CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Icarus
I waited and waited for some fallout with the attack dragon incident, but the hammer never came down. Which I found very strange. It’s almost like the executives wanted to pretend the incident had never happened. The PR department must have gone into overdrive, to put out that fire before it started.
Between that and the imminent test run of my flier model, I couldn’t focus on anything else. Custom orders in my queue started piling up. Korrapati and Wong, to their credit, helped pick up the slack. When I got four or five designs deep, they’d sneak up and grab one, and get the order done without so much as a word.
Every time I opened up DragonDraft3D, I ended up looking at my Condor prototype. I pored over it, looking for flaws other than the ones I’d put in. There were none. The dragon was perfect, and if I wowed them as much as I expected, it would win an exception from the stupidly arbitrary points system. More importantly, it should give me what I needed to prove that Connor’s mutation was pathogenic. The physical manifestation wouldn’t appear for some time, but under a microscope, the muscle fibers would look abnormal. As for what would happen if and when we sold flyers that slowly degenerated, well . . . that was a problem for future Noah.
On the day of the demonstration, we met in the coliseum-style outdoor gallery. Evelyn had sent a company-wide invite and wanted to this to be a flagship event for her department. No pressure. Most designers were present, of course, but a lot of the executives showed up, too. Sales and Customer Service sent a few people. We even had a couple of dragon-tamers from Herpetology on hand. They stood over to the side, away from everyone else. Their appearance set them apart, too: dungarees and wide-brimmed hats didn’t mix with the tailored suits in the stands.
All of those were welcome surprises. The armed guards were another matter entirely. They cradled automatic rifles and stood off to one side, speaking quietly with Ben Fulton. I tried not to think too much about their purpose here.
It might seem insane to go outside in Arizona in the middle of the afternoon, at least to outsiders. But the heat was good for the hatchlings. Besides, if you lived in the Southwest, you developed a certain tolerance to it. At least, that’s what Arizonians told ourselves.
The hatchery staffers wheeled the eggs out on sturdy carts. They seemed larger than I remembered. God, I hoped none of the bigwigs would notice. If they knew how far I’d pushed past the restrictions, they might scrap this demonstration before it even got started. The hatchers team-lifted their eggs into a massive stick-and-straw nest. The materials were hardly necessary, but the people at Build-A-Dragon liked a good show.
Even as I watched them, one of the eggs quivered. The dragon inside was wakening, growing restless. I felt the surge of nervous anticipation I always got before a prototype hatching. “I hope this goes well,” I whispered.
“Don’t worry, Noah,” Korrapati said.
“Yes, you design good dragons,” Wong added.
“Thanks, guys,” I said. It was good of them to come out and support me. O’Connell and the Frogman hadn’t bothered. Then again, if things went well, my prototype would be replacing their Pterodactyl, so maybe it was for the best. I had a lot riding on this demonstration, though. If it went well, I’d probably get free rein with design resources, and undoubtedly the invitation to develop another prototype. The promise of freedom beckoned.
Evelyn sat with the execs, looking so like them in her tailored suit that I almost didn’t notice her. She straightened the hemline of her skirt every few seconds. My eyes slid past her to the man in the middle, the only one not in a suit. Robert Greaves lounged in the direct sun, totally at ease. Dressed all in black, too. Making an open statement that the heat didn’t bother him.
Everyone in the gallery was watching him, though they tried not to show it. I did, too, out of a sort of morbid fascination. Evelyn acted as the go-between for between him and the designers. Not that we couldn’t approach him on our own, but I still hadn’t worked up the nerve. Today might be the first time we interacted directly. I hoped it would go well. There was, unfortunately, no sign of Simon Redwood. I felt a twinge of disappointment at that, even though it wasn’t surprising. Rumor around the coffee machine was that no one had seen the guy in over a year.
The first egg rocked back and forth, tearing my thoughts away from Redwood. A hairline split cracked it almost from top to bottom. Smaller fractures spiderwebbed across. Then the egg shattered into a hundred sky-blue fragments, and I laid eyes on my newest creation.
It extended dark-green wings, first. Then its whole body uncoiled. The head came up, and the dragon met my gaze with narrowed eyes. Of everyone there, it looked at me. Two more of the eggs began trembling.
