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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Deal

Director-level systems permissions gave me some new privileges at Build-A-Dragon that I hadn’t yet explored. First on the list, and something I was very excited about, was access to some of Build-A-Dragon’s internal camera feeds. It was possible that they’d granted this to Evelyn’s office workstation, not realizing she moved upstairs. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to ask. Build-A-Dragon, like many high-tech companies, was careful about where they placed their cameras and sensors. Hardware and the systems that controlled it could be hacked, so it was risky to point a camera at anything that might be proprietary.

Even so, there were plenty of cameras in public spaces—I’d catalogued most of these back when I was working as a sometimes-rogue employee with a hidden agenda—and my workstation had access to most of those. I opened separate projection monitors with the feeds from the main entrance, the design lab, and the hatchery. I didn’t turn up the sound—that felt creepy and invasive—but the visual feed was plenty entertaining. The hatchery was quiet, but the building’s main entrance had plenty of people coming and going. Most of them worked in sales or customer service, but there was the occasional exception—Wong and Korrapati going out to lunch, Evelyn entertaining some visitors in suits, even the occasional group of dragon wranglers sauntering out the front door. It was always easy to spot the dragon wranglers. I thought I recognized a couple of them from the dragon hatching sessions, but I couldn’t be sure.

By the end of the week, the workplace voyeurism lost its cachet. I went back into my workstation and spent some time running the list of VUSes from Connor’s patient-friends through my biological simulator. Sure enough, they all seemed disruptive enough to cause BICD2-associated syndrome. Some were more severe than Connor’s variant; some were predicted to have milder consequences. Any of them, in the right model system, should disrupt muscle fiber development enough to have a demonstrable effect on a tissue biopsy.

All I needed was a dragon to put them in.

Of course, that was a problem right now. We weren’t designing new prototypes for the wider market, and because I’d tasked Korrapati and Wong to work on custom orders while I fiddled with the marine design, that queue was empty as well. We weren’t even printing eggs for the DOD designs; Evelyn wanted to wait and see how the first trials went. I had a feeling resources were stretched thin at the moment; whatever capital we currently had was committed to winning the contract. It sucked, but there was nothing I could do about it right now.

Friday after lunch, I finally had to take a break from the modeling. It was almost the weekend, and for the first time in a while I wasn’t expecting to come into work on Saturday or Sunday. Which meant maybe I could see Summer, and try to follow Tom’s unspoken advice.

She and I had remained at an unspoken truce for the past couple of weeks, and we’d both been so busy we hadn’t even fit in a geocache. I usually called her Friday nights anyway. Maybe I could talk her into doing a geocache tomorrow. It would have to be special, though. Something that really drew out her competitive side. I brought up the geocaching app on my phone to start a search. That’s when I saw the notification.

New geocache near you.

“Oh, let it be.” We didn’t get new geocaches often. You had to get a permit from the city to install them, and promise to do annual maintenance. It was a whole thing. Any cache we hadn’t claimed already was worth more points. As long as it was close.

It was close, all right. Even better, the cache had only gone up this morning. That was incredibly lucky timing. New geocaches went live after a two-step process. First, the cache owner registered the coordinates of the cache, ideally with two independent devices. The cache got submitted, but didn’t become public knowledge until a team of volunteer moderators approved it. Someone had probably established this nano cache over the weekend, submitted it, and just now gotten approval. I held my breath and scrolled down to the cache log.

0 entries.

“Oh, hell yes.” I flipped out of the app and called Summer.

“Hi,” she answered, with a twinge of concern. She knew what a crazy week it had been. “I’m still at work.”

“Yeah, I figured,” I said. “Did you get the notification?”

“About what?”

“There’s a new geocache.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Where?”

“Glendale,” I said.

“Are you serious?”

“In Lawrence Park. It’s a nano.”

Nano caches were usually tiny, usually an inch long and half as wide. They contained no toys or trinkets; there was only room for the microchip and a tiny rolled-up paper log. You had to bring your own pen to sign it. They were so small that many were hidden virtually in plain sight in public areas—screwed into a signpost, tucked in an alcove, or attached to a handrail via magnet.

“I love those,” she said.

“I know. And here’s the best part. It went up this morning, and no one’s logged it yet.”

“Shut up!”

“We can get the FTF.” That meant first to find, and it was a distinct honor for a new geocache. In the ranking system, it was as good as finding five caches in a single day. Because Phoenix was so crowded, I’d never gotten one myself. Neither had she.

