Dragonback 03 Dragon and Slave

  And in this case, he even knew which direction they would be facing.

  Curving back along his circle, he approached the first of the hidden sentry posts, tucked away inside a cluster of tall bushes. Staying low to the ground, he crept up and delicately pushed one of the lower branches aside.

  The entire center part of the cluster had been cut away, leaving room for a cozy spy nest. Two Brummgas were inside, sitting in front of a set of Argus monitors like the ones Jack had used during his own sentry duty with the Whinyard's Edge. The aliens were armed with both the standard slapsticks and long-range laser rifles.

  Cutting his way through the bushes would have been both slow and noisy. Easing himself back, Draycos crouched down and gave one last look around. Then, with a quick calculation of distance and angle, he jumped upward.

  The leap was right on point. His rear claws cleared the tops of the bushes by a fraction of an inch, and he dropped squarely on top of the two Brummgas. A quick double head slam later, and this post had been neutralized.

  He gave the monitors a quick check. No sign of Jack and his party yet.

  For a moment he debated taking the sentries' laser rifles and hiding them where the escaping slaves could get hold of them. But even with his brief military training Jack wasn't a very good shot. The other slaves were likely to be even worse. It would be safer for everyone if Draycos did all the path-clearing work himself.

  The next obstacle in line was ahead and about fifty yards to the left, two guards crouched behind the rim of a stone fish pond. Leaping back out of the bushes, he headed in that direction.

  He had finished off that group and three others and was heading for the final two sentry posts when the sky to the northwest abruptly lit up like the inside of a strobe flash.

  He froze in place, sinking deeper into the grass. There was a faint glow in that direction now, reddish light flickering against the low clouds.

  Right on schedule, the glider had gone to its death. The only question now was whether it would succeed in the purpose they had set for it. Keeping low, he continued on toward his next target.

  The Brummgan response was faster than he had expected. He had just reached the concealed sentry post when he heard the distinctive sound of lifters from behind him. He ducked under the edge of the bushes just as a group of six Clax-7 patrol planes shot past, heading for the wall.

  The Clax-7s had reached their goal by the time Draycos finished with this latest group. One of the aircraft was visible just inside the wall, hovering guard above the burning glider. The others were out of sight, probably on the ground with their crews examining the wreckage for bodies.

  There was one sentry post left, this one disguised as a large wooden equipment box at the back corner of the sports field grandstand beside the western flagpole. Draycos was running silently toward on it when the sky again lit up with the flash of laser fire.

  His claws dug into the ground as he twisted around, fully expecting to see the hovering Clax-7 firing at Fleck or, worse, at Jack and the rest of the escaping slaves. To his surprise, though, it was the hovering airfighter itself that had been hit, trailing fiery smoke as it spun to the ground out of sight.

  And taking its place in the sky, only hovering just outside the wall instead of inside it, was the Essenay.

  Draycos turned away, mentally shaking his head. Whatever he might think about Uncle Virge's ethics, the computerized personality definitely had a talent for making grand entrances.

  He reached the equipment box without incident. Slicing through the locking bar, he flung the door open. Once again, he'd caught the Brummgas with their backs to him. Once again, they never knew what hit them.

  The Essenay was still firing as Draycos pushed the door closed behind him. Firing downward, he noticed, over the wall into the estate.

  Was he shooting at the other Clax-7s? But the laser blasts seemed to be low-power ones, too weak for cutting through air-fighter armor. Was he shooting at the Brummgan searchers, then? But there was far too much firing for that.

  Curiosity got the better of him. Climbing up the back of the grandstand, he jumped to the flagpole. It was made of metal, but the material was soft enough for his claws to handle. Digging in, he headed up.

  And from the very top, he could see that Uncle Virge wasn't shooting at either the Clax-7s or their crews. Instead, he was laying down a line of laser fire between the airfighters and the Brummgas, trapping them back against their own defensive wall.

  "Clever," Draycos murmured, mentally flicking his claws in admiration. In the same act, Uncle Virge had both created a diversion and neutralized a sizeable portion of the enemy force. And he'd accomplished both without unnecessary killing.

