"Then what set off the security alarm?" someone demanded. "I heard it right through the ballroom wall."
"And the captain told me that the vault had been opened," someone else added.
"That was the first report, yes," the sergeant conceded. "However, it appears now that it was a false alarm. The lock does not seem to have been tampered with, and no one entered any codes into it. We're doing an electronic confirmation of that now."
"Yes, but—"
Behind the sergeant the door opened and another security man appeared. The two of them talked together for a minute in low voices as a buzz of conversation rippled through the crowd.
The sergeant turned back. "I've just been informed that the lock pad has definitely not been tampered with," he said. "We can therefore assume that the door indicator was indeed a false alarm."
Jack smiled to himself. Security knew perfectly well that there was more to it than that, of course. The smoke bomb in the monitor room vent and the knife he'd put through the camera junction box proved that much, not to mention the unlocked office door. Someone in authority must have decided to downplay the whole thing so as not to worry the passengers any more than necessary.
To be fair, of course, the sergeant was certainly right on one point. The lock pad hadn't been tampered with.
"Lieutenant Snyder has also informed me that we'll be allowing you in now to check your boxes," he went on. "If you'll all wait out here, we'll take you in one at a time."
"How about we wait inside?" someone demanded.
"That's right," another voice put in. "I want to know if anybody lost anything."
A chorus of agreement ran around the crowd. "Very well," the sergeant said, giving in. "Follow me, please. And make sure you have your keys ready."
One by one, they were brought behind the counter. Each person gave his or her box number, showed some identification, and was allowed into the vault to confirm everything was in order. Then, satisfied if not exactly happy, they wandered off back to their staterooms or their interrupted evening's entertainment.
At least, most of them did.
The man who'd checked out Box 125 was one of those dressed like servants or bodyguards. From his size and the way he walked, Jack had quickly narrowed that down to bodyguard.
Following at a careful distance, he tracked the other to what Uncle Virgil would have called "crust central," the most expensive section of the starliner's living sections. The door he went into was at the far end of one of the more luxurious corridors.
"The top of the top," Jack commented as they headed back toward the more modest area where his own stateroom was located.
"Pardon?" Draycos asked.
"A room at the end of a corridor like that is probably a suite," Jack explained. "Something the size of the Essenay, I'd guess. Probably costs more per week than the Star of Wonders captain makes in a year. High-level corporate territory, all right."
"A likely target for a human such as Cornelius Braxton, then?"
"Very much so," Jack agreed. "Guys like Braxton prefer to go for big bites instead of little nibbles." He jerked his thumb back in the direction of the suite. "Whoever's in there is definitely in the big-bite category."
Draycos was silent a moment. "Then let us hope that Braxton has bitten off more than he can swallow."
Jack glanced down at the dragon in surprise. "Hey, that's a human saying," he commented. "Where did you pick it up?"
"It is also K'da wisdom," Draycos told him. "Perhaps the thought is universal."
"Could be," Jack said. "Yes, let's hope this guy sticks in his throat."
"When will we speak to him?"
"There's no point trying to barge in tonight," Jack said. "We'll let him sleep in and try to see him in the morning."
"What will you do with the cylinder?"
"I thought you were the one who wanted to give it back," Jack reminded him.
"But we do not want to bring it with us to his room," Draycos pointed out. "That would leave no room for conversation."
"Yeah, you're right," Jack agreed, chewing his lip. "No room for bargaining, either. He'd just whistle for the captain and have me thrown in the brig."
"We also do not want the humans from the Advocatus Diaboli to find it," Draycos added.
"Right," Jack said. "And we know they're aboard somewhere."
"We must therefore find a hiding place," Draycos concluded.
Ahead was a bank of elevators. "No problem," Jack assured him. "Watch the master and learn."
He touched the call button and the rightmost elevator door slid open. Jack stepped inside and pushed for the lowest deck. "Lowest deck is vehicle storage," he told Draycos as the doors slid closed. "A thousand places to hide something this size. Especially if anyone watching me notices that I've gone down there."
"You will hide it in a vehicle, then?"
"Like I said, watch the master," Jack said, pulling the cylinder from his inside coat pocket. "You know, we really ought to mark this thing somehow, in case it ever gets mixed up with the fake one. Let's see . . ."
With a bound, Draycos leaped out from his collar and landed beside him. "Permit me," he said, holding up one of his front paws. "Hold it firmly with the end facing me, please."
Frowning, Jack did so. The dragon extended a claw and scraped it briefly against the bottom of the cylinder. "There," he said.
Jack turned the cylinder around to look. Sure enough, there was a subtle but quite visible symbol scratched into the metal. "It is kesh," Draycos identified it. "The first letter in the K'da word for genuine."
Jack whistled softly. "So those claws of yours cut right through metal, huh?"
"Certain metals, yes," Draycos said, "though the harder varieties require more effort than a soft metal like this one." He cocked his head. "Why? Does that disturb you?"
Jack shrugged uncomfortably. "It doesn't exactly fill me with warm fuzzies, if that's what you mean," he admitted, swinging open the elevator's trouble panel. Behind the panel was a recessed box containing an emergency phone. "Here, hold this," he added, handing the dragon the cylinder and pulling out his multitool. He set to work on the side panel of the phone box, unfastening two of the screws that held it in place.