“Damn,” she said. “Someone’s bound to get it this weekend.”

“Which is why I think we should go now,” I said. “Do you think you can get away?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, it’s Friday afternoon. You’ve put in, what, sixty hours this week already?”

“I guess no one will care if I leave a little early.”

That’s my girl. “Want me to pick you up?” Lawrence Park was closer to her than it was to me. In fact, I’d pass her firm on the way. It made sense. Plus, it meant more time with her. A win-win.

“Good idea. I’ll grab my boots from my Jeep.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“See you.” She hung up.

I made some frenetic flicking gestures on my touchpad to shut down all of my projection monitors. I saved the video feed for last, though, and cycled away from the hatchery cams to the parking garage. Yes, there was my Tesla in center frame. On the first floor, too—yet another perk of director-level ranking within the company. I found my key fob and pressed the button for remote start. The brake lights flashed. Yes. My old workstation wasn’t in range of the parking garage, but Evelyn’s former office certainly was.

I logged out of my system, grabbed my bag, and walked out. The lights were motion-activated, so they’d shut off automatically in fifteen minutes. Until then, if someone stopped by and it seemed like I’d just stepped out, so much the better. I caught a quick elevator down to the parking structure and had my Tesla back out the moment I could lay eyes on it.

I hopped in.

“Hello, Noah,” the car said.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

“You’re leaving work early today.”

I laughed. “Don’t you start.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Summer’s work.”

“Summer’s work,” she repeated. “I can get you there in ten minutes.”

“Okay. Remind me when we’re one minute away.” I double-checked the nano cache’s page. Still no finds logged, thank goodness. I pulled up a map of Lawrence Park and decided which of the two modest parking lots would put us closest to the cache. I grabbed its coordinates and beamed them to the car’s navigation system as a secondary destination.

“One minute to destination,” said the car.

“Wow, that was fast.” I put my hands on the wheel and my foot on the gas. “Disengage auto drive.”

“Disengaging.”

I swung into the long circle drive for Summer’s firm and approached the main building. There she was. She stood in the shade of the building’s entrance portico wearing shorts, a tank top, dark sunglasses, and an air of visible impatience. The whole ensemble looked pretty good. Maybe there was a better use of our time than this geocache, no matter the allure of the FTF honors.

She pulled my door open almost the moment I’d stopped moving. “Right on time!”

I patted the Tesla’s dashboard. “Wish I could take credit.”

“Hi.” She closed the door, leaned over, and kissed me hello.

This only brought about certain stirrings and even further doubts that geocaches were the best use of our time. Yet before I could voice an alternative, she’d pulled back to buckle her seat belt. “Let’s go.”

I suppressed a sigh. “Resume navigation.”

“Do you want to go to the next waypoint?” the car asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Twelve minutes to destination.”

“Thank you, gorgeous.”

Summer snorted. “You know it’s only a car, right?”

“Hey, don’t be jealous.”

“I’m more disturbed than jealous.”

“You’re disturbed, all right.”

She punched me, but it was playful. “Are you planning to do the cache in those?” She pointed at my shoes.

“Crap, you’re right.” I flipped on the autopilot and fumbled to extract my hiking boots out of the backseat.

“Um, hands on the wheel, please!” Summer said.

“It’s on autopilot.” I gestured to the wheel, which made a minute adjustment to keep us between the lines on the highway.”

“So the machine’s driving us now?”

“Just for a minute.”

“You know how I feel about that.”

I found my boots and kicked off my loafers as I fumbled the laces clear. “It’s perfectly safe. I don’t know why it worries you.”

She gripped her door handle so hard that her knuckles turned white. “I just . . .”

“What?” I prompted.

She lowered her voice. “I don’t trust her.”

“Why? It’s only a car, right?”

“I’d rather not discuss it here.”

I finished lacing my boots. “It’s a useful feature. Keeps my hands free for more important things.” I reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and let my hand linger on her cheek. “You really are gorgeous.”

“All right, keep focused, will you? We have a cache to find.” She pulled my hand down from her cheek, but she held on to it.

“Arriving at destination,” the car said.

Both of us eyed the other cars in the lot while we pulled in. There was a gray coupe plastered with dog-themed bumper stickers in one corner, and a dented electric minivan in the other. Dog walker and family outing, by my guess.

“Good, no competition,” Summer said.

“You have the coordinates?”

“Already loaded.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s go.” She threw open her door almost before the car parked itself in an open spot.