  The escaping slaves were in sight now, a ragged line of people hurrying across the sports field in the direction of the house and the mercenary transports that would take them to freedom. Shifting around on the flagpole, Draycos turned to look that direction.

  The transports were gone.

  CHAPTER 33

  It was quiet, Jack thought as he led the way past the grandstand. Almost too quiet, especially considering all the noise going on back at the wall. Between the Essenay and the Brummgas' Clax-7s, there was quite a show going on over there. He just hoped Uncle Virge was following his instructions and was pinning down the guards without killing them.

  Still, sooner or later, Gazen was bound to pull his head out of the clouds and wonder what the show was for. At that point, one would expect him to check that his slaves were tucked away in their beds and not strolling around Chookoock family property without permission.

  On the other hand, maybe the fact that there were no Brummgas charging at them from the house meant that Gazen thought his hidden guards were still keeping him safe. The fact that those guards weren't doing their job meant that Draycos had done his.

  More impressive yet, he'd done it in silence. Jack had been listening hard ever since they'd gotten within sight of the hedge and hadn't heard so much as a gurgle.

  Uncle Virge had never really believed Draycos was as good as he claimed. Up to now, Jack really hadn't had any way to prove him wrong.

  After tonight, he would.

  "Where are we going?" Maerlynn puffed from behind him. "We're not going to the house, are we?"

  "No, just around the side," Jack told her. "Remember those transports I told you about? With luck, we'll be out before anyone in the house even knows about it."

  "Hey!" Noy said, grabbing at Jack's sleeve and pointing toward the grandstand. "Over there. What's that?"

  "Where?" Jack asked, peering into the darkness.

  "Over there," Noy said, pointing harder. "I saw two little green lights."

  K'da eyes? "I'll check it out," Jack said briskly. "Maerlynn, keep them moving. I'll catch up in a minute."

  He headed toward the grandstand at a quick jog, slowing to a walk as he reached the structure. "Draycos?" he whispered.

  "Here," the dragon called back. From behind a large wooden box two glowing green eyes appeared.

  "You're lucky we even noticed you back there," Jack commented, stepping close and sticking out his hand. "Noy must have really good eyes."

  "In actual fact, I was staring at you for over a minute," the dragon said. Putting a paw on Jack's hand, he slithered up his sleeve. "If you had not seen me, I would have moved farther along your path and tried again."

  "I was hoping you'd come up with some clever way to reconnect," Jack said, starting back toward the group. "What do you think of Uncle Virge's light show?"

  "Most impressive," Draycos said. "Jack, we have a problem. The military transports are gone."

  Jack nearly tripped over his own feet. "What?"

  "Most of those who came for the auction have left," the dragon said. "The only vehicle still there is a single civilian craft. I suspect it belongs to Arthur Neverlin."

  Jack hissed between his teeth. If he hadn't stopped to go back and check on Noy . . .

  He shook the thought aw
ay. "So Neverlin's still here," he said. "Makes sense. He's probably in there raining fire and brimstone on Gazen over my disappearance."

  "Very likely," Draycos said. "However, our problem still remains. From the view I had of his vehicle, I do not believe it will be strong enough to destroy the gate."

  "Even if it was, we'd be left with no way to get out ourselves afterward," Jack agreed grimly. "Unless we walked, and there are a whole bunch of Brummgan guard posts along the way."

  "And most likely better protected than those I eliminated near the slave areas," Draycos said. "They would of course be alerted now, as well."

  "So a stroll down the driveway is out," Jack said, slowing down. They'd better work this through before they rejoined the rest of the group. Reaching to his left collar, he tapped his comm clip. "Uncle Virge? How's it going?"

  "Just fine, Jack lad, just fine," Uncle Virge's voice came back. "I've got them pinned down nicely. And with this overhang, they can't even shoot back."

  "How many are there?" Draycos asked.

  "Twenty-five," Uncle Virge said. "Mostly Brummgas, though I spotted three humans in the group."

