CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Hatching
One of my favorite things about our dragons was the precision of incubation timing. The moment an egg slid out of the printer, we knew exactly when it would be ready to hatch, give or take fifteen minutes. Evelyn had planned our itinerary with that in mind; by the time we got to the designated parking area, we had about two hours to go. Several of Tom’s staff had driven up early to prep the hatching area. I almost didn’t notice them at first, because the dragon wranglers tended to keep to themselves at the company. Plus, they were all wearing the green-brown-tan pattern of camouflage that the soldiers were; they just didn’t have names or rank insignia. Of course, it also helped that they were lounging in the shade of the squat stone building at the end of the parking lot. No one knew how to lounge better than our dragon wranglers. I supposed they were saving their strength for the wrangling of the dragons. Tom called them over and set them to unloading the eggs while he and I went inside.
The building turned out to be an old bunker with a single room. Large metal lockers lined the far wall. Closer to us, just inside the door, were stacks of large white coolers. These contained the raw meat we’d use to entice the hatchlings into bonding with humans. The only other thing in the room was a long metal table, around which six soldiers—three men, three women—stood together, all reading from stacks of crisp white paper.
“What is that?” I whispered to Tom.
“The training manual for the infantry dragons,” he said. “Covers everything from hatching to discipline training.”
They’re actually reading it, too. That was the really impressive part. On the consumer side of our business, we had a manual that covered ninety percent of the issues customers called our support line about. The fact that they still called suggested that very few read it.
The soldiers kept reading, but straightened when another man walked in. Must have been an officer of some kind. He and Tom knew each other already; they shook hands. Then they were coming at me, and I was suddenly very conscious of how straight I was standing.
“This is Noah Parker,” Tom said. “He’ll assist with the hatching.”
“Captain Santoro.” He crushed my hand in a friendly sort of way.
“Good to meet you, sir,” I said.
“You don’t need to call me sir. You’re a civilian.”
“Right. Sorry about that.”
“Let’s get you suited up.”
We followed him to the equipment lockers, where he produced camouflage shirts and pants like the soldiers were wearing and gave us each a set. “Try these on.”
We changed right there in the bunker. Normally, I’d have been a little self-conscious, but the thrill of getting to borrow a legit Army uniform more than compensated. The shirt didn’t have a name or rank, just like the dragon-wranglers were wearing. It ended up a little big on me, but I didn’t mind that, either.
Outside the bunker, the dragon wranglers had removed the eggs from their crates and placed them in a wide semicircle facing the bunker. Soldiers carried out the coolers and got them arranged in the middle of it, within easy reach. It looked like there was going to be one soldier in place for each dragon, which made things easy.
“How are we looking on time?” Tom asked.
I checked my watch. “Any minute now.”
He set off and made a quick pass of the eggs, then came back to egg number four and pointed. “This one will be first, Captain.”
I swear, the egg trembled as if obeying his command.
“Feldman,” the captain said.
One of the young women ran forward and took up station in front of the egg, which had begun to crackle. She had a pile of raw meat in each hand. It might have been the heat, but I thought maybe her hands were shaking, too. Rightly so. I remembered my first hatching, back when we were trying to crack domestication. Pretty sure I shook a lot more than that.
Tom appeared at her shoulder and spoke to her in low tones. Another crack came from the egg and a snout emerged. Tom snapped his fingers and pointed to egg number three. The captain called a name, and another soldier jogged into place, fresh meat in hand. One of the dragon wranglers moved over to coach if needed. This happened three more times in quick succession. When there was one egg left, the remaining soldier moved in front of it without being told. I thought Tom might go over, but he was occupied helping the first dragon emerge from its shell while the soldier fed it. He caught my eye and jerked his head in that direction.
Guess he means me. The egg was already shaking by the time I joined the soldier, a clean-shaven guy whose name tape said his last name was Kim. He was about my age, Asian American, and his face was set with sheer determination. We watched the first crack appear, and the snout emerge. The dragon made fast work of the egg. Once it was two-thirds out, it shook itself and sent eggshell fragments flying. I jumped. Kim didn’t so much as blink.
The dragon uncurled itself in a single sinuous motion. Its body was long, almost six feet snout to tail. The musculature rippled as it moved. Compared to the Rover or dragons like Octavius, it had a far more dangerous air. The spikes along the dorsal ridge—which were Wong’s idea—added to the effect. It was thirty seconds old and already looked like a deadly predator. Its eyes fixed on us. The tongue flicked out, tasting the air. Kim reached out one of his hands, offering the meat. Which the thing had to smell, and if it was anything like other dragons I’d seen hatch, it was hungry.
“Come on,” Kim said, his voice surprisingly soft. He turned his hand to give the dragon a better look at the meat.
