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“Can you remove them from the concrete?” Gideon asks. “That’s the first question.”
I look at Gideon, wondering how much they think I’ll really do for a meal and a shower. “Let’s see.” I grasp both hilts and a sense of excitement runs up my arms and down my spine. I may no longer be bonded to a dragon, but something about these blades still feels right. I pull and twist, and they slide right out, like they were stuck in a vat of cold butter.
“That’s impressive,” Gideon says.
“We applied nearly five hundred pounds of force on them earlier,” the scientist says. “They didn’t budge.” He’s eyeing me with undisguised curiosity. “I wonder what it is about you that makes them shift.”
“Please tell me you recorded the stupid fields or whatever,” Gideon says.
“Right.” The man shoves his glasses up his nose and turns around. “Yes, of course.” He sits again, and starts typing into his computer. Then he pushes back and stares. “It wasn’t magnetic. That seemed the most obvious answer, but of course, magnetic field surges would run the risk of destroying lots of computer components, if they were strong enough, so maybe the lack of them is for the best.”
“Yeah, if you have one main computer that’s controlling all these pens, the last thing you’d want to risk is that thing burning out. You’d probably have some pretty angry dragons on your hands.”
Gideon frowns.
The scientist laughs nervously. “Right? Plus, if the computers fritz, we have a lot of electricity flowing into pens that could go in another direction. Being on the end, we’re right next to the control panel, so we’re in the worst place in the room.”
“Well, if that’s all you need.” I turn around, like I’m going to walk off. I know they aren’t going to let me leave with the swords, but I can’t keep myself from testing how they’ll react.
“Funny,” Gideon says. “Those swords are now the property of the United States Military.”
“Right,” I say. “I mean, spoils of war, right?”
Gideon smirks. “Something like that.”
“Because last I checked, I was a US citizen, and they’re my property. Since the government can’t even use them. . .”
“That’s the other thing we wanted to see you do.” The lab coat man stands up and gestures at the pen closest to me, the one holding the nearly-black Chinese-looking dragon. “So far, we’ve only been able to penetrate the water dragon’s scales, and only because we found a combination of phosphorus pentoxide and sulfuric acid that dehydrates them, and once we accomplished that, their hide became brittle enough to saw through.”
I wonder whether he can hear himself. “They’re living creatures,” I say.
He shrugs. “But they want to harm us. They’re the enemy. If we don’t find out how to kill them, they’ll continue to kill us instead.”
I can’t help my shudder, and I know it’s not winning me points with Gideon. “What do you want from me precisely?”
“We want to see whether these blades really will slice through dragon skin,” Gideon says. “And then we want to study how they do it.”
“You managed to pierce Azar with an ice spear,” I say. “Can’t you just do what you did there?”
“We believe it only worked because you weakened him when you died,” Gideon says. “Our attempts with Hyperion have not been successful.”
The last thing I want to do is hand them the key to killing Azar’s brother, but if I say no, they’ll lock me back up for sure. What I’d like to do is use the swords to break the dragons free, but with the sheer quantity of bullets these guys are carrying, bullets that may not take out a dragon, but would definitely harm me, there’s not much I can do. . .
Unless I could take out the control panel and plunge them all into temporary darkness. Then maybe, with the dragons’ help, I could escape. The question I can’t answer is. . .are the dragons on my side? Or do they hate me for my role in all this?
I can guess how the water dragons feel. I got their big boss killed, and now I’m here with the humans who did it. I wouldn’t trust me at all. But if I can free one of the earth dragons, could I convince them to take me back? Would any of them be in good enough condition to do it?
That’s the gamble.
Was Phileas slamming against the pen because he wanted to kill me, or because he recognized me and was happy to see me? Actually, now that I’m thinking it through, what are the odds he was slamming against the enclosure out of joy?
Not great, Chadwick.
“Which dragon are you wanting me to test these blades against?” I arch one eyebrow. “And are you wanting me to, like, slice one, or gut one?”
“You really do think they’ll cut through the scales?” the white coat asks.
I shrug. “They have in the past.”