I climbed out, locked it, and checked my watch. “Zero-point . . .”

“Three-six miles,” Summer finished.

That’s what my watch said, too. “Well, that’s a good sign,” I said.

A distant rumble sounded then, almost like thunder. Yet the skies were clear. It grew louder, eventually announcing the arrival of an oversized silver pickup with off-road tires. It rolled past us on its way to parking across two spaces. The rear bumper had a sticker that read cachers find the spot every time.

“Shit,” Summer said.

“You saw it?”

“Yeah. Come on.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the gravel trail that began just past the parking lot.

“Okay, then.” By instinct, I went to check my watch, but she held my hand tightly and kept my arm pinned downward.

“Don’t look,” she said. “Listen.

“I am listening.” I heard a heavy truck door open, then boots crunching gravel, then the door slamming shut. He or she was alone. If we were lucky, he was just now turning on his GPS device, which meant we had a ninety-second lead on him. At most. But now I heard what she wanted me to hear, the series of soft but regular beeps that came from her watch. She’d activated homing mode, which caused the watch to emit audible tones as we approached the target. “Oh.”

“We’re out for a walk, got it?”

I barely heard her; I was too focused on the sounds her watch was making. Based on the geocache coordinates overlaid with satellite imagery, the cache was in a little copse of trees. There was only one of those in view at the right distance. I steered us toward it, trying to act casual. Sure enough, the beeps gradually increased in frequency. It was like a faint version of the sonar from Jaws. I hazarded a glance behind us. There was a guy in jean shorts, a tank top, and combat boots walking the same direction as us, maybe seventy-five yards back. He was gaining, though.

“It can’t be far,” Summer whispered.

We followed the path into the copse of trees, grateful for the bit of shade. I pulled us to a halt soon after, that. though.

“What?” she asked.

“We just went off course.”

We moved left off the trail and the beeps slowed even more. So, we backtracked and went right. Yes. More beeps, and then a soft chime that signaled arrival.

“It’s here,” Summer said. “Give or take five yards.”

“Oh good, ’cause it’s only a nano cache.” And looking around, there were far too many places a nano could hide.

Summer squeezed my hand. “Less talking, more looking.”

“I’m trying. But he’s going to be here any second.”

“Maybe I could go, you know, stall him.”

I knew that by stall she meant flirt with and I didn’t like that idea. Nor did I think it would work. “He had to see us walk in here holding hands. I think he’d know what you were doing.”

“Do you, or do you just not want me talking to other guys?”

“Oh, I definitely don’t want you talking to other guys.”

She laughed. “You’re adorable.”

Under the edge of the foliage, I saw the heavy boots approaching our position. “You know what? That gives me an idea.”

She was still looking for the cache and didn’t catch my meaning until I pulled her into me.

“Oh—” she had time to say, and then we were kissing.

I’d meant it as a strategy. Moments later when Tank Top ambled into the trees, spotted us, and then hastily retreated out of sight, it seemed like a good one. The part of it I didn’t plan for was how nice it was to be kissing Summer again. Or the softness of her lips, or the feel of her body against mine when I held her so close. As a result, I completely forgot what the purpose of the strategy was. When she put a hand on my chest and pushed me back, I started to voice a protest.

She put a finger on my lips and whispered, “I think I see it.”

“Huh?” My brain had a little trouble reacquainting itself. Oh, right. I released her and she took two steps to the nearest tree. There was a small gray protuberance on its trunk wedged into a natural opening in the bark.

Summer pried it out; it was only about an inch long, but clearly man-made. There was a seam in the middle, so she held it on top and bottom and twisted. The top half came free, revealing a tiny, tight-rolled length of paper.

“The cache log,” I breathed.

She plucked it out of the tube, and then appeared to have a moment’s panic. “I didn’t bring a pen.”

I fished in my pocket and came out with two pens. “Do you prefer black or blue?”

“I knew you’d prove yourself useful.”

“All right, let’s check it.” This was the moment of truth.

She unfurled the log, which was a single sheet of lined paper about an inch wide and over a foot long. Nano logs were specialized print jobs, so we had to inspect the front and the back. She let out a breath she’d been holding. “No entries!”

I handed her the blue pen. “Put us down for the win, and don’t be afraid to go John Hancock.”

