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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Air Trials

We convened in the desert for the third and final dragon field trial. At least, I hoped it was the third trial. The military could really decide to do whatever they wanted. If none of our dragons made spec, they could scrap the idea entirely. And then we might find ourselves back at square one, with lots of incredible designs for dragons that no one seemed to want. I supposed it was possible that we could shop them around to other buyers, like the militaries of U.S. allies. I didn’t know anything about the laws surrounding that, but selling technology that our own military had rejected seemed like an uphill battle. New customers would want their own modifications. All of that would take time that Build-A-Dragon didn’t have.

But that was a problem that had to wait. The Humvee that had picked us up at Build-A-Dragon’s headquarters brought us to yet another location, this one an outdoor facility deep in the desert. Tall scree-topped dunes enclosed the area where we parked, which was about the size of four football fields. The central field held what appeared to be a spread-out obstacle course. One section held tall narrow towers painted in bright colors with various hoops at the top. Another featured short concrete pipes with various diameters. Some were only two feet in diameter. Others I could have walked through with my arms outstretched. The dominant feature, though, was a ramshackle three-story concrete building with cut-out doors and windows.

On the far side of the obstacle course were two long parallel stretches of pavement; they ran beside the course and had to be half a mile long. I could see the heat mirage shimmering above them. It must be asphalt. How that factored in to this setup, I couldn’t determine.

The soldier in the front passenger seat opened my door for me. That was new. Then he said, “Right this way, Dr. Parker.”

So now I’m “Dr. Parker” and I do exist. Amazing how winning the second field trial in such dramatic fashion changed opinions. That wasn’t the only change, either. We approached a small bunker on the edge of the obstacle-course field, and out front waiting for us was Major Nakamura.

“Hello again,” she said.

“Hello, Major,” Evelyn said.

“Where’s Major Johnson?” I blurted out, because I’m that gauche. His constant presence had been, perhaps, more of a comfort than I realized.

“With the other team. I thought I should get to know you a bit better.”

“Will he—” I began, when Evelyn stepped on my foot.

“Oh, sorry, Noah.” She gave me a look that said shut up and then turned to Nakamura. “That is a lovely idea. Shall we?”

Now I see. Nakamura was the shot caller and her presence here signaled that we were the new front-runners. Deservedly so, though I’d rather been looking forward to seeing Major Johnson. Being around the guy made me feel instantly calm. With Nakamura, I felt like I should be standing at attention at all times.

Nakamura gestured to the shadowed interior of the bunker. Evelyn entered, she followed, and I was an afterthought once more. I understood—and deeply appreciated—the Army’s forethought in building these stone bunkers. The short walk from the Humvee to the building door already had me smudging sweat onto the inside of my sunglasses.

The inside of the bunker was a series of contrasts between old construction and new tech. Anything physically connected to the structure itself was plain and utilitarian: the narrow rectangular hallways, the low ceilings, the wide viewing window. Spliced into that in almost awkward fashion was the modern tech—electrical wiring, comm stations, and what appeared to be a large radar screen.

“The place we’re standing does not technically exist,” Major Nakamura said. “You won’t find it on any maps or satellite images.”

I kept my amusement to myself because Build-A-Dragon knew all-too-well about paid exclusion from satellite imagery. Then again, when it was the U.S. military, they probably didn’t have to pay for the privilege. I considered asking about property maps, which were often an indirect means to identify the owner of a property. But this was the military and they knew what they were doing. Besides, I didn’t need Evelyn to step on my foot again.

“Why so much security?” Evelyn asked. A more sensible question.

“We normally use this facility to test some of our other high-performance aircraft. The kind of thing best kept hidden from curious eyes.”

She means drones. It had to be the unspoken explanation, because the military, as far as I knew, had little other reason for aerial obstacle courses. And in fact it explained why the large building in the center of the course bothered me. Its architecture was decidedly non-American. More like Middle Eastern. There were old shipping containers stacked into blocky semblances of outbuildings. It looked like a fortified military compound. That realization had me seeing each obstacle in a new light. The big blocks of concrete represented a convoy. The building was a terrorist cell or enemy headquarters. The long tubes could represent indoor hallways, or even sewers. The rings atop tall poles might represent . . . something else. Gun ports on aircraft, maybe.

