Uncle Virge sniffed. "So maybe they're a stupid military. What's your point, Jack lad?"
"My point is that mercenary groups probably keep close tabs on each other," Jack said slowly. "Including what kinds of pursuit fighters all the other guys have. You think?"
"I suppose," Uncle Virge said. "But I can tell you right now that getting hold of encrypted mercenary files is going to be a lot trickier than pulling up Djinnrabi Aerospace Corporation manufacturing records. I thought we were trying to make this job easier, not harder."
"We're trying to make it work any way we can," Jack said. He paused, and Draycos could see him brace himself. "And you're right. The only way to get mere records will be from the inside."
"You must be joking," Uncle Virge said, his voice sounding like he'd suddenly been hit with a small tree. "Come on, Jack lad. Jump up and say 'surprise,' and let's get on with our plans."
"What, you think I can't do it?" Jack snapped. "Fourteen-year-old kids are indentured to mercenary groups all the time."
"And you know what happens to them?" Uncle Virge countered harshly. "They get sent off to war."
Jack seemed to shrink a little in his nightshirt. "I'll be all right," he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself of that. "There aren't any big wars going on anywhere right now."
"Mercenaries don't hire teenagers just to polish their boots," Uncle Virge insisted. "And you can get just as dead from a little war as you can from a big one."
"I'll be all right." Jack peered across the cabin at Draycos. "Draycos? You're a soldier. You tell him."
"Yes, tell him, Draycos," Uncle Virge demanded, an almost frantic undertone to his voice now. Small wonder: as a computer, even a computer that controlled the entire ship, he had no physical power to make Jack do anything he didn't want to