"What meteorite? Do you mean that meteorite?"
LeBon nodded.
"I thought he was saying it just to hike the price up too, but then Dao showed me the files and videos of the experiments".
"It's not possible", I said leaning on the back of the chair. "It's only a legend".
When pet dragons had appeared on the market for the first time, the theory on their creation had already been known for years. GeNext had tried to unite some fragments of DNA found in a prehistoric fossil with DNA from a Cyclura Nubila, a type of iguana from the Caribbean. The DNA from the fossil, about 90% of the whole string, wasn't patentable and that's why dragons all have the same basic characteristics.
So the companies specialized in creating their own variations. The first dragons, as you well know, were the two small Jade Green Quing Long. At least this was the official version. Then there was the legend, according to which the base DNA didn't come from a prehistoric fossil, but from a meteorite that had hit Earth in 2018. It was one of those theories that appeared on internet websites specialized in U.F.O.s, Atlantis and Reptilian.
"You tell me", said LeBon. "What did you find in the box: a dragon egg, or...a legend?"
Without saying a word, I went to get my laptop and put it in front of him. I found the camera that was set on the nest above the Pitahaya and I pointed Whiskey out to him, all curled up on himself. Even if the Garden was dark, you could see his size clearly.
"I knew it", Jean murmured. His eyes were teary with emotion. "In all these months, I dreamed, I hoped...that you..."
He left the sentence unfinished. I sat back down in front of him and this time it was my turn to tell the story. I told him everything. What had happened to me during the trip and how I had discovered the egg in the box. I gave him the measurements taken during those months, to show him how Whiskey was growing at a rate three times that of a "normal" dragon. I also told him about the totem plant, the aggressions, and Raleigh.
"I can't wait to see him", said Jean when I finished talking.
I smiled and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"Tomorrow, if you feel like it, I'll take you to Wild Dragons and I'll introduce you".
We chatted a bit more until I realized it was almost 3 o' clock. I brought Jean some clean sheets and set him up on the couch bed in my living room.
That night, I dreamed of an alien planet full of plants as big as skyscrapers, and for every plant there was an enormous dragon. It was a blooming and intricate world, like the tropical section in the ArK. But a cataclysm was happening, a scary event that was destroying the dragon planet and scattering its pieces all over the galaxy, in the form of meteorites.
I woke up the next morning with the images still in my head. The implications of what LeBon had told me were incredible. If the story about the meteorite wasn't a legend, not only was Whiskey the first real "Alien" to be born on Earth, but all dragons were, at least in part. For about 90% of their DNA. And maybe, what was happening to the Pitahaya, its extraordinary growth, was caused by Whiskey's "extraterrestrial powers".
I realize this could seem absurd to you, I realized it at the time myself. The more I thought of it, the more the story about alien dragons seemed like a big hoax to me. LeBon, instead, didn't have the same opinion. He had seen the videos, he would say. The videos where Dao extracted the genetic material from the rock and all the following phases in which the eggs were created (the Tianglong laboratory had created five of them). And above all he trusted Liu Dao.
The following morning I found Jean awake already, sitting on the couch in the living room. He had shaved his beard, cut his hair and was making faces with Sheela.
"Is she the French I brought you last year?"
"Yeah, her name is Sheela. Careful, she's a real French".
Jean petted the dragon on her neck.
"Because she's elegant and full of charm?"
"No, because she's a damn ball breaker".
It wasn't true, obviously. Sheela is an adorable dragon (Well, besides her feud with Roger), but I wanted to tease him. French people are proud of their Frenchness, and they really get pissed off when we Americans make fun of them. Which, I must admit, happens quite often.
"Ha, ha, funny", Jean answered with a fake laugh. "Don't listen to him, my little friend. Jeq is only envious..."
Given that LeBon didn't have any money and I didn't have an assistant, I suggested he work with me at the store and he accepted. He had always dealt with eggs, never with adult dragons, so during the ride to the store I reminded him of a couple of rules.
