Domesticating Dragons Page 9

  Parker: 81.62.

  Jesus. I’d shaved off more than twelve points. That, added to my other prototype, would probably be enough to get below the fifty-point plateau.

  But not by much. If I’d had more time to tinker with the behavioral traits, I might have gotten close to the others. Then this would give me a clean victory. But I was behind, and nearly out of time. Still, I could technically win Evelyn’s contest.

  Of course, if I did, everyone else in the design team would hate my guts.

  Not that I’d blame them, but it’s just too damn convenient when your own simulator code seems to block out competitors and let you win at the eleventh hour. They’d probably throw a fit to Evelyn. Hell, I would in their shoes. I wanted to win so badly. To prove myself. Oddly enough, that reminded me of something Evelyn had asked me to do when the competition started. It wasn’t to prove my genetic engineering abilities. It was to prove that I could be part of the team.

  A reminder flashed on my screen. Fifteen minutes until Evelyn’s deadline. That wasn’t much time. I exported my trifecta into a “patch”—a set of changes that anyone else could bring into their DragonDraft3D models. The only question was where to send it. My first thought was Korrapati. She’d put a ton of work into this, and I liked her. But then again, if what she’d said was true, whoever lost this might get fired. The company would never let Korrapati go, and even if they did, she’d find another job in about two seconds. I was more worried about Wong because of his visa situation. He was good, but if some higher-up decided it was simpler to lay off a non-citizen, he’d be screwed. And I hated the thought that he might go back to Shenzhen.

  Wong: 50.11

  Wong: 50.12

  I chuckled. If I wanted a sign, there it was. So I sent my patch to Wong with a brief note: Try this.

  In essence, that meant I was throwing in the towel myself. I forced myself away from my desk and tried to eavesdrop on my neighbor over the white noise. I heard the incoming message beep, then Wong’s fingers playing across the keys. He drew a sharp breath. Silence ruled for five seconds. Then he rolled out in his chair and met my eyes with as stony an expression as I’d ever seen on him. All the chipper facade had disappeared.

  He doesn’t know if he can trust me. We had only a few minutes to go, after all. But I gave him a nod, hoping he’d at least try it. He stared at me another moment, then rolled back in.

  His fingers danced on the keyboard. I glanced at the clock. A minute to go.

  Ding. Incoming message. I held my breath and pulled it up.

  Wong: 37.93.

  “Yes!” I pumped a fist, while the lab erupted into cheers and curses and laughter.

  “My God, Wong!” Korrapati said.

  “What did you do?” O’Connell shouted.

  Wong rolled out of his workstation with a big smile on his face and shrugged, like it was no big deal.

  I grinned so wide my cheeks hurt. Part of me still couldn’t believe it had worked. “Congratulations, man.” I reached across the divider and shook his hand.

  Evelyn click-clacked into the lab. “Well, it looks like we have a winner! What was your secret, Wong?”

  Wong looked at me. I could tell he was about to share the credit, but I put a finger across my lips. This is your moment, buddy.

  “No secret. Only hard work,” he said.

  “And a lot of runs in the simulator,” I said. “Twice as many as anyone else. You earned it, Wong.”

  Evelyn looked happy enough to dance. Her face glowed. “I appreciate your hard work, everyone. Save your designs. We’ll try Wong’s next, but we may need a backup.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. The best parts of my design were already part of Wong’s. Let’s hope I’m not the backup.

  “Noah, do you have a minute?” Evelyn asked.

  “Sure.” I followed her to her office, my heart already sinking. Even my best-scoring models put me in a distant last place in the competition. Maybe she expected better. But hell, they couldn’t have scored the competition without my simulator code. I clung to that sliver of reassurance while Evelyn brought me in and shut her door. Then I kept my mouth shut and let her steer the conversation.

  “Did you enjoy the competition?” she asked.

  I laughed and shook my head. “You know what? I did. It really helped me learn DragonDraft3D.”