"Does that mean it does disturb you?" Draycos asked again, gripping the cylinder between his front paws.
"A little, I guess," Jack said. He had the side panel loose enough to swing inward, exposing the wires and soft foam sound insulation packed in between the side of the phone box and the elevator wall. "I mean, let's face it. You K'da are superior to humans in about every way I can think of."
He took the cylinder back and pressed it into the insulation. It fit, barely. "You're faster, you're stronger, and you're probably smarter," he went on, pushing the panel back into place and starting to fasten the screws again. "You can turn two-dimensional and look through walls. And now I find out you can scratch metal, too. What can't you do?"
"We cannot live alone," Draycos said softly. "Not for longer than six hours."
Jack paused, frowning over his shoulder. The dragon was standing motionless, with no emotion that Jack could read on his long face. But at the same time, he could somehow sense a deep sadness there. "Yeah," he said. "There is that."
The beeping of the elevator as it passed the next floor reminded him that time was short. Turning back, he finished fastening the plate and swung the trouble panel door shut again. He was on his feet, putting the multitool away, when the elevator settled onto the deck he'd punched for.
A flicker of weight on his neck, and Draycos was again safely hidden away. The elevator doors started to open; and Jack settled into the earnest young boy act that had worked so well in the purser's office. There would be a guard around here somewhere . . ..
"Wow!" he said, stepping out of the elevator and looking around. Ahead, stretching as far as he could see, were rows and rows of cars and small aircraft.
There was a guard, all right: a man in white sitting in a booth j
ust beside the elevators. "May I help you?" he asked.
"Oh, no, I just came down to see the cars," Jack said, trying to look friendly, startled, and harmless all at the same time. "My dad told me there were Rolls Royce-Dymeis here and everything."
"There sure are," the guard said. "But I'm afraid you can't just wander around. Do you have a vehicle of your own down here?"
"No," Jack said, letting his face fall a little.
The guard smiled sympathetically. "Sorry."
"Yeah," Jack said. "Thanks anyway."
He got back into the elevator and punched for his stateroom's level. "And that's that," he said as the elevator started up. "Anyone following my movements will figure I stashed the cylinder somewhere down there."
"You were not there long enough to do that," Draycos pointed out.
"Of course not," Jack said, smiling tightly. "But don't forget, they think Uncle Virgil is here, too. They'll figure I passed it off to him."
"I see." The dragon gave an odd sound, like a heavy rain splashing into a puddle. A chuckle? "There is at least one area where you humans excel. You are by far more clever than the K'da."
Jack made a face. "Yeah. Big fat furry deal."
They had reached their floor before Draycos spoke again. "You need not fear us, Jack," he said quietly as Jack stepped out of the elevator. "By the very nature of our limitation the K'da can only be friends, or companions, or servants. We can never be masters."
"Maybe," Jack said. "But our history's full of servants who decided they wanted to be the masters for a change. Usually, things got pretty unpleasant."
He shook his head. "But we didn't come here to discuss history. Let's get some sleep, huh? Tomorrow's going to be another real busy day."
CHAPTER 22
The luxury corridor was deserted the next morning as Jack made his way along it, his feet dragging through the thick carpet. Back in his own area, most people had already been up and about. The idle rich must like to sleep in.
"What will we do?" Draycos murmured.
Jack hunched his shoulders, glancing around at the hand-carved designs along the corridor walls. He'd traded in the fancy clothes he'd worn yesterday in favor of his usual jeans and leather jacket, and was definitely regretting that decision. He felt out of place enough even out here in the corridor. How much worse was he going to feel once he was actually in the suite down there at the end?
Assuming, of course, he actually got inside. "We do it straight," he murmured back as he reached the door. "Just walk up and push the buzzer."
He got to the door and reached for the buzzer. As he did so, there was the sound of sliding doors behind him.
He turned. Standing in the corridor, outside the two doors he'd just passed, were two large men. Both were dressed the same way as the bodyguard from last night, and both were looking steadily at him.
Jack let his hand fall to his side. "Or not," he added.
"Can we help you?" one of the men said as they both walked toward him.
"My name's Jack Morgan," Jack said, fighting against the sudden urge to duck between them and run away as fast as he could. There was an air of police or ex-police about both these men that was stirring all the old reflexes. "I'd like to speak with your boss."
"May I ask your business?" the first man said as they reached him. They were, he noted, somewhat bigger than they had first looked.
"I have something that belongs to him," Jack said. "I'd like to arrange for its return."
The second man had pulled out a small scanner and was running it down Jack's chest. "Really," the first man said, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead. "What is it?"
Jack shook his head. "Sorry. Confidential."
"That's okay," the first man said, giving Jack what was probably his best effort at a friendly smile. "He doesn't have any secrets from us."
Jack lifted his eyebrows. "Really. A man in his position, and no secrets at all from his bodyguards? That's amazing."
The smile vanished. "Look, kid—"
"He's clean," the second man announced, putting the scanner away inside his jacket and tapping the comm clip on his collar. "Boyle?"
