The bad news was that whatever Alison had done to it, she'd probably locked it down so tight that his sewer-rat trick wouldn't work.
Which left them only one option. "We need the start key," he told her, turning and heading aft. "There ought to be a copy on one of the computers in the Shamshir HQ. I'll go get it."
She was at his side before he even got to the hatchway. "I'll go with you," she said, snatching up a machine gun from the floor.
"Forget it," he said, throwing her an annoyed glare. There was a fair chance there were still some soldiers lurking in the building, and the last thing he wanted was to have Draycos's freedom of action cramped by the presence of an unwelcome witness. "Stay here and—"
"And what?" she cut him off. "It won't start. Anyway, two soldiers together always have a better chance than one."
Jack grimaced. That was probably true . . . except when one of them had a K'da warrior on his back.
They made it to the HQ building's outer door without anyone shooting at them. The distant mud hut, Jack noted uneasily, seemed to be burning even more furiously than it had been when he'd first landed. He wondered what the blast range was of the grenades Draycos had spotted in there.
"I'll go first," Alison said. Without waiting for argument she ducked inside. Setting his teeth firmly together, Jack followed.
No one shot at them in here, either. In fact, for all they could tell, the whole place was indeed deserted. "I don't like this," Jack murmured as they eased along the darkened corridor. "They shouldn't all have run. Should they?"
"Depends on what they were running from," Alison said. "Or maybe what they were running to."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning maybe they're afraid of something in that shed you torched," she said, peering around an open doorway and then moving on. "Or maybe they just decided on a tactical retreat."
"Like I said: meaning?" Jack repeated, starting to feel annoyed again. This wasn't any time to be playing word games.
"Meaning maybe they didn't feel like facing a bunch of Edge combat transports all alone." She glanced over her shoulder. "There are more transports on the way, aren't there?"
Jack shook his head. "Sorry."
Alison's forehead creased, but she merely turned back and continued on. "Well, the Shamshir don't know that," she pointed out. "I just hope they don't have any air power of their own on the way. Though they probably do."
She paused at another doorway and looked in. "Here we go," she said, and went inside.
The room was small and bare of any ornamentation, Jack noted as he slipped in behind her. But from the size of the desk, and the amount of padding on the chair, it looked like they'd found the commanding officer's office.
With a nice little computer humming away on a corner of the desk.
Alison made a beeline for the computer. Jack brushed past her elbow and got there first. "Uh-uh," he said firmly, setting his gun down on the desk and dropping into the chair. "You already messed up the transport's computer. This one's mine."
She made as if to object, hesitated, then nodded. "Fine," she said, going back to the doorway and peering cautiously down the hall with her machine gun ready. "You just better know what you're doing."
"Trust me," Jack said, testing the keys. The computer was still running, but the owner had remembered to lock it down before making his tactical retreat. Sewer-rat time. "It'll take a few minutes," he added, keying in the program.
"Not too many, I hope," she said. "So if you aren't leading a charge, what are you doing here?"
"I came to get you guys out," Jack said. "Or are you going to try to tell me you didn't need any help?"
"I never turn down free help," she told him tightly. "Especially right now. If we can't get that transport started, it's going to be a long walk to anywhere."
"With unhappy Shamshir behind us the whole way," Jack agreed. "Boy, I'd hate to be in our shoes. How'd you get out, anyway?"
There was just the slightest pause. "The hut they put me in had a dirt floor," she said. "They'd fastened the other end of my handcuffs to the leg of one of the shelves.
"Same thing they did to me," Jack said. "Not very imaginative, are they?"
"Hey, whatever works," she said with a shrug. "Anyway, all I had to do was dig enough dirt out from under the leg, and I could slip the handcuff right out. Nice and neat."
"Yeah," Jack said, frowning. Nice and neat, all right.
Except that when they'd locked him up, they'd made sure the handcuff was attached above the bottom shelf. How had she managed to get that shelf unfastened? "And then you just went around and popped the others?"
