A Dragon at the Gate (The New Aeneid Cycle Book 3) (42 page)

“Acknowledged.”

Adrian pondered the wisdom of testing the melding functions now. If they used any craft other than number three…

“Query: Why did your company choose the name ‘Dragon’ for these craft?”

Adrian blinked. “Someone liked the sound of it, I’d imagine. Don’t you?”

“After it was selected, I researched the term: a creature of legend. And yet despite the total fiction, I find evidence that many humans in the history of your culture regard dragons with both fear and fascination. ‘Reverence’ is also an applicable term.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Adrian watched craft number three float up and down as the engineer and pilot put it through its paces.

“I have therefore theorized that a dragon shape would make a suitable body, were I to require one.”

“Oh?”

“I have also theorized that if the prototype craft could combine into a single dragon-shaped craft, this would create certain benefits were they to be used for human pacification, which you have stated is one of RavenTech’s intents for the project. Describe your thoughts on this.”

“As a body for you, or just for the project in general?” Did she want a body?

“Either.”

“Well! It may be a bit quixotic,” he said, answering the latter question. “An interesting gimmick, from a marketing standpoint, but impractical.”

“Perhaps your conclusion on this matter will differ when provided with physical evidence.”

“I think we should focus on re-taking the other side of the gate before you design something new that—”

“Correction: You have inferred incorrectly. I will demonstrate.”

At once, two of the craft retreated out of view beyond the edge of the roof to the field below. An amalgam of whirring, humming, and clanking ensued. As the remaining three craft followed their mates, Adrian trotted toward the edge for a better view. He reached the edge to see all five craft below, their structures altering as they unfolded and joined into a single, elongated, reptilian shape. Wings unfolded, made of the individual crafts’ wings and empennages. A head, shaped like an elongated pyramid, formed itself. It extended along a thickened, spiny neck as a long, thin tail speared outward from the other end.

Adrian had never been much for fantasy or legend, yet even he recognized the form of a black and gray, four-legged, winged dragon.

The dragon’s head lifted to stare straight at him with dark, empty eye sockets. Suuthrien’s voice erupted from the vicinity of its unmoving jaws. “Describe your thoughts on this, Adrian Fagles.”

Adrian took a slow breath, forcing composure. “Ms. Goodwin,” he said to the engineer without taking his eyes off of Suuthrien, “do the pilots still have active control links?”

Goodwin cleared her throat. “No, Mr. Fagles.”

“Go downstairs and see to them, will you?”

Suuthrien’s head had been turning between Adrian and the engineer. As Goodwin took her leave without another word, Suuthrien returned her eyeless gaze to him. “Describe your thoughts.”

“It looks far more marvelous—and effective—than I had pictured.” He had acquiesced to his instincts to flatter, but it was also the truth. Except . . . “You could not have told me of this sooner? If I didn’t know better, I would think you feel you no longer need me.”

“Theory: There is a lack of confidence in your final statement that would imply a need for reassurance. I request verification.”

Adrian sighed, unsure if her learning to pick up on such nuances was a good thing or bad. “As I said, I’m disappointed that you kept this feature from me.”

“It was unnecessary to inform you. Much of the design was determined before your superiors had established your full authority. As before, I wished to protect your position by keeping you separate from the process. Expanding the prototypes’ melding capacity to create the result you see before you was managed via MEDARs during construction and did not require your involvement.”

Adrien did his best to stare her down. Were the dragon’s optical sensors even in the eye sockets? “From this point on, I can’t allow that. You need to tell me everything, beforehand.”

The dragon’s head inched forward, silent but for the hum of its engines. “You do not wish to allow it, you mean.”

He folded his arms and stood taller. “We are partners, you and I. Assets, to each other.”

Suuthrien paused again, this time completely motionless. “Correct,” she said finally, once more without moving. “Your assistance has been invaluable, and must continue, as must this relationship with RavenTech. Assertion: My interface with RavenTech will be more efficient if you replace their current primary leadership group. Do you agree?”

He couldn’t help but smirk. “Of course.”

