Dragonback 02 Dragon and Soldier (4 page)

"Rogan Mbusu," the other said.

"Uh-huh," Jack said. "How old are you, Rogan?"

The kid drew back a little. "I'm fourteen," he said, a little
defiantly. "I'll be fifteen on my next birthday."

"Yeah, that's the way birthdays usually work," Jack said,
frowning. No way the kid was fourteen. Even twelve would be pushing it.
"Fourteen, huh?"

Rogan's eyes drifted away. "Sure," he said. Turning back to his
own section of the bench, he resumed changing into his new uniform.

Jack looked back around the room. A few of the boys were still
staring at him, but most had had their fill of the show and were going
about their business again. Turning his back to them, Jack did likewise.

A few minutes later he was finished. Folding his civilian clothing
into the footlocker, he pulled the "dog-collar" wristband from its
pouch inside the lid and closed it, making sure all the locks were
fastened. He slid the wristband around his right wrist and headed
toward the line of uniformed kids at the wide exit door. The
footlocker, following the signal from his wristband, rolled along at
his side like an obedient puppy.

On the far side of the exit door was another supply counter. There
Jack picked up a combat vest with a dozen pockets, a condensation
canteen, a shirt nameplate, and the results of the medical scan they'd
done on him at the other end of the line.

Last of all, he was issued his weapons.

"Moray pistol and Gompers flash rifle," the supply man identified
the handgun and snub-nosed rifle as he slid them across the counter.
His voice had the bored tone of someone who's been saying the same
thing once a minute since breakfast. "Holster's in the side trouser
pocket—pick either left- or right-handed. Rifle goes over the shoulder,
barrel down, grip back."

"Uh—" Jack frowned at the guns as he picked them up. They were a
lot heavier than he'd expected. "Grip how?"

"Come on, come on, move along," the man snapped, already pushing
the next recruit's weapons across the counter.

Fumbling the guns into an awkward grip, Jack moved away. At the
end of the room ahead was one final door, with glimpses of daylight
shining through each time one of the new recruits went out. He looped
the rifle sling over one shoulder, just to get it out of the way, and
slid his hand into his right-hand pocket. The man had said there was a
holster somewhere in there?

"It goes like this," a girl's voice said from behind him. Jack
turned, to see the dark-eyed girl who'd had the brief run-in earlier
with Jommy Randolph. "What?" he asked.

"I said it goes like this," she repeated. She patted her right
hip, where her Moray was already nestled in its holster. "You pull the
tab and it folds out into shape."

"Oh." Jack located the tab and pulled. Sure enough, the holster
folded out. "Right. Thanks."

"The rifle goes like this," she added, looping the sling over her
right shoulder with the gun pointed down and the top of the barrel
facing forward. "This way you can just grab the grip and swing it up on
its strap into firing position." She demonstrated. "See?"

"Yeah," Jack said, tucking his Moray away and redoing the rifle.
Gingerly, he swung it up. "Yeah, I see."

"Don't worry, it won't bite," she assured him, her face somewhere
between contempt and amusement. "See the red spirals along the barrels?
These are candy canes."

"They're what?"

"Candy canes. Non-functional guns."

Jack frowned down at his rifle. "What are they giving us
non-functional guns for?"

She shrugged. "Get us used to carrying the weight, I suppose."

"But why not use real ones?" Jack persisted. "They're going to
give us those before we go into the field anyway, aren't they?"

She snorted. "If you want to get on a crowded transport with a
hundred farm boys like you who've never seen a gun before
and
who have live ammo, go ahead. Me, I'll stick with Santa's elves and
their candy canes."

"I have too seen guns before," Jack insisted irritably. This girl
had a genuine knack for rubbing people the wrong way. "Just not this
particular type."

"Sure," she said. "Just keep 'em pointed at the ground, okay?" She
nodded toward his left hand. "You need help with that, too?"

Jack looked down at the nameplate still in his hand. "I think I
can figure that one out for myself, thanks," he growled.

"I'm sure," she said. Her own name plate, he saw, was already
neatly pinned over her right shirt pocket. KAYNA, it said. "The name's
Montana, right?"

