Dragons vs. Drones (20 page)

Chapter
26

“I
t can't be,” Marcus whispered. But there was no doubting it was his father . . . or at least something that used to be his father.

His eyes were sunken and opaque, flicking across a row of screens flooded with numbers. His skin was pale and glowing the same luminescent blue as the machines, while his arms and legs were rope-thin and flaccid, propped up on a metal chair with unforgiving iron cuffs connected to his wrists and ankles. His hair was greasy and limp, falling over gaunt cheekbones like grasping vines that merged into a long, knotted chestnut beard. He was almost hidden behind the mess of hair, like a skeleton with a moth-eaten wig.

Dree saw the recognition on Marcus's face and put her hand over her mouth in horror. That was the father he had been trying so desperately to find? She went to reach out for Marcus's shoulder, but he immediately stormed toward the web of machinery, heading straight for his father. He ducked under wires and power cells, his eyes welling.

He reached the chair, fully expecting his father to not
even recognize him—to keep his eyes on the screens and continue on like the machine he seemed to have become.

But the second Marcus stepped in front of the chair, his father's cloudy blue eyes flicked to him and widened. The wrinkles on his face pulled tight with the shadow of a smile. He knew Marcus. His fingers moved, as if he was trying to reach out for him.

Marcus felt a flood of emotions: relief, despair, hope. He had been waiting for this moment for eight years, and to finally see his father now, like this, was almost too much to bear. But his father was in there, somewhere, and Marcus would save him.

“Marcus?” George said, his voice a hoarse croak. “Look at you. All grown up.”

Marcus felt Dree step up beside him as tears started to roll down his face, but he didn't care. “I've come to bring you home,” he said, looking at the screens. They showed pictures of automated assembly lines—conveyor belts running through some windowless factory. There were many different images, but he thought he saw wings and guns. “What is this?”

George's smile disappeared, sinking back into wrinkles and ghostly skin. His lips were white and thin, as if they were of no use to him anymore and had died. “This is my folly.”

Marcus, who was inspecting the cuffs to see if they could be ripped off, looked up at him and frowned. “What?”

Dree was examining the machinery, amazed that all of this existed in the bowels of the centuries-old palace. She
ran her hands along a black wire, feeling the energy inside.

George nodded at the screens. “I built my own prison, I'm afraid.” He glanced at Marcus, and now his clouded eyes were watering. “I thought I could make things better.”

Marcus knelt down in front of him. “I don't understand. I thought . . . I thought you came here to close the portal. To stop the government from harvesting Dracone and killing everyone. Why else would the CIA call you a traitor?”

“Because I am one,” George said simply.

Marcus stood up, trying to make sense of this. He had spent so much time convincing himself that his father was a victim—anything else seemed impossible. “A traitor to whom?”

“Myself,” he said. “I stole something from the CIA. Something very valuable. The plans for those drones . . . many years ago. I took them here, where I knew they could never find me. I have many secrets, Marcus. And for you, they will not be easy to hear.”

“Maybe we should get you out of here,” Dree suggested uneasily.

“No,” George said. “Marcus deserves to know the truth first.” He paused. “In case he wants to leave me here with my many mistakes.”

“What truth?” Marcus asked.

George met his eyes. “I was not born in the United States, Marcus. I was born and raised in a town just outside of this city. I was a loner growing up, more interested in machinery than games. It was my only passion. Well, that and a girl named Lenda Faller, who lived two houses over.”
He smiled, but it was pained. “She wasn't interested in me, of course—she was of a wealthy family—but I pursued her anyway, and one day, when we were seventeen, she finally agreed to a date. We were married two years later in a beautiful ceremony in town.”

His eyes glazed over even more, as if he was looking at something long ago. Dree glanced at Marcus, some pieces falling into place. He had Draconian blood in his veins.

“Was that . . . Mom?” Marcus asked.

“Yes. I loved her dearly,” George whispered. “And then I killed her.”

George tried to reach out to take Marcus's hand, but he pulled it away.

“What do you mean?” Marcus said.

