CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Short Happy Life
Between Summer’s interference in our geocaching and Connor’s sudden lack of enthusiasm, weekends were really starting to suck. Hell, maybe I should have gone on Mom’s wine tour. It was almost a relief to get back to work. Besides, Evelyn had told me that one of my customs would be hatched in-house, so I kind of wanted to watch.
When a customer ordered one of Build-A-Dragon’s mainline production models, like the classic Rover, they got an egg in the mail with specific instructions on how to make it hatch. It was just easier to ship an egg than a live dragon and allowing the customers to hatch the dragon themselves was vital for the imprinting. For custom dragons, however, the clever folks in marketing realized that hatching them in Build-A-Dragon’s facility was yet another thing for which we could charge a premium. The owners of the pink-and-white birthday dragon had opted for this.
When the appointment reminder flashed up on my screen, I grabbed my lunch and hurried to the viewing gallery on the employee side.
They had the garish egg nestled in a soft nest in one of the large incubation rooms along the south wall. A nice-looking Latino family sat on one of the benches in the viewing gallery with the nervous excitement of first-time dragon owners. It was hard to miss the little girl. She looked about eight or ten, and literally bounced with excitement. Her dress was a bright shade of pink that, unless I missed my guess, would be a perfect match for the birthday dragon I’d created.
The parents were really spoiling her. Their smiles said they knew it, too. Hell, after watching the girl press her face against the glass for the third time, I kind of wanted to see her reaction myself. There was a man sitting in the back row, off by himself, in a dark suit and sunglasses. I didn’t recognize him and wondered if maybe he was the family’s security guard.
A scaled pink-and-white nose poked out of the eggshell. The family at the observation window clapped and cheered. Watching them hug one another with rapt excitement on their faces made me forgive myself for creating such a ridiculous dragon with my arts.
The pink dragon tumbled out of the shell, blinked uncertainly at the sunlight streaming in, and stood on wobbly legs. I had to admit that it was kind of cute. The delighted girl squealed loud enough that I heard her through two Plexiglas walls. The noise didn’t put the dragon off, though; my tweaks of the neurotransmitter system had seen to that. It only knew how to love and be loved. This showed in the way it capered for them along the glass, turning its body back and forth to be admired.
We were all so focused on the birthday dragon that we didn’t notice the second hatching in the incubator room. I hadn’t even realized there was another egg in there. If I’d seen it, if I’d recognized the mottled grey shell, you can bet I’d have hit the panic button.
Because that was the attack dragon, and it had a different sort of programming entirely.
The hatchers didn’t realize anything was wrong until a blur of black scales shot across the room. Until the attack dragon clamped its jaws around a certain pink-and-white neck. Until it was far, far too late.
The birthday dragon made a pitiful sound, its tiny mind incapable of processing the idea that something could harm it. I swear that the attack dragon paused just to be sure it had our attention. Then it wrenched its head in a sharp movement. The birthday dragon’s neck snapped with a sickening crunch. It went limp and tumbled to the floor.
A quick-thinking hatchery staffer dropped the curtain on the observation window, but the damage was done. The little girl was an inconsolable pink ball of screams and tears. Her mother was crying, too, and her father’s face was furious. They’d probably be suing us. But the man in the dark suit and sunglasses showed no reaction. It was like he expected it to go down this way. Right then, I realized who he was: the buyer for the attack dragon, who had come to take delivery.
I sat there with my PB&J in my hand for a long time, too stunned to move. I’d never really seen one of our attack dragons in action before. The thing was just so fast. Merciless, too. Part of me felt terrible for what had happened to the birthday dragon. The other part felt a harder, colder truth. I design one hell of a dragon.