Dragon and Herdsman

Jack heartily sympathized. Unfortunately, there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Even before they'd lifted, Alison had spotted the P/S/8 designation on the computer-interface board and recognized it as a model with personality simulation capabilities. At that point, Jack had had no choice but to allow—or rather, insist—that Uncle Virge talk to her.

He'd modified his normal voice, of course, going with something that sounded more like a standard P/S computer than the more colorful personality Uncle Virgil had left behind. But it was obvious that he wasn't happy with any of this.

It was equally obvious he was going to be having a long and unpleasant conversation with Jack the minute their new passenger was out of earshot.

"Extremely cool," Alison said, turning the table transparent one last time. "Can you access your InterWorld transmitter from here, too?"

Jack felt his breath catch in his throat. Ships this small, even luxury models, never had InterWorld transmitters aboard. How could Alison have guessed the Essenay had one? "What are you talking about?" he asked guardedly.

"Don't be cute," she said. "I saw the InterWorld directory tab on the list when you were pulling up Rho Scorvi's coordinates."

"A directory?" Jack repeated, thoroughly lost now. "What does a directory have to do with anything?"

"Because the InterWorld directory is part of the InterWorld access software," she explained patiently. "If you've got a directory, you've got the software. If you've got the software, you've got the transmitter."

"Or my uncle just wants to be able to look up numbers before he calls them," Jack countered. It was, he thought rather disgustedly, a pretty weak argument.

Alison apparently thought so, too. "Right," she said sarcastically. "Even though every spaceport and planet-based transmitter has its own directory. But fine. Let's ask. Computer—?"

"Never mind," Jack cut her off, half-lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. The standard P/S/8 computer interface probably couldn't lie. Uncle Virge could, and in this case probably would, and the last thing Jack wanted was for Alison to catch him at it. "Yes, we've got a transmitter."

"Which is another five or six buckets of cash," Alison concluded, looking around the dayroom. "I hope you realize just how much money you're sitting on here, Jack Montana."

She brought her gaze back to him. "If that's your real name."

"Like 'Alison Kayna,' you mean?" Jack asked pointedly.

Her lip twitched. "Fine. None of my business. So where do I sleep?"

"You can use my uncle's cabin," Jack said. "It's down the hall on your left."

"You're sure he won't mind?" she asked. "I could just sleep here on the couch."

"He won't mind," Jack assured her. "Besides, I sometimes like to get up during the night and have a snack. I don't want to trip over you."

"Fair enough," Alison said. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go sack out for a while. It's been a long and fairly interesting night."

"Sounds like a plan," Jack agreed. "I think I'll catch some winks myself after I check the ECHO settings. Help yourself to anything you want—food or music or whatever. I'll get you some of my clothes, too."

"Okay," Alison said, heading for the door. "Thanks for the tour. And thanks for the ride. I appreciate it."

"I appreciate you getting me out of that cell," Jack said. "See you later."

He headed to the cockpit. "She still in her cabin?" he asked as he dropped into the pilot's chair.

"She's cleaning up in the bathroom," Uncle Virge said.

"Okay," Jack said, bracing himself. "Let's have it."

"Let us have what?" Draycos asked, lifting his head from Jack's shoulder.

"The objections, arguments, and how-dare-yous," Jack said. "Mouse got your tongue, Uncle Virge?"

"What are you expecting me to say, Jack lad?" Uncle Virge growled. "That this is as crazy a scheme as you've ever come up with? And given your record these past three months, that's a high standard for you to top."

"Number one," Jack said, holding up a finger, "she got me out of a tight jam."

"I thought getting you out of jams was what your tame K'da poet-warrior was for."

Draycos stirred against Jack's skin. "He could have gotten me out, yes," Jack said hurriedly before the dragon could speak. "Alison got there first. I owe her."

"So buy her a liner ticket to Rho Scorvi and send her on her way."

"Number two," Jack said, lifting another finger, "I never did find out what kind of game she was playing back at the Whinyard's Edge training camp. Given that whatever it was nearly got both of us killed, it might be nice to see if I can wheedle it out of her."

"She was running a scam, of course," Uncle Virge huffed. "Just like you were."

"And third," Jack said, lifting one final finger, "the people she was avoiding back at her ship were from Braxton Universis."

There was a short pause. "Are you sure?" Uncle Virge asked, his huffiness suddenly gone.