"More or less," she said. "How about you?" I notice you even managed to get yourself a transport."
Jack snorted gently. "I have friends."
She frowned across the room at him. "And?"
"That's all," he said. "I have friends."
"What sort of friends does an Edgeman have in a Shamshir camp?"
"You'd be surprised," Jack said. The computer was coming loose now, and he keyed for a directory. "Anyway, you've got as good a chance of finding friends here right now as you do in the Whinyard's Edge."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning it turns out our group was thrown to the wolves." He looked up and caught her eyes in a hard stare. "Thanks to you and your little midnight visit to the Edge HQ back on Carrion."
Her lip twitched. "So they knew about that."
"Not only did they know about it, they decided to fry your whole circle of friends along with you," Jack told her. "What were you doing there that night, anyway?"
"Looking for some information."
"What kind?"
"The kind that's none of your business," she said tartly. "Aren't you supposed to be breaking into a computer or something?"
"Patience, dear, patience," Jack said. Scrolling down the pilot/aircraft listing, he found the Flying Turtle section. The computerized start key . . . there it was. "Here we go," he said, grabbing a data tube from a stack beside the computer and popping it in. He keyed for copy, there was a brief hum, and the data tube popped back out. "Got it," he announced, standing up.
And then, even as he started toward Alison, a strange thought suddenly struck him. He stopped, his eyes flicking back to the computer . . .
"What's wrong?" Alison asked.
"Nothing," Jack said, flipping the tube to her. "Go get it started. I'll be right there."
She caught the tube, her expression suddenly wary. "What kind of heroics are you thinking about now?"
"The kind that are none of your business," he said. "Go on, get out. That air support could be here any time."
Alison's mouth compressed tightly, but she nodded. "Don't take too long," she warned, and vanished down the hall.
"Jack?" Draycos murmured from Jack's shoulder. "What are you doing?"
"Completing my primary mission, as you warrior types would say," Jack said, sitting back down at the computer. "Or did you forget why we came here in the first place?"
The dragon's head rose up out of his jacket. "The Djinn-90 information?"
"Why not?" Jack said, keying for a new directory. "Unless you're finicky about which mercenary group we get it from."
"I do not know that word." With a bound, the dragon leaped from Jack's back, landing halfway to the door. "But the meaning is clear. I will stand guard."
"Good idea," Jack said absently, his full attention on the screen. Okay; there were the Shamshir's own records. But where were the ones they kept on other groups? Surely they kept records on other groups.
"Jack?"
"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying," Jack growled. Finally, there it was. Now all he had to do was find the section on aircraft . . .
"Jack, we must go," Draycos insisted, his tone suddenly urgent. "We must go now."
Jack looked up. The dragon was standing at the door, his tongue flicking in and out with the speed of a blackjack dealer throwing cards. "What is it?" he asked, reaching for his gun.
"The taste of death," Draycos said. "Coming from the fire."
CHAPTER 27
Cautiously, Jack sniffed at the air. His own nose couldn't find anything other than simple basic smoke. "Are you sure?"
"I have tasted many such poisons before," Draycos said, his voice even more urgent. "Come."
Jack looked back at the computer, a tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. No—this couldn't be happening. Not twice on the same job. To have come this close—again!—only to get chased away before he could finish it?
"Jack!" Draycos called.
And then, like one of Uncle Virgil's dope-slaps on the side of his head, the obvious answer struck him.
If there wasn't time to pick and choose what he wanted, he would just take everything.
"Thirty seconds," he promised Draycos, grabbing another tube and jamming it into the receptacle. "Make sure the coast is clear," he added, keying for a complete copy of the Shamshir's rival mercenary data lists.
And then, with a terrific concussion, the whole building seemed to lift itself up and drop back onto the ground.
"What was that?" Jack yelled. At least, he thought he yelled it. With his ears ringing from the blast, he couldn't even hear his own voice.
Draycos was at his side, mouthing something. "What?" Jack shouted back.
