Dragon's Mind Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Dragon

  Chapter 2: Myth

  Chapter 3: Myth

  Chapter 4: Dragon

  Chapter 5: Dragon

  Chapter 6: Dragon

  Chapter 7: Myth

  Chapter 8: Myth

  Chapter 9: The Games Boss

  Chapter 10: Dragon

  Chapter 11: Dragon

  Chapter 12: Myth

  Chapter 13: Myth

  Chapter 14: Myth

  Chapter 15: Myth

  Chapter 16: Dragon

  Chapter 17: The Albino

  Chapter 18: Dragon

  Chapter 19: Dragon

  Chapter 20: Myth

  Chapter 21: Dragon

  Chapter 22: Dragon

  Chapter 23: Myth

  Chapter 24: Myth

  Chapter 25: Myth

  Chapter 26: The Albino

  Chapter 27: Dragon

  Chapter 28: Dragon

  Chapter 29: Myth

  Chapter 30: Myth

  Chapter 31: Dragon

  Chapter 32: Dragon

  Chapter 33: Dragon

  Chapter 34: Myth

  Chapter 35: Myth

  Chapter 36: Myth

  Chapter 37: Dragon

  Chapter 38: Kraken

  Free Books

  Keep Reading

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Copyright © 2012 Vered Ehsani

  DRAGON’S MIND

  Dragon & Myth #1

  By Vered Ehsani

  from Africa… with a Bite

  Free Books!

  For more information on how to get 3 free books,

  go to http://veredehsani.co.za/free-books/

  Copyright © 2015 Vered Ehsani

  All rights reserved

  Prologue

  A sound woke me up. That was never good. Sound meant discovery, amongst other things.

  I held my breath, my eyes blinking uselessly against the dark. A minute later, the sound repeated. The sound of something creaking against something else.

  “Dragon,” I hissed.

  “I know,” he replied softly. Neutral. Calm. Too calm.

  “It’s them? Have they found us?”

  “Yes.”

  I cursed as I pushed off my blanket. I groped for my duffel bag. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” I glared at the cart with the salty aquarium tucked inside.

  “You needed the sleep.”

  I could almost hear the shrug and the knowing smile in his voice. I started to yawn and slammed my mouth shut. “I need my freedom more. How much time?”

  “Five minutes tops.”

  The creaking stopped. A metallic bang whispered around the empty space. Muted conversation. Another creak.

  We’d be lucky if we got five minutes.

  I was regretting the loss of the van now. Sure, it was stolen and the security forces were looking for it. But it sure beat running.

  Not that Dragon could run. You need a body for that. All he could do was think. And control the systems of the city. At least, he used to control them before. Before we learned the truth that turned us into fugitives.

  Sometimes, I wished we’d never discovered that secret, the lie.

  “You can always leave me,” he murmured.

  Like I could leave him that easily.

  “Not really. I’m already a thief, remember? And possibly a murderer,” I griped as I finished pushing my blanket into my backpack. “Time to go.”

  My eyes had adjusted to the dim light. I began to push Dragon’s cart towards the fire exit. He had pointed it out to me last night. He was always doing that: mapping out all possible escape routes continuously. A good thing too. We’ve needed them.

  Something metal clanged and squealed behind me, from outside the entrance to the warehouse. Then a shout, an order to shut up, and a sawing sound.

  I reached the exit.

  “The alarm will most likely come on when you open it,” Dragon reminded me. Like we hadn’t been through this half a dozen times already.

  I breathed deeply, preparing for the push.

  Behind me, something big banged against the front door. A memory stirred of another night, another door, the sound of banging. A distraction. The memory was a distraction. Not what I needed now. I couldn’t dwell on what had happened before all this. I’d freeze or panic. Probably both.

  I gripped the handle of the fire exit and began to push.

