'See you later,' Jack whispered. 'Don't get caught.'
'I will be careful,' Draycos said.
'Good.' Jack snorted gently. 'I was just thinking. Remember back at the Whinyard's Edge recruiting center, when Jommy Randolph made that snide comment about the training being like summer camp?'
'I remember,' Draycos said. 'And?'
Jack made a face in the dark. 'Compared to this,' he said, 'it was.'
Draycos brushed Jack's arm with his forepaw. 'Good night, Jack,' he said. 'I will return soon.'
CHAPTER 10
The next few days settled into a simple if unpleasant routine. Jack got up at daybreak with the other slaves and trudged out to the rainbow berry bushes. He worked, drank his noonday soup, worked some more, turned in his bowl, ate dinner, and trudged back to his bed.
At first his muscles ached all the time. After a couple of days, as he got used to the work, they mostly ached at bedtime. A few days after that, they almost stopped aching at all. Almost.
Every other day the Klezmer came by. Each time he did so, Jack made sure to give him a good handful of his berries.
At first he tried to tell himself that he was just trying to blend in. Almost all the other slaves except Lisssa, he'd noted, seemed to give the old man something from their own bowls. Even Fleck, who didn't have to do any picking at all, usually had a handful ready to slip into the Klezmer's bowl.
Jack also tried to convince himself he was just doing it to show up Lisssa's defiant selfishness, or that he just liked the music. But after the third time he finally had to admit the truth. Very simply, he enjoyed helping out the old man.
It was a new experience for him, and it gave him a lot to think about in his long hours under the hot sun. Uncle Virgil had occasionally made back-scratching deals with other criminals or corrupt police, deals where he'd done a job in exchange for something else. But he would have fallen on the floor laughing if anyone had ever suggested he give away anything for free.
His computerized alter ego, Uncle Virge, was of course incapable of falling on the floor. But Jack knew that if he ever heard about this he would certainly deliver a stern lecture on why Jack should be looking out strictly for himself.
Which made Jack wonder just where the whole idea had come from in the first place.
Was Draycos's warrior ethic starting to rub off on him? That was certainly possible. After two months of hearing about high-minded K'da ideals, anyone would start believing in them. Or was this coming from Maerlynn and the way she was always scurrying around helping her adopted children?
That was it, he finally decided. Maerlynn. He wasn't really giving the Klezmer anything for free. All he was doing was passing on the good deeds he'd already gotten from Maerlynn. It was a back-scratch deal after all, except that he wasn't paying back Maerlynn directly.
It made him feel better to think of it that way. Better, and a lot safer. He wasn't going off the deep end of the pool like some junior K'da warrior. All he was doing was paying back a debt.
He probably would have felt even better if he'd really believed that.
On the fifth day at work, he found himself so unbelievably grubby that he finally couldn't stand it anymore. There were a couple of cold showers in the washroom at the end of his sleeping hut, and that evening he postponed his bedtime long enough to give himself a quick rinse. It helped some, but with his clothes still dirty the feeling of being clean didn't last very long. When he asked Maerlynn about laundry, she told him the slaves usually waited until Tenthday, when they were given a day off of work.
Tenthday, to his annoyance, turned out to be another two days away. Still, he'd lasted this long. He could certainly hold out until then.
It was Ninthday when the routine fell apart.
He was heading for the line at the tables with his bowlful of berries when a sudden shadow fell across his face. He looked up to find Fleck glowering down at him. 'Hello, Fleck,' he said, making a smooth sidestep around the big man.
'How's tricks?'
Fleck's own sidestep wasn't nearly as smooth as Jack's. But it did the job just fine, planting him squarely in front of Jack again. 'You got too many,' he said.
'I've got too many what?' Jack asked. He was tired and hungry, and not in a mood for games.
'What do you think?' Fleck growled, jabbing a finger at Jack's chest.
'Berries.
You got too many berries.'
Jack looked down into his bowl with astonishment. 'What in the world are you talking about?'
'You're only supposed to fill to the line,' Fleck said. 'Not all the way to the top. What, you think the Brummgas are going to give you a bonus?'
'What, you don't like a kid my age doing better than the rest of you?' Jack shot back. Without waiting for an answer, he started to walk away.
Fleck's rough hand on his arm made it clear the conversation wasn't over.
'I'll tell you what I don't like, kiddy-face,' he said. 'I don't like you poking your stick into the bug hill. If you keep showing the Brummgas you can pick more berries in a day, they'll make everyone pick that many.'
It was, Jack realized later, a perfectly reasonable argument. He certainly wasn't interested in giving the Brummgas ideas for working their slaves any harder than they already were. And if Fleck had just given him a minute to think it through, everything would have been fine.
Unfortunately, Fleck didn't. 'So you stop now,' he insisted.
And reaching into Jack's bowl, he scooped out a handful of berries.
'Hey!' Jack snapped. He grabbed the other's wrist and shoved it away, then jumped back, trying to get out of reach.
Once again, the big man showed he was faster than he looked. He took a long step forward, slapped Jack's hand aside, and grabbed the strap that held the bowl around his neck. With a tug that seemed to snap Jack's head back against his shoulders, he yanked the boy toward him. 'You don't do that,' he said, very quietly, from three inches away. His breath smelled like stale nutrient broth.
'Not to me. Not ever.'
Jack stared straight into that ugly face. There was a punch Uncle Virgil had taught him, he remembered, a punch he'd guaranteed would drop any bully flat on his rear. Out of sight at his waist, he curled his right hand into a fist and braced himself.
And then, he felt the warning touch of K'da claws against his arm. He hesitated—
'Stop,' a flat Brummgan voice ordered.
Jack turned his head, letting his hand drop back to his side. One of the Brummgas standing guard over the berry collection process was striding toward them, a slapstick clutched in his hand. 'You,' he said, jabbing the slapstick toward Fleck. 'Release him.'
Fleck did so. Jack reached up and rubbed the back of his neck where the strap had dug into his skin. 'It's all right,' he said. 'We were just—'
Without a word the Brummga slashed the slapstick across the side of his face.
Jack spun around and tumbled to the ground, a flash of pain arcing through him.
His bowl bounced against his chest as he hit, spilling the berries all around.
'Wait!' he managed as the Brummga lowered the slapstick toward him. 'I didn't—'
The end of his protest bubbled into a groan as the tip slashed across his chest, this second tingle rattling his teeth. The weapon was on its lowest setting, without enough juice to knock him unconscious. But it had more than enough to hurt.
'You not argue with Red Stripe,' the Brummga growled, pointing at Fleck's red sash. He raised the slapstick for emphasis; in spite of himself, Jack winced back in reaction. 'You understand? You not argue with Red Stripe.'
