by Timothy Zahn
The open door below led into the center of a corridor lined with ten doors. Apartments, he decided, or possibly private offices. Silently, he prowled down the hallway, listening and tasting at each door.
At the second and fourth doors to the left, on the side facing the street, he found the enemy.
He took a moment to lay the two bombs on the hallway floor by the fourth door, where the door would strike them if it was opened carelessly. Then, returning to the second door, he pulled it open.
The attacker's setup was again something he'd seen in Jack's manual. At the window sat a slender, long-barreled weapon on a tripod, angled sharply downward to fire at the street. A belt of ammunition ran up to it from a small suitcase on the floor.
The gunner himself was of a species Draycos hadn't met before: short and stocky, with large ears and clumps of feathers poking out of a mottled red-and-purple skin. His heavy battle vest had a shoulder patch showing a long, curved sword, and his scent matched the alien smell Draycos had tasted by the trap door.
He was seated cross-legged in the center of the room, well back from the window, leaning comfortably against the front corner of a large desk. With the help of a small video monitor in one hand and a control stick in the other, he was firing the weapon by remote control.
Foolishly enough, he was sitting with his back to the door. Perhaps he assumed his large ears would warn him of any intruders.
Draycos didn't give him the chance to correct that error. A single leap across the room landed him behind the alien. A single slap of his forepaw bounced the other's head against the desk and sent him sprawling unconscious onto the floor.
For a moment Draycos crouched beside him, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. The soldier was alive, but definitely out of the fight.
One room down. One more room to go, and then he would have done all he could. He turned back to the door.
And paused as a sudden thought struck him. Perhaps he wasn't quite finished here yet.
He spent a minute learning how to work the control stick. Then, manipulating the buttons and wheels delicately with his claws, he raised the muzzle of the gun to point at the building across the street. Studying the monitor, he located one of the windows where a similar gun was firing down into the street.
Smiling to himself, he lined up the crosshairs on the other gun and fired.
The result was all he could have hoped for. His bullets hammered into the other weapon, shaking it like a puppet with tangled strings and toppling it back out of sight. Swinging the gun to the right, he found the next enemy weapon and again opened fire. This gun was sturdier, and it took him two bursts to knock it out of action.
He swung the gun toward the next building over, aware that his time was rapidly running out. If the operators of the two ruined weapons were quick and smart, they would alert the soldier two rooms away from him that this weapon had fallen into enemy hands. The soldier would then come and try to take it back.
The enemy was definitely smart, and even a little quicker than Draycos had expected. From down the corridor came a pair of sharp cracks as the two popcorn bombs he'd left behind the other door went off.
The enemy was coming.
He took another two seconds to ruin one more enemy weapon, then dropped the control stick and loped back toward the door. Leaping up, twisting to the side in midair, he landed with a gentle thud against the wall just above the door. His claws dug into the hard wood and held on.
Just in time. Beneath him, the door was pulled violently open, and a burst of gunfire spattered across the empty space.
Seeing no one but his unconscious comrade, the soldier shifted his aim toward the desk, the only reasonable hiding place in the room. The bullets slammed into the wood, sending clouds of splinters flying. It was just as well, Draycos decided as he gazed down, that he hadn't tried to hide there.
The gunfire stopped, and a human soldier eased cautiously into the doorway, his gun held ready. Unhooking one paw from the wall, Draycos leaned over and slapped hard at the side of the man's head.
This one was tougher than his alien comrade had been. The blow sent him staggering to the side, but he managed to stay on his feet. He shook his head once, as if to clear it, just in time to catch the slap of Draycos's tail as it struck him in the same spot where the first blow had landed. The man toppled to the floor, his gun clattering out of his grip, and stayed down.
Draycos slipped out of the room and headed back toward the stairway. The hallway was empty, but he knew it wouldn't be for long. Already he could hear several pairs of footsteps moving upward from the floor below. Either more of the attackers were coming to investigate, or an advance party of Whinyard's Edge defenders was on its way.
Either way, his time had run out. He reached the stairway and climbed toward the roof, noticing as he did so that all the gunfire outside seemed to have ceased.
And as he eased his head up through the trap door, he found out why. In the distance, heading toward them at high speed, were three small aircraft.
So the Whinyard's Edge had finally called in air support. About time.
He raced across the roof, hoping Jack was still where he'd left him. He reached the edge, and in a single move leaped up onto the parapet and then threw himself into a flat dive toward the window he'd originally left.
His jump was slightly off, and his paws fumbled a bit as he ducked in through the window. Regaining his balance, he retraced his steps through the partitions and back to the wide stairway.
He made his way down to the second floor landing. There he paused, listening. The three Parprins were talking quietly, and from the direction of their tense voices he could tell they were still sitting or standing at the bottom of the stairway.
Unfortunately, Jack was keeping quiet. Had he moved away somewhere? If so, there might be a problem getting back to him without the Parprins seeing him.
And if he didn't move quickly, the Parprins would be the least of his worries. With much of the attack broken, and the aircraft dealing with the rest, he could see through the windows that the Edgemen were beginning to move purposefully around in the street. One of their first tasks, he knew, would be to check the nearby buildings for enemies.