  The entrance to the warehouse flung open with a crash. Intense beams of light turned the dark into Swiss cheese. Pools of brightness bounced on the wall in front of me. I squinted and pushed through the fire exit. A screeching bell blasted over the sounds of shouting.

  It was time to run.

  Chapter 1: Dragon

  Right now, I’m having a conversation with a decidedly annoying kid. Yes, I realise he’s about to die or at least get seriously beaten up, and it will be painful either way. What can I say? He messed with the wrong people. I feel sorry for him. Really, I do.

  Still, he’s annoying.

  “Sorry, kid. I’d probably help you, maybe, if I was legally alive and free.” I imagine myself shrugging, the way I see humans do. I don’t have any shoulders so that doesn’t work, but I like to imagine. “But if I help now, the Boss or Grogan Ltd can disconnect me and it won’t be considered murder.” I pause and slowly re-emphasise the point. “Because I’m legally a non-living entity. So they can do whatever they want with me. Do you understand?”

  The kid, Darren, cracks his knuckles on one hand and nods his head, a mop of oily black hair flopping over his narrow eyes. I can tell he doesn’t really understand. Most people who interact with me don’t get it. They think I’m either a really smart computer or a living person. Technically, I’m neither.

  I can sense his mouth move to form the ‘yes, but’ that I know is coming. I sigh again. Or rather, I imagine I do.

  Personally, I have a little problem with formally being a non-living entity. I may not have a heartbeat, or a body for that matter, but I’m still alive by my standards. I exist, think and believe. I don’t like the fact that because I’m legally non-living, Grogan Ltd, my owner, or the Games Boss, my supervisor, can shut me down (read: kill me) anytime.

  Yes, it sucks to be me sometimes.

  I wait for Darren to argue back. In the meantime, let me tell you what I’m doing right this second. I’m updating my log. I do that constantly, recording pretty much everything in one of my numerous files. One file (the one you’re reading) records all my thoughts and observations as they happen. Dr. Johansson calls it my diary, and I guess it is, if a person can write every single thing in their diary as it happens.

  I’m also monitoring a tour. Lisa’s the tour guide today. She’s my favourite. I’m going to zoom in with visual and audio sensors.

  Talk about timing. She’s talking about me.

  “The various systems of Sana Island are operated by a brain,” Lisa is explaining to the wide-eyed tourists. “Some years ago, the BrainGate project was launched to study brain-computer interface in order to benefit quadriplegics. The idea was to connect their brains to robotic arms, thus giving the patients some independence. Drawing on this experience, an experimental programme of Grogan Ltd, the Mind Operating System, or MindOpS, was developed. MindOpS is an organic brain connected to every sensor, camera, system and software. It runs everything and is housed in this building.”

  Lisa gestures to the very modern glass and steel building behind her, pauses and smiles at the tourists, who dutifully take photos and whisper to each other. They’re impressed, as they should be.

  She continues. “Originally envisioned as a show case for Grogan’s cutting-edge technology, Min
dOpS has become the symbol for this company’s ability to grow any organ that a person needs.”

  A tourist, a skinny, balding guy, interrupts. “Can we go inside? Can we see the brain?”

  Lisa shakes her head graciously, like this is the first time she’s ever heard that brilliant request. “Unfortunately, no. This is a high-security area and requires top clearance to enter.”

  A younger woman, not to be outdone, asks the other question that always gets asked: “So, like, is Grogan, like, growing more brains?”

  I snort. Um, like yes, like.

  Lisa glances at her watch and refrains from making any snarky comments. She’s a lot kinder than I am. “Yes.”

  “To replace people’s brains?”

  I can’t help but think, Sadly not, although some of you sure could use a new one.

  Lisa puts on her professional smile, as if she’s riveted by the idea. “No. Our memories are too engrained in the brain tissue and can’t be copied into a new brain. A lab-grown brain is memory-free and provides a lot of benefits to automated control systems. Please follow me as we return to the train.”

