The Gift of the Dragon

by Michael Murray

  “Just a guess.” Or a memory. When Ami had listed the authors of the song, the phrase had jumped into her head.

  The tablet now showed a man’s face with receding hair; gray at the temples; piercing eyes, almost black. Heavy but well-trimmed eyebrows and a large nose rising from the center like a mountain above a half smile. “Quirky,” thought Alice as she looked at the image. A transparent gray triangle pointing toward the right sat superimposed over the man’s nose.

  “Click that,” Jacob said.

  “Huh? Oh.” Alice touched the screen, and the video played.

  “My name is Peter Moore.” Alice almost dropped the tablet.

  “Sara’s father,” she whispered.

  “I made these videos to tell the world my story. About Sam Sangerman. About Apple Creek Corporation.” The man took a breath. “You will hear me say some things that may make you think I am mad.” The man laughed. “Who am I kidding? By the time I’m done, you will be sure I am mad! Also, it’s a long story. If you get bored, try to picture me in a green shirt, wearing a catcher's mask, and dancing the cancan.”

  “Does he think that is funny?” Alice whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “The first thing you have to know is that the day I made this video was my two hundred and ninety-ninth birthday.” Moore paused. “You are probably thinking to yourself that I don’t look a day over ninety.”

  “He looks about fifty,” Alice said, careful not to whisper.

  “The thing is—I was in China two hundred and sixty years ago. In 1750.”

  “So this video was made in 2010,” Jacob said.

  Alice nodded. “Shhh.” That’s all he has to say?

  “It was a big adventure. Almost died. I could tell many stories from that time. In the important one, Sam and I heard about a meteorite. Heard it was made of gold. We thought it would make us rich. Well, it did.” The man’s face faded out, and the image of a scarred black rock faded in.

  “Is that a meteorite?” Alice asked. Jacob nodded.

  Moore went on, “There wasn’t much science back then. And Sam and I were just English pirates and guns for hire, working for the East India Company.” The meteorite faded out, replaced with an image that looked like gray worms crawling on a rough surface.

  “Since then, people have found fossil bacteria in meteorites. We found something stranger.” A brown-and-white mushroom replaced the gray worms.

  “We walked for days. Twice as long as we thought. When we got to the place we were told the meteorite landed, we were starving. We found the rock, and these weird mushrooms surrounded it. I thought they were edible. My grandma told me any mushroom with a sponge underneath wouldn’t kill you. By then we were starving. We ate them.”

  The screen changed to show an oblong shape that looked like an amoeba. “We thought the meteorite would be made of gold. We were stupid. It was more like a rock filled with chunks of coal. Heck, we burned some of it in our fire the second night. Ate some more of the mushrooms. We made it back to civilization owing a pile of money to some nasty people who financed our expedition. Had to leave China. I don’t miss it.”

  Alice tapped the screen, stopping the video, and turned to Jacob. “They burned the meteorite? If it could burn, wouldn’t it have just ended up being ashes when it fell?”

  “Some meteorites are made of carbon. Like coal. There was one that landed in Australia. They extracted amino acids from it.”

  “Really? How do you know that?”

  “Hey, I watch some TV too,” Jacob said. “I saw a PBS show about it. 'Miracle Planet.'”

  “Cool. Okay, he’s not completely insane.” She tapped the screen, and the video started again.

  “Sam’s original last name was St. Germaine. Before we went to China, we cut quite a swath through Europe. When we returned from China, we got in some trouble in Paris. Headed for America. It was the thing to do back then.”

  The image zoomed in on the amoeba. “It took us about twenty years to notice. We weren’t getting any older. We didn’t get sick, either. In the colonies in the 1770s, we could smell war coming. Sam and I headed west. We were passing through Virginia when we found some trappers raping some native women they caught bathing in a creek. Indians. We got in the middle of it. Didn’t mean to—just didn’t like seeing women being hurt.”

  The video showed an old painting of men on horses with muskets shooting people dressed in deerskin and holding bows.

