There Weren't Always Dragons

THERE WEREN'T ALWAYS DRAGONS IN THE VALLEY. Even yesterday morning, I was convinced that there were none in this remote area and that they’d all been exterminated. Now, I know better. I feel conflicted about that. On the one hand, I’m undyingly grateful. That means I can gather crucial data to save our species. On the other hand, that probably means I won’t survive the day.

Yesterday, I found dragon tracks, complete with gash marks from a wildly whipping tail, disappearing into the the middle of a field where more tracks would have been easily spotted. They pointed toward caverns to the west, but dusk had been approaching, so I called it a day and revisited the area again this morning. I found nothing in the caverns where I thought they might be sleeping so I continued northward, along the canyon’s edge.

It’s now midday, it’s scorching hot, I’m already feeling exhausted, and my upper back aches from carrying gear over the past several days. The air is thin and the terrain is difficult to navigate, so after nearly a week of tracking them down and swatting mosquitoes, I’m feeling like I’m at the end of my rope.

I roll my eyes as I realize that I’m still wearing a long sleeve shirt. I unbutton it, remove my magma-rifle so I can take it off and tie it around my waist. Mornings here are chilly, so I wore it over my tank top, but it’s long past the time when I should have taken it off for the blistering part of the day. It topped one-hundred degrees yesterday and today isn’t looking any less intense.

I’ve grown absent-minded over pragmatic considerations because my thoughts are consumed with finding these dragons and some solution for this unprecedented evolutionary apocalypse. It may sound melodramatic to say the fate of the world hangs on my efforts today, but it seems as true as anything else I believe, and right now, I have to believe in something.

Despite the fact that I’m wearing an expensive set of climate controlled shoes and sweat-wicking socks, my feet are developing blisters. I should know better than to purchase tech on clearance. They’re disappointingly subpar. I take a few steps deeper into the shade of a dove tree a few paces to my right. White bracts decorate the grasses under my feet and a light gust of wind releases a few from the branches above, sending them fluttering like doves to the ground.

I guzzle a large swig of water, replace the flagon on my belt, and adjust the shirt tied around my waist to be less constrictive. I’m wearing a thin, low-cut, cotton tanktop, old school canvas capris, and a traditional rice hat. Well, it’s made of bamboo, but they call it a rice hat, anyway.

Earlier, I saturated it in freezing cold water so I feel like I’ve taken every possible precaution to protect myself from the heat and still, my body is convinced I’m experiencing a slow, tedious, live cremation. I groan at that thought. I don’t know if I’d rather be burned alive by dragon fire or if I’d rather get eaten. I suppose it doesn’t matter much. It’s not like they’ll give me the choice if things go south.

I adjust the magma-rifle strap and resume hiking, wondering why no one has made a lighter version of these things. In the process, I notice a subtly glowing blue patch not far to my left. It’s far too small to be a dragon footprint, but the telltale sign of recent exposure to the blue goo is unmistakable. It could mean the dragons are close or it could mean nothing at all. As a scientist on a tight deadline, it feels crippling not to know basic things like that.

Cautiously, I move forward to inspect the tracks, taking precautions not to touch them or any blade of grass with the slightest splotch of blue. I’m pretty certain I’ve already been exposed and apparently, I’m one of the few who are immune. It may also be airborne so my safeguards may be utterly wasted.

Nevertheless, I don’t feel like pressing my luck so I use a stick to brush aside grasses that keep me from seeing the impressions well. With a better view, I immediately recognize takin hoof marks, since the tracks are both quite large, and since takins are the most common game in this the area. I’m surprised to see a single set of tracks since they usually travel in herds and I haven’t seen any evidence of a herd near here. Then again, an infected beast would have been disorientated and could have wandered astray. I wonder how the goo may change the beast. It’s pretty random as far as I can tell.

As if on cue, a grossly oversized dragonfly zips past me and flashes an iridescent, purple hue that I doubt is natural. Well, natural under nature’s previous sets of rules. In this uniquely untraveled environment undergoing massive, ecological changes, it’s difficult to be certain what is normal. I’ve downloaded loads of information about local flora and fauna so I should have a pretty good grasp on these things. Still, I’m unsure.

I saw a baby brown bear with light auburn horns jutting from its cheeks a few days past, a pinkish fish acting as if it would crawl out of the river using fat, stubby fins, and a flying squirrel that seemed to glide for unnaturally long periods of time. I suspect it’s gained access to electromagnetism like those parachute spiders in Australia and those super fast web-builders in Missouri that float from tree to tree.

Within days of the dragons’ first appearances, people, fish, and critters of every species began morphing at unprecedented speeds. Blayde, the first person to spot dragons near the shores of Alaska, hypothesized that their femoral excretions activate latent DNA, thus triggering the expressions of traits that have eluded scientists for many decades. So far, it seems he was right.

While the three-spined stickleback blazed the way to understanding environmental influences on gene expression, it now seems like a waning tea candle next to a monstrous bonfire. And, in contrast to that little fish, transformations in humans have been wide ranging and disturbing. I haven’t seen crustacean people in person, but hologram footage is, to put it mildly, disturbing. While the goo activates gigantism in some people and brainiac tendencies in others, most people are becoming crustacean-like beasts. Animalistic, they gravitate toward violence and seem to have lost their ability to reason.

While every ecosystem on this planet rapidly evolves, our only hope to stop it relies on me implanting sufficient nanobots in these last surviving dragons and transmitting the data for AI review.