  I keep watching and listening to them while I write my log and control the wastewater treatment plant, the energy plant and the automated shuttle system that transports the tour group and Sana citizens through the city. I watch as another tour boat docks at the port of the manmade Sana Island. This new group is here for the gambling, not the scenery, the pristine beaches or the high-tech wonders.

  At the same time as all of the above is happening, I’m still having a conversation with the annoying kid. So back to Darren. I’m waiting for the ‘yeah, but.’

  “Yeah, but…” (There it is.) The kid’s desperate now. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting the mob to burst into the room at any minute.

  Hey, I’d be nervous too, if I was him and if I had a body that could experience pain. If you go against the Games Boss, you’d better have a big life insurance package to compensate your family.

  “I played in your game and…”

  I interrupt, not out of anger or impatience. I stop him because I have better things to do. Just because I can multitask doesn’t mean I’m going to waste bandwidth.

  “Playing in my game does not make you my friend,” I explain gently. “Plus, you faked your ID and lied about your age. The game is restricted, and you’re only fourteen.”

  “But he’s gonna kill me!” The kid’s ready to hyperventilate. I hope he doesn’t puke on the communication screen.

  “Probably. I’ll let you in on a little secret, though.” I lower my voice to a dramatic whisper. “Hanging around here isn’t going to save you.”

  “What will?” Darren glances towards the screen, where he knows one of my many eyes and ears are located. He can’t see anything but the screen saver. I think I may have mentioned I don’t have a body.

  I do my imaginary shrug. “Not much. I suggest you run.”

  So he does. I kind of envy him that, being able to run. Then again, I don’t envy all that fear he’s carrying around. Plus, he’s as good as dead or mangled. It’s just a question of when, how and how badly. What was he thinking, trying to cheat the Games Boss? Yikes. Even the CEO of Grogan Ltd walks softly around that one.

  For the past ten years, I’ve run Sana Island, which is almost entirely covered by the city, all from the comfort of Grogan’s extensive compound at the centre of it all. In a sense, I am the city-island: its eyes and ears, its banks and games, the environmental controls, the security, the various systems and services—everything. If you think about it hard (I don’t suggest you do), you might think it’s kind of freaky, as in ‘Big Brother is watching you’ freaky. I’ve heard what the tourists say; I know what visitors think about me.

  And no, I don’t have any visual monitors in the bathrooms or bedrooms. I get asked that a lot. So does Lisa.

  Don’t worry. The monitors are only in public places. Anyway, I have far better things to do than spy on people, and most people aren’t interesting enough to bother with.

  So what happens after Darren leaves one of my communication panels? The final door to the triple-secured entrance to my building (well, Grogan’s building) opens and someone strolls in. Whoever it is has to have high-security clearance to even approach the building. After the main gate, there’s the metal detector, body scan, triple identification process and biometric scans to unlock various doors. You get the idea. It’s a very secured building. I zoom in on the person who opened the door.

  Green eyes. Brown skin. Dark hair. Trendy jacket over a T-shirt. Practical brown pants. Seventeen years of attitude. Myth pauses, glances around and winks at one of my sensors. In walks a beautiful girl and a lot of trouble.

  Chapter 2: Myth

  “Myranda Thalia Johansson.” The computer voice repeated my name as I gave my thumbprint and swiped my access card to open the door.

  Yup. That mouthful is my real name. See why I shortened it, right? Took the first two letters of my first two names and joined them. Myth.

  My mom wasn’t too impressed. Still insisted on calling me Myranda (ugh). When she’s annoyed, it’s “Myranda Thalia Johansson. You listen up. Right. Now.”

  I stomped down the cream-tiled hallway, waved to one of the numerous guards, who nodded back, refusing to raise a hand in greeting. As if it would be way too uncool for her to wave, smile or say something. I reached the lab and didn’t bother knocking.

