He reached the wall and pressed his back against it. How's it look? he asked.
Very possible, Draycos said. Move to your left about ten feet. There's a wide tool cabinet near the wall which I can enter behind.
I hope you're keeping the odds in mind, Jack warned as he moved along the wall and settled into his new position. There are at least fourteen of them, and only one of you.
Don't worry, Draycos assured him. I'm not planning to fight even one of them, let alone all fourteen.
Jack frowned. Then what's the plan?
To arrange transport, of course, Draycos said. Return to the airplane you were pretending to fix, and have Uncle Virge locate and monitor their transmission frequencies. I'll join you soon.
Jack felt a surge, and Draycos was gone.
Draycos pushed against Jack's skin with his rear paws, and with a slightly dizzying rush he fell over the wall into the hangar.
He dropped into a low crouch behind the tool cabinet, flicking his tongue a few times to taste the air. There were indeed only humans in this group, he concluded. Twelve of them, he estimated, which implied the entire transport crew was still in their shuttle. Easing to the edge of the cabinet, he cautiously looked around it.
The twelve KK-29 patrol ships were set out in neat rows, four rows of three each, all of them facing south toward the hangar's main doors. Two of the mercenaries were walking slowly through the rear two rows, doing a visual check of drive nozzles and missile tubes. Occasionally one of them leaned over to peer at the underside between the landing skids.
Four more men, including the two who'd walked along Jack's side of the hangar, were standing at the open north-end door, facing outward with weapons at the ready. The shuttle itself, Draycos noted, with its own weapons turned outward, would do an adequate job of guarding the southern end.
Under most circumstances, the arrangement would have created a proper and logical defensive perimeter. In this case, unfortunately for them, they were all facing the wrong way.
All six ships in the first two rows were giving off the low rumble of spacecraft being readied to fly. Waiting until the two roving men were out of sight, Draycos crossed the empty space to the nearest of the third-row patrol ships. With a final look around to make sure he hadn't been spotted, he dropped to his belly and crawled beneath it.
The Flying Turtle 505 transports Jack had flown in during his brief time with the Whinyard's Edge mercenaries had been designed to carry troops over battlefields. Those ships had thus been equipped with heavy armor plating on their undersides.
The KK-29s, in contrast, were designed to chase smugglers and marauders. Since they were expected to face their enemies during battle, their armor was concentrated instead in the nose sections.
And since weight considerations meant a fast-attack ship couldn't be invulnerable everywhere, Draycos found himself lying beneath a full collection of conduits, tubes, access ports, and vents. Protecting the whole thing was a single three-inch armor plate bolted over the maze, set off with long spacers to allow access to the equipment.
Perfect
He didn't know what sort of fluids, hazardous or otherwise, the various conduits might be carrying. Fortunately, he didn't need to try his luck with any of them. Extending a single claw, he slipped it between a pair of tubes and pressed it against the inner hull of the ship itself. Quickly but quietly, he started cutting through it.
The metal was thicker than he'd expected, and he had to widen the cut twice before he finally felt his claw pierce the hull into the ship's crew compartment. He enlarged the hole a bit more, then rolled back onto his stomach and made his way to the front of the landing skids.
The first row of ships had already disappeared, and the second row had risen on their lifters and were preparing to follow. The guards at the rear door, he noted, had also disappeared, presumably preparing their own ships for lift.
The pilots of the three hovering ships started forward, their low-power drives kicking up a swirling cloud of dust. Taking advantage of the cover, Draycos ducked out from between the landing skids and sprinted back to the protection of his tool cabinet.
There he watched as the rest of the patrol ships flew away into the afternoon sky. The shuttle followed, and Draycos headed for the main hangar door.
He was nearly there when Jack appeared in the opening. "You all right?" the boy asked anxiously.
"I'm fine," Draycos assured him. "Is Uncle Virge monitoring their conversation?"
"Yes, he's on it," Jack said, holding out a hand. Draycos leaped toward him, catching the hand in midair and sliding up the boy's sleeve. Everything's encrypted, but it's a simple cross-stitch and he says he can break it, Jack added, switching back to telepathic communication now that Draycos was in contact with his skin. What exactly did you do in there?
You'll see in a few minutes, Draycos said. We need to return to the ship right away.
They reached the Essenay to find that Uncle Virge had started their own engine prep. "Where are they?" Jack asked as he headed for the cockpit.
"About a hundred miles up," Uncle Virge said tartly. "If we're going to catch them, we need to get going right now. In fact, we might already be too late."
Out of the corner of his eye Draycos saw Jack look down at the opening in his shirt collar. "We're okay," the boy said. "What are they talking about?"
"Nothing much," Uncle Virge said, the urgency in his tone starting to blend into the annoyance Draycos knew so well. "They're doing their final running checks and systems tweaking. If our noble poet-warrior has anything to offer in the way of—hold it."
There was a click from the board as Jack dropped into the pilot's seat. "—bit of trouble," a new voice came from the cockpit speaker. "Looks like I've got a slow air leak."
"You told me the pre-lift diagnostic came back negative," a second voice said accusingly.
"It did," the first voice retorted. "The leak's not in the air system. Must be in the cabin itself."
The second voice swore. "Blast it all, Chiggers."
"Lighten up, Sarge," Chiggers scolded. "Like I said, it's real slow. I can probably patch it with sealant and the torch from the onboard tool kit."
"If you can find it," Sarge warned.
"He can probably do that just with his breath," a third voice put in.
"Stow it, Driscol," Sarge snapped. "You think Colonel Frost is going to make jokes about us having to put down again?"
"Who said anything about us having to put down?" Chiggers asked. "There's an outpost town right on my glide path. You go ahead and I'll drop down and get this fixed. Shouldn't be more than an hour or two behind you." He snorted. "Fact is, the way Driscol flies, I might even beat you there."
"I don't like this," Sarge growled.
"Would you rather go back to Frost and tell him we left one of the 29s behind because you were afraid I might get lost?"
Sarge hissed an irritated sigh. "All right, fine. Just make it quick. Driscol, you stay with him."
"I don't need him," Chiggers put in before Driscol could respond. "Besides, he might run into my breath and hurt himself."
"Chiggers—"
"See you, Sarge," Chiggers said. "When I get to Point Two I'll tell Frost you're on your way."
There was a soft click as Chiggers shut off his transmission, and another as Uncle Virge closed down the speaker. "One of the ships is breaking formation," he reported. "He's heading back down."