Chookoock family property?"

  "Mainly, because he hasn't got a choice," Jack said. "Remember the rest of the sign? 'Internes Consular Adjunct.' The consular part means the place is part of the Internes diplomatic system. I don't know how the Tubman Group managed that one."

  "And the Internes would be upset if the Brummgas threw them out?"

  Jack shook his head. "You don't get it. Foreign embassies are considered the property of that particular nation or government. By being a consular station, the Tubman house is basically a small chunk of Internes territory on Brum-a-dum. Internes law applies there, not the Brummgan versions."