Everything here was a test of the flying dragons’ performance requirements. Come to think of it, those long stretches of pavement on the far side of the field were probably twin runways. Man, it’d be sweet to see a Gray Eagle or a Predator land on one of those strips of asphalt. I’d never seen a military drone in person outside of a museum. Connor, naturally, claimed that he’d encountered them multiple times while flying his own little drones out in the desert.

“Will we see any of those things?” I asked, in what I hoped was a casual tone.

“No. We’ve cleared the airspace for today’s demonstrations.”

“Ah.” Well, at least our dragons wouldn’t inadvertently get blown out of the sky by air-to-air missiles. I supposed that was good.

“Major,” said the operator of the radar screen, and then he gave her a nod.

“They’re starting,” Nakamura said.

We’re going first again. I liked seeing my dragons before the competition, but I also hated how much it left unknown. The first field trials had taught a memorable lesson in humility. We moved closer to the viewing window.

“Contact,” said the guy watching the radar screen.

I hurried over, enticed by the lure of the radar tech. Sure enough, six blips had appeared, approaching the radar position from the north and flying in a V-formation.

“Those are the dragons?” I asked.

“They should be. Altitude and bearing are on spec. We’ll have visual in thirty seconds.”

I shook my head in wonder. “I can’t believe you can pick up something so small.”

“Normally our software would filter these out as anomalies. Now, we have the sensitivity set so high it’ll pick up anything bigger than a mourning dove.”

I started to laugh but reined it in when I realized he was serious. He was a young guy, probably about my age, and probably had the slightest build of anyone we’d encountered in the military thus far. But he stared at the radar screen and spoke with an air of intensity. Like a hatcher handling an egg. This guy was committed to the tech. I could appreciate that. “That’s awesome. But our dragons eat mourning doves.”

“Here they come!” Evelyn had borrowed a pair of field optics and was looking north. “Oh, are those . . .”

“Munitions,” said the major, who’d taken the other pair of binoculars and stepped up beside her.

“They’re bigger than I expected.”

“Twenty-five pounds. They’re the same weight as the live rounds we designed for them,” Nakamura said.

“Oh, so not real, then.” Evelyn sounded as relieved as I felt. Despite our self-assurances that the past weeks of training would prevent these dragons from flying into one another, that wasn’t something I wanted to test with live explosives. At least while I was on-site.

“They have only half of the normal explosives, and we left out the incendiary and antipersonnel effects.”

“Oh,” Evelyn said after a minute.

We were probably thinking the same thing. Antipersonnel effects.

I was kicking myself for not thinking to bring my own binoculars, but now I could see the dragons without assistance. I knew what Evelyn had meant about the weight—the dragons flew well despite their burdens, but lacked that flair that had taken everyone’s breath away at the Build-A-Dragon arena.

Nakamura produced a two-way radio and hit the transmit button. “Start the targets.”

Seconds later, half a dozen vehicles that I’d mistaken for stationary targets shuddered into motion. They were all in a line and moving in the same direction, away from the dragons, at something like twenty miles an hour. Instantly, this seemed to trigger some recognition among the flying reptiles. They altered their flight path to intercept.

Nakamura leaned over to ask something of my buddy at the radar screen.

“Forty-six knots,” he said.

I smiled to myself, because that was well above the required airspeed while burdened. Just wait until you see them not carrying anything.

The dragons had shifted their positions and now flew in a diagonal line approaching the simulated convoy. The first dragon released its ordnance. The bomb tilted downward as it fell, and I knew it would be a direct hit. Nakamura put a hand on Evelyn’s binoculars to lower them. Thump. A yellow-orange flash, then the sound, and then a wave of displaced air washed over us. All I could think was That’s a half-power munition? The second dragon had released. Its bomb flew true, detonating on the second vehicle in the convoy.

“Yes!” I shouted, but the sound of the explosion drowned it out. That was two for two. In short order, the next two bombs found their targets. I stood there on the verge of celebration. The explosion looked different, though. Less bright orange flame, more brown dust.

“What happened?” Evelyn asked.

“That’s a miss,” Nakamura said.

