Read Online Brothers to Dragons by Charles Sheffield - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charles Sheffield
Ads: Link
ride was a short one. Within a minute the machine jerked to a halt, its side opened, and Job was decanted onto a vinyl tiled floor under dazzling yellow lights.
"Stay right where you are." A hand reached down, grabbed his collar, and hoisted him to his feet. Other hands searched him. They opened his coat and pulled out the square box. Job squinted around him. Already his left eye was beginning to swell and close. He stood inside a garage with a low, paneled ceiling, beside the machine that had picked him up. The snow was melting from its windowless sides, and he could see no place for a driver.
Three men held him. Two of them wore the blue uniforms and peaked caps described to him, but Job was not naive enough to think that would help. Something had gone terribly wrong.
The younger of the two uniformed men opened the box. He unwrapped the waterproof packet inside and sniffed at the contents. "One hundred percent, for a guess," he said. "We'll know in a few minutes. God, look at him. Next thing they'll be using kids in diapers."
"They should be shot." A fat, gray-haired man who was not in uniform sat down on a workbench. "All right, let's get it over with. Who's the parcel for, boyo? Let's have a name."
"I don't know."
"Sure. You decided to wander into the protection zone in the middle of a howling snowstorm, with a million dollars worth of brain-burner on you, just for the fun of it. What made you think the defense system wouldn't fry you on the spot?"
"I thought it would."
The gray-haired man studied him. "Damned if I'm not inclined to believe you." He handed him a white cloth. "Here, kid. Wipe your face."
Job did as he was told. Until that moment he had not realized that he was crying.
"Did you know what you were carrying in the package?" said the fat man.
Job thought about that. He didn't know , but he had been developing his suspicions. "I wasn't sure."
"But now you are? So who sent you? Tell me that, and take us there, and you'll do yourself a favor. If we can get someone good, we won't worry much about you. Come on, now." The man could see Job's hesitation. "They dropped you in it, didn't they, without one word of warning? What do you owe them?"
Tracy hadn't done anything to him—she had done her best to protect him, even argued with Miss Magnolia. She had wanted to warn him. Job shook his head. The fat man shrugged. "If that's the way you want it. Take him away, Lou. Let him stew for a while."
The younger of the uniformed men nodded, grabbed Job by the arm, and led him through to another room. This one was warmer, not just a garage and repair shop. The man gestured Job to a chair.
"Want a drink? You must be frozen." Without waiting for an answer he filled a cup from a big metal jug and handed it to Job. It was a hot, sweet liquid that Job had never tasted before, and it burned his gullet all the way down to his stomach.
"There. Warming you up a bit?" The man had a cheerful dark face, and when he took his cap off his hair stood up in damp spikes. "Hell of a night to send a young kid out, 'specially for a drug run." He was studying Job. "Just how old are you, anyway?"
"I'm ten." Job paused, then added, "Ten today."
"God love us. What a birthday present. Did you get any presents?"
Job shook his head.
"Well, happy birthday anyway. Like your drink?" "It's good." But it was making Job dizzy. "More there when you want it. So what's your name, kid?"
" Job Salk. Job Napoleon Salk."
"Good. And where do you live?" The man's voice was casual. "Not out on the streets, I'll bet money on that. You'd freeze to death in this weather."
"At Bracewell Mansion." Job had answered before he thought. "And before that I was at Cloak House," he added.
"So they sent you here straight from Bracewell?" The man ignored Job's feeble attempt at misdirection.
Job knew he had been trapped; but it was too late to do anything about it. He nodded.
"Good lad." The man seemed pleased, but he wasn't gloating. "Sit there and drink as
"Stay right where you are." A hand reached down, grabbed his collar, and hoisted him to his feet. Other hands searched him. They opened his coat and pulled out the square box. Job squinted around him. Already his left eye was beginning to swell and close. He stood inside a garage with a low, paneled ceiling, beside the machine that had picked him up. The snow was melting from its windowless sides, and he could see no place for a driver.
Three men held him. Two of them wore the blue uniforms and peaked caps described to him, but Job was not naive enough to think that would help. Something had gone terribly wrong.
The younger of the two uniformed men opened the box. He unwrapped the waterproof packet inside and sniffed at the contents. "One hundred percent, for a guess," he said. "We'll know in a few minutes. God, look at him. Next thing they'll be using kids in diapers."
"They should be shot." A fat, gray-haired man who was not in uniform sat down on a workbench. "All right, let's get it over with. Who's the parcel for, boyo? Let's have a name."
"I don't know."
"Sure. You decided to wander into the protection zone in the middle of a howling snowstorm, with a million dollars worth of brain-burner on you, just for the fun of it. What made you think the defense system wouldn't fry you on the spot?"
"I thought it would."
The gray-haired man studied him. "Damned if I'm not inclined to believe you." He handed him a white cloth. "Here, kid. Wipe your face."
Job did as he was told. Until that moment he had not realized that he was crying.
"Did you know what you were carrying in the package?" said the fat man.
Job thought about that. He didn't know , but he had been developing his suspicions. "I wasn't sure."
"But now you are? So who sent you? Tell me that, and take us there, and you'll do yourself a favor. If we can get someone good, we won't worry much about you. Come on, now." The man could see Job's hesitation. "They dropped you in it, didn't they, without one word of warning? What do you owe them?"
Tracy hadn't done anything to him—she had done her best to protect him, even argued with Miss Magnolia. She had wanted to warn him. Job shook his head. The fat man shrugged. "If that's the way you want it. Take him away, Lou. Let him stew for a while."
The younger of the uniformed men nodded, grabbed Job by the arm, and led him through to another room. This one was warmer, not just a garage and repair shop. The man gestured Job to a chair.
"Want a drink? You must be frozen." Without waiting for an answer he filled a cup from a big metal jug and handed it to Job. It was a hot, sweet liquid that Job had never tasted before, and it burned his gullet all the way down to his stomach.
"There. Warming you up a bit?" The man had a cheerful dark face, and when he took his cap off his hair stood up in damp spikes. "Hell of a night to send a young kid out, 'specially for a drug run." He was studying Job. "Just how old are you, anyway?"
"I'm ten." Job paused, then added, "Ten today."
"God love us. What a birthday present. Did you get any presents?"
Job shook his head.
"Well, happy birthday anyway. Like your drink?" "It's good." But it was making Job dizzy. "More there when you want it. So what's your name, kid?"
" Job Salk. Job Napoleon Salk."
"Good. And where do you live?" The man's voice was casual. "Not out on the streets, I'll bet money on that. You'd freeze to death in this weather."
"At Bracewell Mansion." Job had answered before he thought. "And before that I was at Cloak House," he added.
"So they sent you here straight from Bracewell?" The man ignored Job's feeble attempt at misdirection.
Job knew he had been trapped; but it was too late to do anything about it. He nodded.
"Good lad." The man seemed pleased, but he wasn't gloating. "Sit there and drink as
Similar Books
