Dragon and Liberator

CHAPTER 10

The next four days went by quickly. Far too quickly for Draycos's taste.

Heading into battle was nothing new for him. Heading into battle without knowing everything his commander was planning also wasn't new.

But this was different. This was heading into a battle where he didn't even know the basic strategy Jack had in mind.

And never had he fought a battle with so much at risk. So terribly much at risk.

But worse than the concerns—and, yes, the fears—were the doubts that began to creep into his thoughts. The question of whether, ultimately, the risk he and Jack were taking was even worthwhile.

After all, the refugee fleet was hardly an easy target. There were fifty-eight escort warships, manned by experienced K'da and Shontine warriors who would be alert for every possible danger. Surely they could defeat Neverlin's force, no matter how many Death weapons the Valahgua had given them.

But what if they didn't? Neverlin and Frost would hardly be going forward with their plan if they didn't think they had a reasonable chance of success. What if they'd put together such a powerful force that even the refugees' escort was overwhelmed?

What if they were, in fact, able to destroy the fleet?

And if that was the case, what would he and Jack be able to do in the face of such a force? Could they get close enough to do anything, let alone to do enough to make a difference?

Probably not. Almost certainly they would be detected, identified, and killed long before they even got close enough to the attackers to use their new patrol ship's weapons.

But there was an alternative . . . because Draycos knew now that the K'da on those refugee ships were not, in fact, the last of their kind.

The Phookas of Rho Scorvi were also of K'da blood. Taneem's experience had shown they could also be K'da in heart and mind.

But they could never become true K'da without someone to teach them their people's history and heritage. Draycos could be that teacher. And wouldn't that be a better use of his life—and Jack's—than walking uselessly to their deaths?

It was a persuasive argument. A horribly persuasive argument, and over those four long days Draycos spent many hours struggling with it.

But in the end there was really no question as to what he had to do. Alison and Taneem were trapped aboard the Advocatus Diaboli, with no one but Jack and Draycos standing between them and their own deaths. Whether Draycos gained or lost—whether he lived or died—K'da warrior ethic demanded that he make every possible effort to save them.

Besides, how could he presume to teach the Phookas what it meant to be a K'da if he himself had failed this final test?

By the time the ECHO timer trilled its ten-minute warning Draycos was again at peace. Fifteen minutes from now he might very well be dead, and his host along with him. But he would die with honor, doing what he could to protect those who had put their trust in him.

He would die a poet-warrior of the K'da.

"Draycos?" Jack's voice drifted down the corridor from the cockpit. "Come on, buddy. Time to get aboard."

"Coming," Draycos called back, giving the controls in his chosen weapons blister one final check. Jack wanted them together when the ship came off ECHO, but at the first sign of trouble Draycos would hurry back here where he could man the patrol ship's weapons.

If he and Jack were going to die, Draycos intended to at least take as many of the enemy with them as possible.

He reached the cockpit as the ECHO timer was counting out its last twenty seconds. "Come on; come on," Jack said, holding his hand back over his shoulder.

Draycos set a paw on Jack's palm and slid up the arm of the Malison Ring flight suit the boy had taken from Chiggers. Do you have an attack plan? he thought as he settled into his usual position.

No, but I have a non-attack plan, Jack thought back. Watch and learn, symby.

The countdown reached zero. Jack pushed the ECHO lever forward, and the shimmering blue hyperspace sky faded back to star-sprinkled black.

There, stretched out in front of them, was Neverlin's attack force.

Draycos lifted his head from Jack's shoulder, studying the ships scattered across his field of vision. There was the Advocatus Diaboli, of course, the luxurious Braxton Universis corporate yacht that Neverlin had run off with. There were the Malison Ring Djinn-90 pursuit fighters, at least twenty of them, formed up in a defensive circle at the fleet's outer edge.

A large troop carrier was off to one side, probably the ship Neverlin had used to bring those three hundred Brummgas here from Brum-a-dum. Near it was a fueler ship, and Draycos could see the other eleven KK-29 patrol ships from Bentre clustered around it like hatchlings gathered alongside their mother at lunchtime.

And there was one more ship present, floating a few hundred feet from the Advocatus Diaboli. A large and agonizingly familiar ship.