  “Sam got shot. In his gut. A wound like that was a death sentence back then. Not a good thing now. I took him to a cabin in Logtown to keep him comfortable while he died.” The image changed to show another man’s face. Dark, curly hair flowed over his forehead. His eyes swept down at the corners over high cheekbones framed by full lips and a well-trimmed beard.

  “My father?” Alice whispered.

  The amoeba image returned, and this time it kept dividing into new copies of the original one.

  “Anyway, he didn’t die. In another one of these videos, I go into the why of it more. Turned out we caught a bug up there in China. It’s sort of a contrary bug. It makes you healthy. Hey, I went to school to learn about such things. Since then I’ve done research on it. That’s all in the other videos and the papers in the notes folder.”

  The multiplying amoebas onscreen were replaced by the swirl of a fanciful Chinese dragon. “The Chinese said that meteor showers were dragons hatching and that dragons are signs of good fortune, good luck. When we got around to naming it, we called the bug we caught Andracia dragoneris, from 'dragon stone.'” In the video, the fanciful dragon slowly faded out, and one that looked angrier, painted in gold on a field of red fire, faded in.

  Moore’s voice went on. “If you are still with me, this is where my happy tale turns dark. After Sam got shot, he changed some. Became more thoughtful. He said the Andracia must be a gift from God. It kept us from aging. It healed us. It made us different. Special. We argued. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be stuck with him anymore. It had been a long time. He was convincing. He was always a good talker, but after he got shot, he became even better at it. Not just with me, with other people, also. I’m stubborn, though. I left—kept heading west. Sam stayed behind, changed his name. Said he needed to find out what this was all about. Of course, we didn’t know anything about bacteria then, just that something weird had happened to us.”

  In the video, the dragon faded out, replaced by the wiggling amoeba again.

  “Those are just gross,” said Alice. Jacob nodded.

  “Turns out we all have about four pounds of bacteria we carry around with us every day. Andracia seems to replace most of them over time. It’s kind of a sym-bi-ont. Benevolent. Other animals have them: termites, corals, and goby fish. About time people got some. But I’m getting ahead of my story. I didn’t know many multi-syllable words back then.”

  The amoebas faded out and were replaced by a spinning globe.

  “I went all over the world the next hundred years. Had many adventures. Should have written them all down. I lived through a few near-death experiences too. Wounds that should have killed me. I was even buried once. Everyone thought I was dead. Somehow, the Andracia brought me back. It fixes things. Well, I could go on. Short story is that while I was gallivanting around on my own, Sam was experimenting. He found that he could infect other people. When he had children, they were infected.”

  The video changed to show another man. This looked like an old portrait, with gray hair and a thin face. Sad eyes.

  “In England, Sam met a very smart man. Thomas Malthus. The man who invented rent.” A scene of people singing and dancing replaced the face. “Not the Broadway play.” Moore’s face came back on screen. “You thought me just an old sourpuss, eh? I get out. Had front row seats!”

  The scene changed to show two lines on a graph. “Malthus scared the heck out of Sam. Here he was, infecting people with a bug that made them live longer, making babies who might live forever, and Malthus convinced him t
hat this was a recipe for disaster. The world was going to run out of resources soon enough with people living normal lifetimes! Imagine if we all lived hundreds of years.”

  The image zoomed in on the point where the line labeled resources crossed the line labeled population. “Sam decided he needed to do something about that.” The graph faded to reveal the words “Apple Creek Corporation.”

  “By this time, Sam had some friends. Maybe not friends, not drinking buddies. More like associates. He found out that if he gave a person a transfusion with his blood, that person might also become infected. Turns out he could also do it by kissing, but Sam wasn’t that much into physical affection.” Moore laughed at that point. “Sorry, I am imagining Sam kissing Franklin McAlister. Nope, didn’t happen. They cut their palms and exchanged blood. Franklin and Laird Northwin. Robert Brandon. McAlister used to be a banker, rich as Croesus. Brandon was another thief Sam and I met up with in our travels. Northwin was a naval officer.”

  The scene switched to a painting of four men on horseback. “The original four horsemen you see on the Apple Creek logo came from an old painting of Sangerman, Northwin, McAlister, and Brandon riding together, hunting buffalo.”

