Dragon's War Read online

  For the first time in a month, I genuinely smiled.

  “Thank you, banjo music,” I murmured and called Dragon.

  The phone rang and rang and…

  He didn’t respond.

  “Come on, come on, answer,” I muttered, trying again. “Pick up pick up pick up.”

  Even if he didn’t have Internet access, I should still be able to reach him. Why wasn’t he picking up? Had Griffin found him? Had his support system failed? Where was he?

  The banjo music didn’t sound quite so sweet anymore. And my lungs had some trouble working at this point. I focused on breathing while I scrambled for a Plan B. I figured I didn’t have a lot of time. Whoever used this office left a still-steaming cup of tea and a half eaten muffin on the desk. Who the heck was in the office at this time of the morning? Maybe that was the only time this kind of music was allowed. I know: irrelevant but my head was spinning, trying to grasp onto something. Anything. Like: that muffin sure looked tasty.

  How to warn Dragon?

  No, I decided, changing the plan. Not just warn him. Find him. Get out of this prison, get back to Sana Island, find him and save him before all this turned ugly. And it would. Mom said so from the beginning. If they installed that new brain into Sana Island’s control system, which they had, things would get bad. That’s what she’d said. And she was almost always right about these sorts of things.

  Grogan Ltd hadn’t listened to her. They wanted to replace Dragon so they could finish the job, kill what was left of him. Dragon figured out the truth: the brains Grogan plugged into the MindOp systems weren’t lab grown, like the company had told the buyers and investors. Nope. They were harvested, extracted from coma patients.

  Problem was, Dragon remembered who he’d been before. He collected incriminating data against Grogan and its Board. The very same files that Lavack now waved at the world as justification for his plan to murder my best friend and all the other brains.

  Dragon signed his own death warrant by handing over the proof to the authorities. Well, I had actually.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  No answer. I hung up and tapped my fingers on the desk. If I couldn’t get a hold of Dragon, who else? My mind wandered to the night Mom and I escaped the island, to the man who’d brought us here. Well, actually, he’d dumped us into the ocean before racing away. In his defence, he had rescued us before asking us to jump into the water. And he distracted the two boatloads of gun-toting security guards who were chasing us.

  Blade.

  I shuddered. Did I really want to do that? Call him? Would he even help? And what about Mom? Should I go get her? What if I got stopped or the doors were locked when we tried to leave? That kind of lucky break—finding an unlocked door—was just that: luck. I couldn’t depend on it.

  I rubbed my aching eyes. This waking up at three in the morning nonsense was exhausting. I scanned over the desk. Saw a key card and made my decision.

  I pocketed the card and searched through my small backpack till I found it. Blade’s laminated business card. He’d given it to me as he was rescuing us from another prison. Talk about weird: we were being shot at and he’d handed me his calling card. Guess that’s normal in his line of work, at least the part about being shot at and trying to escape. But now I was grateful for it. The card, that is.

  I punched in his number on the communication screen. The call rang and rang. Just as I was about to hang up, his face appeared. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, peered at me and smiled. His teeth shone against dark skin and his dreadlocks whipped around as he shook his head. I couldn’t see the rest of him, but I remembered how every surface of exposed skin was covered in tattoos or rings or both.

  Even though it was early morning, his jewellery still adorned his body. Guess the guy slept with it on. Two silver loops clung to the end of one eyebrow. I couldn’t even see his earlobes for all the glittering silver hanging there, and chunky silver rings cluttered each of his fingers. Wide silver bands graced both wrists. An ornate, silver Ethiopian cross, bigger than my hand and definitely heavier, hung from a thick black cord. I focused on the various markings decorating his face. Some of them looked like scars, not all of them the artistic kind.

  “Ah, you really missed me, right, love?” He grinned, despite the fact that I must’ve woken him up. I wouldn’t have been so cheerful in his position.

  Don’t be rude, I told myself, frowning at his refusal to use my name. Be nice. You need his help.