Two hatchery staffers approached with the meat tray. I’d wanted to do this part myself—to make sure that everyone knew whose dragon design it was—but Evelyn overruled me. She said that any deviation from hatching protocol carried a risk. We wanted everything to be optimized for success.
The dragon watched the meat-bringers with an unreadable expression. It waited until they’d retreated before standing up. No shakiness to the legs. There shouldn’t have been, with the muscle tone I’d given it, but I was relieved just the same.
The dragon folded its wings along its body and climbed out of the nest. It moved with effortless grace, like a snake weaving through the grass. I drew in a sharp breath and hazarded a glance at Greaves. He’d put his phone away. He was watching. Meanwhile, the dragon tore through two pounds of raw meat like a starved hyena. Ten, maybe twelve seconds until the tray was empty.
Now all the executives were riveted. A couple of them even cast a nervous look towards the security guards. These were all ex-military types, and they held their M-16s with the practiced air of readiness. We shouldn’t need them with a flying model, but the company took no chances.
A dragon won’t fly unless it wants to. Build-A-Dragon had learned that the hard way. The old adage about kicking a bird out of the nest just didn’t apply. To get a dragon off the ground, you had to put something that it wanted up in the air. Mourning doves usually did the trick. Their pear-shaped bodies and explosive, panicked flights were like a siren’s call to apex predators.
Normally, the hatchery staff handled this part, but Evelyn had gotten permission for me to do it instead. I stood at the edge of the field holding her tablet and trying to look confident. This was my chance to prove myself, not just to the rest of the team but to the company leadership.
The other dragons were starting to crack out of their eggs, but the first one had dried its wings and eaten. He was ready. I sent a release signal to one of the cages. A red strobe light flashed atop one of the steel boxes at the edge of the field. The dragon’s head swiveled toward it. Then two doves shot up and out, shedding white feathers.
“Go get ’em,” I whispered.
But the dragon just watched the doves fly past.
Oh, God. I’d been so focused on designing a dragon that could fly, I hadn’t considered whether or not it would even want to. I thought I could leave that to instinct, but biology was never certain. If they didn’t fly, this whole demo would crash and burn. And here I was, standing in front of everyone like a dumbass. I cursed my own stupidity.
Then the dragon’s scaled legs bent and it leaped into the sky.
Its gossamer wings flapped faster than I’d have thought possible. Faster than even the simulator had predicted. It was twenty feet off the ground and still climbing. Forty feet. Far higher than the doves, which had leveled off and made a beeline for the desert horizon. The dragon glided over them, folded its wings, and dove like a falcon. He snapped his jaws around the first bird and grabbed the second with a clawed foot.
“Sweet,” I breathed. The crowd in the stands murmured approval.
Three or four dragons had broken out of the shell. Hatchery staffers moved around to feed them. But I had the executives’ attention, so I sent another release signal.
Two more doves made a mad dash for the sky. The dragon banked smoothly and went for them, caught them lower this time. Didn’t bother eating them, either, but dropped them down for his siblings in the nest.
I’d set up something special for the third cage. A real challenge. One of the most despised birds known to woodlands, a bundle of noise and distraction that irritated hunters and outdoorsmen to no end. A bird with which I still had some unfinished business.
The red-headed woodpecker.
I hit the release. The woodpecker yelped as it flew out; the raucous cry echoed across the yard like a challenge. The dragon reacted instantly, twisting over and back like a swimmer at the wall.
The woodpecker flew better than the doves, though. More cleverly, too. It flitted to the edge of its cage. Then to the side of a stone column. Rather than making a blind break for freedom, it zigzagged across the yard, making that call again. The sound set my teeth on edge.
The dragon twisted and turned in pursuit, not quite able to catch up without crashing into the columns.
Come on, catch him! I’d given the dragon every advantage, but the woodpecker continued to elude it. Continued making its cry, too, which rapidly began to feel like the taunts of a bully.
At last, the dragon gave up and broke off its pursuit. Worse, it shot over the edge of the coliseum roof and out of view.
“Son of a bitch!” I said under my breath. Well, mostly under my breath.
“Where did it go?” Korrapati asked.
“Over the rim,” Wong told her.
The woodpecker had been a huge gamble, and I’d blown it. We’d not only lost the dragon but managed to make the entire design team look like morons.