  "And you are certain they are still there?"

  Jack felt his lip twitch. "Oh, boy," he muttered.

  "What?" Uncle Virge demanded. "What is it?"

  "The overhang," Jack told him. "Sure, they can't see you; but you also can't see them. They could be sidling their way along the wall back to the house right now."

  "Or are moving toward the gate to cut off our escape," Draycos added.

  Uncle Virge muttered a very rude word. "I will be—"

  "It's too late to worry about it now," Jack cut him off. "Anyway, you're still keeping them away from the Clax-7s. That's worth a lot."

  "The value may be about to drop," Uncle Virge said, his voice suddenly tight. "I'm picking up a signal from the mansion. Gazen is ordering two Djinn-90 fighters to lift from Ponocce Spaceport."

  Jack squeezed a hand into a fist. "How soon till they get here?"

  "Depends on how ready they are to fly," Uncle Virge said. "Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Twenty if you feel especially lucky today."

  "I don't," Jack said, running some quick estimates through his mind. If he hurried, and if there was no opposition along the way, five minutes ought to get him to Neverlin's shuttle. Another five to run his sewer-rat program on the computer and get it started . . .

  "I might be able to blast open the gate from out here," Uncle Virge suggested doubtfully.

  "Don't even try," Jack warned. "They're bound to be ready for something like that."

  "What do you want me to do, then?"

  "Might as well keep those Brummgas pinned down as long as you can," Jack told him. "But the minute those fighters show up, take off."

  "Take off where?" Uncle Virge demanded. "Jack, lad—"

  "The frame of life is rigid," Draycos spoke up. "The time of life defined."

  There was a short pause. "Understood," Uncle Virge said. "Watch yourself, lad."

  He clicked off. "What was that?" Jack asked Draycos as he turned off the comm clip from his end. "More of your K'da poetry code?"

  "Yes," Draycos said. "It is part of a saga about the siege of Colthin. In that action, the attackers continued to circle the fortress, evading the defenders' weapons and gradually running them out of ammunition."

  "Not exactly the situation here," Jack grunted. "But close enough. I guess."

  "The point is that he will remain in the area, and merely evade the fighters' attacks," Draycos said.

  "That's the theory, anyway," Jack said, breaking into a run again. "Okay, here's the plan. We get back to the group, tell them to follow, then hoof it full-speed to Neverlin's shuttle."

  "And then?"

  Jack shook his head. "We'll figure something out."

  He caught up with the rest of the escaping slaves, delivered his instructions to a reluctant and increasingly nervous-looking Maerlynn, and continued on ahead of them. Two minutes later, he was crouched beside an incredibly ugly sculpture at the edge of the landing area.

  And there was still no response from inside the mansion. It was as if the Brummgas had completely missed what was happening, or were huddling deep inside their stone fortress, trembling with fear.

  Or were simply waiting patiently for the slaves to walk into their trap.

  "Well, there it is," Jack muttered to Draycos as he studied the shuttle squatting fifty yards away. It was a fancy one, all right—not much smaller than the Essenay, all steel and molded high-strength plastic and hand-polished chrome, with quadruple drive engines and at least that many lifter panels. Apparently, Neverlin was one of those who believed that the more backup systems, the better.

  Or maybe he just liked loading his vehicles with expensive extras. In the shadows under the shuttle, Jack could see a set of fold-in, heavy-duty landing skids, the kind that guaranteed landings so soft that Neverlin wouldn't spill even a drop of whatever drink he was holding at the time. "Nice-looking parlor," he murmured.

  "Pardon?"

  "Literary reference," Jack told him. " 'Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.' I don't suppose there's any way for you to tell if they're waiting inside." He snorted. "Let me rephrase that. Is there any way for you to tell how many of them are waiting inside?"

  "I am sorry," Draycos said regretfully. "I can smell Brummgan scent, certainly. But the wind has faded, and I cannot identify any direction for the odors."

  Jack rubbed his chin. "Let's do a numbers game, then. Uncle Virge said he had twenty-five of Gazen's troops pinned down, at least until they can sneak their way around to the gate. How many did you take out clearing the path for us?"

