Which wouldn't include any who might be currently riding various hosts' bodies. But Jack couldn't exactly point that out. "I don't see any young Phookas," he said instead. "You suppose all of the ones here are male?"
"You're welcome to try to find out," Alison said dryly. "Me, I'm staying here. Let me see that tattoo of yours."
The sudden change in subject caught Jack by surprise. "What?"
"Your tattoo," she said patiently. "You didn't have it taken off, did you?"
There was, unfortunately, no way around it. Suppressing a grimace, Jack unfastened his shirt and pulled it open, exposing Draycos's head to view.
"Interesting," she said, studying Jack's shoulder and then looking over at the performing K'da. She looked back at Draycos, back at the K'da. "You realize your tattoo is the spitting image of a Phooka?"
"Really?" Jack asked, feigning surprise. He looked cross-eyed down at his shoulder, as if trying to get a good view of the image there. "Yeah, there is some resemblance, isn't there?"
"Resemblance, nothing," she countered. "It's the same head, same snout, same scale pattern. You've even got a sort of flattened version of that spiny crest that goes over their heads and down their backs."
"I'll take your word for it," Jack said, still pretending he couldn't quite focus on his tattoo. "Huh. That's funny."
"More than just funny," Alison said. "Where did you say you got that done?"
"I didn't say," Jack said. "If you must know, it was in a little shop in New Paris on Gaullia."
"Mm," Alison said, looking again at the dancing K'da. "I wonder how the artist could have known about Phookas."
"Maybe he knows some Erassvas," Jack said. This really wasn't a topic he wanted to get into. "Or maybe he just had a good book about dragons. So where are your friends?"
"My friends?"
"The people you said you'd be rendezvousing with."
"Oh. Them." Alison peered up at the small patches of sky that could be seen through the tangle of tree branches. "Not here, obviously."
"No kidding," Jack said. "You sure you've got the right place?"
"This is definitely it," she assured him. "They could just be late." She made a face. "Or they could have gone to the wrong spot."
"I don't suppose you thought to bring a comm clip."
"Actually, I did," she said, a little coolly. "And I've already tried. If they're here, they must be out of range."
"How about we run it through the Essenay's comm?" Jack suggested. "It's got a lot more range. In fact, why don't we just go ahead and pop the ship into orbit? That way we can cover half the planet at a single gulp "
"Worth a try," Alison agreed, getting to her feet and brushing some stray leaves off her jeans. "Is there any trick to starting up the engines?"
"There's no trick," Jack said. "There's also no need." He tapped his comm clip. "Unc—computer?"
"Computer," Uncle Virge's voice came back instantly.
"I need you to take the ship into low orbit and do an ID broadcast," Jack said. "Alison's comm clip frequency is—" He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows.
"Why don't I just go aboard and plug it in?" she suggested. "I don't like giving comm clip info to strangers."
"And I don't like strangers alone in my ship." Jack countered. "Just give me the frequency, okay?"
"Fine," she said crossly, digging a comm clip from inside her shirt and tossing it to him. "Whatever."
Jack caught it and peered at the markings on the back. "Okay, here it is." He read off the frequency and pattern specs. "Start with a parabolic upper-atmosphere dip," he went on, tossing the clip back to Alison. "If you don't get an answer, expand it to a complete orbit."
"Acknowledged," Uncle Virge said hesitantly. "With all due respect, Master Jack—"
"Carry out your instructions," Jack cut him off. Normal P/S computers never argued with their owners. Uncle Virge, in contrast, never seemed to do anything but. Even if Alison hadn't been standing right there listening, Jack was in no mood to listen to the computer personality's objections. "Alison, what message should he send?"
"Just the word 'winderlake,' " she said. "If he hears the response 'harborlight,' mark the location and let me know."
"You get that?" Jack asked Uncle Virge.
"Acknowledged."
"Then get going." Jack tapped off the comm clip and gestured to the ground beside him. "Might as well get comfortable," he told Alison. "This could take a while. You tried the berries yet?"
"No, and I don't think you should, either," she said, reluctantly sitting down again. "There's something about the Erassvas' eyes that weirds me out a little."
"Yeah, I noticed that, too," Jack said. "You think there's some kind of mild narcotic in the berries?"
"Or maybe not so mild," Alison said. "And if it's strong enough to affect people their size, it would probably kill either of us. If you're hungry, I've got ration bars in my bag."
"Maybe later." Beyond the trees, he heard the hum as the Essenay lifted into the sky. "What are you going to do if they're not here?"
She shrugged. "Wait, I guess," she said. "That's why I bought all that camping gear." She gestured at her bags. "You don't have to wait with me if you don't want to."
"I don't, and I wasn't planning to," Jack said, feeling a twinge of guilt. He knew how Draycos would feel about abandoning a companion in the middle of nowhere, even a companion as loosely connected as Alison. "But I might stick around another day or two, anyway."
"Well, don't mess up your schedule just for me," she said. "Ah—show's over." She gestured toward the center of the clearing, where the Phookas had finished their dance and were wandering away back into the forest. "Let's see if the rest of the Erassvas come in for a second performance."
"Looks to me like the cast is leaving the stage," Jack said. "Maybe there's a dinner theater later for the—"
"Jack!" Uncle Virge's voice came suddenly from the comm clip. "Incoming ships: one Kapstan long-range transport and two Djinn-90 pursuit fighters."
Jack's breath caught in his throat. Djinn-90s? "Get out of there," he snapped. "Go to ground and hide."
"Too late—they see me," Uncle Virge said grimly. "I'm getting a signal—"
There was the click of a relay. "Hello, Jack Morgan," a dark voice said. "And your slippery uncle Virgil Morgan, too, I presume?"
Jack's first impulse was to lie, to use all of Uncle Virgil's training to convince them that they had the wrong person. The Essenay was running under a false ID, after all. Maybe they weren't really sure it was him.
But no. Neverlin's allies had had plenty of opportunity at Brum-a-drum to record the Essenay's description and parameters. They knew they had the right ship.
And that voice wasn't showing a single scrap of doubt. Lying about it would just be a waste of effort. "Uncle's not here at the moment," Jack said instead. "Can I take a message?"
"Ah," the voice said. "So you're the boy who's been causing my friend Mr. Neverlin such trouble."
"Mr. Neverlin hasn't exactly been giving me a free ride, either," Jack countered. "And you are . . .?"
"Colonel Maximus Frost of the Malison Rang," the voice said. "And I'm very much looking forward to meeting you."
CHAPTER 7
The comm clip went silent. Jack found himself staring down at nothing, his throat tight, his stomach twisting into a knot of fear and anger.
It couldn't be. How could the mercenaries possibly have tracked the Essenay across the Orion Arm to this fifth-rate planet? How could they possibly have known where to find him and Alison?