Domesticating Dragons

by Dan Koboldt

  “Thank you.” Her voice was an octave higher, too. She gave me a mock-serious side look. “I suppose I should print you an ID card.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” I said.

  The ID printer spit out a plastic badge a second later. She clipped on a magnetic fastener and slid it across. My horrible DMV photo stared up at me, but I loved reading the words right below it.

  Noah Parker

  DESIGN

  “You can go straight to the elevators from now on,” she said.

  “I don’t know. What if you decide to tackle me?”

  A faint smile played across her lips. “I’ll call up and let her know you’re here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m Virginia, by the way.”

  So, suddenly I did need to know. “Nice to meet you.” I fled to the elevators before I messed things up.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  Here’s what was odd about the elevator. I could have sworn I hit the button for the seventh floor, but it stopped at five. The doors opened, revealing a huge guy in a buzz cut and dark suit. And I mean huge. He had to be six and a half feet tall, three hundred pounds. Built like a linebacker.

  “Noah Parker?” he asked.

  I almost said no. It must have been my survival instincts kicking in. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

  “I’m Ben Fulton, chief of security.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. “Do you work for Evelyn?”

  “I work for Robert Greaves.” He gestured to the hallway to his left. “Right this way, please.”

  I hesitated. “I think I’m supposed to go to seven.”

  “Not yet. This is your security interview.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know there was one.”

  His smile had no warmth to it. “We like it to be a surprise.”

  I followed him down a rather plain hallway to an unmarked white door. He wrapped his big hand around the steel handle and held it there a half-second. Soft blue light glowed between his fingers. Then the door emitted a soft click, and he pushed it open.

  A hidden biometric scanner. It piqued my curiosity a little. We passed through a room lined with flatscreen monitors showing security feeds from around the complex. There had to be fifteen or twenty screens, and they shifted views every five seconds or so. That made for at least a hundred separate cameras. Two in every hallway, at a minimum.

  I followed Fulton took into a tiny, austere room that waited beyond. There was a square wooden table in the middle with chairs on either side. He settled into the larger of these, which left a notably smaller chair for me. It was about the size of a student’s chair in an elementary school. I felt like someone’s pet bird on a perch.

  “So, you’re a local boy, huh?” Fulton set down a manila folder with a government seal on the front, and my name on the tab.

  A federal background check. Are they for real? “More or less. I grew up in Mesa.”

  “And you went to ASU.”

  I grinned. “Go Sun Devils.”

  “Evelyn Chang went there, didn’t she?”

  “For graduate school,” I said. “We had the same thesis advisor. Dr. Sato.” I shouldn’t have I added that. He probably already knew, and if he didn’t, it would sound weird. The last thing I needed was this guy digging into that particular fact. It was true, but also not a coincidence.

  “So, what drew you to Reptilian Corporation?” he asked.

  “You guys are doing some cutting-edge stuff with genetic engineering.”

  He looked up from his folder. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “Customizing an organism from the genome up is pretty ambitious. A lot of people didn’t think you could build a successful business out of it.”

  “Yeah, well, the jury’s still out on that.”

  That was news to me. From everything I’d read, Reptilian Corporation was killing it in a time when most nascent biotechs had failed. “Still, I like the systems approach to genetics. And I think my simulator could help with things.”

  He frowned. “You’re really here for all the genetic engineering stuff?”

  “Of course.” I paused. “Does that surprise you?”

  “A little bit. Whenever I ask what brought people here, they always talk about the dragons.”

  Oh, crap. I’d forgotten how much people went nuts for them. “Yeah, sure. Dragons are awesome. I assumed I didn’t even have to say it.”

  “But everyone does say that, Parker. They go on and on about dragons until I’m ready to throw up.”

  I tried a smile on him that I didn’t feel. “Then I guess I’m a pleasant surprise.”

  “I don’t like being surprised.”