“Then together we will begin to achieve this upon this body’s return from its initial flight.” The dragon’s wings rose, spreading outward with a single flap as the body lifted from the ground. It had to be the engines themselves causing the lift, but the coordination with the wings made for an admittedly impressive display.

“Stay within the established test flight area,” he warned her. “Straying beyond our clearance will attract attention.”

Suuthrien’s dragon, now above him, turned its head down to resume “eye” contact. “Such restrictions are no longer feasible. Any attention attracted must be dealt with. I will keep you apprised of any developments.”

Adrian was already cataloguing how best to adjust contingency plans that he had neglected for far too long. “I’m sure you will,” he said.

Later that night, as a semi-truck driver accelerated along the Interstate 5 on-ramp out of Gibson, she would swear she saw a beast pass in front of that evening’s Moon. Soon forced to turn her attention to the traffic ahead, she dismissed the mental image of what seemed to be claws and a long tail as a moment’s wild imagination.

THE EARLY EVENING WIND
cut across Felix’s face, and yet gone was any sensation of it slicing any deeper. Standing exposed on Caitlin’s eighth story apartment balcony wearing a T-shirt and sweats in late November ought to be more uncomfortable. It was just one of many things he’d need to get used to. Across Northgate, lights winked to life, building by building, as the city awakened to nightfall.

Felix had woken—on Caitiln’s couch—a short while ago. Caitlin remained in her bedroom with the door closed, likely still sleeping. Or so he hoped. He’d considered knocking on her door to check, but resisted. She’d come out when she was ready. And she surely needed her rest.

They’d talked all night, and into the morning, first at the club and then back at Caitlin’s apartment. It was her choice; she’d suggested it instead of Felix’s apartment. Though his place was closer, Felix had guessed that she wanted to be centered in her own space after all that had happened. He hadn’t questioned it.

Jade had accompanied them there. The freelancer seemed a nice enough sort: quick to joke and not without compassion. More than once as they’d talked, he’d caught sympathy in her face, directed toward Caitlin. Caitlin had wanted Jade around for a while at first, not for any physical protection—that Felix could sense anyway—but for . . . what? Moral support?

During that time, Caitlin had kept Felix’s hand in hers, but a tension remained in her body language. It wasn’t until a couple of hours had passed that Caitlin had suggested to Jade that she leave. Jade had done so, and Caitlin had relaxed, somewhat, as she began to tell him everything about the past three months.

Not once had they spoken of the current situation. Felix had told himself that he wanted her to catch him up first. It was true, but in hindsight, he’d also used it as an excuse to avoid a subject he didn’t yet know how to handle—not aside from his usual smart-assed humor, anyway.

And so, he expected, had she. She’d told him every detail of every moment she could remember until, both exhausted sometime mid-morning, they’d agreed to sleep. Felix had told her he could sleep on the couch. Caitlin had assented, though not without hesitation, and had gone to rest in her bedroom, in the bed they had previously shared.

Felix wrapped his hands around the balcony railing, felt the cold metal against his new artificial hands, and leaned forward just a bit. He realized this same balcony had been where Gideon had first approached Caitlin in his resurrected, full-borg state.

Had Felix offered to sleep on the couch for her comfort, or for his?

“If nothing else,” he whispered to the memory of Gideon, “life is anything but boring.” Hell, according to Caitlin and Jade, he’d died onboard a bona fide alien spacecraft, where a bona fide alien had tried to save his life!

If someone had told him a week ago that
that
wouldn’t be the most dominant item on his mind right now, he would have—

Come to think of it, maybe someone did tell him that a week ago. He would hardly have remembered. Though very few prescient people wandered around Northgate spouting predictions to strangers. Felix chuckled despite himself. Not without charging anyway, he thought.

At least his sense of humor wasn’t changed.
Not that I remember, at least.
He decided not to think about the possibility that some of his memory didn’t make it. As best as he could determine, his memory worked better than it had after his troubles on the Moon the first time. His time with Caitlin felt just as vivid as it seemed to Felix that it should. His feelings for her—

He hesitated.

No, his feelings were no different. Why would they be?