All the buildings. Including this one.
He focused his attention on the stairway railing. A metal railing; and metal, he knew, conducted sound quite well. Reaching up, he gave it three gentle scratches with his claws.
To his relief, there was an immediate answering scratch.
He lifted his head carefully, just far enough to see. Jack had one hand resting on the railing, the fingers beckoning impatiently.
Slinking down the stairs, Draycos reached the spot where Jack stood. He touched the boy's hand and slid quickly up his sleeve as he changed into two-dimensional form. Shifting along Jack's skin, he worked his way around into his accustomed position.
Just in time. Across the room, the door slammed open. Moving carefully, Draycos peeked out through Jack's shirt.
Sergeant Grisko stood framed in the doorway, a small machine gun held high across his chest. Behind him, Draycos could see Alison Kayna and Jommy Randolph.
"There he is," Jommy said, pointing past Grisko's shoulder. "I told you."
"Yeah, you sure did." Grisko leveled the full power of his glare at Jack. "And what the frinking rip," he demanded, "are you doing here?"
CHAPTER 13
Quickly, Jack got his hand down off the railing and stiffened to attention. "I was moving these civilians out of danger, sir," he explained, giving a short nod toward the Parprins still huddled on the floor beside him. "They were caught in the fire zone."
"Very commendable," Grisko said tardy. If he was pleased with Jack's answer, it didn't show on his face. "Anyone give you any actual orders to that effect? Or did you dream it up on your own?"
"And then decide to hide in here with them?" Jommy muttered.
"Shut up, Randolph," Grisko snapped, his eyes never leaving Jack's face. "Someo
ne give you orders, Montana? Anyone give you orders, Montana?"
"Not exactly, sir," Jack admitted, feeling a fresh batch of sweat breaking out on his forehead. This was just great. He'd survived an enemy attack; and now he was going to catch it from his own side?
And possibly catch it even worse than just being shot at. The manual had listed some pretty severe penalties for desertion under fire. "There wasn't anyone nearby to give me any orders," he went on, trying desperately to think his way out of this.
"The manual lists twelve standing orders for behavior in a firefight," Grisko ground out. "You remember any of them being to turn tail and run like a rabbit?"
Jack clamped down on his tongue. "No, sir," he conceded. Beside him, one of the Parprins whimpered.
And at last, inspiration. "But I do remember that an Edge-man's primary job is service to our employer," he continued more confidently. "Since our employer on Sunright is a Parprin group, I assume all local Parprins come under that heading."
"Nice try," Grisko said. "Problem is, the protection of civilians comes three points below support of your comrades on the list."
Beside him, Alison stirred. "I wonder where his gun is," she murmured.
Grisko frowned, his eyes flicking to Jack's shoulder and then glancing at the floor and tables around him. "That's a good question. You got a good answer?"
Jack would have smiled with relief if he'd dared. Of course; the escape hatch he'd been trying to find. "One of the other Edgemen took it, sir," he said.
A slight frown creased Grisko's forehead. "Why?"
"I believe he wanted to use it against the snipers up in the hillside," Jack explained. "All he was carrying was a Heckler-Colt MP-50. Not really suitable for long-range work."
"So why didn't he give you his H-C?" Grisko demanded.
"I didn't have time to ask him, sir," Jack said. "He just took my Gompers and ran with it. To be honest," he added with what he hoped was just the right touch of humility, "I don't think the regulars think very much of us as combat soldiers."
Grisko's lip twisted. "I can't really say I blame them." He looked at the Parprins, back at Jack. "All right, get outside," he growled. "We're forming up. Go get your Gompers back, then get your carcass into position."
He turned sharply and stalked outside. Jommy gave Jack a dark look, then strode out behind him. "I guess we don't get to see a court-martial, after all," Alison remarked. "Too bad. Might have been interesting."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Jack said, waving a farewell to the Parprins and heading toward the door. "At least you got to watch me squirm. Was that enough entertainment for one afternoon?"
She lifted her eyebrows. "Hey, I got you off the hook. What more do you want?"
"You could have mentioned a little earlier that you saw that thug-ugly take my gun," Jack pointed out stiffly.
"Yes, I could have said something earlier," Alison agreed. "But why should I?"
"Maybe because Grisko was getting himself worked up into a real froth about this?" Jack suggested as he stepped up to her. "By the time you actually spoke up, there was half a chance he wouldn't have even cared anymore that I hadn't had a gun. He would have been ready to nail me to the wall right there. Ever think of that?"
"Sure," she agreed. "And maybe if I had said something right off the top, he'd have thought I was just covering for a deserter. Then we'd both have been for the hot seat. Ever think of that?"
Jack frowned, his annoyance fading a little as he gazed into her eyes. There was something odd there, simmering beneath the surface like a churning of molten rock.
Anger, and frustration, and determination. And perhaps more than a little fear.
A lot like the way he'd been feeling lately himself. For about the last year, in fact, ever since Uncle Virgil had died.
"I thought we were comrades in arms," he said quietly.
She regarded him coolly. "I don't stick my neck out for you, Montana," she said, just as quietly. "You or anyone else."