  No, you like to do the surprising. My palms started sweating. It took a conscious effort not to wipe them on my new dress slacks. I couldn’t do that, because if I lost this job I’d have to return them. “Good to know.”

  “There are plenty of biotechs employing genetic engineers,” Fulton said.

  “Not as many as there used to be.”

  “Still, someone like you probably got interest from both coasts.”

  I said nothing, even though he was spot-on. When my thesis came out, my phone did start to ring. A few of the big pharmas were sniffing around, and some of the rising biotech startups. Several universities sent out feelers, too, though they tended to start with Dr. Sato. That was often how people took the next step in academia, via personal connections. I suppose the same could be said of me, but the step I wanted to take was right in Reptilian’s door.

  Fulton raised his eyebrows at me.

  “I’m sorry, was that a question?” I asked.

  “Did you have interest from other companies?”

  “A little,” I said. “I never called them back.”

  “Then let’s return to my original question. Why do you want to work at Reptilian?”

  “I already said why. Your genetic engineers—” I stammered in my own defense, but he cut me off.

  “Bullshit. Geeks like you can work anywhere, so when you go someplace, it’s personal.”

  More personal than you know. Damn, this guy was good. I had to give him something, because it was kind of obvious that I needed a second reason to come to this company for this job. Clearly, I couldn’t tell him the truth—that I intended to use the company’s resources for my own designs, and probably sabotage a dragon. A flash of inspiration came. “You’re right. There was something else that brought me here.”

  He smirked knowingly. “Spill it.”

  “Simon Redwood.”

  Fulton rolled his eyes. “Oh, hell. You’re one of those.”

  A Redwood fanatic, he meant. “Come on, man,” I said. “You have to admit he’s a genius.”

  “He’s off his rocker.”

  “Well, I think he’s brilliant,” I said. “Been following his moves since I was a kid. And I dreamed about working for one of his companies, so here we are.”

  “Fine.” Fulton set down his tablet with an air of resignation. He almost seemed a little disappointed, too. “Now you get to hear about the house security policy.”

  I covered my heart-thumping relief with sarcasm. “Oh, I can’t wait.”

  “You will wear your security badge at all times. You won’t attempt to access any restricted areas.”

  “Where am I allowed to go?”

  “The seventh floor and the parking garage. That’s about it, unless you’re invited by a superior. Everything else is a restricted area. You’ll have no expectation of privacy while in this building, but everything about your work here is considered a protected trade secret. Do you understand what that means?”

  “No talking about work outside of work,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  Somehow, even though I’d made it past the tough questions with this guy, I started feeling more intimidated by him. Maybe his sheer size had something to do with it. He occupied at least seventy percent of the room. It occurred to me that with the ri
sks I’d probably be taking, I might want this guy on my good side. So what’s he into? Well, I didn’t know much about him, but I had a guess. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Who? Redwood?”

  “No.” I waved that off like we’d covered it already. Then I leaned over the table and lowered my voice a little, as if afraid to say it out loud. Truth be told, I almost was. “Robert Greaves.”

  “Oh.” He offered a half-smile, and I could tell I’d won a point. “He’s the smartest man I know. And he operates on a level that most people don’t appreciate.”

  “Is it true that he only wears black?”

  He barked a laugh. “Don’t believe everything you read, kid. He doesn’t waste brainpower on unimportant things, that’s all.”

  “Will I get to meet him?”

  Fulton snorted. “Keyboard monkey like you? Probably not.” He smiled to soften it, though.

  “Ah well, worth a shot.” I sensed the security interview coming to an end, and I wanted to leave on a high note. “Anything else we need to cover?”

  “Officially, no.”

  “All right, what about unofficially?”

  “Just a friendly word of advice. Don’t hit on the help.”

  I started to stammer a response, because I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

  “The redhead in reception,” Fulton said.

  “Oh.” Damn, he really was watching everything. I held up my hands. “Message received.”