"The first and most important is: don't bother the Mustangs. Not when they're sleeping, not when they're eating, not when they're discussing among themselves on their branches. Let's put it this way: don't ever bother them".
"Naturelment, your absurd American dragons. I thought I remembered you having them. How many do you have now, deus? Trois?"
"Ten", I answered staring at the road.
LeBon opened his mouth wide.
"Ten? But h-how...who gave you the license?”
"They're the ones they put up for auction three years ago in Portland", I explained embarrassed. "Nobody wanted them, and I couldn't leave Deirdre by herself".
"Mon dieu, crazy yankee", mumbled Jean and I started laughing.
When we arrived at Wild Dragons, the first thing we did was to find temporary housing for Jean. The Brooding Room was useless, at that time, so we moved the three incubators to the infirmary and in their place we put a bed and some furniture. Since then, after dinner LeBon would go back to the store and stay there for the night. I couldn't be happier. Not only had I found a friend again, but I could finally talk to someone about Whiskey and I also really needed a hand in the store.
I have nice memories from those days.
I showed Jean the various parts of the Garden and the Mustangs threw him their usual welcome party, as they had done with Raleigh. Three of them landed on his shoulders, and Lutezia pushed him until he fell on the grass, just a few steps from the pond. I tried to shoo them away, but there was no need. When the dragons heard LeBon complain in French, they must have thought he was a wingless human version of Sheela. They went away perplexed, considering him uninteresting or not dangerous (which for them is more or less the same thing).
Fortunately, that was the only clash between the dragons and Jean.
The Frenchie worked with patience to gain their respect, even if the Mustangs ignored him in the beginning. Whiskey, instead, seemed more interested in the new and bizarre human guest. The dragon and LeBon became friends right away, in part thanks to the red ball. Jean would throw it in the air and have him catch it in flight. Then he would hold his hand out to Whiskey and he spit the ball full of saliva into his hand. They spent hours playing with each other every day next to the spot where the Pitahaya were growing.
Whiskey, who was already three months old, had grown larger than my Mustangs. If he was on all fours, his crested back almost reached my knee. His shoulder and back muscles had become more developed, and his wings were growing at the same rate to support the weight gain.
It would have been difficult for me to carry him on my shoulder. The color of his scales had gone from a dark amber from when he was little to a lighter hue, as brilliant as the reflection of dawn on a mountain lake. One of his scales, on the palm of my hand, was as big as a nail, smooth and as shiny as bronze.
The day after LeBon's return, we brought him into the infirmary together for routine measurements. I was used to the results, but when Whiskey came out of the scanner Jean almost had a heart attack.
"7.5 pounds and 43 inches?", he commented. "Mon dieu, and his wings, how big are they?"
"Two weeks ago they were just over 35", I answered, "but they've gotten bigger in the meanwhile. Have you ever seen anything like this?"
LeBon shook his head. No, he had never seen such a thing. As far as we knew, nobody in the world had ever seen a creature like Whiskey. Dao and his team had created
something one of a kind.
His growth, his intelligence, the alien origins. My dragon was practically a living mystery, and at first Jean and I were convinced we could solve it by ourselves.
All our questions revolved around the Pitahaya. When we weren't managing Wild Dragons, we studied the dragon and the plant, to understand how Whiskey could influence the miraculous development of the cacti. I spent hours observing my dragon's behavior. How much he ate, how much he slept, what he did when he was close to the plants.
We even took a blood sample from Whiskey and a piece of Pitahaya, and examined them under the microscope in the infirmary. After a few weeks, however, we had to face the hard truth: we were veterinarians, not botanists or biologists. We knew everything about dragon psychology and anatomy, but Whiskey and his plant's accelerated cellular development represented a challenge that went beyond our level of competence.
Therefore, I looked for Raleigh's advice.
