by Timothy Zahn
"Scanning now," Jack said, leaning over and holding the scanner a few inches off the floor. "Start recording."
This time, though, Uncle Virge was right. They found nothing interesting, or at least nothing that didn't belong in a spaceport. A whole army had apparently walked past the locker.
"At least we've got the fingerprints," Jack said, putting the EvGa away and pulling out his multitool. "Now for the door, I guess. You said there was another way to get in, Draycos?"
"To look in," Draycos corrected. Crouching down, he bounded at Jack's chest and melted onto his skin. "Will you stand with your back pressed against the door?" he added from Jack's shoulder.
Jack frowned sideways down at him. "Tell me first what you've got in mind," he said warily. "You've already torn one of my shirts and nearly broken my wrist."
"There will be no damage," Draycos assured him. "Do you recall my picture of how the K'da can seem to become two-dimensional?"
"That data reader thing you showed me on the Havenseeker?" Jack asked. "Sure. Not that I really understand it."
"It is not an easy concept," Draycos conceded. "But think back to that picture now. This time, imagine that the data reader can bend."
"Hold it," Jack said. "You lost me."
"Use your hand," Draycos suggested. "Hold it flat against your arm."
"Okay," Jack said, holding up his right arm and laying his left hand flat along the forearm. "That's two-dimensional." He angled the hand like a drawbridge going up, leaving the heel of his hand against the arm. "And now it's one-dimensional. Right?"
"Correct," Draycos said, the top of his head poking up off Jack's shoulder again. "Now leave your hand up, but curl your fingers back down to touch your arm."
"Uh-huh," Jack said as he did so. "So if there was something between the fingers and the palm—"
"Such as a wall," Uncle Virge put in.
"—such as a wall," Jack agreed, "you'd be leaning over it."
"I'll be dipped in butter and rolled in bread crumbs," Uncle Virge murmured. "You can see through walls."
"Provided the barrier is narrow enough," Draycos said. "Though Jack is correct; we refer to it as seeing 'over' a barrier."
"You can call it orange marmalade if you want to," Uncle Virge said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic for the first time since they'd met Draycos. "Well, well. Now that's a talent worth exploring."
"Uncle Virge," Jack warned.
"I know, I know—you're reformed," Uncle Virge soothed him. "But if you weren't, imagine the kind of team you two would make."
"We do not use our abilities to steal," Draycos said, sounding offended by the very suggestion.
"Maybe you don't," Uncle Virge said. "But I'll bet plenty of your people have. Or are all K'da so lily-pure that the thought of doing something illegal never even crosses their minds?"
"Of course we are not perfect beings," Draycos said. "But—"
"Can we get on with this?" Jack interrupted, turning his back to the locker and pressing hard against it. "Draycos, do I need to take off my jacket?"
His only answer was another sliding sensation against his skin. He concentrated on the feeling, but couldn't distinguish it from any other time Draycos moved around on him. Maybe sorting out the dragon's moves would come with practice.
For a few seconds nothing happened. Jack kept his back pressed against the locker, fingering his multitool and trying to imagine the kind of jobs Uncle Virgil would have put Draycos to if he'd had the chance.
Of course, convincing a noble K'da warrior to help him break into bank vaults would have been a sizable job all by itself. Certainly would have been an interesting conversation to sit in on.
Maybe he'd still get the chance. There was a lot of Uncle Virgil in Uncle Virge, after all. And if there was one thing Uncle Virgil had always loved, it was a challenge.
"There is a single item in here." Draycos's voice sounded muffled and distant, yet at the same time oddly close. Was the sound transmitting along Jack's back, perhaps? "It is a large cylindrical container, perhaps half your height, with tubing and smaller square boxes attached to its base."
Jack made a face. From that description, it could be practically anything. "Any writing on it?" he asked. "Manufacturer, model name—anything?"
"There are several groups of word-symbols," the near-far answer came. "However, as I have said, I do not know how to read them."
