Dragon and Thief

A flicker of weight on his neck, and Draycos was again safely hidden away. The elevator doors started to open; and Jack settled into the earnest young boy act that had worked so well in the purser's office. There would be a guard around here somewhere....

"Wow!" he said, stepping out of the elevator and looking around. Ahead, stretching as far as he could see, were rows and rows of cars and small aircraft.

There was a guard, all right: a man in white sitting in a booth just beside the elevators. "May I help you?" he asked.

"Oh, no, I just came down to see the cars," Jack said, trying to look friendly, startled, and harmless all at the same time. "My dad told me there were Rolls Royce-Dymeis here and everything."

"There sure are," the guard said. "But I'm afraid you can't just wander around. Do you have a vehicle of your own down here?"

"No," Jack said, letting his face fall a little.

The guard smiled sympathetically. "Sorry."

"Yeah," Jack said. "Thanks anyway."

He got back into the elevator and punched for his stateroom's level. "And that's that," he said as the elevator started up. "Anyone following my movements will figure I stashed the cylinder somewhere down there."

"You were not there long enough to do that," Draycos pointed out.

"Of course not," Jack said, smiling tightly. "But don't forget, they think Uncle Virgil is here, too. They'll figure I passed it off to him."

"I see." The dragon gave an odd sound, like a heavy rain splashing into a puddle. A chuckle? "There is at least one area where you humans excel. You are by far more clever than the K'da."

Jack made a face. "Yeah. Big fat furry deal."

They had reached their floor before Draycos spoke again. "You need not fear us, Jack," he said quietly as Jack stepped out of the elevator. "By the very nature of our limitation the K'da can only be friends, or companions, or servants. We can never be masters."

"Maybe," Jack said. "But our history's full of servants who decided they wanted to be the masters for a change. Usually, things got pretty unpleasant."

He shook his head. "But we didn't come here to discuss history. Let's get some sleep, huh? Tomorrow's going to be another real busy day."

Chapter 22

The luxury corridor was deserted the next morning as Jack made his way along it, his feet dragging through the thick carpet. Back in his own area, most people had already been up and about. The idle rich must like to sleep in.

"What will we do?" Draycos murmured.

Jack hunched his shoulders, glancing around at the hand-carved designs along the corridor walls. He'd traded in the fancy clothes he'd worn yesterday in favor of his usual jeans and leather jacket, and was definitely regretting that decision. He felt out of place enough even out here in the corridor. How much worse was he going to feel once he was actually in the suite down there at the end?

Assuming, of course, he actually got inside. "We do it straight," he murmured back as he reached the door. "Just walk up and push the buzzer."

He got to the door and reached for the buzzer. As he did so, there was the sound of sliding doors behind him.

He turned. Standing in the corridor, outside the two doors he'd just passed, were two large men. Both were dressed the same way as the bodyguard from last night, and both were looking steadily at him.

Jack let his hand fall to his side. "Or not," he added.

"Can we help you?" one of the men said as they both walked toward him.

"My name's Jack Morgan," Jack said, fighting against the sudden urge to duck between them and run away as fast as he could. There was an air of police or ex-police about both these men that was stirring all the old reflexes. "I'd like to speak with your boss."

"May I ask your business?" the first man said as they reached him. They were, he noted, somewhat bigger than they had first looked.

"I have something that belongs to him," Jack said. "I'd like to arrange for its return."

The second man had pulled out a small sca

Jack shook his head. "Sorry. Confidential."

"That's okay," the first man said, giving Jack what was probably his best effort at a friendly smile. "He doesn't have any secrets from us."

Jack lifted his eyebrows. "Really. A man in his position, and no secrets at all from his bodyguards? That's amazing."

The smile vanished. "Look, kid—"

"He's clean," the second man a

"Right here," a voice answered faintly from the clip. "What is it, Harper?"

"We've got a kid out here named Jack Morgan who wants to see The Man," Harper said. "Says he has something that belongs to him."

"Does he?"

"Not on him," Harper said. "You want to check with him?"

The other voice snorted. "What, over some con artist ru

"I told you, he's just a kid," Harper said. "Twelve, thirteen, maybe."

"So it's a junior scam," Boyle said. "I'm not going to disturb The Man for this."

"I'm already disturbed, Boyle," a new, fainter voice came from the comm clip. "Have them send him in."

"Yes, sir," Harper said, his voice suddenly more respectful. He touched the comm clip again and gestured Jack toward the door. "You heard him. Go on in."

"Thanks," Jack said, frowning as he turned back to the door. There had been something familiar about that second comm clip voice....

The door slid open as he stepped toward it. Taking a deep breath, painfully aware of Harper and his friend blocking his escape route behind him, he stepped inside.

He found himself in a room about half the size of the entire Essenay, and every bit as luxurious as he'd guessed it would be. The carved-wood walls were covered with paintings and embedded light-sculptures, the furniture was heavy and expensive looking, and the carpet was thick enough to hide large rodents in. Two archways led off to other parts of the suite, one of them from the right-hand side of the room, the other from the back.

Seated behind a computer at a desk to the left of the door, scowling up at Jack, was a young man. A cup of something steaming sat on the desk to his right, a neat row of data tubes to his left. His clothes, Jack noted, were a couple of notches above the outfits the guards out in the corridor were wearing. That probably made him a secretary or assistant.

On the other side of the door sat another bodyguard type. Unlike the men outside, this one had his jacket off, showing the shoulder holster he was wearing under his left arm. He was pretending to read a newssheet, but Jack could tell that was just an act. One suspicious move on Jack's part, and that gun could be out of its holster in half a heartbeat.

"You Morgan?" the secretary type demanded. His voice, Jack noted, was the one that had first answered the guard outside.

"Yes," Jack said, turning to face him. "You must be Mr. Boyle."

"This had better be important, kid," Boyle growled. "And if you try to swing some gribble on me, you're going to regret it. What's so fu

"Sorry," Jack apologized, wiping away his smile. "It's just amusing when one of you corporate types tries to use street slang."

Boyle scowled a little harder. "So what's this about?"

Jack shook his head. "Like I told your friends outside, I need to talk directly to your boss."

"Not a chance," Boyle said. "You tell me. If I think it's worth his time, I'll tell him about it."

Jack crossed his arms. "His merchandise," he said flatly. "His ear. Or he doesn't get it back."

Boyle stood up, leaning his palms on the desktop and looking Jack straight in the eye. "Last chance," he warned.