  Alice gasped and pointed at the screen when she recognized Laird Northwin.

  “You probably guessed where the name came from.” The scene shifted to show a tree with small, red fruit. “Apple Creek was the name of the stream those Indian women were swimming in.”

  “The founding four decided to keep Andracia a secret, keep word from getting out. Control the information. Invite anyone who got infected in as a member of Apple Creek. Members had to swear to keep the secret. They killed anyone who turned them down. I popped back up a hundred years ago. Laird wanted to put me in prison. Franklin wanted to kill me. Robert and I got drunk together. Sam welcomed me back.”

  The scene changed to show Northwin in a Civil War uniform, surrounded by hard-looking men with muskets.

  “They hunted down my children and the women I had loved. Gave them the choice. Join us or die. Not much of a choice, but even then Apple Creek had the power to enforce it. Sam had Northwin start the Guardians. Former military men who were given the gift in exchange for their service. That being to enforce the rules. Keep the lid on the secret. Kill anyone who found out and would not join up.”

  “Most of my kids joined Apple Creek.”

  The scene changed to a headline that read “One of World's Richest Men Talks about Giving Fortune Away.”

  “Sam was five years older than I. When Sam got close to three hundred years old, he started to change.”

  Other headlines about Sam Sangerman giving to charity, talking about disbanding Apple Creek, and donating everything to medicine and science faded in and out. “Heck, he’d convinced me that Malthus was right. I went back to school and got a string of degrees. Even a doofus like me can do it with enough time. Became a doctor in 1937, then a biochemist in 1978. Studied under Dr. Crane. Hey, I was in no hurry!”

  The headlines faded out and were replaced with a picture of a vial of blood.

  “Franklin came to see me with a sample of Sam’s blood. Told me Sam had been talking wildly about telling everyone the secret, letting the world know they could live for centuries, free from disease. Suddenly he began saying Malthus was wrong.” The vial of blood shook on the screen.

  “McAlister and Northwin got real upset. They built this whole organization based on one firm belief. They killed… hell, we killed hundreds who refused to join us. Thousands.”

  The vial tipped over, and the screen filled with red.

  “If Malthus was wrong, all that blood was on our hands for no good reason. Lots of blood. Franklin thought there must be a point where the Andracia becomes too powerful and it drives the host mad. He thought Sam was at this point. Wanted me to find evidence.”

  The single test tube faded to a scene showing medical equipment in a lab. Alice gasped. “Jacob, I was there! Moore’s office in Tampa!”

  “I did think Sam was going crazy. I talked with him many times. Things were getting stranger at Apple Creek. McAlister and Northwin kept asking what I was doing. They made me paranoid as all hell. Asking about my daughter, Sara. I sent her away with Sam’s oldest, Alice. Into hiding.”

  Jacob groaned. Alice realized she was squeezing his arm with all her strength. His arm was covered with scratches and purple bruises. “Sorry!” She let go.

  His eyes fixed on the screen, he waved at her as though to say it did not matter. She softly stroked his arm where she had been squeezing.

  The scene changed to show a starship flying in space. “One time, Sam sent me a set of DVDs. A TV show. I never liked talkies. They make me nervous. TV was even worse. I didn’t have one. I told him that, and he sent me a TV. The show was called Star Trek.”

  “I watched a few of them. Pretty wild stuff. Creative. I asked him what it was all about. He left me a voice-mail, yelling about how there was a whole universe out there. I told him the show was a fantasy. It would take a hundred years to get to the nearest star. He sent back a text, ‘What is a hundred years?’ That was the last I heard from him. Maybe his last words to anyone. McAlister told me he had been killed that same day with his entire family. Freak accident.”

  The video showed more headlines, “Billionaire CEO Dead in Mystery Accident,” “Mystery Plane Crash with Billionaire’s Entire Family”…

  “The plane burned up. Sam didn’t come back from that one.” The old man wiped his eyes.

