Dragonback 03 Dragon and Slave (2 page)

Draycos didn't believe it for a minute. Neither, obviously, did
Jack. "So what's the story on that wall?" the boy asked.

"Some kind of hardened ceramic, looks like," Uncle Virge said.
"Shape-wise, it seems to be a sort of X cross section. That means you
have an overhang to deal with no matter which side you start climbing
from."

"That ought to discourage casual visitors," Jack commented. "What
about non-casual ones?"

"Not sure," Uncle Virge grunted. "It looks like there may be a set
of lasers running along the groove at the top, nestled down into the
center of the X and aiming upward. There may be some flame jets mixed
in, too."

Draycos felt the tip of his tail making slow circles. Lasers and
flame jets, firing straight up out of the top of the wall. The
Chookoock family was serious about keeping people out.

Or, perhaps, serious about keeping people in. "How many slaves do
they keep inside the estate itself?" he asked.

"Hundreds," Uncle Virge said grimly. "Humans and several other
species. A lot of them are working the cropland and quarry, plus
there's a big group in the forest."

"Logging?" Jack asked.

"I don't know," Uncle Virge said. "Most of that batch are gathered
around a particular line of bushes. Don't know what that's all about."

"What about buildings?" Jack asked.

"There are several." On the display, a red rectangle appeared,
outlining a group of brown-and-green-speckled buildings that blended
smoothly into their surroundings. "The long buildings here and here are
probably slave quarters," Uncle Virge said, marking them with red
blips. "We've also got service buildings—kitchens, laundry facilities,
washrooms."

"A complete community within the wall," Draycos commented.

"Two communities, actually," Uncle Virge said, sounding disgusted.
"The slaves' area; and
this
." The image shifted again,
centering on a huge brown-roofed building. "The Chookoock family
mansion."

Draycos leaned a little closer to the display. The mansion was set
about half a mile back from the western edge of the estate, with an
extensive parking area in front and a long, winding drive connecting it
to a wide gate in the white wall. On both sides of the drive were
formal gardens, complete with flower beds, shrubs, and occasional
clumps of small trees.

To the north of the mansion was a large open area where the grass
had been marked with a series of lines and circles. Some sort of sports
ground, probably. A tall grandstand sat facing the field at the south
end, with tall flagpoles at its corners. Further to the north, between
the open ground and the slave areas, was a thick line of brown and
green that was probably another wall.

He turned his attention to the mansion itself. The structure was
four stories high, judging from the window placement. It was composed
of a central section with a number of small wings jutting out at odd
angles. There was no particular symmetry to the design, but the final
result was nevertheless not unpleasing to the eye.

The structure was built of irregular pieces of stone in shades of
brown, tan, and gray. Probably stone from the estate's own quarry—he'd
noticed similar shades of rock there. Overall, the whole thing reminded
him of a rocky section of cliff from which the soil had been scraped or
eroded away. Perhaps that had been the designer's intent.

"Cozy," Jack said. "Ideal for you and three hundred of your
closest friends. So, back to the perimeter wall. Any idea how high it
is?"

Draycos looked at the wall. By comparing its shadow to that of the
house, which he'd already estimated to be four stories tall . . . "I would
say about thirty feet high," he offered.

"It's actually thirty-two," Uncle Virge said.

Draycos felt his tail twitch with annoyance. Typical. With access
to the
Essenay
's sensors, Uncle Virge had probably had that
number several minutes ago. But instead of saying anything, he'd let
Draycos make his own estimate first.

And had then showed him to be wrong. Not very far wrong, but
enough. Just one more subtle attempt to sow seeds of doubt and distrust
toward Draycos in Jack's mind.

From the very beginning, Uncle Virge had tried to get the boy to
see things in his own, self-absorbed way, to persuade him to wash his
hands of the K'da poet-warrior and this mission to save a people Jack
didn't even know. Clearly, he hadn't given up that effort.

"Well, we already knew we weren't going to go in over the wall,"
Jack said. "Anything
outside
the wall that can help us?"

"Precious little," Uncle Virge said. "There's the gatehouse, of
course—"

"Gatehouse?" Jack asked.