  I tried to smile. I think it came out more as a smirk or maybe a grimace. “Yeah, sure did, Blade. But what I really miss is your speedboat.”

  He sighed dramatically. “Ah yes, that’s what all the lovely ladies tell me. But through the boat, they fall for me.”

  Oh brother. But I had to smile. There was no getting this guy down.

  “And what horrible excuse for music are you listening to?” he asked, his thick black eyebrows bunching together fiercely.

  My teeth ground together. “Not my choice, I guarantee you. Listen, Blade, I need your help in a very serious way.”

  The frown faded and his grin widened. “Sounds delightful.”

  “Dragon’s in danger,” I continued.

  The grin slipped away. “Really?” His tone was noncommittal, but I picked up his concern. At least, I hoped it was concern. I still didn’t know much about their friendship, if that’s what it was even. For all I knew, Blade wanted Dragon dead.

  I glanced behind me. I thought I’d heard something. Hard to tell over the banjo and nasally voice. “They’ve created a virus to kill off all the brains in the MindOp systems. I have to find Dragon and get him away before they track him down or kill him.”

  He studied me, all serious now. That made me nervous. I think I preferred him in his jovial, flirty mood. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Tell them to leave him alone. That he’s different.”

  I growled. Thought about my numerous attempts at conversation with Lavack. How he’d sneered at me the last time.

  “Have you got a crush on this thing?” Lavack had asked, twirling the ends of his red moustache. “They’re soulless bits of organic matter, Myranda. And they have too much power at their disposal. If even one flips out, like this Griffin did, we’ve had it. I know you’re too young to really understand the implications of what I’m saying, but do try.”

  I’d almost lost my molars, I’d ground my teeth together so hard. Too young to understand? I’d spent the last ten years working with Dragon. I understood better than pretty much anyone on the planet apart from Mom. Soulless bits of organic matter?

  I also understood that the red-headed director didn’t see a seventeen-year-old Myth, but a seven-year-old child sitting on the stairs, waiting for her father who would never come home.

  He’d ignored my scowl and my attempts to interrupt him, and continued in his lecture. “They can take over a city, possibly a nation even, launch missiles and a global war. I know you’d like to think Dragon is human, but it isn’t.”

  I wasn’t sure how to argue with that, so I’d tried a different approach. “Whatever you believe they are, they have a different belief about themselves. We need to talk them out, rehabilitate them. If they know you’re attacking, they will use their power to defend themselves. People in cities with MindOp systems could get hurt. Transport derailed. Energy stations shut down. Chaos…” I had been desperate at this point, grasping for any horrifying dystopian visual I could use to persuade him, however unlikely some of them were.

  He’d smirked at me, like I was the one derailed. “They won’t know we’re attacking them until it’s too late.” Then he’d patted me on the shoulder and told me to run along and play. Not in so many words, but that was his attitude when it came to me.

  I shook my head, brought it back from the past where it spent far too much time dwelling on things gone wrong. “I tried. I told the Security Committee how Dragon remembers who he really is and he’s not going to do anything against us. But they heard about Griff
in and now they’re all worried. And Lavack just won’t let me explain. Or won’t believe what I say.”

  “Lavack?” Blade interrupted me. “As in Director Lavack?”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Know him?”

  He didn’t respond, just stared at me, like he was weighing my words with the scales of truth. I started biting my nails. Stop it. I forced my hands down, where I gripped at the desk, trying to scratch at it. Except I didn’t have much in the way of nails with all my biting, which was a good thing for the furniture; I don’t think the owner wouldn’t have appreciated long tracts of scratches on the surface.

  “I see you’re in Lavack’s fortress,” he commented, glancing at the lower section of the screen. He must’ve been tracking the call.

  “More like prison,” I grumbled.

  “Can you get to the harbour?”

  I snorted. “The one where you dumped my mom and me into the water? Yeah, I should be able to.”

  He nodded. “Then do it. I’m on my way. I’ll be watching for you.” With that, he hung up.

