“Which is why I picked her, and why I’m calling. Don’t take her on again,” Marcus told her.
“I thought-”
“I know what you thought, and it wasn’t ungrounded. We all saw the desolation in Drogan’s wake on Saturn, and yet the Arcadia escaped him with but a single fatality? I questioned their loyalty as well… until I saw the footage from Neptune’s acclimation station. It was Drogan’s mercy, not their failure, that brought them back,” Marcus explained.
“Do you not fear they will fail again, on Mukurus? I’m not sure the other Dragons share his mercy,” said Morgan.
“I do not fear it. I prepare for it,” Marcus scoffed, “Follow the Arcadia wherever they go. Take the new model. Do not engage Dawn or her crew unless they stray from their objective. If they break, pick up the pieces. Otherwise, watch. Report everything you see to me, and stay out of sight.”
“Understood.” The screen in Marcus’ office blinked off. He and Morgan were left in the dark, in two very different places. “Regan, what did you find?” She called out over her disheveled crew.
“Well… the WCC covers their tracks, and this ship wasn’t exactly designed for digging... to these depths… and they definitely know we’ve been snooping.” Regan told her.
“True as that may be, it doesn’t change my question,” said Morgan, mechanical fingers tapping on the keyboard. Regan let loose a long breath.
“So far… no. What you were looking for isn’t here. There are records of meetings, but every single one of them was conducted remotely. I haven’t been able to figure out from where. There’s no record of anyone meeting with Marcus Brass in person, ever,” he told her.
“Keep looking. I want to see family records, background. Whatever you can find,” Morgan instructed. Then, to herself, she mumbled, “What’s up that invisible sleeve of yours, Councilman?”
Chapter Fifteen: What Weighs on Wide Wings
“Drogan!” the voice rippled under his scales, through the Chrysum in his blood. Drogan’s yellow eyes snapped open at the ceiling of his stony hovel. Light flickered through the veins in the walls, resonance from the message.
“Krystis. I was just dreaming of you,” Drogan sent back.
“You know I can tell you’re lying,” Krystis’ voice filled his mind with her frustration. She may not have been able to see the content of his dreams, but their mental connection shared the flux of terror that consumed his sleep.
“Every wise one fears their superiors,” answered Drogan. He couldn’t pinpoint if the feeling that drifted from her was flattery or more frustration.
“Report to the Fountain. I need to speak with you,” said Krystis, and broke their connection.
“DA-Vos, did you finish reading through the research?” Drogan murmured, while he straightened up on the side of his cot.
“Just this morning,” answered the metallic black box in the corner.
“Anything we didn’t know?” said Drogan. He flexed his reptilian claws out at either side of him.
“A few things. The humans have discovered a frequency that vibrates Chrysum. It’s quite painful to beings infused with the stuff,” DA-Vos’ violet light flickered with the words.
“Like us,” Drogan sighed.
“Precisely. They have also perfected a way to preserve the mind outside the body. They call it DBS, Digital Brain Signature. There’s a lab full of androids with the minds of 3D patients on Neptune,” DA-Vos went on.
“The lines that define monsters continue to blur,” Drogan rumbled, “That man from the Arcadia. The one that had the research. He seemed to recognize you.”
“I think… he was Howard Carver.”
“Carver, like Timothy?” said Drogan.
“The very same. If he was Howard, he was the inventor of DBS, along with the Arcadia and Alice,” DA-Vos told him.
“All very fascinating,” Drogan nodded. He held his claw out for his companion. DA-Vos dissolved and swirled into the form of Drogan’s trusty gauntlet. “We’ll talk later. Now, we report.”
The Watcher’s Fountain was in the center of Fierghlass, directly in line with what was once the Capital. Drogan wasn’t permitted there. This was only the second time he had gotten as close as the Watcher’s Fountain, the first time hardly being permitted. He had come once, forty years ago, to pour a vial of vital fluid into the cascading pools of liquid Chrysum. Dragon amniotic fluid. The abstract monument of twisting stone, a tribute to the Dragons’ Watcher, Machaeus, was also the funnel through which its lifeblood flowed. According to the great Watcher, it hadn’t needed an infusion of the amniotic fluid since it’d been brought online, more years ago than humans existed. But Machaeus was beginning to shut down. When it met Drogan, he needed it. Machaeus had feared what the Dragons might say if he asked for it from them, when he had failed so spectacularly to find them a new Chrysum source. But these were tales from another life long gone. They had nothing to do with why Drogan was at the Watcher’s Fountain now.
“Krystis,” Drogan gave her the usual greeting.
“Drogan. You’ll notice we’re meeting somewhere different,” Krystis steamed when his black talons finally scraped the clay by the Fountain.