  “With Sam dead, I worried. I was the next oldest. I separated myself from the remaining three. Went underground. Turns out Andracia does make you change your mind some after three hundred years. It has its own agenda. It is not a bad agenda, though—just a very much larger one than people tend to think about. Malthus had a problem with perspective.” Another face appeared onscreen, gray-haired, thin, with a severe expression. “That’s Franklin McAlister,” Jacob said.

  Moore went on, “Franklin’s going mad in the other direction. He is convinced Andracia will make him crazy, like it did Sam. Like it did me. Franklin is trying to find a way to stop that happening to him. He came to me, asking for help making a clone. Talking about a brain transplant.” McAlister’s face faded out, and Moore came back on screen. “Franklin thinks Andracia can’t cross the blood-brain barrier. That barrier stops most things.” Moore raised his bushy, gray eyebrows. “I think he is the crazy one. I told him to get lost.”

  Moore stopped and rubbed his face with both hands, and then he looked abashed. “Sorry, shouldn’t do that when I’m on camera. McAlister found someone else who would do the deed. I found evidence. A little baby. A clone of a man named Mishari, a man nearly as old as Franklin,” Moore wiped his eye with his palm. “That is why I’ve made these videos. I need to tell the whole story.” Moore paused, looking intently from the small screen.

  “When you listen to the rest of these, they will sound like the rant of an old nutcase. A drunk on the street corner with a sign. Hell, they sound crazy to me. But this is a true story. Once, smart people believed the world was flat. Columbus sailed because someone told him a different tale. You might have learned in school that our thumbs are what make us different from the animals. That’s not it. Plenty of animals hold things. What makes us different is our ability to tell stories and pass them on. The story of what roots to eat. How to hide from a lion. How to build a house. What happens when a king gets too much power. That sort of thing. We spread stories like we spread disease. It makes us human. It makes humans different.” Moore’s face faded out, this time replaced by a scene showing the YouTube website.

  “I’m in hiding now. Soon I’ll put the videos I mentioned up on the web. This one is the first. Even Apple Creek can’t kill the Internet. I hope. Now that you have seen this, I’ve infected you with my story. Don’t let it die.”

  Moore stopped talking then and looked at the screen with a grumpy smile. The lights on him faded until only his smile remained visible. Then that
also faded away, as the last light went dark.

  “Wow,” Alice took a breath. It felt like the first one in days. “He’s nuts.”

  “Yeah. Stark raving. But there may be some truth lurking in there, with Apple Creek trying to get your dragon key back so badly. No one would go to all that trouble just to keep an old man from posting crazy rants on YouTube.” Jacob took her hand. “Alice, a missile blew up Northwin’s boat. I recognize the sound from when I was in combat. They call it a Hellfire. It is carried on US Army helicopters.”

  “Someone with an Army helicopter wants us dead?”

  Jacob looked at her for a moment. “I don’t know if they were shooting at us. But yeah, someone had it in for Northwin and Grant. Someone with serious pull.”

  “So maybe what he said about my father—being murdered—maybe that part was true?”

  “Yeah, there may be a few true things that the McAlisters don’t want anyone looking into. Your father dead, Moore dead, Brandon dead. Northwin dead. That leaves only the McAlisters. Now they own all of Apple Creek. There was a case where a baby went missing, the child of an Arab diplomat. I think he was named Mishari. Or maybe Moore just got that name from a newspaper.” Jacob’s shoulders slumped. “If I was still in the FBI and this video showed up on the web, I would look into it. I’m not the only curious person out there.”

  Jacob poked the next folder on the tablet’s screen. Another window came up, requesting a password. The hint read, πανσπερμία.

  “What language is that?” Alice said.

  “Looks like Greek to me.”

  Jacob touched another folder. Another password prompt popped up. It also had a hint above the place to type the password. This one read, “Horizon 47.3.”

  “Dammit, did Moore really want anyone to watch his crazy videos? Why put these weird passwords on them?”

  “Who knows? In an action movie, this is when we would run into a hacker in an Apple store or coffee shop with godlike computer skills and a room full of technology at his disposal. In his mother’s basement. Weighing four hundred pounds. I’m afraid I don’t have any of that.”