George sighed. “I was vain. Your mother was a dragon rider, one of the best. She had a dragon named Sera, a Sage. When you were born, I knew immediately that you had her blood. You would be a rider too. I wanted to become one as well.”

His sunken eyes flicked to Marcus.

“I was already the leading engineer in Dracone. I was close with Francis Xidorne, and when he came to power, he let me work on new projects. There was one I kept from him, though. A mechanical dragon . . . a mount for a rider who would never be chosen.”

Dree and Marcus exchanged a knowing look.

“I was successful enough,” George said, “but it wasn't quite right. It would never match a real dragon. And so I set
off for the one thing that would help.”

“The Egg,” Dree whispered.

George nodded. “I stole it and brought it back to my town. I was going to use it.”

“You're from Toloth,” Dree said. It wasn't a question.

“Yes,” George whispered. “Helvath came out of the mountain that night, along with two other Flames. They destroyed my town and killed everyone in it. My wife tried to fight them with Sera, but they were both slain. The only survivors were Marcus and me.”

Marcus frowned. “But how did you . . . we . . . end up in the other world?”

“I was lost without Lenda,” George said. “I sat with you in the smoking ruins, wondering how I would protect you if the Flames returned. We were powerless against such creatures, and they had a vendetta against me. At any moment, they might return for my only son . . . the only thing of value I had left. A year earlier I had started a new project, spatial distortions. Even then I believed that a land existed parallel to Dracone, and that it could only be accessed with energy.”

“The storms,” Marcus said softly.

“Precisely. By creating energy disruptions I found a way to open a portal, and we used it to escape. I started a new life in the new world, taking a job with the CIA and raising you. But as the years passed, my guilt grew for what I had done. I decided to go back and help Francis safeguard our people against the Flames and build a better world. I stole the drone technology I had been working on, and I
asked Jack to watch you so I could return to Dracone.”

Dree looked at him, frowning. “You worked on the drones?”

“I helped design them,” he said. “I built the first ones here five years ago.” He paused. “I tried to leave you clues. The symbol . . . I had hoped it would lead you to me.”

“The symbol on the drones?” Marcus asked.

“Yes. The three rectangles. The place we always wanted to go.”

“Oz,” Marcus whispered. “The towers. That's what you wrote on your desk.”

“Yes,” he said.

Marcus shook his head. “But it wasn't just the towers on the drone wings. There were two eyes above them as well.”

“Eyes?” George asked. He sighed. “Of course. Those must have been added later.”

Marcus sat down on the stone floor, his mind reeling. He felt like he might be sick. Dree knelt down beside him, rubbing his back. Her eyes were locked on George,
disturbed. Who was this man? Why would he build machines that killed innocent people?

“What happened?” Marcus whispered.

George looked away. “I put my trust in the wrong person. Francis changed over the years. He wanted more and more power—not just to defend against the Flames, but to destroy all of the dragons. To destroy the revolutionaries. To destroy anyone who didn't agree with him. He wanted to become an emperor.”

George let out a defeated sigh.

“He asked me to adjust the drones' programming. I agreed, but I stalled, knowing that he would only use them for evil. As the years passed, he realized what I was doing. A year ago he decided to imprison me here and take over the drone program himself. He must have added those eyes. . . . He was always watching me, and I guess he wanted to prove it. In my desperation, I sent the last few drones I still controlled into your world to find you, to keep you safe and bring you back to Dracone. I succeeded, but now Francis has full control over them too, and I fear he will use them to destroy anything in Dracone that threatens him . . . the dragons, the poor, and all who would dare to stand against him.”

George glanced at Marcus.

“He just needs one more thing to make the drones invincible. The Egg. It's an energy source: It emanates the same fiery energy that the dragons have within them. It has the ability to endow robotics with life—to turn them into something nearly invincible. But when I realized the danger
it posed, I decided to hide it back on Earth. I returned, hid the Egg, and then came back to Dracone to try and fix my mistakes. But I was too late.”

“Why?” Marcus asked, almost angrily.

“For the same reason I hid the Egg. I had been betrayed.” He looked at Marcus, and for the first time, there was fear in his eyes. “And when I returned, he put me here.”

“Yes,” a quiet voice said.

