The car turned a little to the left as they approached the cluster of buildings.

Its headlights swept across and then steadied on a group of what looked like three metal packing crates set out in the middle of a wide circle of sand.

One of the Brummgas sitting behind Jack tapped his shoulder with a finger the size and weight of a wrench. "Pick a number," he said.

Jack frowned. "Two hundred seventeen."

The Brummga made a disgusted sound. "Pick a number from one to three."

In the privacy of the darkness, Jack made a face. Like he was supposed to have known that. "Three."

"Number three," the Brummga told the driver.

The car angled a couple more degrees, and a moment later came to rest with its headlights centered on the packing crate on the far left. "Get out," the first Brummga ordered.

Jack obeyed, the aliens piling out alongside him. While the other two stood guard, the driver stepped to the box and crouched down. There was a large handle near the bottom of the crate, just above a narrow horizontal slit, with a keyhole at one end. The Brummga fumbled a key into place and turned it. Getting a grip on the handle, he straightened up again, swinging the whole front of the box upward.

"Get in," he ordered, gesturing inside with his free hand.

Steeling himself, Jack did so.

From the outside, the box had seemed pretty small. From the inside, it seemed even smaller. He had to duck low to keep from whacking his head on the ceiling as he stepped in, and if he'd tried waving his arms around he would have dislocated both elbows. There was a small pan in one corner; from its lingering aroma, it probably served as the toilet facilities.

The driver didn't give him much chance to study his new quarters. Jack was barely inside when the wall swung shut behind him, throwing a brief gust of air at the back of his neck and plunging him into darkness. There was another click from the lock, the sound of plodding footsteps in the sand, and the hum of the car as it pulled away and headed for home.

Leaving him alone in the darkness.

Well, not entirely alone. "Are you all right?" Draycos asked quietly from his shoulder.

"Oh, just dandy," Jack growled as he turned around to face the door and carefully sat down. The floor was plain sand, gritty against the palms of his hands, and through his shirt the metal wall felt icy cold against his back.

Odd for a place that Gazen had called a hotbox. "This wasn't exactly how I'd planned to spend the evening. You have any idea where we are?"

"We are in the slave colony nearest the river," Draycos said. "Approximately one-half mile from the edge of the Chookoock family grounds, within the edge of the forest and near a large patch of the bushes Uncle Virge noted."

"How wonderful it is to be here, too," Jack said, digging at the sole of his left shoe. The molded rubber looked solid enough; but a little prodding at the proper place found the secret catch and popped it open.

There was a soft thud as the spare comm clip he had hidden inside dropped onto the sand. His eyes were adjusting now, enough to see a sliver of starlight seeping in through the crack beneath the door. Retrieving the comm clip, he clicked it on. "Uncle Virge?"

"I'm here," Uncle Virge's voice came back instantly. "Careful, lad. Not too loud."

"Don't worry, no one's going to hear me," Jack told him. "They've got me stashed out in the slave quarters."

There was a brief silence. "Not in the mansion?"

"The echo you're hearing isn't from a walk-in closet," Jack said. "They've got me in a tin room the size of the Essenay's freezer."

"Very strange," Uncle Virge said, his voice frowning. "Gazen just transferred a

hundred and ten thousand into my service account at the spaceport."

Jack blinked. "That much?" he asked, feeling oddly pleased at the number.

"That much," Uncle Virge assured him. "For a sum that size, he ought to be taking better care of you."

"Maybe not having me beaten to a pulp qualifies as gentle handling in his book,"

Jack said. "What do you mean, he transferred it into your service account? He didn't fork over real cash?"

"No, but that's okay," Uncle Virge said. "It's not like we were planning to actually spend it. But I'm a little concerned about your situation. This was supposed to be a quick updown hop, with you in the main house the whole time."

"I guess Gazen didn't read the script," Jack said with a grimace. At his right shoulder, Draycos's snout rose up from his skin, poking into the air like a submarine periscope. "Just means we're going to have to find a way back, that's all. I figure another day or two—"

"Quiet," Draycos cut in suddenly. "Someone is coming."

"I'll call you back," Jack whispered, and clicked off the comm clip. He hadn't heard anything himself, but after two months of living with Draycos he knew better than to question the dragon's ears. Tucking the comm clip back into its hiding place, he hurriedly smoothed over the sole.

He could hear the footsteps now, sloshing through the sand around the hotboxes.

They seemed slow and lumbering, rather like a Brummga's. Uneasily, he wondered if Gazen had decided to send someone to beat him to a pulp after all. A

shadow crossed the light coming in from under the door.

"Hello?" a gravelly voice called softly. "Anyone there?"

Not a Brummgan voice, he decided. That was a hopeful sign. And despite the low pitch, he also had the odd impression it was female. "Yes, I'm here," he called back. "Who are you?"

"My name's Maerlynn," the voice answered. "I'm sort of the welcoming committee."

"I've already met the welcoming committee, thanks," Jack said sourly, rubbing his shoulder where the Brummga had tapped him. "Large, friendly sorts with big fingers."

"Are you hurt?" Maerlynn asked. "I may be able to get you some bandages or salves."

Jack frowned in the darkness. Who was this person, anyway? "No, I'm all right," he said. "What are you? I mean, what's your connection here?"

There was soft sound like a glob of mud being thrown against a wall. A

chuckle?

"Noy's parents used to call me the Den Mother before they died. A human term, I

suppose. You are human, aren't you? Greb couldn't see very well when they brought you in, but he thought you were. He said he thought you were young, too.

Are you?"

Draycos's head rose again from Jack's shoulder. "Move to the side wall," the dragon whispered into his ear.

Jack nodded and started to ease himself around. "Yes, I'm human," he acknowledged. "And I'm fourteen. I don't know if you count that as young or not.

Who's Greb?"

"One of my children," Maerlynn said. "He's sixteen, so he probably does consider fourteen to be young."

"Yeah, I've known some sixteen-year-olds," Jack grunted. "What about you?"

"I'm Maerlynn, as I said," she said. "I'm an Ysanhar. Female. And I'm not going to give you my age."

"I wasn't going to ask," Jack said. He was in position now, with his back pressed against the side wall of his prison. In their two-dimensional forms, K'da had a handy trick of being able to see through walls, provided the barrier was thin enough. From his angle, Draycos might not be able to see Maerlynn where she was right now, but she should come into view as soon as she headed back to the slave buildings.

Assuming she did go back to the slave buildings. He still wasn't convinced this wasn't some trick of Gazen's to get him talking. "Are you a slave?" he asked.

"Everyone on this side of the thorn hedge is a slave," Maerlynn said, an odd sadness in her voice. "You, too, it would seem. Here—take this."

Something poked at Jack's feet through the crack under the door. He reached down a hand, being careful not to pull his back away from the wall. He didn't know what would happen to Draycos if he moved while the dragon was looped over the wall that way, but it wasn't something he wanted to find out the hard way.