"Sure," Jack said. "Problem is, I don't know which squatter poison it is. The wrong antidote could kill me all by itself."

"What then do we do?"

"We start by going hungry," Jack said, picking up the glass of water beside the bowl and holding it close to his chest. "Take a sniff. Anything here?"

Again, the snout rose an inch out from his skin. "No," Draycos said after a couple of sniffs. "It is clear water."

"Okay," Jack said, taking a sip. It tasted a little funny, but that was probably his imagination. "I just hope there wasn't anything in those pancake things Lisssa gave us."

"There was not," Draycos assured him. "I would have smelled it."

"I hope so," Jack said, taking another sip of the water. It still tasted funny.

"The buyer will have to be told the proper poison and antidote," Draycos went on thoughtfully. "Perhaps we can overhear that information, or else learn it from him later on."

"That's the second time you've mentioned a buyer," Jack said. "You know something I don't?"

"We are expecting you to be sold, are we not?" Draycos reminded him. "These precautions would indicate that time is near. And of course, there are also those military transports to consider."

A sip of water tried to go down the wrong way. "Transports?" Jack demanded when he stopped coughing. "Where?"

"On the west end of the grounds," Draycos said, sounding surprised. "Near the vehicle parking area, between the mansion and the main gate. Did you not see them as we were being brought to the kitchen?"

"I missed it completely," Jack muttered, feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself. "How many were there?"

"At least five," Draycos said. "Possibly more. I was only able to see glimpses of them between the bushes and trees."

"That explains the nice clothes, anyway," Jack said, reaching down and fastening his shirt the rest of the way up. "Looks like Gazen's got a demonstration planned for this morning."

"But Uncle Virge said the auction would not be for three more days," Draycos objected.

"Maybe Gazen got bored," Jack said. "Or maybe all the interested buyers were able to get here early."

He grimaced. "In which case, he might end today's demo by calling for bids."

"What is our plan, then?"

Jack hissed between his teeth, trying to think. "Okay. Step one is to somehow shake ourselves loose long enough to get back to the conference room where we stashed the recorder. Assuming we were lucky enough to get a clear view of Gazen's startup sequence, the next step is to get into his office and copy the Chookoock family mercenary data."

"And then?"

"We run like rabbits," Jack said, draining the rest of the water glass. "I haven't quite got that part figured out yet."

Heetoorieef reappeared at the edge of Jack's vision. "What is this?" he snapped.

"You are not eating? You were ordered to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Jack told him. "I guess the sight of shredded Wistawki spoiled my appetite."

Heetoorieef's ears twitched. "I see," he said in a more subdued voice. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," Jack said. How sorry, Heetoorieef would never know.

Or maybe he did. "Yes," Heetoorieef said, in a voice that seemed all too knowing. "It's time. Come with me."

CHAPTER 28

Gazen was alone in his office when Heetoorieef showed Jack in. "There you are," the slavemaster said. "All rested and fed, I trust?"

"I'm fine," Jack said.

Apparently the tone hadn't been slavelike enough. Gazen's expression didn't change, but in a single movement he scooped up the extendible slapstick from his desk and flicked it at Jack.

Reflexively, Jack flinched back, banging his left elbow against the wall in the process.

He needn't have bothered. With another wrist flick, Gazen stopped the tip of the weapon a foot in front of his face. "Nervous this morning, I see," he commented.

"Not too nervous to perform, I hope."

Jack felt his eyes narrowing. So this was it. The slave auction was indeed coming off early. "Perform?" he asked innocently.

"There are some men who have come to see what you can do," Gazen said. "I trust you'll make it worth their trouble."

"I think I can manage that," Jack said.

"Good," Gazen said. "Because I'd hate to see you embarrass yourself in front of such distinguished visitors."

"I understand," Jack said. "What are they, mercenaries? Other slaveowners?

Oversized rodents?"

Gazen smiled slightly. "Very good," he said. "Once again, you show how quickly you grasp the realities of a situation. You've realized that I can't twitch you the way I normally would at such a disrespectful tone. After all, we can't afford to upset those delicate finger muscles."

"Not if we want me to bring a good price," Jack agreed.

"Certainly not," Gazen said. "Still, it may be that no one wants you. Tell me, did you happen to notice a group of slaves come through the kitchen this morning?"

Someday, Jack promised himself darkly, he would find a way to sandblast that bland expression off Gazen's face. "Yes."

"Good," Gazen said. "Then we can both hope that you bring a good price. I trust I need say no more?" Jack swallowed. No, the implications were as clear as two feet of empty space.

He could impress the stuffing out of Gazen's prospective buyers, or he could end up with a shredded back himself. "No, sir."

"Good," Gazen said, standing up. "I do so like a quick learner."

Picking up his slapstick, he slid it into his belt pouch. "Come. Your audience awaits your performance."

He led the way to the banquet hall where they'd held Her Thumbleness's High Day celebration a few nights earlier. But the room had been so rearranged that Jack hardly recognized it. The center had been completely cleared out, with a rug laid down and the tables and chairs arranged in concentric circles around it.

Scattered through the empty center were a dozen different types of safes, door locks, and alarm systems. It was rather like a strange dinner theater set up to host a home security show.

There was also a lot of open floor between the various stations, far more than would be needed for each of the audience members to have a clear view. That probably meant the rug was loaded with traps and alarms that Jack was supposed to identify and avoid or disarm.

Fortunately, he wasn't going to have to do it bare-handed. An assortment of tools had been spread out on one of the tables at the edge of the circle, tools that ranged from standard-workman to standard-burglar to extremely non-standard-burglar. Scattered in among them, he saw, were the tools he'd used to break into the gatekeeper's house.

And surrounding it all, seated silently at their tables, was the audience.

There were at least two hundred of them, Jack noted, most of them human but with a number of aliens scattered throughout their midst. There were quite a few Brummgas present as well, mostly lounging around the rear areas of the room chatting quietly to each other. Cynically, he wondered if the auction's invitations had been slanted toward groups who had already hired some of the Chookoock family's mercenaries. A few of the guests were in expensive civilian suits—criminal bosses, most likely, or else representatives of some of the Orion Arm's sleazier governments. But most of the potential bidders were wearing military uniforms.

All sorts of uniforms, too, running the range from very elegant to just barely above shabby. Mercenaries, privateers, maybe a few pirate gangs. All the various groups who might come into possession of other people's safes in their lines of work.

All of them, apparently, looking for a way to get into those safes without the risky use of high explosives.