Damn. Five for six made the spec, but I’d wanted a perfect score so there could be no debate as to the dragons’ performance. But I soon forgot that, because the dragons had shifted into the next phase of their trials, obstacle flying. They swept down into the gauntlet of tunnels and hoops and moving pendulums. You’d think that, as somewhat-intelligent animals flying through a dangerous course, they might slow down a little.

Instead, freed of their burdens, they pushed themselves to the limits of speed. They dove, pivoted, and danced their way through every danger. I held my breath, waiting for a collision like the one we’d seen in the coliseum. But this group of dragons seemed aware of one another. They kept an almost perfect distance apart even as they dodged among concrete pillars and over sharp embankments that meant certain death with one small mistake. They were fearless.

And fast, too, it went without saying. My buddy at the radar station wasn’t about to let it go unsaid, though. “Sixty-five knots. Not bad.”

Nakamura shot him a stern look; evidently she wasn’t seeking editorials. But we couldn’t deny how well the dragons were flying. How effortlessly they handled themselves despite the dangers. Then, when they passed through the course, it was an all-out sprint to the finish line on the far end of the field. The dragons seemed to sense it, too. They pumped their wings faster and faster, low to the ground, jostling with one another for the lead position.

Radar guy whistled. “Seventy-six knots.”

Evelyn smiled and nudged my hand like Way to go.

The dragons passed the finish line, a fifty-foot pole topped with a white streamer. Whether it was their own recognition or a response to some signal, they stopped flapping and glided, wings fully outstretched, turning in unison to make a circle around the entire field. It was at least as good as watching the Blue Angels. Maybe better. And I definitely let out a whoop as their shadows passed over our bunker.

Meanwhile, an Army truck had trundled into view from the north alongside the runway. It was a flatbed loaded with empty dragon cages. This, too, seemed to convey some signal. The dragons turned and winged toward it, cutting short their victory lap around the field. Which alone spoke to their training, because it took real discipline not to want to finish a victory lap.

They landed on the rims of their cages and then swung in, almost bat-like, closing the cage doors after them. That whole trick—entering the cage and shutting it afterward—was something we’d written into the Build-A-Dragon training manual for our customers who bought retail dragons. The key was to reward the dragon whenever it did so. Sure enough, the driver of the truck emerged from the cab, climbed up, and began dropping meat into every cage.

I’ll be damned. Someone actually did read the manual.

“That was a good performance,” Major Nakamura said. “Your competition has their work cut out for them.”

I tried, unsuccessfully, not to bask in the first bit of praise I’d heard from the sternest of the majors. Meanwhile, a squad of soldiers had swarmed onto the field to reset the obstacles and clear the vehicles in the simulated convoy. A whistle sounded, and then the vehicles trundled slowly back into position.

“Contact,” said the radar operator.

Here we go. It was time to see what Greaves and his team had come up with. As much as I wanted to pretend that the stakes weren’t high, it was hard to deny that a lot was riding on this. The next five minutes would decide the fate of the DOD contract, the company, and possibly my future as a dragon designer.

Evelyn and Nakamura both had their binoculars again, leaving me feeling like the third wheel.

“I have them,” Nakamura said, and pointed for Evelyn’s benefit.

Both of them watched without speaking. The silence seemed to stretch until it was heavy and awkward.

“Interesting wing design,” Evelyn said finally. Then she handed her field glasses to me.

The binoculars were, hands down, the best quality optics I’d ever handled. The field of view was wide enough that I found the incoming dragons almost instantly. The magnification made it up close and personal. Which is how, despite the energetic flapping as they struggled to fly with heavy ordnance in tow, I recognized the long and slender wings with pointed tips that were reminiscent of a certain migratory bird. Son of a bitch. “That’s our wing design!”

“It does look remarkably similar,” Evelyn said.

Remarkably similar, my ass. “It’s a carbon copy.”

“Maybe they reached the same answer we did by going about it the same way,” Evelyn said.

“Convergent evolution in dragon design?” I asked.

