"And what happens when I've used up all the canisters?" Uncle Virge persisted.
"Then they'll really be sorry they made trouble," Jack said, watching both men carefully. "Because if and when you have to crack the third one, you're to fly them to Roarke's Mill on Cavendish while they're sleeping."
Harper frowned. Clearly, the name meant nothing to him.
Chiggers's reaction was far more interesting. There was a catch in his breath, and his eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare," he said.
"Oh yes, I would," Jack assured him.
"What's Roarke's Mill?" Harper asked.
"It's a hangout for killers and thugs," Chiggers growled. "The Internos has tried a dozen times to clear it out, including hiring the Malison Ring and a couple of other merc groups to handle the grunt work. But the scum just keep coming back."
"It's also a hangout for less violent people, like con artists and safecrackers," Jack said. "Uncle Virgil and I visited the place a couple of times, and he still has acquaintances there. I'm sure that once Uncle Virge explains the situation they'll take good care of you until I come back."
"You send us there and we're dead," Chiggers said flatly.
"Very possibly," Jack agreed. "Reason enough for you to behave yourselves."
Harper shifted his shoulders. "Jack—"
"Have a nice time," Jack said, backing out of the room.
Draycos didn't speak again until they were loading their supplies aboard the patrol ship. "I still don't know what you're planning, Jack," he said. "But I have to agree with Uncle Virge. You may not have thought this through."
"I'm not all that crazy about it myself," Jack admitted. "But I actually have thought it through. Remember, I was brought up to be a con man. I know how people think."
"I appreciate your talents in that area," Draycos said. "But none of that will matter once they see you're not Chiggers."
"There are ways around that," Jack assured him. "Or at least ways to delay the magic moment. The bottom line is that Neverlin's group is on the move and this may be our only chance to hook up with them. If you've got a better idea, I'm all ears.
"You've already heard my idea: to make a deal with Harper and Braxton," Draycos said. "You've already rejected it."
"Though not without some regret," Jack said. "I'd love to show up at the rendezvous with a wedge of Braxton Universis Security ships behind me. But I don't trust Harper or Braxton."
"So you've said." Draycos gave a quiet sigh. "Very well. If we're going to do this, we'd best be on our way."
Jack took a deep breath. "Yeah."
CHAPTER 10
The next four days went by quickly. Far too quickly for Draycos's taste.
Heading into battle was nothing new for him. Heading into battle without knowing everything his commander was planning also wasn't new.
But this was different. This was heading into a battle where he didn't even know the basic strategy Jack had in mind.
And never had he fought a battle with so much at risk. So terribly much at risk.
But worse than the concerns—and, yes, the fears—were the doubts that began to creep into his thoughts. The question of whether, ultimately, the risk he and Jack were taking was even worthwhile.
After all, the refugee fleet was hardly an easy target. There were fifty-eight escort warships, manned by experienced K'da and Shontine warriors who would be alert for every possible danger. Surely they could defeat Neverlin's force, no matter how many Death weapons the Valahgua had given them.
But what if they didn't? Neverlin and Frost would hardly be going forward with their plan if they didn't think they had a reasonable chance of success. What if they'd put together such a powerful force that even the refugees' escort was overwhelmed?
What if they were, in fact, able to destroy the fleet?
And if that was the case, what would he and Jack be able to do in the face of such a force? Could they get close enough to do anything, let alone to do enough to make a difference?
Probably not. Almost certainly they would be detected, identified, and killed long before they even got close enough to the attackers to use their new patrol ship's weapons.
But there was an alternative . . . because Draycos knew now that the K'da on those refugee ships were not, in fact, the last of their kind.
The Phookas of Rho Scorvi were also of K'da blood. Taneem's experience had shown they could also be K'da in heart and mind.
But they could never become true K'da without someone to teach them their people's history and heritage. Draycos could be that teacher. And wouldn't that be a better use of his life—and Jack's—than walking uselessly to their deaths?
It was a persuasive argument. A horribly persuasive argument, and over those four long days Draycos spent many hours struggling with it.
But in the end there was really no question as to what he had to do. Alison and Taneem were trapped aboard the Advocatus Diaboli, with no one but Jack and Draycos standing between them and their own deaths. Whether Draycos gained or lost—whether he lived or died—K'da warrior ethic demanded that he make every possible effort to save them.
Besides, how could he presume to teach the Phookas what it meant to be a K'da if he himself had failed this final test?
By the time the ECHO timer trilled its ten-minute warning Draycos was again at peace. Fifteen minutes from now he might very well be dead, and his host along with him. But he would die with honor, doing what he could to protect those who had put their trust in him.
He would die a poet-warrior of the K'da.
"Draycos?" Jack's voice drifted down the corridor from the cockpit. "Come on, buddy. Time to get aboard."
"Coming," Draycos called back, giving the controls in his chosen weapons blister one final check. Jack wanted them together when the ship came off ECHO, but at the first sign of trouble Draycos would hurry back here where he could man the patrol ship's weapons.
If he and Jack were going to die, Draycos intended to at least take as many of the enemy with them as possible.
He reached the cockpit as the ECHO timer was counting out its last twenty seconds. "Come on; come on," Jack said, holding his hand back over his shoulder.
Draycos set a paw on Jack's palm and slid up the arm of the Malison Ring flight suit the boy had taken from Chiggers. Do you have an attack plan? he thought as he settled into his usual position.
No, but I have a non-attack plan, Jack thought back. Watch and learn, symby.
The countdown reached zero. Jack pushed the ECHO lever forward, and the shimmering blue hyperspace sky faded back to star-sprinkled black.
There, stretched out in front of them, was Neverlin's attack force.
Draycos lifted his head from Jack's shoulder, studying the ships scattered across his field of vision. There was the Advocatus Diaboli, of course, the luxurious Braxton Universis corporate yacht that Neverlin had run off with. There were the Malison Ring Djinn-90 pursuit fighters, at least twenty of them, formed up in a defensive circle at the fleet's outer edge.
A large troop carrier was off to one side, probably the ship Neverlin had used to bring those three hundred Brummgas here from Brum-a-dum. Near it was a fueler ship, and Draycos could see the other eleven KK-29 patrol ships from Bentre clustered around it like hatchlings gathered alongside their mother at lunchtime.
And there was one more ship present, floating a few hundred feet from the Advocatus Diaboli. A large and agonizingly familiar ship.
It was the Gatekeeper. One of the four ships of Draycos's advance team.