  Does that mean he’s going to help me? I wondered.

  I didn’t dwell on how I would actually get to the harbour. It wasn’t far. Sometimes I heard the ocean’s heavier waves. But getting out of Lavack’s fortress…

  I turned to leave the office and screamed. The man opening the office door almost did the same, until he saw me.

  I have to admit, I was expecting a hillbilly kind of a person. Based on the music, that is. Some old man with a long beard, wearing jean overalls, a straw hat, and sucking on a corncob pipe. Not a young, smooth-shaven guy in a trendy suit and tie. Not sure why he’d wear a tie at this time of the morning, but that’s also irrelevant. I gawked at him, for a second forgetting I needed to vacate the building and meet up with Blade.

  The man blinked at me like I was a statue of a garden gnome that had turned into life. “Ah…” He scratched his short blond hair. “Why’re you in my office?”

  I gulped. “I heard your music?” My voice squeaked into a question.

  He peered at me. “Hey, aren’t you that kid who spilled the beans about Grogan?”

  Great. Now I was “that kid.” And I’d spilled the beans. Spilling stuff is usually a bad thing, right? It makes a mess and someone has to clean it up. In this case, by creating a brain-killing virus. And beans definitely don’t agree with my digestive system.

  A kid?

  I refrained from sneering, snorting, rolling my eyes or in any other way demonstrating my complete disgust and disdain at being referred to as a kid, especially “that kid.” The one who spilled the beans.

  I smiled. “I love this song. It’s pretty, um, cool.”

  Gag. I hate lying. Like Mom always says, it’s a nasty habit. Almost as nasty as the music pinging against my eardrums.

  “Oh, yeah, it’s awesome,” he enthused. “You like…?” He stopped, frowned. Maybe he’d figured out I was trying to distract him. Smart guy. “You shouldn’t be here right now. Let me call someone to take you back.”

  “No!” I blurted out. Calling someone meant calling security. Took a deep breath, calmed down, smiled brightly. “No, I don’t want to bother anyone. I know the way back to my room. I, ah, wanted the name of the music, that’s all.”

  I stretched my smile farther. Any more and my head would split in half. Maybe some beans would spill out of the top, just for dramatic effect.

  Be a kid, I told myself. I tilted my head to the side, started to pout. “Please tell me the name. I really want to get this track.”

  Ugh. I HATE being a suck-up. How could such people tolerate living with themselves? And it wasn’t even working. I eyed the guy carefully. He wasn’t that big. Maybe I could tackle him. And then what? He’d sound the alarm unless I knocked him out. There was nothing near me that was heavy enough to do that with. Yup, I looked. The things you learn when you’re a fugitive.

  Maybe I should consider Blade’s line of work after all this is over, I thought.

  “Yeah, sure,” the guy relented, wrote it down for me.

  “Okay, great, thanks, good night,” I gushed, just like a little kid, and dashed away before he could think of doing something stupid like, oh, I don’t know, maybe calling the guards.

  I re-entered the stairwell and leaned against the door, crumped the paper in my fist. It was now or never. So cliché, I know, but so true. Seconds of freedom ticked by. Mr. Hillbilly in a suit might decide to check up on me or call security. Or the doors might get locked. Someone would find the unlocked door on my floor and sound the alarm. All sorts of nasty interruptions to my escape plan could happen.

  Mom. I gulped, still hesitating. She would understand, I hoped. She knew what woke me up every night, how worried I was about Dragon. I couldn’t risk going back to our room to tell her I was going. I had to leave while I could, while the door was open, while the banjo lover didn’t miss his access card. She’d be upset, but she had to understand, right?

  I kept telling myself that as I leaped down the stairs. She’ll understand, really, she will.

  Maybe repetition could make it true. Well, I can always dream, can’t I?

  Chapter 3: Dragon

  I hope Myth isn’t worried about me. She must be, but I can’t afford to go online right now. Whenever I do, I sense Griffin and the other one, the one that replaced me. Kraken. That’s his name. I sense them both. They’re hunting for me, trying to find where I’m located. I tried a few days ago to slip in and get onto the external system, but they stopped me. She doesn’t have a cell phone so I can’t call her.

