Timothy Zahn - Dragon and Slave

"And now?" Draycos asked as Jack lay back down at the foot of the snoring Brummga's bed.

"We try to get some sleep," Jack said, stretching out on the hard floor and closing his eyes. "I've got a feeling this is the most comfortable we're going to be for a while."

Jack had hoped to get in at least a couple of hours of sleep before the roof fell in on him. But he'd been asleep no more than half an hour when he was jolted awake by the slamming of the door against the wall. He'd barely pried his eyes open when rough Brummgan hands grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him to his feet.

"Hey," he protested, blinking his eyes against the glare of light spilling in from the hallway. "What's going—?"

One of the Brummgas cut off the question with a slap to the side of his head.

"Quiet, slave," he growled, slapping Jack again to emphasize the point.

"Come."

With a Brummga gripping each arm, he was carried through the door and out into the hall, the sound of Her Thumbleness's snoring fading away behind him. Down the hall they went, then down the stairs, with Jack's feet only occasionally touching the floor. It was, he thought once, what it must feel like to get caught in a river flash flood.

Gazen was waiting in his office, seated in the comfy chair Jack had so recently had the chance to try out. "Thank you," he said to the Brummgas as they deposited Jack on the floor in front of him. "Leave us."

Silently, the Brummgas went out, closing the door behind them. For a long minute Gazen just stared at Jack, his face a smooth mask, his dark brown eyes impossible to read. "Well," he said at last, his voice as unnaturally calm as his expression. "Here we are again."

Jack shrugged slightly. "I guess so," he said.

An instant later he was on his knees, a knife-edge of pain ripping through his shoulder. "Some respect, if you please," Gazen said, his voice still calm.

Waving idly in his hand like a stalk of wheat in a gentle breeze was a long, thin slapstick Jack hadn't even seen him holding.

"Yes, sir," Jack managed.

An instant later he'd gone from knees to stomach, a new focus of agony deep within his left thigh. " 'Sir'?" Gazen's voice came through the haze. "

'Sir'?

That's not my title, slave."

Jack clenched his teeth against the pain, trying desperately to remember what the Brummgas had called him when he'd first been brought inside the white wall.

Pancake? Panrig? Panjam?

Panjan. That was it: Panjan. "I'm sorry, Panjan Gazen," he said.

And bit back a scream as a third slapstick blow caught him across his back.

"Panjan is a Brummgan title," Gazen said, his voice almost too quiet to hear over Jack's own gasping. "Not proper for a human to use. Try again."

Jack shook his head, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through him. "I don't know... what you want," he panted. "I don't know... what to say."

He braced himself for another blow. But it didn't come. "That's better,"

Gazen said. "You're starting to understand."

Suddenly, there was a shoe filling Jack's field of view. He winced back, fully expecting that the next thing he felt would be that shoe connecting hard with his cheek.

But again, the expected didn't happen. "Get up," Gazen said.

Jack tried to obey. He really did. But his muscles were still shaking too badly from the slapstick's sting. "I—"

He twitched violently back as the tip of the slapstick swept past his eyes.

The movement sent fresh waves of pain washing over him, almost as bad as if Gazen had actually hit him. "I said get up."

Setting his teeth together, Jack forced his hands under his chest. Slowly, inch by inch, he got himself pushed up off the floor. Rolling over onto his side, he looked up at Gazen.

The man was back in his chair. Still fingering his slapstick, he was watching Jack with the same vaguely interested expression someone might give a slug working its way through the grass.

And that really was all he was to Gazen, Jack realized dully. A slug, living under his feet with a bunch of other slugs. All of them alive only because they weren't quite worth the trouble of killing.

Clenching his teeth some more, he got back to the task of getting up.

It seemed to take forever. But finally, his shirt soaked with sweat, his body feeling like he had a three-alarm sunburn, he pulled himself more or less upright.

"Impressive," Gazen said. "You're tougher than you look, McCoy. I'll have to remember to use a stronger setting next time."

He waved the slapstick for emphasis. Instinctively, Jack flinched back, the movement nearly throwing him off balance again.

That one earned him a cold half-smile. "And you're a quick learner on top of it," Gazen added. "Good. I trust we won't have to repeat this lesson."

Jack shook his head, not daring to try to speak. "Good," Gazen said. That seemed to be his favorite word this morning. "There's a chair behind you. Sit."

It hurt almost as much to sit down, Jack discovered, as it had to drag himself to his feet in the first place. But at least now he didn't have to worry about his knees giving way. "Now," Gazen said briskly, laying the slapstick on the desk beside his computer. "You were in here tonight. Why?"

Jack took a deep breath. Originally, his plan had been to deny everything, in the hope of maneuvering Gazen into telling him exactly what he knew about Jack's nighttime activities. But the slapstick beating had demolished any interest in playing psychological games with this man. "I was tired of picking berries and playing punching bag for Her Thumbleness," he muttered between slightly numb lips. "I thought this would be a way to remind you that I was more valuable than that."

"And exactly how valuable do you think you are?"

Jack started to shrug, remembered what had happened the last time he did that.

"I disabled your security system and got into your office," he said. "I took this to prove it."

He pulled the paperweight from his pocket and set it on the nearest corner of Gazen's desk. "Not just anyone could do something like that and get away with it."

Gazen's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Do you really think you got away with it?"

Jack winced. "No, not really."

"Good," Gazen said. "Then all we have to do is decide what exactly I'm going to do with you."

Jack's pulse was pounding unpleasantly hard in his neck. The basic assumption here had always been that he was worth too much money to kill out of hand.

Now, looking into Gazen's dead eyes, he wasn't at all sure about that anymore. "I'm a

professional thief," he said carefully. "A good one, too. I could do those kinds of jobs for you."

"I've got my own thieves," Gazen said. "What do I need you for?"

Jack's pulse picked up a little more speed. Had Gazen given up on the auction Uncle Virge had mentioned? Or was this a psychological game of his own?

"People don't expect a kid like me to be a thief," he said.

"Especially when that thief goes under another name?" Gazen suggested. "Or did Heetoorieef merely get your name wrong when you checked in with him?"

"No, I gave him the wrong one," Jack admitted.

"Why?"

That was a darn good question, Jack decided. It deserved a good answer, too.

Problem was, he didn't have one to give. "It was mostly because—"

He broke off as a knock came at the door. "Enter," Gazen called.

The door opened, and an extra-wide Brummga lumbered in. "Morning slave report, Panjan Gazen," he announced, handing Gazen a data tube.

"Thank you," Gazen said, plugging the tube into his computer. He flipped a few pages, his eyes skimming across the display. "Still sick, I see."

He looked back at Jack. "The next time you borrow a name, try to pick someone who isn't already showing up on the sick reports," he said. "Or did you think Brummgan computer systems would be too stupid to notice something like that?"