Gazen opened the door and went in. "Sit," he ordered, jabbing a finger at a chair near the back of the room. "There's someone who wants to meet you."

"Oh?" Jack asked, glancing around the empty room as he crossed to the seats.

"Where is he?"

"He'll be along in a moment," Gazen promised. "You did very well today. Very well indeed. Even I was impressed."

"Thank you," Jack said, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling unpleasantly as he sat down. What was the slavemaster up to this time?

"You particularly impressed one of our visitors, as well," Gazen went on. "So much so that he asked for a private meeting." Behind him the door opened, and one of the civilian bodyguards who'd been sitting in front of Dumbarton stepped in. He glanced around, then nodded back toward the door. A moment later, his two companions from the demonstration joined him, first the hawk-nosed, middle-aged man, then the second bodyguard.

And there was something in the older man's eyes that sent a shiver up Jack's back.

"Here they are now," Gazen said, a strange sort of sinister amusement lurking in his tone. "This, gentlemen, is Jack McCoy. Say hello, Jack."

"Hello," Jack said cautiously.

"And now say hello to Jack," Gazen invited. The hawk-nosed man took half a step forward. "Hello, Jack Morgan," he said quietly.

Jack felt the breath freeze in his lungs. He'd heard this voice before. Twice before. The first time was through Dumbarton's comm clip as he stood in the hot dirt of Iota Klestis. The second time was from behind glaring lights in the luxury office aboard the Advocatus Diaboli.

It was the man he'd called Snake Voice. The man who had framed him for robbery, and then for murder, and then had forced him into his plan to kill Cornelius Braxton.

A man who'd also been present when Draycos's advance team was slaughtered by the Valahgua.

"Well, well," Jack said as calmly as he could. "Mr. Arthur Neverlin. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, sir."

CHAPTER 29

Neverlin's face didn't even twitch. But Gazen's did. Rather strongly, in fact.

"I thought you said he didn't know you," he said, flashing a glare at Neverlin.

"I said he'd never seen me," Neverlin corrected. "We have met, though, after a

fashion."

"Of course we've met," Jack said, with a heartiness he didn't especially feel.

So there it was, the connection he and Draycos had been searching for all this time: Arthur Neverlin, the Chookoock family, and the Malison Ring, an unholy alliance tied together with the Valahgua. "Didn't he tell you, Panjan Gazen?

He tried to kill Cornelius Braxton and take over Braxton Universis. That's why he's on the run now, from Braxton and most of the law enforcement agencies in the Orion Arm."

"As you can see, he's also been listening to Braxton's lies about me,"

Neverlin said, lifting his eyebrows at Jack. "I don't suppose he bothered to mention that I've been his chief troubleshooter for over twenty years. Or that I've pulled Braxton Universis out of trouble more times than you could count or that he could remember."

He leveled an accusing finger at Jack's face. "And while I'm slaving away running his empire, he's spending his time dabbling in his little charities and getting his picture taken with Internos politicians. I'm the one who keeps the company running. I'm the one who does the work. Why shouldn't I have the title and the authority?"

"Gee, I don't know," Jack said. "Maybe because it isn't yours?"

"That's rich, coming from a professional thief," Neverlin said scornfully.

"You've got a lot to learn about how the real world operates."

Jack grimaced. "You sound like Uncle Virge."

"No doubt," Neverlin said, turning to Gazen. "Speaking of whom, you say he's sitting on the ground at Ponocce Spaceport?"

"That's where their ship is, anyway," Gazen bit out, glaring blackly at Jack.

"I knew there was something bent about this whole thing. What do you think they're up to?"

"No idea," Neverlin said. "But we can figure that out later. Right now, the trick will be to actually get hold of the man. He's as slippery as greased ice."

"Why don't I send some Brummgas over there, backed up by some Djinn-90s?"

Gazen suggested. "He'll either come quietly, or he'll have his ship turned into Christmas tinsel around him."

Neverlin shook his head. "I want him alive and in one piece, not scattered across the Brum-a-dum landscape."

"He'll surrender," Gazen insisted. "What other choice will he have?"

"I don't know," Neverlin said. "But it's not wise to underestimate Virgil Morgan. I did that a couple of months ago, to my regret."

He shrugged. "Still, the game goes on. And we do hold an important pawn. You said he's been treated?"

Gazen looked at Jack. "Actually, we're not sure," he said carefully. "The, uh—"

"If you're talking about the poisoned food, the answer is no," Jack offered.

"I didn't eat any of it."

Gazen's eyes narrowed. Neverlin merely smiled. "As I said, slippery. Both of them."

He lifted a finger, and one of the two bodyguards stepped forward. "But the time for subtlety is past," Neverlin went on. "We'll pour some of it down his throat, then call his uncle and have a little chat."

"Wait a second," Jack said hurriedly as the bodyguard got a none-too-gentle grip on his upper arm and hauled him to his feet. "You don't have to do this. Let me call Uncle Virge and tell him what you're planning. I'm sure he'll be happy to talk with you."

Neverlin smiled thinly. "Thank you for the kind offer. But I've already seen what happens when I let you set the terms of a deal." He gestured, and the bodyguard started toward the door, pulling Jack behind him. "No, you're the sort of untrained puppy who does best with a good solid leash attached."

The second bodyguard pulled the door open. "These two are going to the medical suite," Gazen informed the two Brummgas waiting outside the room, gesturing at Jack and the bodyguard. "You'll escort them there. I'll call the doctor and give him his instructions."

"And when he's ready, take him to my shuttle," Neverlin put in.

"Just a minute," Gazen said, holding out a hand. "I'm sorry, Mr. Neverlin, but you can't do that."

"Morgan won't just meekly give in," Neverlin said patiently. "He'll attempt a rescue or some other equally insane thing. We don't want him to know exactly where the boy is."

"Then we'll hide him somewhere on the grounds," Gazen said firmly. "He's still Chookoock family property."

"Fine," Neverlin said disgustedly. "Then I'll just buy him. All right?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that, either," Gazen said. He looked uncomfortable, but his voice was firm. "We've offered him for sale and asked for bids. I can't sell him—to you or anyone else—without giving an equal chance to all those bidding. It's strict Chookoock family policy."

"Then the Chookoock family had better learn when to make exceptions,"

Neverlin warned. His voice was quiet, but there was a dark menace sliding beneath it like a shark in murky waters. "Or had you forgotten what's at stake here?"

"Maybe he's just wondering if your side is really the smart one to bet on,"

Jack murmured.

Neverlin favored him with a tight smile. "How little you know," he said softly.

"But you'll learn. As will the rest of the Orion Arm." He looked back at Gazen.

"Remind your superiors of the power they stand to gain. And then I will take the boy out of here."

Gazen's lip twitched. "I'll give them the message," he said. "But that's all I

can do."

Neverlin snorted. "Underlings," he said contemptuously. "Fine; I will talk to them. Take me there."