  “Good. You can head on up, now.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  So much for leaving on a high note.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The New Guy

  I took the elevator up to seven, where no one was waiting. I suppose I could have lingered in the lobby, but I imagined I could feel Fulton watching me over the security cameras. If he saw me waiting, he might decide to fill my time with more invasive security questions.

  I tiptoed through the hatchery, where the same pair of white-garbed staffers ignored me. I watched as they entered one of the hatching pods and team-lifted an egg, rotating it forty-five degrees. They lowered it back into the foam holder with exaggerated slowness. Like a mother with a newborn infant. Sunlight bathed the entire pod like a spotlight. Warm air spilled out the open door; it had to be almost a hundred degrees in there.

  I might have remembered it wrong, but this seemed to be the same egg from my last visit. The skylights for the other pods remained closed, which cloaked their empty egg-beds in twilight. Maybe I’d caught a lull in the design-print-hatch process, but the stillness to the place worried me. No eggs meant no dragons, and as far as I knew, dragons were the company’s main source of revenue.

  I hurried into the open door of Evelyn’s office. She sat behind no less than six holo-projector screens but had her eyes on one and was speaking into a headset. “Yes, Robert.”

  The back of the screen was opaque, but I had a feeling she was on a video call with the big boss. I started to retreat, but she spotted me and beckoned me inside. When I tried to back out, she beckoned harder.

  “We’ll get it done,” she said. “Okay. Bye.” She eased the headset out of her hair and smiled at me, showing white teeth. “Noah Parker.”

  “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t know there would be a security interview.”

  She waved off my apology. “It’s been a crazy morning all around.”

  Tell me about it. I gestured at where the screen had been. “Was that Robert Greaves?”

  She nodded. “He’s breathing down my neck about the wild dragons. Which is why I’m glad you could get started. Come on, I’ll introduce you to our team.”

  We passed through a set of Plexiglas doors to an odd-shaped room. The walls formed a hexagon. No, a pentagon. Five walls and five cozy workstations encircled a lab instrument the size of a minivan. I caught glimpses of it as we walked around to the right. Robotic arms zoomed back and forth on titanium guide poles, like an oversized 3D printer.

  “What’s with the robotic arms?” I asked.

  “That’s our biological printer.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. “The God Machine.” I’d heard whispers of the instrument that turned genetic code into viable dragon eggs. I couldn’t wait to see it in action.

  “Ha! You heard about the nickname.”

  “It’s sort of public knowledge.” Then I saw the tall stacks of high-end grid servers behind them. Switchblades. A new class of high-end computers, and there were dozens of them. Completely secure, nearly limitless on-premise computing resources. After working so long and so hard to get here, being this close to them sent a chill down my spine.

  We approached the first workstation, where a thirty-something engineer hunched over his keyboard. The engineer part was just a guess; he had the intense stare and terrible posture that usually came with a highly organized mind.

  “This is Brian O’Connell,” Evelyn said.

  The man went on typing, oblivious to fact that we stood right behind him and Evelyn had just said his name.

  “Brian?” Evelyn touched his shoulder.

  He flinched and tore his eyes from the screen with obvious reluctance. “Oh, hey.”

  “This is Noah, the new design trainee.”

  We shook hands. His wrapped mine like a warm blanket. He smiled in a friendly way beneath his dirty-blonde goatee, a spot-on match for the uncut hair. Between that and the comb-over, he looked almost like a monk. But his eyes burned with blue fire, even as they slid away from mine back to his screens.

  “Brian wrote the code for our biological printer,” Evelyn said.

  “The thing that built the dragon eggs? I’m impressed,” I said.

  He mumbled something that might have been thanks. Evelyn ushered us out into the next workstation, where a dark-haired girl sat with excellent posture, typing no less than 120 words per minute. She turned to greet us with a big smile, perfect teeth and everything. Right then, Evelyn’s phone buzzed and she had to step away. Leaving me alone, to fumble out my own introduction.

  “Hello. I’m Noah. The, uh, new guy.”