I held the log flat across the back of my phone while she signed our handles along with the date and time. Then we each took a turn plugging the tiny chip drive—embedded into the cache tube’s lid—into our phones to make it official. Summer rolled up the log while I verified our credit. Then we reassembled the nano cache, jammed it back into the tree, and hurried out of the copse.

Tank Top guy had lingered nearby, and seeing us depart, walked right in with his eyes glued to a handheld GPS.

“Too late,” Summer whispered.

“Shh. Two more incoming.” I’d spotted two older women on the path coming toward us. They walked arm in arm, looking at a watch one of them wore. I took Summer’s hand and resumed the out-for-a-stroll routine. They smiled at us as they passed.

“Jeez, if I hadn’t left right away to pick you up, this would have all been for nothing,” I said, once we were out of earshot.

“For nothing?” Summer’s tone carried a hint of danger.

“I meant, no FTF credit,” I said quickly, squeezing her hand. “Obviously I loved knocking off early and getting to see you.”

“Good save.”

“Mostly I’m relieved you came at all. So, you’re not mad about the DOD thing?”

She sighed and let go of my hand. “I still don’t like it.”

“Because it seems wrong to make dragons for war.”

“It’s wrong to make dragons at all, but especially for war.”

“I get it,” I said. “But when I was talking to Tom, he made a really good point.”

“You’re calling him Tom, now?”

“He told me to! Anyway, I asked him why he’s doing it.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he realized it was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not, and he wants to make sure we do it right.”

She was silent for a moment. “That’s . . . noble of him.”

“And he’s a tree hugger like you.”

“Hey!” She jabbed me with an elbow.

I caught her arm, though, and slid my hand into hers again. “That’s why I have to do it, too. The dragons will get made either way. At least if I involve myself, I know we’ll do right by them.”

She let me keep holding her hand. I took that for a good sign.

“I have conditions,” she said.

“Go on.” I’d agree to almost anything if it meant having her support.

“Condition one, full disclosure. You have to tell me everything you’re allowed to. The good and the bad.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I said.

“Condition two, you balance the work on this project with other things, like the mutations Connor asked you about for his group, and new prototypes that aren’t made for killing.”

“I can do that.”

“It won’t be easy, Noah. You have obsessive tendencies.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s true and you know it. I don’t want to be with someone who spends all day every day thinking about maximizing destruction.”

She wasn’t wrong. Even working on the infantry prototype had consumed me for days at a time. I’d gone to bed trying to think over every feature, and woken up thinking about it, too. I preferred to think about my tendencies as hyper-focused rather than obsessive, but I didn’t want to bicker about semantics. “Fair enough. I will balance.”

She nodded. “Condition three—”

“How many conditions are there?”

“This is my last one.” She fell silent as we neared the parking lot, where another couple had just started down the trail. They were probably about our age, but wearing all dark clothing despite the heat. The girl had a pixie cut and tattoos of roses on both arms. The guy was tall and lanky, with spiky dyed-black hair. He had so many visible piercings that I nearly winced. I offered a half smile as we passed them, but otherwise tried not to make eye contact. The two motorcycles in the lot parked side by side had to be theirs. One of them had a name bedazzled in cursive on the side. Jojo.

I squeezed Summer’s hand and nodded at the bike so she’d see it.

“It’s them,” she hissed.

Jojo and Prickly Pete. Our rivals on the local leaderboard.

“They’re too late.”

“Barely.”

We climbed into my car. I started it so that the A/C would start cooling us off.

“Ahh . . .” I sighed and closed my eyes. It was a relief to have bagged the FTF, but this also meant our little jaunt was over. Now I had to take her back to work, and she might decide to call it a night. “How about we go to your place and have dinner? I can take you to get your Jeep tomorrow.” Or Sunday, or even Monday. A whole weekend together without any work would be pretty fantastic.

“Condition three,” she said.

“I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“Nope.” She put on her seatbelt and fussed with it, probably stalling to figure out how to say it. “I want you to promise me that if this DOD contract goes south or Evelyn breaks her promises, you’ll walk away.”

“From the contract?”

“From the job.”

“I see.” This was serious. Leaving Build-A-Dragon would mean starting over. I really hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but it wasn’t entirely in my control. She was right, though. Once I put my mind to a scientific challenge, it was hard to stop. I needed someone to tell me when it was time to pull the plug. I wanted it to be her. I put my hand on top of hers and looked her in the eyes. “I accept your conditions.”

She exhaled, as if she’d been holding her breath. She smiled. “You can take me home now.”

I grinned like an idiot and put the car into drive.


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