Evelyn shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“Maybe,” I said, and I tried not to let all of my disbelief seep into my tone. She could be right; anyone with half a scientific brain might look to the fastest modern birds for design inspiration. Then again, corporate espionage was right out of the Robert Greaves playbook. I fumed about it but there was nothing I could do. We watched their dragons approach the convoy. One, two, three direct hits. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. Oh, hell. They’re going to beat us again. But the sixth dragon’s release looked awkward somehow, as if the creature let slip the ordnance before it was ready to. The bomb fell way short and detonated in the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust. I celebrated quietly out of respect for Major Nakamura.

The other dragons were fast, but not as fast as ours had been. They cleared the obstacles without too many issues, though at least one of them clipped a hoop while passing through. I found myself wincing each time it happened, quietly hoping the dragon was okay, even though an injury would probably bring me success. Dragons were dragons, and I didn’t wish any of them harm.

As they neared the final stage of the flight test, Nakamura asked radar guy for the speed and was told sixty-eight. Above spec, but not nearly as fast as ours. Before too long, another truck arrived to collect the dragons. On another day, I’d have admired their design. They had slimmer body profiles than our dragons, and a more triangular head. The eye position seemed a little different—more to the side of the head, which would reduce depth perception but give superior peripheral vision.

Major Nakamura’s phone rang—undoubtedly a call from Major Johnson to discuss the trials—and she stepped out to answer.

“They stole our wing design,” I said to Evelyn. I didn’t care if radar guy heard this part.

“We don’t know that for certain.”

“Come on, Evelyn.”

She lifted her eyebrows at my tone.

I held up my hands. “Sorry. But you know what I mean.”

“Even if they did, it would be difficult to prove.”

“It’s not just personal offense here. What really worries me is how they got our design.” If they compromised our flier design, they might have access to other things. Every custom design, every mainline model.

“That’s a valid concern.”

“Could they have hacked our servers?” I asked. Network security wasn’t really my forte; when I’d been interested in hiding from security measures at Build-A-Dragon, I was on the inside.

“Doubtful. The design network is on a closed system, and the rest of our network has state-of-the-art encryption.” She frowned. “I’ll still have everything audited tomorrow, but that seems an unlikely route in.”

“Do you think someone inside the company helped him?”

She frowned. “I don’t want to think that. It would have to be someone close to Design.”

Yeah, I didn’t want to think that either. I trusted Korrapati and Wong implicitly. The other employees closest to us were the hatchery staff. They were a bit odd, but I couldn’t see them helping Greaves. “I wonder if they actually got the full design,” I said. “To me, it looked like they didn’t incorporate the wing joints that maximize the aerodynamics.”

“Are you sure?”

“It didn’t look like it. And their dragons weren’t as fast as ours.” The other dragons had other differences, but the wings were what really mattered. If they’d watched our dragons flying today, they’d most likely realized how critical the wing joints were, and would incorporate that in their next design. The theft of the shape, though, still bothered me. Maybe they’d seen the simulator results when one of us ran it during the design phase. But no, Build-A-Dragon’s buildings were shielded against intrusions.

Outside intrusions.

Damn. “I just figured it out.”

“What did you figure?”

“The field trials.” I’d suppressed the memory of those trials because of how they ended, but we didn’t enjoy nearly the same protections in the arena as we did inside the building. “We flew the dragons outside. Anyone could have gotten a good look.” And maybe even eavesdropped when I was trying to impress Tom Johnson. I felt a pang of guilt.

Evelyn let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Noah. That was my fault.”

“What? No it wasn’t.”

“Robert knows me too well. He knew I’d want a field demonstration to make sure the aerial dragons had met spec.”

“We had no reason to think he’d spy on us.”

She bit her lip. “We’ll have to be more careful in the future.”

“This is the final trial, isn’t it?”

She glanced at the radar guy, then looked back at me. “We’ll talk later.”

Major Nakamura reentered with her usual brisk manner. “The field demonstrations are over, so let’s get you back. You’ll have our decision within a week.”

“Really? So long?” Evelyn asked.

I shared her disappointment. It seemed like we’d won two out of three trials hands down. Even if we hadn’t, I wanted to know sooner rather than later.

“There’s a lot to consider. We don’t award defense contracts lightly,” Nakamura said.

“Of course,” Evelyn said. “Take all the time you need.”

Her voice echoed with quiet confidence.

I wished I felt the same.


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