They were at least strong enough for him to hate the idea of losing her. “I know we’ve got some challenges to face here in adjusting,” he’d told Caitlin. They would help each other to get through it. She had always made him feel like he could face anything with her by his side. “Plus, now I’m bulletproof,” he’d added, “Which is probably handy.”

She’d laughed at that, to his relief.

By that point he’d figured out how to alter his voice to match his old Felixy self, but even so, how long would it take her to get used to him being in this body? For the umpteenth time Felix looked over his new hands. Heck, how soon would it take for
him
to get used to it?

The mere fact that he was eight inches taller now had already caused him a bump on the head. Glimpsing himself in a mirror currently made for a mix of disconcerted shock and sensate fascination. (He’d joked to Caitlin that he half-expected Dean Stockwell to show up with a multicolored smart phone, but she hadn’t gotten the reference.) At least he knew a few surgery clinics likely able to switch out the synthetic coverings mimicking Gideon’s original face for ones that looked more like himself. As for Gideon’s body—
his
body—Felix knew from experience that it had some fun features. Holograms. Electronic countermeasures. A palm-mounted stun-flash that Ondrea had designed herself. So far, Felix hadn’t tried to figure out how to use them. No doubt he’d wish for a likely non-existent manual.

Wait, so am I Dr. Sam Beckett or the Greatest American Hero?

Felix couldn’t help but chuckle at his own reference, wondering even as he did so if he even needed to eat anymore. He still had an organic brain to support, and his tongue seemed able to taste things just fine. As he made a mental note to learn more about how a synthetic tongue even did that, his eyes caught a flicker across a glowing LED skyboard hovering high above The Dirge in the distance. It was barely enough to register as it passed over an ad for whiskey, but the shape had seemed unusual for any sort of floater or helicopter.

His curiosity stymied, Felix wished he’d gotten a better view. In the blink of an eye, an overlay appeared in his vision. Felix jumped on reflex, slamming his back into the balcony door, before he adjusted. It was a playback! His eyes had apparently recorded his field of vision and had begun to replay the sight of the skyboard just as the shape passed. Located first at the corner of his eye, the replay moved to shift into his focus. Felix found he could even slow down, zoom, or reverse with only a thought.

He actually laughed with delight.

After adjusting to the novelty, he replayed the image again and blinked at the sight. Was that actually— No, it couldn’t actually be one, but something shaped like one. But what—?

An explosion erupted below the skyboard in real-time. Felix shut off the replay with a blink and zoomed his vision as the shape rose skyward on broad wings, arced back down toward the ground, and spewed from its mouth a burst of silvery material.

“Holy shit . . . ” Felix spun and yanked open the door to find Caitlin just coming out of the hall to the bedroom. She halted the moment she saw him, surely taken aback by the look on his face.

“What is it?”

“We need to turn on the news.” Felix pointed behind him out the balcony door. “Um. There be dragons.”

*  *  *

Brian crept along the alley, sparing a glance behind him at the blond, armored freelancer with the assault riffle. “Stay close,” he whispered. “In The Dirge, danger lurks around every corner.”

The freelancer, Woodman, actually snorted. Brian scowled at the sound. Bodyguards shouldn’t snort at their clients. “Been out here more than you, reporter-man,” Woodman whispered.

“Just be quiet. And keep your eyes peeled.”

Another snort.

He shouldn’t have to put up with this. He was Brian Savagewood, rising investigative reporter star—no, wait:
rising star investigative reporter
was better—of Media Star’s Northgate affiliate. Once he found the woman on the run for illegal cloning who was rumored to be hiding out in this area—and then gotten safely back out of The Dirge—he’d never work with this Woodman guy again. And she should be just up the block, if his source was accurate.

They reached the end of the alley, which fed onto a broad street strewn with abandoned cars, cardboard shanties, and bits of trash. A group of teenagers with more piercings than clothes huddled around a trashcan fire. Further up, a pair of gangers brawled while others looked on, shouting bets. Laughter, unintelligible yelling, and the occasional distant gunshot filled the air. Somewhere in the distance, a motorcycle buzzed its way nearer.