  "Fifteen."

  "Making forty in all," Jack said. "Fleck's top estimate was that Gazen had seventy armed thugs. Figure at least six more in those hidden guard huts between the house and the gate, plus another ten inside the house to protect the Chookoock family in case we take it into our heads to charge the place. Any of those figures sound too high?"

  "Possibly even a bit low," the dragon said slowly. "With an attack coming from a ship as well-armed as the Essenay, and with the gate the only clear way inside, I would post at least ten guards along that approach."

  "Especially since they have no way of knowing if we have other backup waiting outside," Jack said, nodding.

  "Correct," Draycos said. "In addition, with a slave of your skills and reputation on the loose, I would leave at least fifteen to protect the Chookoock family."

  "I'll take that as a compliment," Jack said dryly. "Which leaves only five Brummgas to make direct trouble for us. If we instead go with my numbers, we could end up with as many as fourteen."

  "Either way, those are not very good odds," Draycos pointed out.

  "Either way, those are lousy odds," Jack countered. "But there's not much we can do about it. We need that ship to get out of here."

  "You have a plan, then?"

  "I'm working on it," Jack said, trying to sound confident. "But there's nothing to be gained by hanging around out here."

  Jack straightened up from his crouch; hesitated. "By the way," he said. "I don't think that you—I mean if it is a trap—"

  "I will most likely not be able to keep my existence a secret any longer," Draycos finished calmly. "Yes, I know."

  "Maybe we should try something else," Jack offered, though at the moment he couldn't imagine what that something else would be. "Surrender to Neverlin, maybe, and figure on escaping once we're out of here."

  "They will not let you leave without putting poison into your body," Draycos reminded him. "And even if we found a way to avoid that, the slaves we lead would have to remain."

  Jack sighed. "You're right."

  "Do not be discouraged, Jack," Draycos said. "Even the most precious secret must sometimes give way to a higher purpose. A true warrior must learn when and how to make sacrifices. This is a gamble worth taking."

  "Okay." Jack took a deep breath. "Let's do
it."

  He half expected Gazen to spring the trap while he was still outside the shuttle, on open ground with nowhere to hide. But he made it to the hatchway without anything happening.

  For a moment he crouched beside the entry ramp, catching his breath and peering inside. Unlike the military transports of this size he'd flown in, Neverlin's shuttle seemed to be built along the same lines as a miniature spaceship. Instead of opening into a single large cabin, the hatchway led into a small entry/airlock chamber, with another door leading out of the entryway into the main body of the shuttle. Bracing himself, he went up the ramp.

  The trap wasn't waiting in the entry chamber. It wasn't waiting in the corridor that led out of it, either. Jack headed forward through the gloom of the ship's nightlights, listening to his own footsteps whiffing softly through the thick carpet. Could he have been wrong about Gazen's strategy? Could the slavemaster really have missed such an obvious bet?

  A few yards ahead the corridor opened into a larger cabin, furnished with three rows of well-spaced, comfy-looking seats. First class all the way. Stepping inside, he continued forward.

  And as he reached the middle of the room, it abruptly lit up like a Sirian noon.

  CHAPTER 34

  Jack threw his arm up to protect his eyes from the light. But even before the arm was in position, his wrist was grabbed and twisted roughly behind his back.

  "I told you he couldn't resist the temptation," Neverlin's smooth, snake-like voice came over the scuffling noises of heavy feet suddenly on the move. More hands grabbed at Jack's arms and shoulders, pinning them in place. Bodies smelling like sweaty Brummga pressed against him from all sides, preventing him from using his feet to either run or kick.

  "And I told you," Gazen's less civilized voice retorted, "that he was working with that Tubman Group."

  Cautiously, Jack eased his eyes open against the glare. Gazen and Neverlin were standing just inside the door at the far end of the cabin, with Neverlin's two bodyguards on either side of their boss. The one Draycos had clobbered earlier had a pressure bandage on his head, a scowl on his face, and a nasty-looking gun in his hand.