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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Desert Designs

It was tempting to dive into all of the designs simultaneously—we hadn’t had this much new design work in a while—but Evelyn wanted us to take it in stages dictated by the demonstration schedule. The infantry dragon would be evaluated first, and that was going to be hard enough. Especially given the specs. She wanted us to make a good first impression with the DOD officials. I wanted us to do that, too, but also to show that I could effectively lead the Design team in crunch time.

We developed all sorts of one-off dragons for high-paying customers, but there were certain types of dragons that were ordered all the time. Mini Rovers, for example, sold well to customers in urban areas. Custom Laptop orders seemed to follow the latest color and pattern trends in the fashion world. Finally, a surprising number of customers wanted the dragon version of a Rottweiler. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t ask a lot of questions. But thanks to those frequent shady orders we had prototypes with a lot of the characteristics that the military wanted for their infantry dragon.

We started with a custom model that I knew too well: a jet-black slender attack dragon that, incidentally, had notched at least one kill on company property. That poor little birthday dragon.

The coloring had to change, of course. The DOD made no secret that a desert environment was likely. My personal contribution was a special modification to the pigmentation genes that changed over time. As skin cells divided during gestation, various sets of those genes would flip on and off in somewhat random fashion. The resulting pigments—a range of browns, yellows, and a few greens—gave the dragon a natural desert camouflage. Let’s see Greaves top that.

I’d used this trick on some customs, but only ones that shipped out. Most of our orders were delivered as eggs that the customers hatched in their homes. I had yet to see an actual dragon with my genetic camouflage with my own eyes. Now, I found myself wanting to inspect one up close. But no, that wasn’t yet part of Evelyn’s carefully orchestrated plan. Every aspect of our approach had to mimic the eventual supply chain. We’d design and print the eggs, have the DOD hatch them, and ensure Johnson’s team was in place to take up the training.

Korrapati took control of the design and increased the heat tolerance. Desert environments would be taxing, even for a reptile. Wong handled the metabolism adjustments necessary to allow it to thrive without constant access to fresh meat. We tweaked the body style as well, making it stouter and with a lower center of gravity. Unlike the custom attack dragons, which probably went after soft prey that I didn’t want to think much about, these dragons would be in combat. They had to be tough.

We pored over the design numerous times, both as a team and individually. The 3D image evolved from a slender predator into a husky bruiser of a dragon. If anything, it reminded me of a Komodo dragon, one of the reptilian predators that had contributed DNA to the original dragon reference sequence. They had similar shapes, too. Yet that was where the similarities ended. A Komodo dragon looks fierce but they move slowly, only about twelve miles per hour. Our dragon model could run twice that fast and maintain the pace for half an hour.

“Well, I can’t think of anything else to do,” I told Evelyn. We stood at Wong’s workstation, watching a three-dimensional hologram of the dragon as it rotated slowly in midair. Wong watched it, and us, with his usual crooked smile. He wants us to make the call. Which is probably how I’d feel. No, actually, when I was a designer I’d probably have wanted the green light, no matter what the bosses thought. God, sometimes when I looked back, it was surprising I’d maintained somewhat continual employment.

“It looks good,” Evelyn said. “Fierce.”

“Scary is another word for it,” I said.

“How are we on performance metrics?”

“We’ve met the threshold for everything my simulator can model.” That was strength, speed, endurance, bite pressure, and a number of other measures. “Wish I could see it in real life.”

“Do you doubt the simulator?”

“Of course not.” Yet it was computer code, and the genome was biological code. There were bound to be subtle discrepancies. I wasn’t going to say that, though. The team needed a show of confidence.

“So, it’s ready,” Evelyn said.

“Yes.”

“Very ready,” Wong said.

Korrapati muttered something that could have been agreement; she was still buried in the code. And probably would be until long after we’d printed the eggs.

Wong took a bite of an apple. The crunch made me wince. It was my least favorite habit of his. “Still need name,” he said.

“I’ve been racking my brain, but I’ve got nothing so far,” I said.

“No problem. I have one.”

Of course he does. “All right, let’s hear it.”

“This is for army, right?”

“The DOD didn’t say, but probably,” I said.

“First rank in army is private. So for this one, we call it Private Wong.”