It was the Gatekeeper. One of the four ships of Draycos's advance team.

Jack apparently spotted it at the same time Draycos did. Geez, the boy's startled thought echoed through Draycos's mind. Is that one of your advance team ships?

It is indeed, Draycos thought back grimly. Suddenly, Neverlin's strategy was as clear as the cold vacuum of space.

Hey, hey, slow down, buddy, Jack protested into Draycos's sudden flurry of thoughts and speculations. Did you say something about a trap?

Sorry, Draycos apologized, forcing his mind to slow down. Their telepathic link only worked if he and Jack were thinking directly at each other. Other thoughts could be sensed, but only as a wordless and rather distracting buzz. Yes, it's a trap. But not for us. Do you see all the hull damage, especially in the forward part?

Yes, Jack thought back, sounding puzzled. I didn't realize Neverlin's team had hit you that hard.

They didn't, Draycos replied. That damage has been added since the Iota Klestis attack.

He sensed Jack's sudden flash of understanding. Got it, the boy said. They're going to pretend they're being attacked by the rest of the ships and go running to the refugee fleet for protection.

Exactly, Draycos confirmed. Many of the Valahgua can speak our language well enough to be mistaken for Shontine. They'll call for help, and the screening warships will almost certainly let them past the defense ring.

There's no password?

There are several, Draycos told him. But the Valahgua can feign transmission trouble, or claim that all senior members of the advance team were killed or incapacitated.

And come to think of it, why shouldn't the warriors believe them? Jack agreed grimly. As far as they know, there isn't a Valahgua for thousands of light-years.

There was a ping from the control board. "Hey, Chiggers," Driscol's voice came from the speaker. "So you didn't get lost, huh? Too bad. Guess I lose the pool."

Jack took a deep breath. "Showtime," he muttered, and flipped the transmission switch. "Yeah, and my heart bleeds for you," he replied sarcastically.

Only somehow, it was no longer Jack.

Draycos twisted his head around to look up at the boy's face, a wave of disbelief running through him. Jack's face had subtly changed, his eyes gone dark and smoldering with resentment, a cynical twist to his mouth.

And his voice was Chiggers's voice, matching the mercenary's tone, phrasing, and attitude. It was as if Jack had flipped a switch and somehow become the mercenary.

"That's not the only thing that'll be bleeding if you don't get your tail over here and fuel up," Driscol warned. "Colonel wants us taking a turn at sentry duty."

"Colonel's going to have to wait," Jack growled. "I need to dock and get some repair sealant."

"You still leaking air?"

"No, now I'm leaking calozyne," Jack told him.

"Calozyne?" Driscol echoed, a sudden catch in his voice.

"Yeah, calozyne," Jack said impatiently. "You want me to spell it for you?"

"You sure it's not just your breath?"

"Smells more like your butt," Jack countered.

There was another click from the speaker. "Chiggers, this is Borkrin," Sarge's voice came on the line. "What's this about a calozyne leak?"

"It's a calozyne leak," Jack said. "What do you want me to say about it?"

"How about starring with how bad it is?" Sarge growled. "You need us to set you up an isolation bay?"

"Oh, frunge, no," Jack scoffed. "It's not going to kill anyone. But it's eating the lining off my nose, and I used all my sealant on the air leak. Can you set me a port with the Advocatus Diaboli?"

"Oh yeah, right," Sarge said with a snort. "Like the colonel and Mr. Neverlin want to smell it. Get yourself over to the Foxwolf. I'll have Reinking set you up a docking port there."

"Copy," Jack said, and tapped his transmission key, cutting off the radio. He took another deep breath; and as he did so, the resentful expression smoothed away. "I think we're in," he said. His voice, too, was back to normal.

It took Draycos another second to find his own voice. "Impressive," he said. "I had no idea you could do something like that."

"You like it?" Jack asked, getting a grip on the control yoke and turning them a few degrees to the left. "A little trick Uncle Virgil taught me."

"More than just a single trick," Draycos said. "It was as if you'd actually become the man."

"That's the best way to imitate someone," Jack said. "Body, mind, attitude, voice. Everything." He shrugged. "If you can do it. Most people can't. At least, not very well."