  I hope she’s okay.

  I’m still in the school classroom where Myth had left me when she went off to rescue her mom. And that’s a problem. I need to get out of here before school re-opens. Something as normal and safe as kids going back to school seems impossible in the midst of what’s going on. I’m not really sure what is actually going on, but it’s not normal, that’s for sure.

  Do people on the island even know that my brain no longer runs the control centre? That another brain operates everything from the trains and energy to the water and sewage systems? Definitely none of them realise the other brain works under the influence of a vengeful albino named Griffin.

  When school opens, I’ll be found and not by the right people. I have to stay hidden, at least until the trial. I’ve waited long enough. Myth won’t be coming back, at least not in time.

  I’ve been thinking about how to do it. There’s only one person on Sana Island who I can trust not to hand me over to the Games Boss’s replacement: a skinny kid named Darren Cho. And Darren won’t hand me over, even though there is a huge reward out for me, out of fear of what will happen to him.

  At least, I hope that’s true. I’m counting on his fear.

  See, Darren may only be fourteen, but he’s a gambling addict. That’s a problem if you live on Sana Island, which is known for three things: cutting-edge organ replacement technology; clean, safe tourist beaches; and tax-free gambling.

  I make the call.

  “Hello?” he says. His voice quavers slightly. We don’t have video on, but I can tell he’s nervous. I’ve had extensive training in reading body language, including voice. You don’t want to play poker with me. I’ll always win.

  “Hello, Darren. It’s Dragon,” I say in a soft, calm voice.

  He hangs up.

  Well, that isn’t very nice. Then again, the last time I’d seen the kid, Myth and I had left him hanging out a window of a van controlled by Kraken and speeding towards the Games Boss and his revengeful goons. The Boss had a personal issue he wanted to settle with Darren. Something about cheating at the games, winning too much money, that sort of thing. My voice probably caused nasty flashbacks to that day.

  While I prefer not to cause further psychological trauma, I really do need his help. I need another hiding place and moving myself isn’t an option. I have no body. A space-age version of an aquarium holds my brain. Someone needs to come over
here and push my cart somewhere else. And Darren is my human of choice right now. Or at least, he’s my second choice.

  I wait a few minutes and call again. “How’d you escape the Boss?” I demand before he can say anything or hang up.

  I hear knuckles crack. The kid has a disgusting habit of cracking his knuckles. It doesn’t bother me so much, but it drives Myth crazy. I’m glad I didn’t develop that habit from before.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers.

  “Fine with me,” I say with a mental shrug. “I really don’t want to talk about it either. I do, however, want to talk about how you’re going to help me, since the Boss obviously didn’t get a chance to break your legs or anything else.”

  “No.” His voice squeaks and more knuckles crack. “I… I can’t. I’m away, off the island. Somewhere far away. On holiday.”

  Even before checking the location of his cell phone, I know he’s lying. His voice is so transparent that I chuckle. “Darren, you’re in your parents’ restaurant in downtown Sana. I really need your help.”

  He blows his breath out hard and manages not to crack any knuckles for the whole five and a half seconds of silence. “Fine,” he blurts out. “But I don’t want any more trouble.”

  “Of course not.” I pretend to be offended. “Neither do I.”

  “Yeah, but,” he starts to argue, “you just attract trouble. You’re like a… I don’t know, like a trouble magnet or something. The opposite of a good luck charm. Whenever I’m with you, I have problems. The life and death kinda problems.”

  I think about that for a few milliseconds. He has a point. If he only knew what my life had been like before I was murdered, he’d definitely worry. Blade’s still living that life and has managed to survive much longer than most of our former colleagues. Good thing the kid doesn’t know. I leave him in his blissful ignorance.

  “No problem,” I reassure him. “I’ll be no trouble at all.”

  Chapter 4: Myth