  She nodded. “I think everyone on the team doubled their experience using my poor little application.”

  “It’s really nice. I like the interface.”

  She waved off my compliment, though her eyes twinkled. “So, what do you think of Wong?”

  “He’s good. The score was a crusher.”

  “Funny how he made such a significant gain, in such a short time.”

  “Maybe he was snowballing us.” I said.

  “Maybe. But there was only one other designer who made such an improvement in one shot.” She tapped her fingertip on the desk. “Something tells me that if I looked at his prototype, I might find your trifecta.”

  Uh-oh. I looked down at my shoes.

  “Ha! I knew it,” she said.

  “Is collaboration against the rules?”

  “Not at all. Frogman and O’Connell worked together on a few of their models. But I’m surprised you gave it to him.”

  I shrugged. “He had a good design already. I just helped with the final push. Besides, you were right.”

  “About what?”

  “You said I’d like him, and I do. I don’t want him to go back to China.”

  “You deserve some of the credit.”

  I shook my head. “All that matters is the prototype works.”

  “We’ll know soon enough. I’m authorizing six eggs.”

  “Six?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Do you believe in the design, or not?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Management’s not going to let us hit the print button forever, Noah. We should use it while we can.”

  My stomach danced with butterflies, half nerves and half excitement. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  She put in the authorization—it took director-level clearance to print that many eggs from the same prototype—and we went to Wong’s workstation to watch them roll out of the God Machine. They were about the same size as Design 48’s egg, but slightly rounder. I’ll never forget the color: chestnut brown, with faint swirls of mahogany. I wanted to touch one, to put my hand on the still-warm shell and try to sense the promise within. But Evelyn’s override automatically summoned the entire hatchery staff. They invaded the design lab with a convoy of egg carts and formed a white-jumpsuited human chain to move the eggs out. I couldn’t have gotten near one if I tried.

  I wandered over to Wong, who sat in his chair with a dazed expression on his face. “Six eggs, huh? That seems like a lot.”

  “Crazy.”

  “So what did you name your model? Design 49?”

  “Not design anything. I go with PetWong.”

  I laughed. “That’s perfect.”

  “If it works.” He shrugged. “I figure Wong means hard worker, at least.”

  “It’ll work,” I reassured him. “It has to.” Otherwise, all my carefully laid plans might have been for nothing.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HIATUS CONTINUES

  Philadelphia, PA—The American Kennel Club confirmed this morning that its beloved National Dog Show remains on hiatus this year. AKC officials first suspended the competition—televised each year on Thanksgiving Day—four years ago, as the canine epidemic took hold in North America.

  “The few folks lucky enough to have a show-quality dog still alive are keeping them under quarantine,” said AKC President Patricia Hernandez. “They don’t want to risk exposure, and we can’t blame them.”

  Canine facial tumor disease (CFTD) was first reported in South Asia and bore a striking similarity to another disease that affects the Tasmanian devil, a marsupial once native to Australia, but today found only in Tasma
nia. Researchers identified both diseases as transmissible soft-tissue tumors that are spread by physical contact with an affected animal. Dogs’ natural social tendencies makes them particularly vulnerable to the spread.

  CFTD typically manifests as visible and painful tumors affecting the nose, mouth, and snout of infected animals. These tumors soon metastasize into the lymph nodes and lungs, requiring euthanasia within four to six weeks. Radiation and chemotherapy fail to halt the progression of the tumor, and efforts to develop a cure have been unsuccessful despite considerable funding from both government organizations and private industry. As a result, canine populations plummeted more than ninety-five percent in most parts of the world.

  The precise origin of CFTD is controversial. Some organizations believe it “jumped” from Tasmanian devils to dogs. Others, including the international task force assembled to address the epidemic, have suggested that CFTD came out of a research laboratory, possibly one devoted to genetic modifications of canine species.