During the long course of human history, men have always done incredibly idiotic things to win over the love of a woman, and I'm certainly not any better than them. I thought that, with a possible alien dragon on my side, I would at least make her curious enough to have her talk to me again. I made her a video (in retrospect, a horrible idea) where I showed her the Pitahaya, already more than 27 inches high after a month and a half.
There was nothing else. No message, no words. I even avoided framing Whiskey.
Then, one morning I went to Ben Dameshek, at Pandora 1, and I made him promise me he would show her the video (Ben didn't know anything about the plant or Whiskey, so I wasn't running any risk). That same afternoon we received a visit from a client interested in the dragons, the first in a few days (summer isn't a booming period for my business. When vacation time comes along people are more likely to get rid of their pets rather than buy new ones). When we weren't in the Garden, LeBon and I split the chores: he managed the store, and I took care of the veterinary studio. This new client was a tall man, with a distinguished look and dressed with elegant clothes, with a prominent stomach and a tenor's voice. I could hear him from the small stable, while he talked with LeBon. With an excuse he sent Jean into my office to get some documents, and snuck to the Flight Garden's door, where the scanner blocked him. LeBon caught him in the act as he was trying to get in and sent him away. I saw him just in time, while he was running out of the store, followed by a furious Jean. It was the famous professor Johnathan Abrams, but I didn't know that yet.
I discovered it the next day, when he presented himself in my store along with the deputy sheriff Ertz, four police officers, two dragon catchers and Stephen Langley.
A full out raid.
Ertz had a bad reputation. Around fifty years old, he had served in the army during the two wars in the middle-east, then he had joined the police here in Boise. It was said that, during arrests, he liked to use the "toys" that the DoD sold to the Police Departments. Drones, tanks, enhanced armor. Those types of things.
Coming into my store, the deputy took his dark sunglasses off and smiled at me.
"Are you mister Ports, the owner?"
"In person. What do I owe this...visit to, deputy?"
Ertz took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me over the counter, while his men looked around. I ignored the paper and pointed to Abrams, next to Langley.
"I don't know who this man is, but if he's with Langley, I don't want them in my store".
Ertz looked at the two for a moment.
"Professor Abrams and his assistant are here as consultants".
"Consultants?" I asked glaring at Raleigh's boss and then at Langley. The asshole wasn't doing anything to hide his satisfaction. Abrams instead was unmoved. The day before he had tried to sneak into the Garden, and now he had even gotten the sheriff involved. But why? What did he want? I would discover it soon enough.
"This warrant", said Ertz pushing the paper against my chest, "authorizes us to search your store and the adjoining areas".
"To look for what?"
"Your bastard dragon, Ports", Langley interrupted. "And this time-"
"Silence, please".
The deputy shut him up and turned back to me.
"We have reason to believe you are raising an unauthorized and highly dangerous species of Draco Occidentalis".
Raleigh, it was her. She had of course showed my video to Langley and then to Abrams as well. I should have expected as much, and instead I had trusted her, like an idiot.
With deliberate calm I took the warrant and glanced over it, then I said: "There was no need for a warrant, sheriff Ertz. My dragons are all in order, I can prove it to you. Follow me".
I brought them to the end of the hallway, up to the Flight Garden's door. Then, as if I had just remembered something important, I turned and looked at all of them.
"Oh, sirs. Before letting you in, I must caution you that I have ten pureblood Mustangs in my aviary".
The four police officers and two dragon catchers instinctively stepped back. One time, an old hunter told me he would rather run into a man-eating tiger on crack than a Mustang. Those men must have thought so too, because they looked at Ertz with eyes full of worry. The deputy-sheriff, however, held his own.
"Don't be a wise guy, Ports. Gas them, or I'll incriminate you for obstruction of justice".