"To the left of the main entrance," Draycos said, flicking out his
tongue to touch the edge of a small shape almost hidden beneath the
wall overhang.

"Right," Uncle Virge said, sounding a little annoyed that Draycos
had noticed it. Another small red rectangle appeared to mark the image.
"Probably someone in there checking passes and invitations and keeping
the riffraff out."

"Though the actual defense positions are here and here," Draycos
added, indicating a pair of camouflaged and virtually invisible huts
nestled into two groups of trees in the formal gardens flanking the
drive. "The guard outside is merely for show."

"And there are bound to be more guards inside the house, as well,"
Uncle Virge said. "You
sure
you don't want to try a different
plan?"

"What about the employees?" Jack asked, ignoring the question.
"They don't all live in the mansion, do they?"

Uncle Virge sighed. "No, I'm sure there are some with homes in the
city."

"Good," Jack said briskly. "Get busy and find one."

The Ponocce Regional Spaceport was confusingly laid out,
overloaded with paperwork-pushers, and just plain badly run. It was
also staffed entirely by Brummgas, which, in Jack's opinion, was
another way of saying the same thing. The big, wide aliens had a
reputation across the Orion Arm for being as strong as giant oaks and
just about as smart.

But for all that, he found himself breezing through the entry
procedure in remarkably quick time. Even more surprising, his hiker's
backpack with its load of disguised burglar tools didn't even rate a
second look. Perhaps, he thought, a spaceport located near a major
slave dealer had learned not to look too closely at visitors or their
luggage.

Night had already wrapped the sky in stars as he pushed through
the double doors—which were supposed to open automatically but
didn't—and stepped out onto Brum-a-dum soil. "Another day, another
dustball," he quoted the old saying, taking a careful sniff of the air.
Every world, he'd discovered over the years, had its own unique set of
aromas. Most of the combinations, in his humble opinion, stunk.

Brum-a-dum was no different. But he'd smelled worse.

Just outside the spaceport building was a small parking lot.
Beyond that was a street with a luminescent walkway running along its
edge. The road itself was humming with vehicles, and there were enough
pedestrians that Jack didn't feel too conspicuous.

He walked another ten minutes before deciding he was alone enough
to risk checking in. "Uncle Virge?" he murmured toward his left
shoulder. "You there?"

"Where else would I be?" the computer's voice grumbled from the
comm clip fastened to his jacket collar.

"Have you got a mark, or haven't you?" Jack asked, ignoring the
sarcasm. Uncle Virge always got crabby when Jack was about to do
something he didn't like. "Come on—I don't want to stay on this rock
any longer than I have to."

"The chief gatekeeper has a house facing the main gate," Uncle
Virge said reluctantly. "Two stories, lime green with purple trim. A
popular color combination here, unfortunately."

"Don't be snobbish," Jack said. "Any other possibilities?"

"A few, but he's definitely your best bet," Uncle Virge said.
"Certainly he's the most likely to have access codes stashed away at
home."

And because of that, he would also probably have the best security
system in town. A definite challenge, even for someone with Jack's
training and experience. "Sounds good," he said, trying to hide his own
misgivings about this whole thing. "What about a high-level family
official?"

"We've got two possibilities on that one," Uncle Virge said.
"First is a Brummga named Crampatch. He's Chief Steward, in charge of
most of the household operations. Second choice is Gazen, the man in
charge of the slaves themselves."

"The man?" Draycos spoke up from his usual place on Jack's right
shoulder. "Do you mean a human male?"

"Isn't he clever?" Uncle Virge said with a sniff. "Those language
lessons are really paying off."

Draycos's head rose off of Jack's skin, his snout bulging against
the shirt and jacket as he shifted from his two-dimensional form to
full 3-D. His tongue flicked out toward the comm clip—"Knock it off,
Uncle Virge," Jack said quickly. The K'da was under enough pressure
without Uncle Virge going out of his way to irritate him. "How was he
supposed to know the Chookoock family had non-Brummgan employees?"

"Even Brummgas are smart enough to know they need help with a
business this big," Uncle Virge muttered.