"Right here," a voice answered faintly from the clip. "What is it, Harper?"
"We've got a kid out here named Jack Morgan who wants to see The Man," Harper said. "Says he has something that belongs to him."
"Does he?"
"Not on him," Harper said. "You want to check with him?"
The other voice snorted. "What, over some con artist running a scam?"
"I told you, he's just a kid," Harper said. "Twelve, thirteen, maybe."
"So it's a junior scam," Boyle said. "I'm not going to disturb The Man for this."
"I'm already disturbed, Boyle," a new, fainter voice came from the comm clip. "Have them send him in."
"Yes, sir," Harper said, his voice suddenly more respectful. He touched the comm clip again and gestured Jack toward the door. "You heard him. Go on in."
"Thanks," Jack said, frowning as he turned back to the door. There had been something familiar about that second comm clip voice . . ..
The door slid open as he stepped toward it. Taking a deep breath, painfully aware of Harper and his friend blocking his escape route behind him, he stepped inside.
He found himself in a room about half the size of the entire Essenay, and every bit as luxurious as he'd guessed it would be. The carved-wood walls were covered with paintings and embedded light-sculptures, the furniture was heavy and expensive looking, and the carpet was thick enough to hide large rodents in. Two archways led off to other parts of the suite, one of them from the right-hand side of the room, the other from the back.
Seated behind a computer at a desk to the left of the door, scowling up at Jack, was a young man. A cup of something steaming sat on the desk to his right, a neat row of data tubes to his left. His clothes, Jack noted, were a couple of notches above the outfits the guards out in the corridor were wearing. That probably made him a secretary or assistant.
On the other side of the door sat another bodyguard type. Unlike the men outside, this one had his jacket off, showing the shoulder holster he was wearing under his left arm. He was pretending to read a newssheet, but Jack could tell that was just an act. One suspicious move on Jack's part, and that gun could be out of its holster in half a heartbeat.
"You Morgan?" the secretary type demanded. His voice, Jack noted, was the one that had first answered the guard outside.
"Yes," Jack said, turning to face him. "You must be Mr. Boyle."
"This had better be important, kid," Boyle growled. "And if you try to swing some gribble on me, you're going to regret it. What's so funny?"
"Sorry," Jack apologized, wiping away his smile. "It's just amusing when one of you corporate types tries to use street slang."
Boyle scowled a little harder. "So what's this about?"
Jack shook his head. "Like I told your friends outside, I need to talk directly to your boss."
"Not a chance," Boyle said. "You tell me. If I think it's worth his time, I'll tell him about it."
Jack crossed his arms. "His merchandise," he said flatly. "His ear. Or he doesn't get it back."
Boyle stood up, leaning his palms on the desktop and looking Jack straight in the eye. "Last chance," he warned.
Jack hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't expect to get in this easily. No one here knew him, after all. "I'll tell you this much," he said. "It has to do with the number four-oh-seven-six-six-two. Tell him that, and see if he wants to see me."
Boyle's lips pressed together in a thin line. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"He'll know," Jack assured him. "No one else needs to."
Boyle's gaze shifted over Jack's shoulder to the bodyguard. "Vance? Toss him out."
"Just a moment," another voice came from the back archway. It was the second voice Jack had heard over Harper's comm clip.
He turned. The man standing in the archway was fully dressed in a casual but expensive
suit. No sleeping in late for him, obviously. His face was in shadow, but there was enough light coming from the room behind him to show that his brown hair had streaks of white in it. An old man, then, the sort who would have had a lifetime to build up a business empire of his own. Exactly the sort of person Cornelius Braxton might be trying to take down. "I'm here, Mr. Morgan," the old man said. "You have one minute to make your point."
Jack took a deep breath. This was it. "Then I'll be brief," he said. "I believe that Cornelius Braxton of Braxton Universis is making a move against you. A scheme that involves the cylinder you think you've got locked away in Box 125 in the purser's safe."
The man's head cocked slightly to the side. "That I 'think' I have locked away?"
"Yes, sir," Jack said. "The one in there is a duplicate. I have the original."
"That's ridiculous," Boyle insisted. "Carpenter checked it just last night—"
"That will be all, Boyle," the old man said. His voice was calm but cool, not giving anything away. Jack wished he could see the expression on his face. "Are you telling me you took it, Mr. Morgan? In and out of the purser's safe without being caught?"
"Well, I had some help," Jack admitted. "And I didn't want to do it at all. Braxton blackmailed me into the job."
"How?"
"His men tried to frame me for theft," Jack said. "When that didn't work, they upped the ante and framed me for murder. Look, the point is that I've got the cylinder, and that I want to give it back."
"After going to all the trouble to steal it? Why?"
That whole conversation with Draycos flashed through Jack's mind: warrior ethics, looking out for yourself, doing what was right simply because it was right. It seemed way too complicated to go into here in the middle of crust central.
Besides, Jack wasn't sure himself any more why he was doing this. "Because whatever's going on, Braxton is up to something underhanded," he said, settling for the easiest of the possible answers. "I don't think he should get away with it, that's all."