Marcus and Dree turned to see Francis Xidorne walking out of the shadows, the friendly smile he always wore twisted into something dark and cruel. His eyes fell on George, who had shrunken into his chair, terrified.

“And I want that Egg.”

Chapter
27

M
arcus and Dree took a step backward, unnerved by the sardonic expression on Francis's face. When Dree had seen him last, he looked jovial and warm—now he looked malicious. Merciless.

Francis watched them for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Your father was quite right about the rest of it. We worked together to do two very simple things: destroy the dragons and create a better Dracone. When I realized he was abandoning these goals—his weakness had caused him to feel remorse for those flying worms—it became clear that our visions for the future of this world didn't quite align. He was going to throw it all away. I couldn't allow that, of course, so I acted.”

Marcus looked at his father. “Why didn't you stop him?”

“He commands the Protectorate,” George said. “He is far too powerful here. He locked me in this room to watch his work and took over the control of the drones. As I sat here, he began to build his army. Beneath that steel mill is a factory. They're building drones.”

“You're making more of them?” Dree whispered.

George nodded. “Many more.”

“But too slowly,” Francis said. “I wanted improvements in the manufacturing process, but your father refused to help me. To make matters worse, he managed to send some of the drones I did have to your world in an attempt to have them shot down and destroyed. Thankfully you brought them back for me.”

He smiled coolly.

“They are now firmly in my control. I have since been using the drones to destroy the poorer outskirts and remove some . . . unfortunate elements of society.”

“The revolutionaries,” Dree whispered.

“Yes. And their miserable families. A breeding ground for rebellion. Once Dracone is cleared, I can fully turn my attention to the worms. The Outliers have been simple to take down, and the Nightwings will be next. But even I wonder if the drones can destroy the Flames.”

He turned to George.

“And so I asked him for the Egg, but he insisted it was gone. Now I know he was lying. I will need you to go retrieve it for me, George.”

Marcus climbed to his feet, looking at Francis in disgust. “He won't do anything of the sort.” He turned and started fiddling with the steel cuffs. “We're out of here.”

Francis smiled, flashing his ivory teeth. “Marcus and George can go. Driele Reiter, you'll stay here with me to make sure they return with the Egg. If they don't, I will kill you and your family. Even little Abigale.”

“How do you know my name?” Dree asked quietly.

He laughed. “You don't think I stopped watching my old friend Abelard, do you? He was always against me, your father. He loved the old ways. But I made sure to get him out of my way early on.”

“What did you do?” Dree whispered.

“After I ended the days of the dragon riders, your father grew restless,” Francis said. “He was onto my plans. But he
was too careless. He started organizing rallies, leading the underground, talking of revolution. I could have had him killed, but that wasn't enough for such insolence. You do not defy this government—you do not defy
me—
without facing consequences. I wanted him broken. You may not know this, but I own those dockyards. He worked for me.”

Francis met Dree's eyes, a smirk on his face once again.

“Well, one day your father's coworkers didn't show up on my orders. We still needed the boat stocked with very heavy steel supplies. Crates upon crates of them. He struggled, asking for help, but the dockmaster told him he would be fired if he left. He knew it was me, and so he struggled on. He thought he could show that he was stronger than me, that he would never give up. But the day wore on, he tired, and eventually, near the end, he broke.”

Francis leaned in a little.

“The dockmaster told me that when his back snapped, he cried out for his dragon. We let him lie there for hours, writhing in pain, knowing that he had lost everything.”

Dree bolted toward Francis, balling her fists. She'd felt the heat building, and now he'd pushed her too far. She swung right for his face, thinking how good it was going to feel to knock him into the next room. She heard Marcus's father shouting something behind her, but she ignored him. She'd had enough talk.

Francis reacted almost instantly.

Still smiling, he lifted a small weapon and pulled the trigger. An electric blast collided with Dree's stomach,
enveloping her entire body. The effect was devastating.

Energy flooded through her like a blast of lightning, sending her flying across the room and smashing into the hard concrete wall twenty feet away. Her right shoulder crunched painfully under the blow, and she dropped to the cold floor, dazed and shaking.

“Dree!” Marcus shouted, starting toward Francis.