In answer, the dragon hooked the claws of one of his forepaws into Jack's jacket sleeve and tugged him toward the door. "Wait a second," Jack said, reaching over and popping the data tube.
Just in time. Even as he pulled the tube free, the building's power shut down, taking the computer with it. Draycos tugged again. "Right," Jack agreed, shoving the data tube deep into an inner pocket. "Let's go."
He fully expected there to be another blast or two along the way. But they reached the outer door without that happening. Jack peered outside, started to step through the doorway—
And found himself yanked back inside by the claws still hooked into his sleeve as a dark aircraft roared past overhead.
Reflexively, he dropped into a crouch. "Uh-oh," he muttered.
"We are under attack," he heard Draycos's voice distantly through his slowly recovering hearing.
"No kidding, Sherlock," Jack said, looking carefully around the door jamb. In the flickering light of the burning hut, the Lynx transport he'd arrived in seemed intact. Or at least as intact as it had been when he'd left it. Beyond it . . .
He tensed. Beyond the Lynx, where Tango Five Zulu's borrowed Flying Turtle had been, there was nothing but a gaping crater.
"There," Draycos said, pointing a claw. "They are there."
Jack looked. In the near distance he could see the shape of the Flying Turtle scooting across the sky.
So Alison had managed to get the thing started and into the air. And not a borrowed second too soon, either, from the looks of it. "Who else is around?" he asked.
"I can hear two Shamshir fighter craft," Draycos said. "Both are in pursuit of Alison's vehicle."
"Okay," Jack said, getting back to his feet again. "Let's see if we can make it to the Lynx."
"It is damaged," Draycos reminded him.
"Would you rather walk away from poison gas?"
"Point," Draycos conceded, putting a paw on Jack's hand and slithering up his sleeve. "Let us go."
Again, they made it across the open area without drawing fire. Apparently, none of Lieutenant Cue Ball's men wanted him badly enough to stick around near the burning hut. "We're not going to get very far," he warned, glancing at the fuel reading as he dropped into the pilot's seat. "But we should at least make it to the woods."
The comm beeped. "Montana?" Alison's voice came.
Jack flipped the switch. "I'm here," he confirmed. "You all right?"
"Oh, we're just sweetness and light out here," she growled back. "Sorry, but we had to pull out. If I can shake these two birds, I'll circle back and get you."
"No, don't," Jack said. "You just stay ahead of them and head for the hills. I can get out on my own."
"But—"
And suddenly, outside the windscreen, the ground flashed with light. Jack leaned forward over the control board, trying to see what had happened.
One of the Shamshir fighters had become an airborne fireball.
Jack blinked. No. Not even Alison. Not even Alison and Jommy together, hotshot teenage mercenaries that they were, could have taken out a professional combat pilot. Could they?
And then, even as his brain tried to make sense of it, the second fighter veered away from its prey. It cut hard to the left, its guns blazing full power, and exploded into a fireball of its own.
"Jack?" a familiar voice called.
Jack felt his breath go out of him in a whoosh, his muscles going limp with relief.
He'd forgotten all about Uncle Virge.
"I'm here, Uncle Virge," he called back. "On the ground, in the Lynx near the burning hut. Leave the Flying Turtle alone—they're on our side. Anyone else in the area?"
"Looks like they've got three more fighters coming in from the south," Uncle Virge reported. "Still a few minutes away. Pretty amateurish for supposed professionals, if you want my humble opinion."
"They weren't expecting to have to fight around here," Jack said, gazing thoughtfully out the windscreen into the distance. An idea was starting to form in the back of his mind.
"I'm coming in to get you," Uncle Virge said. "Did you know that fire is putting out xancrene gas?"
"Yeah, I did, thanks," Jack said, keying on the engines. "On second thought, I'll meet you two miles west of the city."
"There's no need for that, Jack lad," Uncle Virge protested. "I wouldn't trust that flying cattle car of yours farther than I can bounce a barge. Don't worry; the xancrene is mostly blowing north."