The woodpecker poked its head out from behind a stone, then took off in the opposite direction. It landed on the edge of the coliseum roof. Paused there, just to cackle at us. The urge to kill that thing burned inside of me. If I’d had so much as a slingshot, I’d have used it. The armed guards fingered the handles of their automatic rifles. Part of me wished they’d open fire.
The woodpecker cackled again, basking on the cusp of freedom. It spread its wings, turned away.
And flew right into the dragon’s jaws.
Crunch.
I stood in shocked silence. Then I pumped my fist in the air. “Oh yeah!”
The executives cheered. So did the guards and the dragon handlers.
I still couldn’t believe my flier had pulled it off. He must have swooped around the wall. Probably flew thirty, forty miles an hour to reach the other side so quickly.
Now, seeing no more airborne targets, it banked its dark wings and glided back to the nest. Settled in among its siblings and preened, knowing we were all watching. The stands thundered with applause. Evelyn and the other executives all wore smiles and shook hands in decorous celebration.
I kept my eyes on Greaves. Only his opinion truly mattered here. He was quiet and unreadable behind his sunglasses. He leaned over to say something to Evelyn. She beckoned to me.
“Oh boy,” I whispered.
“Be confident,” Korrapati said. “That dragon speaks for itself.”
Wong nudged me and grinned. “Remember us when you are lao-bahn.”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry as a desert. “Yeah.”
I hurried over, conscious of everyone’s eyes on me. The sudden attention made me nervous as a kindergartener.
“Quite a dragon,” Greaves said.
“Thank you.” I felt out of breath, though I wasn’t winded. I guess it was the thrill of talking to him. “Worked out even better than the simulator predicted.”
“How much will it grow?” he asked.
“About forty percent larger.”
He nodded. I still couldn’t read his face. I waited him out and tried to remember to keep breathing.
“Did you see the agility?” Evelyn asked. “And the speed? I think it could be our best model yet.”
Greaves nodded again, as if half-listening to her. “It ambushed the woodpecker. Did you plan that?”
“Wish I had, but no,” I said. “That was pure instinct.”
“More like strategy. And that means intelligence.” He took off his sunglasses; his eyes were bright amber, like a wolf’s. “You went outside the guidelines.”
A twinge of cold hit my stomach. “Just a little,” I admitted.
“How far?”
“Twenty points. It was the only way to meet the specs,” I said.
He looked at Evelyn. “You signed off?”
“Yes,” she said, with a touch of hesitation.
He nodded again and put the sunglasses back on. Then he stood. I still couldn’t read his reaction, until he turned to his security chief and spoke two words.
“Quarantine them.”
I didn’t understand what he meant. I mean, I got the words right, but couldn’t wrap my head fully around their meaning. Fulton signaled two of the dragon wranglers.
“Robert-” Evelyn began.
“You know the policy,” Greaves said.
The wranglers marched toward the nest. The red-haired woman unpacked something from her burlap duffle bag. A weighted cast net. The first Condor, the one that had flown, watched them approach. Sensed their intent, maybe, because it hissed and took off.
Greaves looked at the guys with the M-15s. “Shoot it down.”
“Wait. What?” I couldn’t believe it.
They raised their guns.
“Is this a goddamn joke?” That was my dragon up there. It was pretty amazing. Everyone in the coliseum had to admit as much. I took two steps toward the security dudes. Surely they’d listen to reason.
Fulton materialized in front of me. I tried to squirm past him, but he laid a tree-trunk arm on my shoulder and held me fast. “Don’t get in the way, son.”
“Come on, man!” I struggled with no result. Then I looked him right in the eyes, desperate. “You know it’s wrong.”
“Look around, Parker,” he said quietly. “Neither of us can stop this.”
I craned my neck to look past him, to where the guards were stalking steadily.
“No.” Fulton put both hands on my shoulders. “Eyes on me.”
The crack-crack of gunfire echoed in the silent coliseum.
The dragon groaned. A long, low sound. It tore at something inside of me. I had to look. The Condor’s perfect glide faltered. I watched as it tumbled downward out of view beyond the roof of the coliseum. Darkness pressed in around my vision. My greatest creation, gunned down like it was nothing. I just couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t fathom it. My legs gave out on me, but Fulton held me up. I hated him for it.
Meanwhile, the wranglers had the five still-wet hatchlings crammed together in their net. The bearded wrangler cinched it tight, and then the two of them dragged it away.