"Good thing, too," Jack said. The sewer-rat tricks Uncle Virgil
had taught him for sneaking into other people's computers probably
wouldn't work on Brummgan-designed systems. But with a human in charge
of the slaves, there should be at least a couple of human-designed
computers around to keep track of the paperwork.

Jack could only hope that those same computers also kept track of
the Chookoock family's brisk trade in Brummgan soldiers-for-hire. "So
which one do we want?" he asked Uncle Virge. "Crampatch or Gazen?"

There was a sound that might have been a sigh of resignation.
"Gazen," the computer said. "Crampatch might not be smart enough to
follow the logic we're going to present him."

"Fine," Jack said. "You ready to go into your Buffalo shuffle?"

"Maybe we should let you get a little closer first," Uncle Virge
hedged. "We don't want to give him too much time to think."

"We don't want him in a last-minute panic, either," Jack pointed
out. "Do it now."

Over the evening breeze he heard another sigh. "Whatever you say,"
the computerized voice said. "Here goes."

There was a series of soft clicks as he keyed the number. Jack
continued walking, wondering if the Brum-a-dum phone system would be as
badly run as the spaceport equipment had been.

Apparently, the Brummgas had imported their phone experts, too.
There was one final click—"Yeah; talk to me," a human voice answered.

Jack caught his breath, his mind flashing back to his encounter
nearly two months ago aboard the
Advocatus Diaboli
. The man who
had ordered him to steal a metal cylinder from the starliner
Star
of Wonder
had had a snake-like voice very much like this one. Could
it be the same man?

On his right shoulder, Draycos hissed softly. "It is not him," he
murmured.

Carefully, Jack let out his breath. No, it wasn't Snake Voice. But
even the dragon had noticed enough similarities to wonder about it.

Or maybe it was just the personality of the man behind the voice
that was coming through. A man, like Snake Voice, who cared about
nothing and no one except himself.

"My name is Virgil, Mr. Gazen," Uncle Virge said. "I called to
offer you a deal on a very special slave."

There was a brief pause. "How did you get this number?" Gazen
demanded.

"Oh, I'm something of an expert at digging out confidential
information," Uncle Virge said smoothly. "As is my partner. My
former
partner, I should say."

"What you
should
say is good-bye," Gazen said, his dark
voice going even darker. "You've got three seconds to explain why I
shouldn't track this call and have some Chookoock family enforcers show
you why playing phone tricks on me is a
really
bad idea."

"By all means, go ahead and send them," Uncle Virge said. "Just
make sure they're bringing money. As I said, I'm offering you a deal on
a very special slave: an expert thief and safecracker."

Gazen snorted. "Sorry. I only deal in land and household slaves."

"
And
mercenaries," Uncle Virge reminded him. "Brummgan
soldiers for hire."

There was another short pause. "So, which merc group are you
connected with?" Gazen asked.

"None of them," Uncle Virge said. "But it occurred to me that a
man who deals in hired guns might also be able to find a home for a boy
of Jack McCoy's skills."

"A boy?"

"Only fourteen, but already one of the best in the business,"
Uncle Virge boasted. "I trained him myself."

"And you
are
the best, I suppose?" Gazen said
sarcastically.

"Of course."

For a moment the line was silent. Jack kept walking, staring out
into the crisscross of muted streetlights marking his way. Gazen was
hovering over the bait, eyeing it and wondering if it was worth a
taste. If he decided it was, they were in.

If he decided it wasn't, Jack was going to be toast. Jelly side
down.

"And I'm supposed to take your word for all this," Gazen said at
last.

"Not at all," Uncle Virge assured him. "I've arranged a
demonstration."

"Really. What sort?"

"Your chief gatekeeper has a house across from the Chookoock
estate," Uncle Virge explained. "I've sent Jack to burgle it."

"And what exactly did he steal?"

"Nothing, yet," Uncle Virge said. "I assumed you'd want to watch
him in action before we discussed price."

"If he's as good as you say, why are you dumping him?"

"Because he's getting too old for what I need," Uncle Virge said.
"I like to work against people's assumptions. You see a ten-year-old
kid walk into a millionaire's mansion, you don't expect him to be
casing the place. By the time he hits fifteen, though, people start
paying attention."