"I wasn't worried about the xancrene," Jack told him, lifting the transport into the air. "And relax, this thing will get me far enough."
"Jack lad—"
"Look, I know what I'm doing," Jack interrupted him. "Alison? You still there?"
"Still here," she confirmed. "Thanks for the assist."
"Like I said, I have friends," Jack said. "Look, I'd ask you all aboard, but we really don't have the space. I'm afraid you'll have to find your own way off Sunright."
"That's okay," she assured him. "We'll manage."
"The Edge will be watching for you," he warned.
"Like I said, we'll manage," she said. "I have friends, too. See you."
The comm clicked off. "Yeah," Jack muttered, her last words tingling across his mind. I have friends too . . .
He headed off into the night. Directly ahead, the dim lights of the mine buildings loomed against the darkness.
The mine that had sparked all this trouble in the first place. The mine that had trapped both the Agri and the Parprins into devil's bargains with greedy mercenaries. The jackpot both the Shamshir and Whinyard's Edge were playing their deadly little games for.
As Uncle Virgil would have said, it was time to take the jackpot off the table.
He lined up the transport's nose on the entrance to the main mine building. "Draycos, you said there were some grenades back there?"
"Yes," Draycos said. "Nine of them."
"I don't suppose you'd know how to rig a delay fuse on something like that."
"Explosives are not to be dealt with lightly or casually," the dragon said, his voice starting to sound suspicious. "I am not trained with these particular devices."
"Never mind, then," Jack said. "We'll do it the old-fashioned way. Can you get them out of the locker and line them up along the floor? Straight down the middle should do just fine."
Draycos's head lifted up from Jack's shoulder. "Jack, what is it you intend to do?"
Jack nodded toward the mine buildings. "The Shamshir want the mine," he said. "So do the Whinyard's Edge, if you believe Lieutenant Cue Ball. What do you suppose they'd do if the mine wasn't there anymore?"
Draycos pondered a moment. "Those who care only for its
wealth would leave this world."
He twisted his head around to look squarely into Jack's eyes. "But this is not your property, Jack," he added. "You have no right to choose its destruction."
"Not even to save people caught in a war none of them want?" Jack countered. "Come on, K'da warrior, let's hear those ethics of yours. Is the wealth from a mine more important than the people who own it?"
"The people are of course more important," the dragon said, his voice oddly sad. "But there must be another way."
"There isn't," Jack said firmly. "Look, I trust you in warrior stuff. Trust me in this, okay?"
Draycos bounded from Jack's collar, landing on the deck behind him. "Very well," he said reluctantly. "If there is no other way, then let us do it."
Jack smiled tightly. The K'da poet-warrior had done his part of the job. Now it was time for the human con artist to do his. "Just line up those grenades," he said. "I'll do the rest."
The main doors were wide and tall, designed to let large ore-carrying vehicles in and out. They were also built pretty strong.
Fortunately, the Lynx was built even stronger. With a crash of breaking wood and the screech of torn metal, it broke through the doors and rumbled into the main building beyond.
"How are you doing?" Jack shouted over the crunch of demolished support beams and wall siding as he drove the Lynx inward toward the tall tower that stood over the mine opening itself.
"I am nearly ready," Draycos called back.
"Good," Jack said. "Brace yourself."
And with a final thunderous crash, he slammed the transport through the lower part of the tower and settled to the floor squarely on top of the shaft leading down into the ground.
"We're here," Jack announced, shutting off the engines and sliding out of his seat. "Let's make tracks."
Draycos looked up from the neat row of grenades he had laid out from the rear of the compartment to just behind Jack's seat. "Pardon?"
"Let's get out of here," Jack clarified. "Come aboard."
With Draycos on his back, Jack picked his way through the splintered wood and other debris outside. The Essenay was waiting just outside the entrance, bobbing slightly on its lifters with an air of worried impatience. "Come on, lad, come on," Uncle Virge urged as Jack ran up the ramp. "Those other fighters will be here any minute."