There was another skin-slide, and out of the corner of his eye Jack saw Draycos's head reappear on his shoulder. "However, I could attempt to reproduce it for you, figure by figure," he offered.
Jack shook his head as he stepped away from the locker. "That would take time. And it might still not tell us anything."
He lifted his multitool. "So. I guess we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."
Chapter 11
After Uncle Virge's comment about breaking and entering, he expected Draycos to object to the procedure. But the dragon remained silent as Jack knelt down beside the lock. Maybe this wasn't something a noble K'da warrior wouldn't do.
Though only if necessary, of course.
As Jack had already noted, the lock was sturdy but not complicated. He swiveled out one of the blades from his multi-tool, a special gadget Uncle Virgil had spent hours building into one of the tool's original screwdriver heads. This wouldn't take long at all.
He paused, frowning. There was something not quite right about the lock mechanism, he realized suddenly. Not quite symmetric, actually. He leaned closer for a better look, and it was then that he noticed the extra piece of metal extending off the lock about a quarter of an inch to the right. A piece that didn't quite blend in with the original design.
"What is wrong?" Draycos asked, his head rising up from Jack's shoulder.
"The lock's been wired," Jack told him, running his finger by the extra metal strip, being careful not to touch it. "Something's been added to the lock, with this piece of metal there to cover it. Ten to one it's a trip-line."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that if I spring the lock, someone's going to know."
"Interesting," Draycos murmured. "It is not part of the standard lock mechanism?"
"Definitely not," Jack said, shaking his head. "In fact, I don't think I've ever seen anything like this on a simple storage locker. Usually if someone wants to protect something, there are better ways to do it."
"Then why was it done?" Draycos asked.
"I'd think that would be obvious," Uncle Virge said tartly. "Even to a noble K'da warrior. They want to know if anyone breaks in."
"But if they are afraid the object inside will be discovered, why not simply remove it from the locker?" Draycos pointed out. "Why leave it inside and then create a trap?"
Uncle Virge snorted. "You familiar with the word 'bait'?"
"I do not know that particular usage," Draycos said calmly. "But from your tone I can deduce its meaning."
"I'm so glad," Uncle Virge growled. "Well, Jack. What now?"
"I don't know," Jack admitted, gazing at the lock. "I can't tell how the trip-line is wired without a scanner and some better tools. And without knowing that, I can't disarm it."
"You have the necessary equipment aboard the Essenay?" Draycos asked.
"Sure," Jack grunted. "But I'd never get it in past customs. The Vagran Colony really leans hard on thieves."
"So it's a stalemate." Uncle Virge sounded disgusted.
"Something like that," Jack said. "I guess that leaves us only one option. We open it up, take a quick look, then head for the tall grass before whoever's at the other end of the trip-line gets here."
He waited a moment, hoping one of the others would either try to talk him out of it or have something better to suggest. But both Draycos and Uncle Virge were silent. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the multitool and set to work.
"Easy, lad," Uncle Virge murmured. "Remember your training."
Jack bit at his lip. Yes; remember his training. His training, and
his experience, and his methods.
So much for putting the past behind him.
Thirty seconds later, he had the lock sprung.
"Draycos, keep an ear out," he told the dragon as he lifted the latch and pulled the door open. "Let's see what we've got here."
"Well?" Uncle Virge demanded.
"Just like Draycos described it," Jack said, eying the device as he folded his multitool and put it away. "Let's see; there's a plate attached near the bottom that says 'Hamker-Rovski 550.' That ring any bells?"
"Well, well," Uncle Virge said thoughtfully. "It does indeed. A Hamker-Rovski 550 is a low-temperature refrigeration unit."
Jack frowned. "You mean like a food freezer?"
"Colder than that, lad," Uncle Virge said. "Considerably colder."
Jack frowned harder. Then, suddenly, he got it. He got all of it. "Well, well," he said, smiling tightly. "Or did someone just say that?"
"Yes," Uncle Virge said. "But it bears repeating."
"If you have a thought, please speak it," Draycos put in.
