"We'll get them," Frost said quietly. "And then we'll get out of your way. For now."
"Good enough," Jack said, an unpleasant sensation at the back of his neck. There'd been something in Frost's voice just then, something he didn't like at all. "And tell Neverlin that the next time he wants to talk, he should just drop me a message on the net."
"The next time Mr. Neverlin speaks to you, it'll be face-to-face," Frost promised darkly. "Good night, Jack."
There was a click, and the comm went dead. "What do you think?" he asked, pulling off the helmet.
Draycos flicked his tongue out a few times. "They don't appear to be coming closer," he said. "I believe he means to do as he says."
"Which should definitely worry us," Jack said, grimacing. "Someone like Frost only pulls back when he's got something else already planned."
"Any idea what that could be?"
"Not a clue," Jack admitted. "Maybe we'll find out tomorrow morning when we try to get through here."
"I was thinking we might want to veer a little ways east or west of this particular spot," Draycos suggested.
"Oh, definitely," Jack agreed. "I didn't mean we'd go through here." He shook his head. "I just wish I knew what he sent the transport to get. More men or more equipment, probably. Either way, we're not going to like it."
"Sufficient unto the day, Jack," Draycos said. "Is that correct?"
" 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' yeah," Jack confirmed. "Uncle Virgil used to quote that one a lot. Usually when he'd messed up on a job and needed some time to figure out what to do next."
"Interesting how many truthful sayings he seemed to adapt to his own purposes," Draycos said. "Perhaps he had more education than he let on."
"Or he just picked it up as he went," Jack said, resettling the strap of the machine gun more comfortably over his shoulder. "Let me grab a couple spare tangler clips for this thing, and then we'd better get back. I just hope Frost didn't hit the camp while we were out here playing soldier."
The camp, to Draycos's quiet relief, was just as they'd left it. The Erassvas were sleeping soundly, with the Phookas either dozing, searching for food, or waiting their turn to spend an hour on their blubbery hosts. If Frost's men had been there, they hadn't left any traces behind, not even any scent.
Draycos was mildly surprised to find Alison still sound asleep as well. Up to now the girl had slept lightly, ready to snap awake at the slightest hint of trouble. Perhaps the long days of travel and tension had finally caught up with her. Certainly after tonight's activities Jack was also asleep practically before he hit the ground.
But with Alison, Draycos wondered if it might be more than simple fatigue. Perhaps Taneem's presence on her body was doing something to her.
He gazed down at the sleeping girl, his tail lashing with frustration and concern. When they'd begun this experiment, they'd all assumed it was the Erassvas' sluggishness that was affecting the Phookas. Could it be that it was actually the other way around?
But there was nothing he could do about it right now. Whatever was going on, everyone still desperately needed their rest. Including Draycos himself.
So he would give the perimeter one final sweep, and then he would settle down to rest as best he could. Tomorrow should be soon enough to try to find out what was happening with Alison.
Sufficient unto the day, the thought whispered again through his mind, is the evil thereof.
CHAPTER 20
Jack had hit the ground exhausted, almost too tired to even care that the mercenaries hadn't attacked the camp. He was therefore not particularly surprised when he woke to find sunlight already filtering through the trees and the Phookas in the middle of their morning dance.
Stifling a groan, he worked his way up into a sitting position against a tree, glancing down into his shirt as he did so. Pure reflex; he already knew from the feel of his skin that Draycos was gone. Running the perimeter, no doubt, and Jack grimaced at the thought. No matter how much he tried to help out, the heaviest burden always seemed to fall squarely on the K'da's shoulders.
But he could only do what he could do. Taking a few deep breaths, working the kinks out of his muscles, he watched the Phookas with half an eye while he pulled a ration bar from his pack. Alison had thoughtfully included a variety of flavors, but after three days he was starting to get roundly sick of them. Still, it was better than starving.
He was halfway through his breakfast when he spotted Draycos through the trees, working his way around the dancing Phookas. A minute later, he was at Jack's side. "Good morning, Jack," the K'da said. "I trust you slept well?"
"The sleep of the dead," Jack agreed, peeling back the wrapping of another ration bar and holding it out. "How about you? You get any sleep at all?"
"I had enough," Draycos assured him. Taking the ration bar delicately between his teeth, he flipped his head sharply, and the food disappeared into his jaws. A half-dozen quick chews and it was gone. "I have been around the perimeter," he went on. "There's no scent of the mercenaries anywhere nearby."
"Unless they're sneaking up from downwind," Jack warned, blinking a little as the light westwardly breeze drifted across his eyes.
"No." Draycos was quietly positive. "It would take a much stronger wind than this to keep their scent from me."
"We'll just have to watch out for windstorms, then," Jack said. "Is it my imagination, or are you getting better at sniffing out these guys?"
"It is not your imagination," Draycos confirmed. "In fact, all my senses appear to be growing sharper."
"Good." Jack paused, eyeing the other. There'd been something in the K'da's voice just then. "It is good, isn't it?"
"I don't know," Draycos said. "There is . . . but that is certainly only a myth."
"What is?"
"It's nothing," Draycos said firmly. "I should not even have mentioned it . . ."
"Well, you did," Jack said. "And you're sure not going to back out of it now. Come on, symby, give."
Abruptly, Draycos's neck arched, his crest stiffening. "What did you call me?" he demanded.
"Uh . . ." Jack found himself pressing his back hard against his tree. What had he said? "Just . . . symby. Kind of a shorthand for symbiont. I'm sorry—shouldn't I have called you that?"
"No, not at all," Draycos said, his body relaxing again, a troubled look in his eyes. "It was just that Polphir, my last Shontine host, used to call me that. Had I ever mentioned that to you?"
"Not that I remember," Jack said, frowning now himself. "It just sort of popped into my head."
"I see," Draycos said, his tail tip making slow, thoughtful circles. "At any rate, I apologize greatly for my reaction."
"That's okay," Jack said. "My heart needed a little restart anyway. So tell me about this myth."
Draycos turned his head to look at the Phookas as they finished their dance. "There's an ancient legend that suggests that a K'da approaching death sometimes experiences heightened senses."
Jack felt his stomach tighten around his breakfast. He'd already been wondering if his body might be rejecting Draycos. "Uh-oh."
"But as I say, it is only a myth," Draycos hastened to add. "Recall that back aboard the Havenseeker I was very near death. Yet I experienced nothing like that."
"But in the last month you've taken to falling off my back straight through walls," Jack reminded him. "That's definitely not normal K'da behavior."
"Yet I also feel better than I have in years," Draycos countered. "Whatever is happening, I do not believe I am dying."