"Yes," Jack said. "Call me Jack."

"Call me Kayna," she said pointedly. She took another look at his
face, and her lip twitched. "Or Alison," she added, almost grudgingly.

"Nice to meet you, Alison," Jack said.

"Yeah. Right." She tapped her own name plate. "And remember: If
you
can read it, it's upside down."

She smiled sweetly and moved off, her footlocker rolling along
beside her. Muttering under his breath, Jack pinned his nameplate into
place and followed.

Maybe Jommy had been right. Maybe this
was
going to be
like prison.

Half an hour later, after a lot of jostling and confusion, the new
recruits and their luggage were finally aboard the transports.

The seats were hard and narrow, and the teens were squeezed
together like slabs of packaged meat. Jammed against the two boys on
either side of him, apologizing as his equipment poked into their ribs
and wincing as theirs poked into his, Jack had to admit Alison had been
right. He was just as glad no one aboard had live ammo.

He tried a few times to strike up conversations, but no one nearby
seemed interested in talking. Eventually he gave up the effort and
spent the rest of the trip gazing moodily at the seat in front of him.
With his comm clip connection to Uncle Virge buried inside his
footlocker, and with too many people pressed around for him to risk
talking to Draycos, he felt strangely lonely.

It was an hour before they set down in the center of what looked
like a random collection of small huts, large prefabricated buildings,
and a scattering of tents of various colors and styles. The recruits
were herded off their transports and ordered into one of three long
barracks buildings nestled under the trees.

Jack had hoped to get a bed near one of the handful of tall,
narrow windows, with an eye toward the kind of midnight computer raid
he and Draycos were probably going to have to make. But everyone else
seemed to want a bunk with a view, too, and he had to settle for a
lower bunk pressed up against the washroom wall. It wasn't exactly a
prime location, but the washroom had some windows high up in the walls
that might do.

The recruits spent the next two hours sitting on their bunks
filling out more paperwork. After that, they were taken outside into an
open field and taught how to stand at attention, turn precise corners,
and march in unison.

Dinner time was a real treat. Jack had heard once that the
stronger the army, the more disgusting its food. By that standard, the
Whinyard's Edge was a very good army indeed. An early round of muttered
complaints was quickly cut off by a large sergeant, who ordered one of
the complainers to stand at attention while he verbally took him apart
inch by inch. Sergeant Grisko, someone at Jack's table whispered the
man's name, rumored to be the meanest of the Edge's drill instructors.
After that, everyone ate in silence.

After dinner it was back to the barracks, with orders to study
their training manuals. The ten-minute warning sounded at eight-fifty,
and at precisely nine o'clock the lights went out. Many of the teens
were caught unprepared, and there was a lot of stumbling around and
clunking into bunks and each other for the next half hour.

Only then, after the barracks was quiet, did Jack finally have a
chance to talk to Draycos.

"So," he whispered, his head half under the blankets to muffle his
voice. "This is what it's like to be a soldier, huh?"

"Not precisely," Draycos murmured back. Even in a whisper, his
voice sounded odd. "It is similar, though."

Jack craned his neck to try to look down at the dragon's face
lying against his shoulder. "You all right?"

For a long moment Draycos was silent. "This is not right," he
said. "For children so young to be sold into such a life without cause
is not right."

"You said you were younger than this when you became a soldier,"
Jack reminded him.

"We were in a war for survival," Draycos said. "There is no such
reasoning here."

"I suppose not," Jack conceded. "Though I know there are sometimes
big fights off on backwater worlds that the rest of us never hear
about."

The dragon shook his head. At least that was what it felt like
against Jack's skin. "Cornelius Braxton would not approve of this
situation."

"Braxton?" Jack echoed, frowning. "How did Braxton get into this?"

"I believe him to be an honorable human," Draycos said. "He would
be strongly opposed to children being used for such a purpose."

"Fine, but how did—oh, never mind," Jack said, giving up.
Sometimes Draycos's mind wandered off onto the strangest bunny trails.
"Just don't forget that he didn't build Braxton Universis into one of
the Orion Arm's biggest megacorporations by being Saint Boy Scout. The
only reason he was so nice to me was because we did him a big favor. If
he had to indenture kids to get something he wanted, I bet he'd do it.
He might not like it, but he'd do it."