"What, the noble K'da warrior doesn't know everything?" Uncle Virge taunted. "How surprising."
The dragon's head rose further out of Jack's shoulder. "I do not claim to know everything," he said, his voice deep and clearly annoyed.
"Take it easy," Jack soothed him, closing the locker and heading back toward the maze of boxes in the center of the warehouse. They'd seen all they needed to, and it was time to make tracks out of here. "Uncle Virge always likes to get places before everyone else. Just ignore him."
The dragon head sank down a little. "Then explain."
"It's really pretty simple," Jack said. "I should have figured it out sooner. I don't know how much chemistry you know, but there are some substances that can go from solid to gas without becoming liquids first. That means they evaporate without leaving any puddles."
"I am aware of that fact."
"Well, one of them happens to be carbon dioxide," Jack said. "Which happens to be one of the waste gasses we exhale when we breathe."
Draycos's head lifted up. "Someone is coming," he said softly. "Three beings. Perhaps the watchers."
"Terrific," Jack muttered, pausing at the edge of one of the stacks and peering carefully around the corner. No one was visible, but if he concentrated he could just hear the footsteps. "Can you tell which direction they're coming from?"
"There," Draycos said, lifting his snout up and out of Jack's jacket and swiveling his head to point back toward the tube area.
"Ha," Jack said, ducking back into the maze of boxes and heading off at an angle. "Looks like they've outsmarted themselves. They figured my ship would be in one of the closer pads, and I'd just walk straight into their arms."
"You think they were waiting for you?" Draycos asked. "You specifically, and not merely someone investigating the cargo disappearance?"
"Who else would care about Jack being in trouble?" Uncle Virge countered scornfully. "Watch yourself, lad. Your friends back there reacted too fast to be any sort of cops I've ever known."
"Braxton Security, then?" Jack asked, picking a new direction through the maze and taking another quick look around before heading off.
"Who else?" Uncle Virge said. "Let me know when you're two minutes away from the ship and I'll start the engines."
"No, leave them off," Jack said quickly. "Whoever they are, they're not going to be stupid enough to miss a ship revving for a liftoff."
"You're certainly not going to try to hide out in a grounded ship," Uncle Virge pointed out.
"You got that right," Jack agreed, breaking into a jog. "We're heading into the city."
"You're what? Jack, lad—"
"I'm closing down," Jack said, reaching up and pulling the comm clip off his collar. "I'll talk to you later."
"Jack—"
Uncle Virge's protest was cut off as Jack shut off the clip. "Is there danger in the city?" Draycos asked.
"Probably," Jack said, stuffing the clip into his pocket. "But not as much as there is behind us. They getting any closer?"
He got five more steps before Draycos answered. "They are not following," he said slowly. "I believe they are moving around the edges of the stacks."
"Trying to cut us off," Jack grunted, picking up his pace. "Let's see if we can beat them."
He broke into a flat-out run, hoping his pursuers were making too much noise of their own to hear him. Once, as he rounded one of the stacks, it occurred to him that barreling through a cargo maze infested with heenas might not be the most brilliant thing he'd ever done in his life. He would just have to hope that they'd learned not to mess with the kid in the leather jacket.
The open area around the outer warehouse wall was deserted when he finally emerged from the stacks. "Draycos?" he asked softly, peering across the open area toward the wide doors where the main cargo monorail tracks came into the warehouse. Outside the doors the ground was well lit, with the lights of the city twinkling in the near distance. As far as he could tell, there was no one out there.
"No one is moving nearby," the dragon said, flicking out his tongue. "Nor do I smell anyone close at hand. This is perhaps our best opportunity."
Jack made a face. And if no one was moving or breathing nearby, but a whole bunch of them were waiting outside for him to show up?
Still, if they were, there wasn't a lot he could do about it. Like their escape from Draycos's wrecked ship, all he could do was go for it and hope for the best. "Right," he muttered. "Here goes."
He had been mildly surprised back on Iota Klestis when more of the Brummga's friends hadn't been ready to pounce as he ran for the Essenay. He was even more surprised that no one was lurking in the shadows here as he crossed the graytop and ducked through the cargo entrance.