  She shook my hand with delicate fingers. “Welcome! I’m pretty.”

  “Oh.” Her self-awareness threw me for a loop. “I agree.”

  She giggled. “No, I’m Priti. Priti Korrapati.”

  Oh my God. I felt my face heating and wished I could melt into the floor. “Right. Sorry about that.”

  “Happens all the time.”

  “So, what do you do for Evelyn?”

  “I’m a designer. Started out in plants, made the jump to reptiles.”

  I gave her a side-look. “What kind of plants? Arabidopsis?” That was the one of the best-studied plants in the scientific community. The rest of the world knew it as mustard weed.

  She smiled and shook her head. “Oryza sativa.”

  “Rice? No way!” Rice was second only to corn in research dollars. The big agribiotechs put a lot of money into genetic engineering. “In the private sector, I’m guessing.”

  “You guess correctly.”

  God, I loved her accent. I wanted to keep her talking. “How does that compare to biotech startup world?”

  “It’s quite similar, actually. Perhaps a bit more intense.”

  “Perform or die.”

  “Maybe not that drastic. But you have the idea.”

  Evelyn reappeared; a stray hair hung across her face. “Sorry about that.” She gripped her tablet so hard I thought she might break it.

  “Everything all right?” I asked.

  “Yes, but we’ll have to cut this short. They want me upstairs.”

  “No problem.” I turned back to Priti. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  I rejoined Evelyn and moved on to the next workstation, which I thought might be mine. But a heavyset guy in a ball cap slumped in the chair, either deep in thought or totally asleep.

  “Frogman?”
Evelyn whispered.

  Did she just say Frogman?

  He woke like a hibernating bear. His eyes came into focus. “Evelyn. S’going on?”

  “This is our new designer, Noah Parker.”

  “Paul Myers.” He gave me a friendly nod. “Good to meet you.”

  “Did she call you Frogman?”

  “Everyone does. Did my graduate thesis on Xenopus.”

  “I’ll bet that’s useful.” Frogs were a great model for developmental traits. Amphibians were about as close as you could get to dragons and still be in a valid genetics branch. I had to admit that my weak point in genetics might lie in the developmental realm. I’m going to need to talk to this guy.

  He didn’t seem like much of a talker, though. He offered a noncommittal grunt and put on noise-canceling headphones. Evelyn quietly beckoned me out, into the second-to-last workstation. No one sat in the chair, but a half-circle of empty energy drink cans said the place was occupied. If I had to guess, I’d expect whoever sat there was probably in the nearest restroom.

  “That’s Wong’s spot,” Evelyn said. “He had to fly home to get his visa renewed, but he should be back in a couple of weeks.”

  “Where’s he from?”

  “China.”

  That caught my attention because I’d been dabbling in Mandarin as a second language. “What part?”

  She pursed her lips, as if reluctant to answer. “Shenzhen.”

  “Oh.” Shenzhen was home to China’s government-sponsored research laboratories. These were basically the genetic engineering version of sweatshops. The government recruited the best and brightest right out of high school, and worked them eighty hours per week, fifty-two weeks a year. Most of them slept in the lab. At the end of each month, the least-productive ten percent of the workforce got their walking papers. “How long did he last?”

  “Two years.”

  “Jesus.”

  “He kept his sense of humor. You’ll like him.” She ushered me into the fifth workstation, a kind of wedge-shaped cubicle about six feet wide and ten feet long. “Here’s your spot.”

  A leather chair and glass-top desk took up one half of it. A conveyor belt from the God Machine took up the other half. I sidled up to it for a better look inside. Warm air flowed through the gap like a furnace. There they are. The grid servers gave off a gentle hum. Their LED screens cast a soft blue light on the titanium inner frame. The robotic arms had gone still, obscuring my view of the central printing chamber. Conduits and cable guides kept all the wiring neatly organized, and I couldn’t see a speck of dust. Clean as a spaceship.