  My mom glanced up, waved to me and still managed to look cool doing it. She’s cool enough that I enjoy working with her. And I borrow clothes from her too. That kind of cool. She was arguing with one of the technicians over the phone. More like tearing chunks out of the techie. Describing in gory detail what a horrible job had been done on the last system patch; it wasn’t going to work with the new brain, MindOpS 2. She was still determined to keep that one offline.

  “A Mind Operating System is a complex thing. It’s not a computer game,” she reminded her caller. Probably for the millionth time.

  She paused, listened and gave a verbal slam back. I smirked. I was amazed the techie kept insisting the new brain was good to go. Not many people would dare argue with my mom. Whoever it was must’ve had a pretty low level of self-preservation or something.

  Besides, no brain could ever replace Dragon.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  I loved the lab. Even the smell of the place, especially my mom’s rose-scented perfume. The lab looked like a cross between a computer room and a mechanic’s shop. Computers and screens lined one side of the open space. Tools and scraps on the other side. Memory boards and bits and pieces cluttered up my work bench in one corner. My mom’s area was all neat, tidy, not a paper out of place. But we get along alright, despite our different ideas on ‘neat and tidy.’

  Like in our apartment, we didn’t keep too many personal items here. Clutter. Dust collectors. My mom’s words, not mine. There were a few photos that pre-date our move to the island, photos with three of us. They stood in battered frames like petals of the past pressed behind the glass of memory. The frames are family heirlooms, antiques. The photos look older. A different family almost. Almost.

  Apart from those and a lumpy vase I made in pottery class years ago, the lab was all business. The past ten years had been focused on building up, tweaking and training MindOpS. There wasn’t space for anything else.

  And the work? Grew up with it. Literally. Been hanging out in the lab since I was seven, around the time my mom installed Dragon. I was there, helping too, as much as a seven-year-old could. And today was one big day. If all went according to plan, it was going to be… One of the. Best. Days. Ever.

  I settled in and began checking on all the stats for the system. Well, not all of them. That would be way too many. But the ones I needed.

  “Hello, Myth,” Dragon greeted me. I liked how he always used my nickname. “What’s the plan?”

  I grinned. His voice always made me feel like I was home. I
t wasn’t a stiff, tinny-sounding voice like you’d expect from a computer system’s speaker. More like a cool, mellow creek, trickling over smooth stones on a hot summer day. I normally don’t get all poetic, especially about my projects, but I was pretty proud of the voice I’d helped design. And Dragon was the best project anyone could want to write her thesis on.

  “You know already. It’s the upgrade.” I waved a tiny memory stick above my head. I knew one of his numerous sensors would pick it up.

  “Thrilling,” he responded. He didn’t sound thrilled.

  “Distracted?”

  “Not possible,” he responded. “I am, however, keeping an eye on a demonstration out near the docking bay. They’re a little too enthusiastic today. I’m considering manoeuvring a few security guards into the area. And I’m admiring the Games Boss’s new car. He’s got another one. Now that would be an upgrade.”

  “Show-off,” I muttered. “Yeah, the demonstrators are pretty fired up. Keep chanting something about saving your soul. You got a soul, Dragon?” I grinned.

  “Stop teasing him,” my mom scolded me in between arguing with the techie.

  I waved her away. “Listen up, Dragon, and pay attention. Grogan’s Board of Directors wants the operating system to be more approachable, more… human… Did you just scoff?”

  Could’ve sworn he had.

  He ignored my question. “You told me this before. And you do know that my core is actually a human brain, right?”

  Duh. I shooed that detail away. “Whatever. They want MindOpS… Yes, that would be you, stop snorting. They want you to be more visually human, so people interact with a human-looking system, rather than a flat screen.”

  “Hm. I like my flat screens.”

  “Too bad.” I plugged the stick in. Hard.

  “Ouch. Easy there, Doctor,” he grumbled.

  “Funny.” I could take a sledge hammer to one of his screens and not hurt him. “Mom, the hologram projectors are all set up, right?”