I’ll be damned, he did read the manual. This was the imprinting exercise right out of the Tom Johnson textbook. The only problem was, the dragon didn’t budge. It lifted its head back and forth, watching us, but it stayed in the comfort of its little nest. Kim’s determination flickered and he glanced at me. Oddly enough, it reminded me of when Octavius had hatched. He hadn’t wanted to come near me, either.
“Try throwing him a little piece. Halfway between you.”
Kim did that, keeping his motions calm and slow. The dragon fixated on the little piece of meat as it flew and landed wetly on the ground. It looked up at us, back at the meat, and lunged at it. The thing was fast. It scooped up the meat and chewed, watching us.
“Again,” I whispered.
Kim threw another piece, which the dragon caught in midair. Now it was only a few feet away, watching with a bit more of an inviting expression. Kim took a knee and offered the rest of the meat in one of his hands.
The dragon came. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It worked. It had worked on Octavius, too, the only difference being that if I’d failed back then my life wouldn’t have been in immediate peril.
“Nice work,” I told Kim.
He smiled and gave me a nod. He and the dragon were almost touching now, and it didn’t seem to bother the dragon at all. Imprinting for the win.
While he fed it, I took stock around the rest of the half circle. All of the soldiers had the dragons eating out of their hands. The things were ravenous, too. Most of the meat was already gone. But the tension was, too. The dragons now associated the humans in camouflage as a source of food and protection. The bond was in place.
Tom Johnson ambled over a few minutes later. He’d worked his way up the line, chatting with each soldier and admiring the dragons. He got to ours and congratulated Kim, pausing to pet the dragon along its back. I marveled at his instant rapport. The guy got along with every dragon as well as its owner.
Tom stepped over to stand next to me. “That went well.”
“What do you think of the dragons?”
“They’re well-built. I like the body shape, sort of a Komodo dragon who’s been going to the gym.”
I laughed. “Yeah, that’s what we were going for.”
“They’re agile right out of the egg, too. The Army’s going to love ’em.”
“I hope so,” I said. “So, what’s next?”
“The risky part’s over. The dragons get a nap, their handlers get a briefing from the captain.”
“What do we get?”
“Lunch is what I’m thinking,” he said.
Twenty minutes later, we were back on the highway headed home. Tom stopped at a taco shack on the side of the road. Good Taco, this one was called. It was the kind of place that had a handwritten menu and only accepted cash. By the time I extricated myself from the passenger seat, he’d already ordered. For both of us. In fluent Spanish. I kept an eye on the truck, mainly because he’d left it running. He came back a minute later with two bags of tacos and chips and two non-brand colas on ice. The delicious aroma made my stomach growl. Hatching dragons is hungry work. I was going to smell like the taco shack when this was done, but I didn’t care.
“You speak Spanish like a native,” I told him.
“I picked it up when I lived in South America.”
“Man, you really have been all over the place.”
“I go where the animals are. Often as not, that’s somewhere they don’t speak English.” He put the truck in drive.
“We can eat here if you want.”
“Nah, I’d just as soon get home to the family.”
Your wife of fifteen years and your two kids. I elected not to volunteer that I had this information. “Works for me.”
He turned out to be an especially adept driver-while-eating. Of course, it helped that the truck had an auto-drive feature. The hand on the wheel was mostly for show. “You married?” he asked.
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
I sighed. “Kind of.”
He laughed. “What kind of answer is that?”
“She’s mad at me.”
“What did you do?”
His casual lob of that question took me aback. “Why do you think I did something?”
“Oh, come on.”
“Well, basically, I agreed to do this. The whole developing-dragons-for-weapons thing. She doesn’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“She thinks it’s wrong to subvert nature into killing machines.”
“Nature does a pretty good job of that on her own, if you ask me.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You’d know.”
“Yeah, I would.”
It reminded me of something I really wanted to ask him, and I figured now was my best chance. “How did Evelyn get you to do this, anyway? You’ve always been really protective of dragons.”
“And?”
“Training them for the DOD seems out of character.”
“I don’t agree.” He took a slug from his soda, but never took his eyes from the road. “Let’s say I wasn’t here. Would the company still be trying to win this contract?”
I didn’t know how much he knew about the company’s financial problems, and it occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t say. But ultimately it didn’t matter, because the answer was the same. “Probably so.”
“Someone was going to have to hatch the dragons and train the people. If it’s me, then I know it’s done right,” he said. “That gives them the best chance of survival. Seems pretty protective to me.”
“Fair point. Still a lot of responsibility to take on, though.”
“I figure I owe it to them to try.”
He owes it to the dragons. Now that I thought about it, maybe I did, too.