Once, as he ran across the lighted ground outside he thought he heard a shout behind him. But the sound wasn't repeated, and no one shot at him, and a minute later he was outside the range of the lights and into the comforting gloom of night.
Not that darkness alone was going to give him much safety. Darkness and distance, that was the combination he wanted. He passed the fence at the edge of the spaceport and turned down one of the streets heading into the city.
They'd made it six blocks, and Jack had changed streets twice, when Draycos spoke again. "You are saying the box contained nothing except solidified carbon dioxide?"
"You got it," Jack confirmed, pausing a moment to look around. The last turn had put him on a narrow, winding street lined with closely-packed two– and three-story buildings. A few of the buildings had balconies, which the residents seemed to use mostly for storing potted plants. The street itself wasn't very well lit, and the few pedestrians he could see walking along in the distance were too shadowy for him to make out even what species they were.
"I do not understand the purpose."
"You said it yourself, back on the ship," Jack reminded him, continuing down the street. A delicate aroma was drifting through the air from somewhere, reminding him of fresh-baked cinnamon bread. "Someone wanted to frame me. The dry ice—"
"Pardon?"
"Dry ice," Jack repeated. "That's what we call frozen carbon dioxide. The stuff evaporated slowly enough over the four-day trip to Cordolane for the Essenay's air system to handle the extra gas without triggering any alarms."
The cinnamon smell was getting stronger, he noticed. A bakery nearby, maybe? He hoped so. He was starting to get hungry, and it had been a long time since he'd had a good cinnamon roll.
"What is this place?" Draycos asked. "The smells are not those of humans."
"I'm not sure," Jack said. "I've only been here a couple of times, and never to this side of the port. If I'm remembering the map right, it's the Wistawki area."
"Are they friendly to humans?"
Jack shrugged. "I don't think they're unfriendly, for whatever that's worth. I remember Uncle Virgil conning a couple of them once; they seemed friendly enough. Gullible, too."
; There was silence from his shoulder. Jack winced, realizing that last comment had probably offended his companion. He opened his mouth to apologize—
"Behind us," Draycos murmured.
"What?" Jack asked, his apology and rumbling stomach both abruptly forgotten.
"Footsteps," the dragon said. "It is those who sought us in the warehouse."
Chapter 12
Jack didn't even bother to ask how in the world the dragon could tell they were the same footsteps. "We'd better hide," he said, picking up his speed as he looked around. No alleyways; no open doors; no bushes or shrubs he could duck behind. He peered ahead, looking for a cross street, but the nearest one was a long ways away.
"Those platforms," Draycos said. "Would one of those do?"
"The plat—? Oh, the balconies." Jack looked up at the nearest one. It stretched across the full length of the second floor, a good six feet above his head. "Sure, they'd do great. Problem is, they're a little high up, and there's no way to climb them."
There was a sudden weight and pulling at the back of his collar, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Draycos leaping out from the back of his neck. "It can be done," the dragon declared as he landed on the ground.
"Are you nuts?" Jack hissed, spinning around. "You want someone to see you?"
"That way," Draycos ordered, jabbing his snout ahead.
"Run to that building. When I say jump, you will jump up toward it."
Jack turned, frowning. The indicated building had a balcony, all right, one with enough of a gap between the potted plants for him to lie down in. But it was no lower than any of the other balconies. "I can't jump that high, Draycos," he insisted, turning back. "If you think—"
He broke off. Draycos had moved twenty feet back and was crouched down in the middle of the street like a sprinter getting ready to run.
And in the dim streetlight, he could see that the dragon's gold scales were turning black. "Go," the dragon ordered again. "Run."
Warrior ethic, Uncle Virge's phrase flitted through Jack's mind. What did a K'da warrior do, he wondered suddenly, if an underling disobeyed a direct order? That might be something to ask about when this was all over. "Yeah," he managed. "Right." Turning, he took off toward the building as fast as he could run.