“No!” George said firmly. “I was trying to warn her. I designed that weapon . . . he stole it from me a year ago.”

Dree groggily tried to stand, feeling weak. She looked at Francis, seething. The heat was coursing through her like lava, but she couldn't find the strength to get up again.

“Take him out,” she managed.

Francis sighed. “I think not.” He took a small metallic transmitter out of his pocket and pressed it. “Activate.”

Suddenly, dual red lights lit up in the darkness behind Xidorne. Two Trackers slowly glided forward. They must have been parked at the back of the cavernous dungeon behind some of the excess machinery. Their machine guns were at the ready. Dree froze.

“Marcus,” Francis said quietly, “you will take your father back to Arlington. You will retrieve the Egg and you will bring it back to me. If you don't, I will kill Dree and every other living person in this city. I don't really
need
them, you see. Do you understand?”

“What will you do if you have the Egg?” Marcus asked.

“Kill the dragons. All of them. Purge the countryside. Build a better Dracone.”

Francis smiled.

“After all, that is the job I was elected for.”

Marcus exchanged a quick glance with Dree and then slid his hand into his pocket, where his phone was tucked against his leg. Trying to remain inconspicuous, he slid his finger over the screen and opened the keypad—he knew the phone so well he didn't even need to see the screen to operate it. He pressed One and then Call, activating the homing beacon he had installed in Baby Hybrid.

The drones tilted slightly, one locked on Dree and the other on Marcus.

“Now,” Francis said, “let's get this moving, shall we? Dree, you can take a seat in the corner. I suspect it will take these two some time. I know you can create the disruptions on demand, George, my old friend, though you refuse to admit it. I suggest you do it quickly.”

Marcus removed the heavy metal cuffs from George's wrists and ankles, and he gasped when he saw the deep red bruises and callouses that had formed from being stuck in them for so long. George almost fell out of the chair, but Marcus grabbed him.

“I'm sorry, Marcus,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay, Dad,” Marcus said, even though he wasn't sure he meant it. He wasn't sure what to think. But right now, they just had to get out of the palace.

“You and your father can catch up later,” Francis said. “Move along.”

Marcus hesitated, but Francis aimed the weapon at
Dree again, and the two enormous Trackers floated ominously behind him, machine guns trained on Marcus and his father. He needed to waste time.

“All right,” Marcus replied, “we're going.”

Dree turned to Marcus, scowling. “We're not getting you that Egg. Right, Marcus?”

Marcus groaned inwardly. Could she not just pretend for a second? “Well . . .”

She narrowed her eyes, and he sighed. He couldn't stand her look of betrayal.

“No,” Marcus said.

Francis gave another exaggerated sigh. “I see we might need a little motivation.” He took the transmitter out again. “Drone three, open fire on the west block of—”

“Wait,” Marcus said quickly. “We'll go.”

He ignored the look on Dree's face. He could deal with her disappointment for a little longer. He wasn't letting anyone else get killed.

“Wise choice. Dree, make yourself comfortable—”

He was cut off by a massive, wall-shaking boom. The dungeon ceiling flaked and shook, knocking Marcus and George to the unforgiving stone ground. Francis looked up.

“What was that?” he asked.

“You might want to duck,” Marcus said to Dree, and she immediately hit the floor. She was just in time. Part of the dungeon ceiling blew open in a hail of bullets, shredding the ancient stones, and Baby Hybrid emerged through the smoke, streaking right through the decimated
palace hallways. Behind her, half the palace had been blown open, revealing the night sky. Dust and ash swirled everywhere, and Marcus spotted Francis crawling away from the rubble.

He turned to the drones. “Shoot it down!”

The Trackers wheeled toward Baby Hybrid, opening fire, and the hybrid took off for the sky again, leading them away. The drones screamed after it.

“I can't believe it,” George said, watching Baby Hybrid soar out of the palace. “It's better than the one I made. It's . . . beautiful.”

“Dree did most of it,” Marcus replied, wiping the dust from his eyes. “Dree, you okay?”

“Fine,” she managed. “Baby Hybrid might be a bit
too
eager with her rescues, though.”