"Obviously, you're one of the few who can," Draycos said. "And all that after having heard only a few sentences from the man."

"Yet another useless talent for a reformed con man and thief." Jack shook his head sharply. Okay, I think my brain's ready to go with the telepathy thing again, the thought whispered across Draycos's mind. Next job is to actually make it aboard the ship.

Draycos turned his head to look out the canopy through Jack's collar. While they'd been talking, Jack had shifted their course toward the Gatekeeper. Isn't the next trick to figure out which ship is the Foxwolf? Draycos asked. Going to the wrong one would be a dead giveaway that you aren't Chiggers.

Not a problem, Jack said. If you scratch the Advocatus Diaboli, the only ships big enough to dock this thing are your Gatekeeper, the fueler, and the troop carrier. Troop carriers and fuelers, if you'll recall from all that reading we had to do when I was in the Whinyard's Edge, are usually numbered, not named.

Neverlin might have made an exception.

He didn't, Jack assured him. Now that we know Frost's plan, Foxwolf is a perfect name for the Gatekeeper. It'll start out looking like it's running for its life, like the fox in a foxhunt. Once it's past the main defenses, it'll suddenly turn into a wolf and start ravaging its way through the fleet.

Draycos felt his tail twitch. With his mind occupied with Jack's performance, he hadn't yet spotted the most important implication of the Gatekeeper's presence here. Which also means that's where the Valahgua will have mounted their Death weapons.

Or at least most of them, Jack agreed. I'm guessing Neverlin has at least one aboard the Advocatus Diaboli, just to make sure his own skin is safe.

And if they could get aboard the Gatekeeper and disable those weapons . . . Tell me about this calozyne you mentioned, Draycos said. What exactly is it? And there isn't any actual leak, is there?

Believe me, buddy, if there was you'd know it, Jack said dryly. It's a heat-exchange fluid for the laser chargers, and it stinks to high heaven.

Odd, Draycos said. Our heat-exchange fluids are odorless.

Actually, calozyne smells the way it does on purpose, Jack said. It's a safety feature, so that you know right away if you've got a leak. Firing lasers without being able to dump the heat is generally considered a very bad idea.

Agreed, Draycos said. But won't those aboard the Gatekeeper then know immediately that we have no leak?

The minute they get close enough to get a good whiff, Jack confirmed. That's why we'll have to hit first and fast and then go to ground. I hope you know somewhere aboard where we can do that.

There are several such hiding places, Draycos assured him, gazing out at the Gatekeeper and forcing his brain to work. So far Jack had been carrying the burden of planning here. It was about time Draycos picked up his share of the load. If we haven't got a leak, can we make one?

Sure, but what's the point? Jack asked. The minute the mercenaries in there see me, the game will be up.

Unless those who meet us are Brummgas, Draycos said. I doubt they'll be nearly so good at distinguishing one of Frost's mercenaries from another.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jack frown down at him. Probably not, the boy agreed cautiously. But we don't even know if there are any Brummgas aboard. Let alone that Frost will let them play reception committee.

Actually, aside from the Valahgua manning the Death weapons, I expect nearly all aboard will be Brummgas, Draycos told him. Very likely all those we watched being brought from the Chookoock estate, in fact.

Okay, buddy, you've now officially lost me, Jack said. I thought we'd just decided the Gatekeeper was their primary attack ship. Neverlin's certainly not going to leave that part of the scheme in Brummgan hands.

They aren't here to handle the attack, Draycos said. They're here to create the proper illusion. As I said earlier, the Valahgua can imitate Shontine voices well enough to fool the fleet's warriors. What they can't imitate is the heat signature of five hundred K'da and Shontine crew members aboard ship.

He caught Jack's flicker of understanding. So Frost has loaded the ship with warm Brummgan bodies?

Exactly, Draycos said. The refugee fleet's sensors can't read individual heat emissions through the hull but only the sum total. Three hundred Brummgas should be just about right.

And the spectrum from a living being probably looks different from ordinary heaters or anything else Neverlin might have used, Jack said.

Exactly, Draycos said. I'm sure Neverlin would have preferred to use humans, but I'm guessing neither he nor Frost had access to the necessary numbers.