  According to the AKC, some dog owners have kept their pets alive using strict quarantine procedures. So-called “canine clean rooms” prevent exposure to other dogs, which is the most common route of infection. Yet even these extreme measures sometimes prove unsuccessful. Canine populations continue to decline. Dog parks remain empty.

  With this bleak outlook, many families who lost dogs to CFTD are turning to other species for pets. The number of households with cats, hedgehogs, domesticated pigs, or more exotic pet species have more than tripled in the last three years. Even so, man’s best friend leaves behind a void that’s difficult to fill with other animals. Canine instincts made them imminently trainable, and hundreds of years of specialized breeding allowed dogs to take on many roles in our society, from sniffing out explosives and contraband to assisting the visually impaired and providing emotional support. Perhaps other animals will be able to perform some of these tasks, but for the vast majority, the loss of dogs is sorely felt.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Herpetologist

  For the next two weeks, I ran Wong’s design through the simulator code over and over. The amount of effort he’d put into engineering it astonished me. They were sensible changes, too. Wong knew his stuff, and he’d given his design a great foundation. Between that and my so-called trifecta, the reward-survival-fear feedback loop, it might be enough to tame the wildest of reptiles.

  I saw little of Evelyn during the gestation period. She met with the board almost daily, and never came out of those meetings looking pleased. The executive team had lined up a second series of funding that could keep the company going, but the investors made it contingent on the successful hatching of a domesticated prototype.

  By “successful,” they pretty much meant no maulings.

  Our director’s trepidation was not lost on the design team. The fact that we had little to do until the prototypes hatched didn’t help either. Engineers like to be busy, and I was no exception. We were all jumpy as desert hares. Even the permanently chipper Korrapati grew quiet and spent most of her time in her cubicle with headphones on.

  Finally, the day of the hatching came. I’d come in early to run the design through my simulator one last time. Every benchmark looked solid, as far as I could tell. Maybe that’s why I felt the pressure more than most: this hatching would probably seal the fate of my design simulator, at least at Reptilian. And if it couldn’t work here, I wouldn’t have a good excuse to run a certain other simulation I’d been dying to try.

  It was around 9:30, and I began pondering a coffee break to kill some time. Just as I got up, Evelyn click-clacked into the design lab. “Everyone? It’s time.”

  We all stood and followed her out. Korrapati, Wong, and O’Connell led the way. I trailed after them, with The Frogman lumbering along beside me. He kept his headphones on and made no attempts at conversation, which was probably for the best. I was too nervous to talk.

  Please, God, let this work.

  We had the observation room to ourselves. Someone had moved our six eggs into the larger hatching room on the other side, where each of them nestled in a thick bed of foam and synthetic nesting material atop a steel table. Heat waves radiated up from the steel surface, which kept the eggs right at 95.2 degrees. A great temperature for hatching dragons, but it had to feel like an oven for the white-clad staffers.

  Two pairs of them were hard at work rotating the eggs one final time. Then they lined them up against the Plexiglas, like newborns at a hospital nursery. The door opened to admit a middle-aged man was dressed like Indiana Jones, right down to the broad-brimmed hat. He’d grown out the beard, but I still recognized him from his show on Animal Planet.

  “Is that—?” I began.

  “Tom Johnson,” Evelyn said.

  No one in the United States knew more about herpetology than Tom Johnson. He’d advised the Dragon Genome Project, and personally captured most of the reptiles that were sequenced for it. Sure, they could have gone to zoos and collectors to get samples, but the minds behind the DGP wanted as much wild variation as possible. That meant getting some dangerous snakes and lizards from not-so-nice parts of the world. The video of Johnson wrestling a Komodo monitor in Indonesia had gone viral and drawn considerable public interest in the project.

  “Sweet Jesus,” I breathed. “Not taking any chances, are you?”

  Evelyn laughed. “No, we’re not.”

  “Why didn’t we bring him in before?”

  “He’s been on an expedition in South America.”

  Seeing him right there through the glass had me starstruck. “What’s he like?” I found myself asking.

