Or, instead, he could use that same last bit of strength to try to connect with him.
'Still not moving,' the boy said. 'I guess it's dead. Too bad—it's pretty neat looking. Huh—those gold scales have little bits of red on them, too, right at the edges. Cool.'
It was a gamble, Draycos knew. A terrible, desperate gamble. Throughout their history, the K'da had met only two species who could act as hosts to them. There wasn't a chance in a hundred that these humans could do so.
And if the connection failed, there would be no attack. Draycos had strength enough for only a single action.
'Still not moving,' the boy reported.
Draycos came to a decision. He was a K'da warrior, and he could not attack an untrained and unprepared opponent without clear cause. The boy stopped and leaned close....
Draycos leaped.
Chapter 4
It was about the last thing Jack would ever have expected: for one of the 'dead' bodies aboard the wrecked ship to suddenly come alive and charge at him. With a startled gasp he jumped backwards, reflexively throwing up an arm in front of his eyes. There was a flash of gold right in his face—he blinked—
And then, without a sound, it was gone. He spun around, nearly losing his balance on the litter-strewn deck.
The dragon had vanished.
Only then did he remember the tangler belted at his waist. He yanked out the weapon and popped off the safety catch, breathing hard and trembling with reaction as he looked wildly around. The dragon was gone, all right.
Only one small problem: there wasn't any place it could have gone to. It couldn't possibly have made it across the room and out the doorway back there, not in the half second it had taken Jack to turn around. With most everything solid in the room lying in broken piles on the floor, there was no place in the room itself for it to hide.
So where was it?
'Jack!' Uncle Virge's voice called urgently from the comm clip on his shirt collar. 'What is it? What's going on? Come on, lad, speak up.'
'That dragon,' Jack said. To his embarrassment, his voice was trembling. He hated when it did that. 'It jumped at me. At least, I thought it did.'
'What happened? Did it bite you? Claw you?'
'I—no, I don't think so,' Jack said, still looking around. 'I mean, I don't feel anything.'
'Check your clothes,' Uncle Virge ordered. 'Look for rips or blood. Sometimes you don't feel injuries like that right away.'
Jack glanced down at his shirt. 'No, there's nothing. It just jumped at me and then disappeared.'
'What do you mean, disappeared? Disappeared where?'
Jack didn't answer. The immediate shock of the incident was beginning to fade... and as it did so, he suddenly became aware that there was something odd about the way his skin felt. Almost as if there was a thin coating of paint or something on his chest and back.
He reached in under his shirt collar and touched his shoulder. It was skin, all right, normal everyday skin. It certainly didn't feel any different than usual to his fingertips. His back didn't feel any different, either, as he slid his hand down along his shoulder blade as far as it would go.
But the odd sensation persisted.
'Jack?'
'Hang on a second,' Jack said, draping his leather jacket across the back of a broken chair and sliding his tangler back into its holster. Working a finger under the sealing seam running down the front of his shirt, he unsealed it and pulled it open.
He caught his breath. There, angling across his chest and stomach, was a wide golden band. It wrapped around his rib cage at both the top and bottom, disappearing around toward his back. Like a tuxedo cummerbund that hadn't been put on straight, he thought, or maybe the formal sash he'd sometimes seen military leaders wearing. There was texturing to it, too, he saw. A golden fish-scale pattern, with a sliver of red at the edge of each scale.
The same pattern as the vanished dragon.
A horrible thought struck him. Pulling the shirt free from his jeans, he slid it all the way off his right arm so that it was hanging on his left arm and shoulder. Twisting his head around, he looked down at his right shoulder.
To find himself gazing directly into the dragon's face.
'Ye-oup!' he yelped, jerking his head back and jumping three feet to his left.
It was like trying to jump away from his own body, and about as successful. The picture of the dragon didn't disappear or slide off or anything like that. It was still there, as if it had been painted on him.
Then, to his utter astonishment, the face rose slowly out of his skin, like the top of an alligator's head rising up through the surface of the water. The long upper jaw opened slightly, giving him a glimpse of sharp teeth—'Don't be afraid,' a soft, snakelike voice said.
Jack screeched loud enough to hurt his own ears. His tangler was in his left hand, though he had no memory of having drawn it, and with all his strength he slammed the short barrel down on the dragon's head.
