CHAPTER THIRTY
Disputed Dreams
Even though I had to keep Octavius on the down-low, there were limits to that secrecy. They ended squarely with Connor, who’d never forgive me if I had access to a dragon and didn’t show it to him. Pronto.
Granted, there was a danger this might give him the wrong idea: that I was in this for the dragons. That’s why he would want to do it. Hell, that’s probably why most of my fellow designers did it. But I had an ulterior motive and the dragons were just means to an end.
Most of Connor’s mechanical engineering classes were online. It took him about twice as long as it should have, but at least he didn’t have to get to a physical classroom to earn a passing grade. That was yet another crappy part of dealing with a chronic degenerative condition: so much of the modern world expects a young man in his twenties to be healthy.
Sunday seemed like a good occasion to pop in on Connor and mom. I called ahead to give him the heads-up, and he answered on the second ring.
“N-zymatic.”
“Hey, C-section.”
He laughed. “I hate that one.”
“I know. What are you up to?”
“Killing Nazis. What about you?”
“I’m on my way over. Got something to show you.”
“Is it subpar video gaming skills? Because I’ve seen those.”
I snorted. “You wish.”
“Die, you Hitler-loving scum.”
“I hope you’re talking to the game,” I said.
“Uh, sure. Let’s say that.”
“Are you going to tell mom I’m coming over?” I quietly hoped it would win me some kind of a hot cooked lunch. Octavius had cleaned out all my deli meat, so I was down to PB&J at my place.
“She’s not here, bro.”
“Where is she?”
“Some kind of a wine bus tour. It runs all day.”
Well, that explained the full-volume Nazi slaughter. I told myself it was a good thing, because Mom probably needed a break. “It might be for the best. I don’t want to freak her out.”
The background noise of machine-gun fire halted suddenly. “Why, what are you bringing?” Connor asked.
“It’s a surprise.” And furthermore, I didn’t want to say it over the phone.
“Come on, give me a hint.”
When were kids, I used to catch all kinds of creatures outside and bring them in to keep as unauthorized pets. More than once, I’d lost track (or control) of a reptile in the house, only to have it reappear weeks later. Usually when Mom was just waking up. It occurred to me that, by bringing Octavius over, I might be daring history to repeat itself. “Let’s just say it’s a riff on one of my classic misbehaviors.”
He snickered. “Like that narrows it down.”
I got there about ten minutes later and had to ring the doorbell two times before the door’s deadbolt snicked open. Connor was nowhere to be seen within; he must have unlocked it with his phone. Over my protests, Mom had let him have access to the home controls after I moved out.
I noticed the tracks right away, a veritable spiderweb of narrow wheelmarks in the carpet that ran parallel to one another. It served as a kind of advance warning, so that I could steel myself not to look surprised when I found him sitting in his wheelchair in his room. It was the same one, of course, but now it seemed almost like an extension of him. He’d even wrapped the right-side handle with camouflage duct tape, an old gamer’s trick we developed as kids to steady the wrists of our desk chairs. He was making good use of it, too, judging by the score in the top right of his massive projection screen.
“I thought this game didn’t come out until next month.”
“It doesn’t. I got into the beta program.”
“How?”
“By being awesome.”
“Seriously.”
“A buddy from the engineering program hooked me up,” he said.
I watched as he equipped some kind of machine gun and used it to mow down a line of charging Nazis. “It looks awesome.”
“Yeah, it is. I’d let you play, but you’d just be a liability.”
“Right. You have all the cool stuff, and I don’t.” I was going to enjoy this. I cleared my throat. “Octavius?”
My little dragon winged in through the doorway, circled once, and landed on the handle to his chair. Connor shouted and almost fell out of it. “Jesus! What is that?”
“That, little bro, is my dragon.”
“No fricking way!”
“He goes by Octavius.”
On hearing his name, Octavius leaped into the air again, flapping his little wings like a crazed bat. Connor followed his every move, as if hypnotized.
“All right, you little show-off.” I grinned and patted my shoulder.
Octavius folded his wings and crash-landed onto the approximate area I’d indicated. His claws dug into my skin as he fought to keep his balance. I gritted my teeth against the pain, because I didn’t want to ruin this moment.
“Octavius, this is my brother Connor.”
Connor gaped and struggled to find words. “W-where did you get him?”
“Where do you think?”
“I thought people couldn’t buy them yet.” He jabbed an accusing finger at me. “You said we couldn’t get them.”
“Well, some of us get access to video games, and some of us get access to dragons.”
“He looks too small to be a Rover.”
That caught me off-guard. “You know about the Rover?”
“Of course. Did you not think I’d keep tabs on the coolest company in Phoenix?”
“He’s not one of our production models. He’s kind of an accident, actually.” I told him the story of the too-small dragon egg, how Evelyn canceled the design, and the haphazard dragon hatching I conducted in my condo.
“Dude, you should have called me.”
“I was terrified to say anything to anyone. If they found out at work, I’d be in deep shit.”
“Why? He seems like the best accident ever.”
“They’re kind of strict about stuff that comes out of the hatchery.”
“Greaves is worried about the public image, huh?”
Jeez, he was keeping tabs. “Don’t even get me started. He also has this feature points system that keeps getting in the way of my designs. That’s why I came up with Octavius’s design in the first place. To send a message.”
“That tiny dragons are awesome? Message received.”
He was so wowed, I almost wanted to hand Octavius over right then. But I’d done the imprinting and keeping him close to me was the only way I could be certain the company would never find out.
Whether or not I was getting attached to the little guy was completely beside the point.
“That reminds me, you can’t tell anyone about this. My record’s squeaky clean at the company and I need it to stay that way, for phase two.”
“What’s phase two?”
“That’s where I introduce your mutation and prove that it causes disease.”
“I don’t know what that’s going to accomplish. Other than putting a dragon in a wheelchair.”
“It’s a proof of principle. If it gets you a formal diagnosis, then maybe you qualify for a drug trial. Or even gene therapy.” And I could even lay the groundwork for that, with Build-A-Dragon’s resources.
“It’s never going to work,” he said.
“Let me worry about the science. At this point, you’re only qualified to play video games.”
“This isn’t about science.” Connor pointed at Octavius. “Look at what you’ve made. It’s something tangible. Something real. How are you not just astonished by it?”
“I’ll admit that the dragon thing is cool, but I have bigger plans for that place.”
“As usual, you’re focused on the wrong thing. I’m fine, dude.”
I looked at his wheelchair and remembered how slow he’d been to climb back into it when Octavius scared him. He wasn’t fine. He was stubborn, and shortsighted, and unwilling to take my help. “Yeah, you’re something. I should go.”
“Come on, don’t be like that.”
“It’s fine.” I turned away from him. “I want to slip out before Mom gets home.”
He tried a different tactic. “She’ll be just as ticked if you don’t wait for her.”
But she’d be just as ticked if she came home to find I’d brought a reptile into her house. Again.
“We were never here.”
His jaw tightened. “See you.”
I walked out, with Octavius on my shoulder. He looked back at Connor and made a soft chirp, as if confused. That makes two of us. The renewed sound of machine-gun fire followed us down the hallway and out the front door.