Turning, she walked out the door. "Okay," Jack muttered aloud to himself. "Good to have that settled."
"An interesting person," Draycos murmured from his shoulder.
"Oh, yeah," Jack said sourly. "Interesting like a rare and delicate tropical disease. Come on, let's go find the clown who's got my gun."
It took several minutes for Jack to track down the man who'd taken his flash rifle. It took several more to actually get the weapon back. Still eyeing the hillside suspiciously, the soldier was clearly not interested in giving up his long-range firing capability, and told Jack so in language that would have made Grisko proud.
But by then the officers were starting to call the troops back into formation, and Jack's mention of Grisko's name also seemed to carry a certain amount of weight. Eventually, with one last muttered curse, the soldier shoved the Gompers back into Jack's hands and stomped back to rejoin the column. On Draycos's advice, Jack replaced the half-used clip with a fresh one, then hurried back to his own place in line. A few minutes later, the whole group resumed their march through town.
But not with nearly the brash confidence they'd shown earlier. Now, they marched with their attention turned upward, toward the windows and rooftops as they passed beneath them. Their weapons were again slung over their shoulders, but it seemed to Jack that none of them let his or her hand get too far from the trigger. And, of course, the combat aircraft floating watchfully overhead were a continual reminder of what had just happened.
The Whinyard's Edge had gotten its nose bloodied today.
There was a change in the townspeople, too. Not surprisingly, the crowds that had been lining the street earlier were gone. Those who found themselves near the marching soldiers seemed intent on hurrying to be somewhere else.
Earlier, the people had seemed nervous and uncertain. Now, they were flat-out afraid.
Mentally, Jack shook his head. Whatever result the Edge commanders had hoped for with this stroll through the city, he was pretty sure that wasn't it.
They reached the headquarters compound without any further trouble. A pair of carriers loaded with their equipment rumbled in behind them, and there was a sort of confused chaos as footlockers and other gear were sorted out.
Back on Carrion, Jack had gotten the impression that his squad would be staying in Mer'seb for a few days before moving up to the November Six observation post. But barely an hour after their arrival, the order came down for eight of the new squads to assemble immediately for transport to their field destinations. Tango Five Zulu was one of them.
They boarded their transport, a Lynx Personnel Carrier, in the courtyard of the HQ compound. Along with Tango Five Zulu, two squads of regular Edgemen would also be traveling to November Six. Sergeant Grisko was along, too, at least long enough to help them set up.
The Lynx was a good-sized transport, designed to haul at least three times the number of people they had on this trip. That meant some elbow room for a change, and Jack took quick advantage of the situation by staking out a pair of seats in the back next to one of the small windows. Setting his pack down on one of the seats, he strapped himself into the other. If he kept his eyes glued to the scenery, maybe he could pretend he was heading out on some sort of vacation.
On a vacation, and not into a war zone.
It turned out to be a futile hope. Unlike the other Edge transports Jack had traveled on so far, the Lynx actually looked like a military vehicle. Intruding constantly on his view of the landscape were the muzzles of two large-caliber machine guns poking out from under one of the stubby wings. The wing itself was painted in a camouflage pattern designed to help it blend in while on the ground.
The landscape itself wasn't all that exciting, either. The hilly ground around Mer'seb soon gave way to a short stretch of plains and small lakes, then began to turn hilly again. Grisko had said the trip to November Six would take two hours, and Jack found himself wondering just how big the territory was that this handful of Edgemen was supposed to be protecting.
With such cheery thoughts dancing around his brain, he huddled over with his forehead against the cold plastic of the window and drifted to sleep.
He awoke suddenly, startled by a light jab on his wrist. He snapped his eyes open and looked around.
No one was leaning intently over him. For that matter, no one was paying any attention to him at all. The nearest other person, Rogan Mbusu, was sprawled limply two seats over, snoring quietly to himself. Outside the window, the afternoon sunlight was throwing long shadows across the ground.
The light jab came again; and this time, Jack recognized it as the touch of a dragon's claw. The signal of a dragon's nagging. "What?" he muttered toward his shoulder.
"I must speak with you," Draycos murmured back.
"Now?"
"Now."
Jack glared down at his shoulder, a wasted effect with his shirt and jacket mostly in the way. Draycos had a real gift for rotten timing.
But there was nothing to do but go along. Unstrapping, he headed past the equipment storage area to one of the tiny restrooms in the far rear of the transport. He closed the door, sealed it, and did a quick check for monitors. There weren't any. "This had better be good," he warned as he closed the toilet lid and sat down.
With the usual sudden surge of weight, Draycos popped out of Jack's collar. He landed on the area around the sink and turned around, balancing himself there with apparent ease. "It is important," he promised. "Do you remember the map we were shown of the area around November Six?"
Jack frowned. "You woke me from a good nap for this? A geography quiz?"
"Please," Draycos said earnestly. "The Gray Hills flow from northeast to southwest, with Bear Mountain to the north of the base. Correct?"
"Right," Jack said. "Then the Gray Hills continue down toward Octrani Lake, with the Partanra River flowing out mostly west from there."