dagger-decorated door. Slowly; but still too fast for Jack's comfort. Already the back of the group had pulled away from the area around Draycos's office. That meant that when Jack went back to retrieve his companion, he would no longer have people standing all around to help mask his movements.
Too bad he hadn't known any of this was coming. Aboard the Essenay he had a whole collection of time-delay firecrackers designed for use as diversions. Too late now.
In the old days, Uncle Virgil would have been right there beside him, ready to jump in with an improvised change of plans. But then, in the old days he and Uncle Virgil never had any life-and-death situations hanging over them. They never had the fate of two entire species depending on whether they could pull off some scam or theft. All they'd ever had to worry about was closing a deal, or popping a safe, and then getting out before the cops arrived.
How had he gotten himself into this, anyway?
Jack looked around the room at the other kids, feeling his throat tighten. He knew the facts of how this had happened, of course. How he'd bumped into the ambushed K'da/Shontine ship and found Draycos dying amid the wreckage. How they'd escaped from the people who had attacked Draycos's people, and gone on to solve the frame-up that Jack had been hiding from in the first place.
But in the old days, that would have been the end of it. Uncle Virgil would have calmly and cheerfully gone back on his promise to help Draycos find the people who had attacked him. He would have kicked the dragon out to fend for himself, and he and Jack would have flown off to get on with their lives. Nice, neat, and very simple.
So what was Jack doing here? Draycos had already said he wouldn't force himself on a host who didn't want him. Why didn't Jack simply dump him on StarForce like Uncle Virge wanted?
Was it because he'd made Draycos a promise? Could this K'da warrior-ethic thing actually be starting to rub off on him?
He hoped not. He desperately hoped not. It was all well and good for Draycos to be strong and noble—he was an adult, and he'd been trained for that sort of thing. But Jack was only fourteen years old, and very much alone in the universe. There was no way he could deal with the complications a K'da warrior ethic demanded of a person.
More to the point, he didn't want to deal with them. Life was hard enough without making it any harder.
Draycos's five minutes were up. As casually as he could manage, Jack strolled back to the office door.
He reached it and turned to lean his back against the jamb, gazing blankly out at the crowd. As he did so, he dropped one hand to his side and scratched gently against the wood.
From inside came an answering scratch. Good; Draycos was ready. Now if only the guard over by the exit could conveniently be looking somewhere else.
He wasn't. He was staring straight at Jack, a very unpleasant look on his face.
Jack let his eyes drift away, trying hard to look as innocent as a newborn kitten. It looked like he was going to have to do this right under the guard's nose.
Okay. No problem. Bracing himself, hoping the dragon really was ready, he turned around suddenly as if startled and leaned his head slightly into the office. As he did so, his right hand dipped into the open doorway—
The sudden weight on his palm nearly toppled him over onto his nose. Fortunately, it disappeared almost immediately as Draycos flattened himself into two-dimensional form onto Jack's skin and slithered up his arm beneath his shirt. Jack regained his balance and turned back around.
And was suddenly hauled nearly off his feet by the front of his jacket.
The door guard was no longer at the door. He was standing right in front of Jack, a fistful of Jack's jacket clutched in his hand.
And the unpleasant expression had become downright ugly.
Chapter 3
'What do you think you're doing?' the guard demanded. His voice was surprisingly quiet, almost civilized. It made the glare on his face even scarier by contrast.
'I thought I heard something,' Jack said, trying to sound nervous and flustered. It didn't take much acting. 'Like there was someone in there.'
'So?' the guard demanded. He turned his hand a little, twisting the wad of jacket in his grip. 'What's it to you?'
Jack would have thought the conversation was quiet enough to have escaped notice. He was wrong. 'Sergeant?' the deep voice called from the other end of the room.
'Got a candidate here for an Intelligence assignment, sir,' the guard called back. 'Caught his nose where it wasn't supposed to be.'
'Bring him,' the voice ordered.
The guard let go of the front of Jack's coat, shifting his grip to the back collar, and quick-marched him across the room. The crowd of teens magically parted in front of them, leaving a clear path to the two desks.
Jack hadn't yet had a good look at the man at the second desk. Now, as the guard shoved him forward, he saw that the other was younger than he'd first thought. He was probably no older than his late twenties, though the gray hair made him seem twice that age. His expression was cool and thoughtful as he watched Jack approach. His collar insignia was that of a lieutenant; the small nameplate over his right shirt pocket read BASHT.
He waited until Jack had been deposited directly in front of him before speaking again. 'Name?' he asked.
'Jack Montana,' Jack said, pulling out the fake ID he'd put together aboard the Essenay. 'From Carrier,' he added, holding it out.
Lieutenant Basht made no move to take the card. 'What was the commotion about?'
Jack swallowed. 'I thought I heard a noise in there,' he said. 'I just looked in, just for a second.'
'He didn't just look in,' the guard insisted. 'He had his hand inside the door—'
Basht silenced him with a glance. 'You always investigate noises in places you have no business being?' he asked.
'It's my uncle,' Jack explained hesitantly. 'He told me once about a mere group that liked to hide soldiers in their recruitment centers. They'd pop out suddenly and start shooting.'
A murmur of reaction went through the teens behind him. Basht's face didn't even twitch. 'No reputable mercenary organization would ever do a thing like that,' he said in a precise voice. 'We don't waste people for no good reason.'
