by Dan Koboldt
We stepped back out into the Arizona sunlight. A welcome respite, or at least it would have been, were it not for the full-on animal brawl happening outside the door. I’d totally forgotten: we’d left Riker alone with all the dragons.
Two of Redwood’s dragons had pinned Riker up against the wall of the inner building. They were lean, muscular things. Big, too. Guardians. The original hog-hunting dragons. Of course, they’d go after him. They were bred to hunt wild hogs. They’d have killed him already, except for the handful of little dragons barring their way. Octavius and his five littermates formed a protective half-ring around the pig, wings spread and fangs bared. The Guardians circled and snapped at them but couldn’t get through. I would have intervened, but Summer took two steps and kicked the nearest Guardian right in the chops. It grunted in surprise and hissed at her. Summer wound up again. The dragon thought better of it and ran off. So did its fellow. Summer glared after them.
“Where did you find her?” Redwood asked me quietly.
“Out in the desert.”
“Don’t let her go.”
I laughed softly. “Not planning on it.”
“Something tells me I should take my dragons out of here before any of them are injured.”
“Probably a wise idea.” I turned at him and shook his hand. “Thanks for . . . everything.”
Summer hugged him goodbye, and I tried to suppress the natural flare of jealousy. Then he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. He walked back up the ridge where he’d first appeared. Most of the dragons followed. It was like watching the end of the strangest parade ever.
“We should get moving,” I said.
“Yeah. Wait, did you get what you needed from the Condor?”
The biopsy. I shook my head. “They’re long gone.”
“Let’s find the others.”
“We don’t have time. If Greaves sent another team, they’ll get here any minute.”
Summer eyed the route back to the rock formation and our cars. “They might see us if we’re on the rocks.”
She was right, and if they did, they could drive around to intercept us before we reached the highway. Granted, we could hide at the base of the rock formation and wait them out, but that would put us in the direct sun for hours. With virtually no water. I jogged over to the control panel where the lights still shone steadily green over most of the switches. I picked twenty or so buttons at random and pushed them in. You know what? Screw it. I pushed the rest of them. The hydraulics whirred into motion.
I jogged back to Summer. “That ought to keep them busy for a while.”
An hour later, Summer and I crested the final ridge and saw our cars waiting for us. Talk about pure euphoria. It was like hatching-my-first-dragon euphoria. Or first-kiss-with-Summer euphoria. We grinned at one another, both of us nearly dancing with relief.
“Uh, I hate to ask you this,” I said.
“You can come over to my place.”
“How’d you know?”
“Your company knows where you live, don’t they?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Do they know about me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You didn’t go bragging about me to your coworkers?”
I felt my cheeks turning red. If I’d thought I was allowed to brag, or had someone to brag to, I would have. Because Summer was totally bragworthy. “I don’t really talk about personal stuff at work.”
“That’s good,” she said, but she didn’t sound like she meant it. She muttered something about how I “could have bragged a little.” Then she beamed her address to my watch. I disabled the Tesla’s alarm, opened the door and dug my flashlight out of the console. Then I knelt on the ground and used it to look up under the car.
“Son of a bitch.” There it was. A black rectangular shape with a rubber antenna, and a blinking green LED. I squeezed my shoulder under the car, grabbed it, and tore it loose. They’d had to use an adhesive, because the Tesla’s frame was a non-magnetic alloy.
“They tagged your Tesla,” Summer said.
“Taste of my own medicine, I guess.”
Later, halfway to Summer’s place, I pulled into a gas station to get rid of the tag. The first lane offered an appealing option: a mud-spattered 4x4 plastered with bumper stickers for energy drinks. The owner was probably inside stocking up on some of those. Or a six-pack. It looked like the start of a promising off-roading expedition out in the desert.
I tossed the tracker into the back and zipped away. Greaves would need a Jeep to track that one down. Or a helicopter.
My last task made me a little sad. The Tesla’s GPS and computer were on the same circuit. I wouldn’t put it past Greaves to have someone hack the system as a backup. I pried off the lid of the fuse panel.
“Just what do you think you are doing, Noah?” asked the car.
I laughed. God love the engineers at Tesla for that little Easter egg. “Sorry about this, beautiful,” I said. “I have to pull your fuse for a while.”
“Tampering with the fuse panel will void your warranty.”
“I know.” I half-expected her to keep up the classic dialogue. I’m sorry, Noah, I can’t let you do that.
But she made no further protests. I pulled the chip and the screen went dark. Everything was manual now: no autopilot, no navigation, no traffic avoidance. Back to the basics.
Summer had a condo in a green development in Scottsdale. She swiped me in to the underground parking complex so I could stash my car. We rode the elevator up to her floor, with our animals in tow. We didn’t talk. She probably sensed that I needed quiet to figure out what to do next.
Summer’s condo was roomy compared to mine. But with water prices being what they were, the real perk was the eco-shower. It was a deluxe model, with no less than six cycles: spray, foam, mist, lather, rinse, turbine dry. I fed Riker and the dragons while she used it, and then I had a go myself. It was absolute bliss. No wonder she smelled so good.