Five heavily armed soldiers appeared in one of the shattered hallways overhead—three stories had been torn open in the attack—looking completely bewildered when they saw the electric blue machinery. They spotted Francis and shouted for orders.

Francis pointed at Marcus and George. “Intruders in the palace,” he screamed. “Seize them all immediately and bring them to the prisons.”

The first soldier lowered himself from the upper floor hallway and dropped to the ground, ready to charge Marcus. He didn't see Dree slowly pushing herself up in the darkness behind him. She lashed out with a sharp kick to the back of his leg, crumpling him, and then struck him across
the chin, knocking him out. She scooped up his broadsword and tossed a small knife to Marcus, letting it fall short and slide toward his feet.

“Take out Francis!”

Marcus scooped up the knife, leaving George to lean heavily on the chair. He charged Francis as two more soldiers dropped down to face a now sword-wielding Dree. But Francis was faster. He hurried toward the staircase, shouting for more soldiers.

Dree waved her sword around wildly, keeping the two soldiers at bay, but when the remaining two dropped down, she knew she was in trouble. They were just advancing toward her when Baby Hybrid swept over the room, spraying machine gun fire and downing two of the soldiers. The remaining two soldiers scattered for cover, and Francis was forced to dive out of the way as the entrance to the staircase was torn apart. The doorway collapsed into a heap of rubble, trapping them all inside. Baby Hybrid slowed down for just a moment to survey the room, searching for Dree and Marcus, and one of the drones used the delay to fire on its right wing, tearing some of the armor away. Baby Hybrid buckled under the fire and then shot skyward again out of the decimated palace.

Marcus closed in on Francis, the knife shaking in his hands. He had never used a weapon before, but he had seen a lot of movies and kept it well in front of him, pointed at Francis's chest. Francis looked up as Marcus approached. He was still smiling.

Francis lifted the energy weapon and fired. The blast hit Marcus like a truck, and he flew backward and crashed onto the floor, the knife spilling from his hands. He heard his father cry out and try to get to him, and then a loud thud as his legs gave out.

The two soldiers were up again and attacking Dree, who was barely holding them off, waving her sword back and forth frantically from where she was pinned to a wall. She had wielded swords many times to test their weight and speed in the forge, but she had never actually fought anyone with them. It was exhilarating and terrifying and almost mindless—all she could think of was avoiding the steel death raining down on her from the two large, grizzled men in black armor. She jumped behind a computer screen and watched in satisfaction as one of the soldiers stabbed into it, shocking himself in a sizzle of blue and dropping his sword, cursing.

Overhead, Baby Hybrid was in trouble. Three more drones had joined the pursuit, including a Destroyer, and the hybrid was racing in and out of the palace hallways, trying to avoid the constant fire. Sparks burst out behind it like a comet's tail as bullets deflected off the heavy armor that Dree had worked for weeks to assemble. Another piece of its wing flaked away, and Dree saw a bullet hit the right engine, causing a short. Baby Hybrid wobbled but kept flying and even managed to blow one of the drones apart with a missile. The fireball raced through the palace hallways, engulfing plush carpets and statues and gold-framed pictures.

Marcus groaned and climbed back to his feet, his whole
body tingling. As he stood up, he saw Francis walking toward him, the smile gone. He looked angry now.

“I begin to wonder if you are worth keeping alive,” he said, looking at George thoughtfully. “But I need that Egg.” He leaned down. “Pick up your father and get to the portal.”

He stood up straight and pointed the weapon at Marcus's head.

“You won't survive a shot to the face, boy,” he said quietly.

“We'll go,” George said weakly, crawling toward Marcus. “Leave my son.”

“Then hurry,” Francis replied. “I am becoming impatient.”

Across the room, Dree met swords with the final soldier. She strained to push him back, but he was too strong. He suddenly twisted his blade, sending hers flying across the dungeon. Without warning, he backhanded her viciously and she toppled backward, dazed. Dree hit the ground and pain raced up her spine. She watched in numb defeat as the soldier stepped over her. His eyes locked on hers as he lifted the sword. It was over. She had failed, and she would die here in the bowels of the palace.