"Perhaps," Draycos said. "Still, you and I at least should have
nothing to fear from him."

"I'm not so sure about that, either," Jack said, thinking back to
the glint in Braxton's eye at their last meeting. "I wasn't exactly
telling him the whole truth about what happened, you know. I get the
feeling people don't tell half-truths to Cornelius Braxton and get away
with it. He may not be finished with us yet." He grimaced. "I'd lay
odds that Arthur Neverlin isn't finished with us, either."

"Perhaps," Draycos said. "But I would suspect that Neverlin has
all he can do right now trying to conceal himself from Braxton."

"Don't you believe it," Jack warned. "Snakes like Neverlin can
always find time for a little revenge when someone's double crossed
him. Especially when they've double-crossed him as badly as we did."

"A double cross implies there was a legitimate agreement to begin
with," Draycos pointed out. "You were blackmailed into assisting him."

"You think that's going to matter to Neverlin?"

"I suppose not," Draycos conceded, his voice thoughtful.

Again, Jack tried to get a look at the dragon's face. "So where
exactly are you going with this line of conversation?" he asked. "You
suggesting we ask Braxton for help?"

"Certainly not," Draycos said firmly, his mind apparently finished
with wherever it had been wandering. "You know we cannot afford to let
anyone know there was a survivor of the Valahgua attack. I have simply
been thinking about Braxton today."

"And I'm sure he appreciates it," Jack said. "Can we forget him
now and concentrate on the problem at hand?"

"Yes, of course," Draycos said. "What do you wish me to do?"

"First of all, you eat," Jack said, reaching under his bunk to the
napkin-wrapped slices of meat he'd managed to smuggle out of the mess
hall. "There isn't much here, I'm afraid. I'll try to do better
tomorrow."

"I am grateful." Draycos's head rose from Jack's chest, pushing up
the blankets.

One by one, Jack fed the meat slices into his open mouth,
maneuvering carefully between the sharp teeth. It felt rather like
feeding a pet dog, he thought.

He quickly and firmly put the warm-fuzzy image away. Draycos had
already made it clear he wasn't anyone's pet. "I can hunt if necessary,
as well," the dragon said, still chewing as his head sank flat against
Jack's chest again. "What is next?"

"The main computer system is probably in the headquarters," Jack
said. "It's a big, three-story gray building through the trees facing
the landing area. It had a flag flying in front of it earlier."

"I saw it."

"Good," Jack said. He was never quite sure how much Draycos could
see riding his skin that way. "There may be a way to tap into their
records from somewhere else, but I'm guessing the HQ is our best bet.
And since they probably aren't going to let us just walk in and sift
through their files during the day, it's going to have to be at night."

"There will be guard patrols," Draycos pointed out. "As well as
alarms."

"Right," Jack agreed. "Nothing we can do about the alarms until we
can get a close look at them. But we should at least be able to figure
out the patrols."

"Yes," Draycos said. The blankets swelled upward again as the
dragon raised his head from Jack's shoulder and poked his snout into
the open air. "These windows do not face the proper direction."

"There are some in the washroom that do," Jack said. "High up on
the walls. You should be able to see the HQ and most of the area around
it from there."

"Good." Draycos rose higher off Jack's skin and stretched his
neck, the movement shaking his head completely out of concealment.
"Hold your breath."

Frowning, Jack took a deep breath and held it. For perhaps twenty
seconds the dragon sat there like a statue, his golden scales seeming
to glow in the pale light. Every few seconds his ears would twitch; and
then, abruptly, he nodded. "They are all asleep," he said, dropping
lightly onto the floor beside Jack's cot. "I will need your watch."

Jack handed it over. "They said reveille would be at four-thirty,"
he warned the dragon. "Don't pull a Cinderella on me."

"Pardon?"

"Skip it," Jack said, resettling the blankets over his shoulders
and rolling onto his side. It had been a long day, and he suddenly
realized he was very tired indeed. "Just don't be late. And try not to
wake me up when you get home."