By the time I dried off, Riker had fallen asleep in his crate. The dragons were all piled in a heap around it. Summer, meanwhile, had dressed in a pair of shorts and a skimpy tank top. Her damp hair was the color of shadowed honey.
“You forgot to close Riker’s crate,” I whispered.
“I never do. It’s his little fortress of solitude.”
“Even while you’re at work?”
“Of course,” she said. “He behaves himself.”
“How do you know?”
“Piggy cam.”
I started to ask where the camera was, but she twined my fingers with her and pulled me down the hallway. It seemed like a good time to avoid idle conversation. I followed her on cat feet, praying I wouldn’t trip and wake the pets. She pulled me into the dimness of her bedroom and eased the door into the doorframe. Snick.
I slid my arms around her waist and pulled her up against me. She let out a soft little breath and leaned back so I could kiss her. She started to turn around, but I held her there, kissed her again. Slid my hands up under her shirt. She wasn’t wearing anything under it. Her breath was hot against my cheek. She turned around then, and her hungry lips found mine.
My phone rang. I fumbled with one hand to try to turn it off, but Summer heard the incessant buzzing and pulled back. “Is that your phone?”
“It’s not important.” I tried to kiss her again.
She dodged me giggling. “You’d better check it.”
I sighed dramatically and dug it out of my pocket. Connor. He and I rarely had phone conversations that lasted more than two minutes, so I hit the button to answer. “Hey, C-biscuit.”
Summer tried to slip away but I held her around her waist. She protested silently. I struggled not to laugh.
“N-terminal. Need you here, pronto.” His voice had a strange sense of urgency to it. Excitement, maybe.
God, what now? “What for? Is something wrong with Mom?”
“Mom’s on wine tour, dummy. I just need you here,
Aquarius.”
Connor and I had code words, too. It had been years since we talked about them, but I still remembered. Aquarius meant no more questions.
I put the phone to my chest and whispered to Summer. “Connor needs me.”
“Go,” she said.
“Be there in twenty,” I told Connor, and then hung up. And this had better be important.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Latent Abilities
I parked out front and jogged up to the door to Mom’s house. It buzzed open. I entered, inhaling the familiar smell of the place where I’d grown up. It calmed my nerves a little. “Connor?”
“Out back!” he called.
We had a decent-sized yard that, like virtually every other yard in the area, couldn’t keep grass alive. Connor was out on the wide deck that Mom had had built as a consolation prize. I slid open the door and stepped out. “So, what the hell is so imp—”
The rest of that sentence died in my throat, because Connor was sitting in the ancient tri-fold lounge chair between two coiled-up dragons. Not just any dragons, either. My Condors.
“Hey man, glad you could stop by,” Connor said, with a casual air.
My mouth worked, but I couldn’t seem to formulate a proper sentence.
Connor grinned. He was clearly enjoying this. “So, what’s new?”
“Where did they come from?”
“You tell me, bro. They just showed up.”
“What?”
“Dropped into the yard like a couple of dive-bombers. Nearly wet myself, if I’m being honest.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. Maybe an hour back,” he said.
“You only called me twenty minutes ago!”
He shrugged. “They seem like they know what they’re doing. I assumed you were going to show up after. When you didn’t, I thought I’d give you the heads-up.”
There were so many questions. How had they found him? Why had they come? I shook my head before I went down the rabbit-hole searching for answers. First things first. “I need something from my car. Nobody fricking move!” I said, addressing Connor and the dragons both. They blinked at me and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, but I ran anyway. Some jack-wang had double-parked by my car, so I threw open the passenger side door, grabbed the biopsy tube, and hustled back inside.
Connor feigned surprise. “Oh, you’re back? I was just chilling here with these dragons.”
“Yes, yes, you’re super cool.” I held up the tube. “Know what this is?”
He squinted. “Isn’t that your Swedish-made p—”
“Shut up. It’s your future. A biopsy pen.”
“I’ve had enough biopsies for two lifetimes, thanks,” Connor said flatly.
“It’s not for you. It’s for them.” I pointed. “These are the flying dragons I designed, you dummy! With your mutation in them.”
Connor’s mouth fell open, and for the first time in recorded history, he had nothing to say.
“I have no idea how they found you, but I doubt it was an accident.” I watched the dragons as I said this. They stared back with those too-knowing eyes.
“Did Redwood send you?”
The dragons snorted and shook their heads.
“Redwood?” Connor grabbed my arm. “Wait, Simon Redwood? Is he—”
“Alive, yes. He saved my ass today.”
“I knew it!” He pumped a fist.
“Keep it to yourself.” I looked at the dragons. “You came on your own.”
They did not disagree.
I exhaled slowly. “Oh my God.”
“This is unreal,” Connor said.
“And it’s your lucky day. Because we’re going to prove once and for all that your mutation is pathogenic.”
Connor laughed. “You think you’re going to give one of them a biopsy? Dream on.”