  “Oh, Tom?” Evelyn seemed surprised by my interest. “He’s fascinating. Not hard to spot across a room, either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged and looked away.

  I nudged her with my elbow. “Got a little crush on him, don’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Hell, maybe I’ve got a man-crush myself.

  Johnson made a quick pass and then went back to stand beside egg number four. He waited almost expectantly, like a professor expecting an answer from one of his students. It wasn’t even a minute later that the egg trembled and a vertical fracture split the top in half. A gray, toothy snout appeared. Then a clawed foot. My chest hurt—I had to remind myself to breathe.

  The hatchers started to edge forward, like they were going to help. Johnson wasn’t having it. He ushered them to the door and followed them out.

  “Wait, is he leaving?” I asked. “Are we sure we want it hatching unsupervised?”

  “Be patient, Noah,” Evelyn said.

  I clamped my mouth shut. Easy for you to say.

  We watched in fascination as the dragonet fought its way out of the shell. The egg-pieces clung to one another, thanks to the sticky goo underneath, so it was a bit like watching an ant stuck in honey. The goo itself coated the dragon and dripped in slow motion to the hatching room floor.

  Johnson reappeared with a huge tray of meat. The hatchers tried to follow him, but he shut the door with them on the outside.

  The first dragonet had wriggled free of its shell by then. It was gray-brown in color. Slender and lizardlike. Its tongue flicked in and out. It looked over as Johnson approached.

  Here we go. If the dragonet shied away, even from the offer of food, that would be a really bad sign. Wild animals put survival even before nourishment.

  The dragonet held still, watching him. Johnson tossed it a piece of meat. The dragonet hesitated, then leaned close and snapped it up.

  Evelyn gasped. “Look at that.”

  “It’s good. Very good,” Wong said.

  Johnson had another piece of meat ready, but he held it out a few feet away. This was the real test, to see if the dragonet would come to him. The meat swung idly back and forth like a pendulum. The dragonet’s little head followed the motion.

  “Come on, come on,” I whispered.
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br />   Evelyn said nothing, but clenched her hands together so hard, they turned pale at the knuckles.

  The dragonet shrank back for a moment, and I felt sure we’d failed. Too much fear. What was I thinking? Had we really gambled the future of Reptilian Corporation on the cats of ancient Egypt?

  The Frogman muttered something that sounded a lot like some trifecta. O’Connell snorted. I could already sense who was going to take the fall for this latest failure. Not Wong—his design was undoubtedly similar to all the others before I’d helped him. No, they’d pin this on the guy whose simulator scored all the designs. Whose last-minute patch had effectively chosen the winning prototype.

  I’m such a moron, I thought.

  Then the dragonet stalked forward to snatch the meat from Johnson’s hand. Gulped it right down. Paused, then actually nuzzled the man’s leg. Evelyn and I laughed out loud. Even the stalwart Johnson looked surprised. He glanced up, saw Evelyn, and gave her the thumbs-up.

  Evelyn blushed, and I couldn’t blame her. This is ten times better than Animal Planet.

  One by one, the dragon eggs hatched in the pod. One by one, Johnson enticed them with strips of raw meat. He took his time, offering the dragonet tiny morsels and retreating while it ate. He retreated less each time, until he stood over the dragonet while it chewed. He held the last piece out between two fingertips, just close enough that the reptile had to come to him to get it.

  Every time, the dragonet took the bait.

  And every time, Johnson would rest his hand on the little scaly head for a couple of seconds. Just long enough to establish physical contact, to imprint that vital physical link between survival and the human master. I might know my way around the genome, but Johnson could charm a snake out of its skin.

  It took an hour and a half to get through all six hatchings, but I hardly noticed. My mind spun with the implications of a domesticated dragon. The market potential and the customization opportunities. There should be no way for the company to fail now. The others encircled Wong and offered congratulations. Korrapati sounded earnest, O’Connell grudging. But a win was a win, and we needed one.