I tried to contain myself. I really did, but once a bark of laughter escaped my lips, it became a roar. Private Wong. I doubled over, panting. Korrapati laughed, too. Even Evelyn giggled.

I put my hand on Wong’s shoulder. “Someday you’re going to come up with a good name for a dragon model. That day is not today.”

He wrinkled his brow. “No good?”

I couldn’t decide if it sounded more like a tasteless B movie or a redshirt character in Star Trek. Either way, it wouldn’t stand a chance with the DOD clients. I tried to picture Major Nakamura saying Private Wong, but I couldn’t. “It has to sound serious and impressive.”

“We can figure out the name later,” Evelyn said. “For now, we need to print the first round of eggs in order to make the schedule.”

Dragon eggs had a certain incubation time, and we also had to allow for the imprinting and training exercises. Lots of places that things could go wrong, even if the design was flawless. I wanted to be there for all of it. I should be there for all of it, in my opinion, but not everyone agreed.

“Are we ready to call it done?” I asked.

Wong had a mouthful of apple but gave me a thumbs-up.

Korrapati glanced over her shoulder, sagged, and then turned around. “I suppose we should.”

I looked back at Evelyn. “We’re ready to print.”

“I agree. Good work, everyone.”

She walked back with me as I returned to my office. Before we got there, her tablet beeped with the approval request to print the eggs.

I grinned. “Wong doesn’t waste any time.”

“No, he does not.”

She pressed a fingerprint to the biometric scanner on her tablet. A second later, I heard the distant whirring of the God Machine swinging into motion. No, the egg printer, I reminded myself. Summer really didn’t care for our casual name.

“I’ll start the clock,” I said. Ten days to hatching, and four weeks to the field trials. The wait was going to be brutal.


When we walked into the design lab, the egg printer was still humming. However, a parade of white-clothed staffers with their egg carts nearly obscured it from view. I slipped in close enough to get a glimpse of an egg as it came out. It was larger than any of our other models’ eggs, and the shell was the color of wet sand. Here and there whorls of brighter orange or pale yellow added a splash of color, but they were mostly dark, earthy colors. Serious colors for a serious egg for a serious dragon. I tried not to think about just how serious.

The hatchers team-lifted each egg and nestled it into a foam cushion atop their wheeled egg carts. I’d long since learned to stay out of their way; hatchery staffers became a bit hyper-focused when they had an egg in their care. God help you if you accidentally got in their way.

One time Wong was rolling through the hatchery on his way to work, got clipped by an egg cart, and went careening off into the side of a hatching pod. I heard it and came running in, only to find him sprawled out on the floor against the wall. The hatchers and their egg were nowhere to be seen. Later, they admitted they’d heard the crash, but their first thought was to get the egg safely into its pod.

Wong and Korrapati stayed to watch a few eggs, then left together, talking about lunch. I felt a weird flare of envy at that. Evelyn might have sensed it, as she eased up next to me as I watched them go.

“I used to be the one who people went to lunch with,” I told her.

“And now you are not.”

“Was it something I said?” I asked.

“You became the group leader.”

“I know, but I’d still like to be included.”

“Don’t take it personally, Noah. You have responsibilities that they don’t.”

“I suppose,” I said.

“Speaking of responsibility, you should get them started on the marine design as soon as possible.”

Ooh, a distraction. “You know what? I’ll get started right now.”

“What about Korrapati and Wong?”

“They deserve a break.”

Choosing to ignore the look of concern on her face, I slid into the nearest workstation to start on the design. By the time my designers returned about an hour later, I was in the zone.

“Hey,” I said. “How was lunch?” I managed to keep most of the edge out of my tone of voice.

“Good,” she said. “We have some ideas for the marine dragon,” she said.

I gestured at the workstation. “Already started it.”

“Oh.” She shared a glance with Wong.

“What?”

“Well, we were thinking we might tackle the Marine while you got started on the flying model.”

I shook my head. “Evelyn wants us on the marine model next, so I thought I’d take a crack.”

“We don’t mind—” she started, but I waved her off.

“I know, and you’ll get your turn, I promise you.” Once I’m confident we have what we need. There was too much riding on this design.

“We understand,” Korrapati said. “Let us know if you need something.” She slipped quietly into my old workstation.

Wong rolled himself back into his spot without saying a word.


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Framed