The dragon on the right uncoiled itself and approached me. I’m not sure what I expected to happen. But it knelt in front of me in open invitation.
I looked at Connor. “You were saying?” I crouched down and ran my fingers along the dragon’s thigh. The thicker the muscle, the easier this would go.
“What do you call this model, anyway?” Connor asked.
“The Condor.”
“Aw, you named it after me?”
“I named it after the bird.”
“Sure, sure.”
I rolled my eyes. Then I met the dragon’s. “Are you ready?”
It gave me the unblinking stare that seemed to mean yes, so I jabbed down on the plunger. The Condor stiffened momentarily. Then the tube sealed itself, the sample tucked neatly inside.
“All done.” I inspected the leg. There was a tiny red pinprick of blood where the needle had gone in, but that was all. I rested my hand on the dragon’s leg. “Thank you.”
Meanwhile, Connor had moved over and managed to take a selfie with the other Condor.
“Dude!” I said.
“Mom’s always saying she wants more pictures of us.”
“Don’t post that anywhere.”
“Don’t worry.”
I stood up and examined the biopsy tube. “I have to get this into a freezer.” I looked at the dragons. “You two should get back to the desert.”
The nearest dragon crooned at me with unmistakable attitude.
Connor laughed. “I think he just called you a dummy.”
Both dragons stood and unfurled their wings. They leaped off the deck and flew across the yard, gaining speed, before gliding up into the sky between the next row of houses.
Connor stared off at the direction they’d gone. “I’m going to remember this day. This was the best possible day.”
I clutched the tube against my chest. “Can’t argue with that. Keep your phone on.”
I left him on the deck and left by the front. On the way to my car, I shot Summer a quick text that things were fine and I was on my way back. When I went to get into my Tesla, the double-parker was still blocking me in. It was a black SUV, and the engine was running. Probably some moron on his phone. I moved to the passenger window so I could politely tell whoever it was to get out of my goddamn way. The window was already open and staring at me through it was Robert Greaves.
Some primal instinct made me freeze, as if Greaves were a T-rex that could only spot movement.
“Get in,” Greaves said.
I looked around. The street was deserted, other than us. I could run, of course, but he already knew where my car and my mom’s house was.
“No need to panic, Mr. Parker. I just want to talk.”
Dr. Parker, I thought, but managed not to say. I lifted the handle and climbed in. The tinted windows cloaked the interior in dimness, but not so much that I couldn’t pick out the wood paneling and fine leather. It smelled brand new. I pulled the door nearly shut behind me but kept it from latching.
Greaves looked mildly amused. “You’re a cautious one, aren’t you?”
“I try to be.”
He peered past me at the house. “That’s your parents’ place, huh?”
“My mom’s.” I cleared my throat, aware of how nervous it sounded. “She’s due back any minute now.”
“Do wine tours offer door-to-door service now? That’s news to me.”
I clamped my mouth shut before another obvious lie snuck out. Greaves was too smart to be so easily fooled.
“How’s your brother doing?”
“Great,” I said, because in one sense it was true.
“I had a younger brother, too. Did you know that?”
I looked at him to try to get a read on his face, but it might as well have been invisible. “I did not.”
“Michael. Two years younger. He died when I was eight.”
I’m sorry to hear that would be the polite and expected thing to say, but I refused to give it to him.
“We lived in a house a lot like yours. Had an elderly neighbor, Mrs. Benkert. She never said no to an animal in need, so the shelter persuaded h
er to foster a couple of terriers.”
I wondered where this was going but didn’t ask. The longer he babbled on, the more likely people were to notice us here, and the safer I’d be.
“You probably don’t know this, but terrier was a loaded word in the animal rescue business. They’d call a dog a terrier mix when trying to find it a home. Ninety percent of the time, that meant something else.”
“Pit bull,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s right. I forgot I was talking to the guy who cracked domestication. Well, the dogs they pushed on Mrs. Benkert were obviously pit bulls. My brother and I didn’t know. One day we wandered into her yard, and they came out of nowhere.” He pushed up the sleeves of the black shirt he always wore. Scars from animal bites decorated them like tattoos. “A hundred and eight stitches. And I was the lucky one. My brother didn’t make it.” He tugged his sleeves back down.
“That . . . really sucks,” I said, fighting the sense of empathy before it became any stronger.
“Yes, it does. And I think it might help you understand why I have no interest in allowing dogs to return to this world.”
“That’s not your decision to make, though, is it?”
“You’re absolutely right. At the moment, it’s yours.” He picked up a sheet of paper from the dashboard in front of him. It had the Build-A-Dragon letterhead. “I’ve got two letters here. This one is the notice of your termination and forfeiture of your stock options. There’s also an affidavit on trespassing and destruction of property that will be forwarded to the local police.”
Yikes.
“I think you might prefer this letter,” Greaves said, lifting the second sheet from the dash. “This is your promotion to senior designer, with authorization to develop several new prototypes. There’s also a considerable budget to support your independent research projects.” He paused and looked at me. “Up to and including human therapeutics.”