Hence the whole deal with the Patri Chookoock, Jack said slowly. So if we can avoid the handful of Malison Ring mercenaries Frost has watching over the Valahgua and Brummgas, we may be able to push our own game a little longer.

As long as we can, Draycos said. The more quiet time we have to seek out and sabotage the Death weapons, the better.

Ahead, the marker lights came on beside one of the Gatekeeper's hatches. There—that's our target hatch, he told Jack, flicking out his tongue toward the lights.

I see it, Jack said. Hop off, will you? I've got a job for you.

What job? Draycos asked as he leaped out of Jack's collar to land on the deck behind him.

"Go to the nearest weapons blister and get under the control board," Jack said. "Right up against the inside wall there should be one or more blue-striped tubes labeled coolant."

"Understood," Draycos said. Turning, he headed aft.

"And hold your nose," Jack's voice wafted down the corridor after him. "I wasn't kidding about the smell."

Five minutes later, with the stench of calozyne curling his nostrils, Jack brought the patrol ship to a smooth docking alongside the Gatekeeper.

Draycos was waiting for him at the hatch. "You were right about the smell," the K'da said as he laid his paw on Jack's hand and slithered up onto his skin. What's our plan?

We stay with the Chiggers story as long as possible, Jack told him. He started to take a deep breath, instantly changed his mind. He straightened the collar of his flight suit, checked that his tangler was riding loose in Chiggers's holster, and touched the hatch release.

The hatch slid open. Beyond the docking collar was a medium-sized bay with the same light tan walls and deck Jack had seen in the wreckage of the Havenseeker, back on that fateful day when he and Draycos had first met. Squaring his shoulders, trying to act as if he owned the place, he stepped through the hatchway into enemy territory.

But for the moment, anyway, the enemy seemed to be unaware they'd been invaded. The only other occupants of the bay were a pair of Brummgas working at an open access panel, and their only reaction was a curling of their own nostrils against the smell leaking out into their world.

Like I own the place, Jack reminded himself. "Hey—you," he called toward them. "Get me a sealant tube, will you?"

One of the Brummgas half-turned, his cheeks wrinkling in disgust. "Get it yourself," he said, pointing a thick finger at a tool chest along the wall. Turning his back on the insolent human, he returned to his work.

Smiling to himself, Jack headed for the toolbox. Do we need to take the time to fix the leak? Draycos asked.

Unfortunately, yes, Jack said. The idea is that Chiggers came aboard, did his repairs, and then made himself scarce before anyone could find him and give him some other job to do. Vanishing without fixing the leak would look suspicious.

Understood, Draycos replied. The K'da's tongue flicked briefly through the air beneath Jack's chin. But be careful. I can taste a hint of human scent beneath the smell of the Brummgas.

Plus a few Valahgua?

He sensed a darkening of Draycos's mood. Yes.

No problem, Jack said, trying to hide his sudden twinge of fear. A people who had defeated K'da warriors weren't a group he really wanted to run into. Even if their Death weapon was sort of cheating. We'll just have to be a little extra careful, that's all.

The toolbox contained two different tubes of sealant. Jack wasn't sure which would work better for a calozyne pipe, but for the length of time the repair needed to hold it probably didn't matter. Selecting the more expensive-looking tube, he headed back to the patrol ship.

The hole Draycos had sliced in the pipe was small and easy to get to. Jack squeezed a generous portion of sealant across it and watched a minute to make sure it was solidifying properly. Then, capping the tube, he went back into the docking bay and returned it to the toolbox. Which way? he asked Draycos as he straightened up again.

Take the door to your left, Draycos told him. The Death weapons will most likely be mounted in the bow. Probably in the weapons bays, where they'll have an ample source of power.

Sounds reasonable. Just point the way.

He was halfway across the bay when a figure stepped through the door ahead of him. It was a human figure, dressed in a Malison Ring uniform, peering down at a notepad in his hand.

Only it wasn't just one of Frost's men, a man who would know Chiggers at a glance. It was far worse . . . and it was the last person Jack had expected to see here.

It was StarForce Wing Sergeant Jonathan Langston. The man who'd helped him escape from Semaline.

A man Jack had thought was dead.