I rolled my eyes and grumbled. I had never, never, gassed my dragons before those morons arrived. It was something I detested. Reluctant, I put a hand on the scanner and activated the emergency procedures. The osmotic holes on the dome's surface closed, and immediately the ethyl ether started circulating from the two fans. We stood next to the door looking inside the Garden. The dragons didn't fall asleep right away. Ten minutes went by before the gas had an effect. The Mustangs, hanging from the cherry branches, swayed as if dazed and fell on the grass making dull thuds. Thump. Thump. Every thud was a strike at my heart, while Langley's idiot smile got bigger and bigger.
"Too bad the gas isn't lethal", he commented.
Standing still in front of the door, I tightened my fists but didn't give him the satisfaction of answering. When I re-opened the holes to let the gas out, the Outbacks were sleeping in their burrow and the Mustangs were all unconscious. I kept telling myself to stay calm, that I needed to grin and bear it. I stepped aside and let Ertz and his men in.
The nine intruders searched everywhere, but they couldn't find the dragon they were looking for. I showed Ertz the documents for the other dragons, while the agents scattered around the rest of the store. After fifteen minutes, deputy Ertz was a step away from calling back his men.
"See?", I told the sheriff. "I don't have any unauthorized species".
But I had shouted victory too soon. One of the officers came back with a pad. He had gotten into my surveillance system and showed Ertz a video from the day before, where Jean was petting Whiskey seated on his nest on top of the Pitahaya. Ertz looked up from the pad and asked me for an explanation.
"Where is this dragon now?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"I don't know, I'm not the owner. He was only passing through. Problems with his kidneys. Typical of big Brits".
"There it is!", triumphant, Abrams pointed at the screen. "This is the specimen! And we have to take the plant too".
"Hey, calm down", I protested. "There's no talk of a plant on the warrant. Only of "unauthorized dragons". That plant is my property, I caution you to not touch it".
Ertz looked at Abrams.
"Mister Ports is right. The plant wasn't part of the agreement, Johnathan".
"But the plant is essential", said Langley.
"No buts", Ertz stopped him. "I'm the one who gives orders here. And this story has already lasted long enough. Ports, as soon as we're done you'll come down to the station. I want to ask you some questions about this man and his dragon".
Abrams walked in front of me. He had lost his mask of detached superiority and was now livid with anger.
"It's not ov
er, Ports", he said shaking a finger in front of my face.
Langley came up to me too.
"Enjoy this small victory, while you can", he whispered to me. "We'll find your stupid dragon sooner or later, and then I'll be the first one to open his stomach with my scalpel. I can't wait to vivisect him, down at Pan-"
It was stronger than me. I punched him right on the chin, sending that piece of shit heels in the air into the pond. One of Ertz's officers was on me right away, throwing me to the ground and immobilizing me. I felt the handcuffs lock onto my wrists, while Langley called for help and splashed water everywhere like a crazy duck.
I had a mouth full of grass and two hundred and twenty pounds of police officer on my back, but I didn't feel guilty.
Okay, I had lost my temper. And I'm not proud of my actions. In fact, I'd like to take this moment to tell you that if you ever run into Stephen Langley, or someone like him, listen to me: don't follow my example, don't give him a punch on the chin.
Give it to him on the nose. It hurts more and you don't risk breaking your knuckles.
Ertz had me get up and ordered two officers to bring me - in handcuffs - to the station. While one of the agents pushed me into the car, Raleigh came running toward the store. She was still wearing her white lab coat.
There's the traitor. Had she come to assist the show?
"Are you happy now?" I yelled at her.
She stiffened, seeing me with my head halfway out of the car. The officers closed the door, leaving her answer out.
ERTZ KEPT ME IN THE STATION for three hours.
He wasn't at all happy about going through an operation for nothing. Besides the surveillance video, they had no proof against me. The Wild Dragons software erased the recordings every 48 hours, and they couldn't establish Whiskey's exact species from a simple video.
As soon as I mentioned that perhaps "I should call my lawyer" Ertz tightened his jaw and let me go, with the promise of keeping an eye on me.
The Dragon Seller: A Tale of Love and Dragons Page 12