I wipe sweat from my forehead, momentarily forgetting that I’m wearing a rice hat, and clumsily nudge it to an odd angle. As I adjust it, the silken tie pops loose from under my chin and slaps my nose. When I straighten the hat and pull the strap under my chin, my magma-rifle slips off of my shoulder, chafes my breast, hits a rock, and makes a loud clanking sound that puts me on high alert. I need to be as quiet as possible so I feel stupid for being awkward and making unnecessary noise.

My father used to chastise me for that. Obviously, I learned that lesson well. Look at me, a worm on a hook. Eat me.

As a precaution, I disengage the magnetic lock holding my pistol in place. While castigating myself, my eyes dart in every direction, looking for any predator I may have alerted with my inimitable grace. I clearly spend more time in labs than outdoors hiking, despite the fact that nature is the love of my life. Well, to be fair, I prefer zoos and aquariums to actual wildlife. I love holo-videos of animal life.

Then, as I reassess my course, I realize that I’ve accidentally gravitated toward an area I hiked yesterday before finding the dragon tracks. It had been a sidebar, one of those I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-so-here-I-go-long-shots so I would have ignored the detail and pressed forward, but in that general area, I spot more blue goo.

Lots of it.

My heart sinks as I begin to make the realization I should have made days ago, but I can’t allow myself to believe it without further proof so I trudge forward, toward the offending goo until closer inspection affirms my suspicion.

The dragon has been following me.

Like some of the first teams to study the snow leopard, I find myself in the nerve-racking position of being hunted by the very predator I’m searching for. As I review various details of my day-old tracks and the dragon’s tracks, I’m unqualifiedly certain that the beast has been stalking me. Preliminary analysis of dragon DNA informed us that they were quite intelligent. This suggests that they’re curious and perhaps, strategic as well.

My only comfort is that I’m apparently too small to merit consideration as a meal. Maybe I’ll survive the day after all.

It’s time to change tactics.

As I consider my next move, I remember popular speculation that dragons were summoned by ancient magic. That was, of course, absurd, but when people don’t have a strong scientific explanation for something, superstitions are the first to stake a claim. For some reason I still don’t understand, those rumors led Dave and May Aizlen here, to this remote gorge on the border of India and China, Yarlung Zangbo, or however they say it. Well, they docked here. Who knows where they went afterward. On a whim, I followed them here and somehow managed to have better luck finding a dragon than they did.

Maybe. They could have been eaten for all I know.

A new thought steals my attention. Dragons were globally exterminated by vigilantes with magma-rifles set to hot lasers and hollow-point ammo. While mine is set to deliver sedatives and gels with biological nanobots, an intelligent species might recognize the weapon and be leery of them. It’s a consoling thought, but probably foolish. Yarlung Zangbo is as remote of a location as you can find nowadays. Very few people live here. Fewer visit. Undoubtedly, that’s why a dragon has survived here. Chances are, no dragon here has seen a magma-rifle.

Either way, I’m barely able to continue hiking this terrain and I’m ready for a break so I do what a precautious person would have done the moment she found the original tracks: I kneel down on a grassy knoll underneath more dove trees, tear off the magma-rifle, remove my backpack and button-up shirt, and pull out my camo-throw.

Cephalopod inspired camo-throws have one nasty setback here: they transfer external heat toward the wearer. I’m from Alaska. We love that feature back home. Here? I’m literally afraid I’ll melt. In preparation for what may be a long wait, I down several swigs of water and then quietly cover myself with the camo-throw, pulling the hood over my head as I stretch out over the ground. Hopefully, since I’m in the shade and maximizing my exposure to the earth, the results won’t be unbearable.

If my theory is correct, the dragon will wonder where I’ve disappeared to and come for a closer look after it’s unable to spot a reappearance.

As I lay there for what seems an interminably long time, I consider the global, knee-jerk reaction to annihilate dragons. They’d literally been exterminated within weeks of appearing. One would think, given the many technological advancements we’ve gained from studying black widows, death stalker scorpions, pufferfish, wasps, gila monsters, and a dozen other nasty critters, people would be slow to call for the wholesale slaughter of a species just because they’re scary.

It’s silly, really. Magnificent as they are, a dragon’s physical presence is trivial compared to the havoc their bizarre femoral excretions are causing, and we can’t repair that damage without understanding the mechanism that creates it in the first place. We need dragons alive to survive whatever is happening.

The moment I see one flying overhead, I inadvertently change my mind.

Half exhilarated, half terrified, I realize that, despite it’s apparent, small size and my admiration of this intelligent species as a scientist, I instantly understand the fear-based mentality that quite possibly made this the last dragon on the planet. I could be a meal in less than two minutes if my camo-throw doesn’t do its job.

Preliminary reports suggested that dragons have various ocular enhancements, but data is scanty so we don’t fully understand them. I was making several assumptions when I decided to try this plan. They seem to have been validated so far, but I worry that when the dragon flies closer, I may be entirely exposed to its superior vision.

A second, larger dragon is now flying overhead.

I notice that I’ve been involuntarily holding my breath while watching it cascade through some low-hanging clouds so I consciously breathe out and take a deep breath, trying not to make any noise.

As if in response, the smaller of the two suddenly spins, tightly wrapping its wings around its body and rotating so precisely, it briefly appears to be a drawing, rotating on a pinwheel with the shoulder as a centerpoint. Stretching its wings forward, it pumps its wings heavily a single time, thrusting the beast downward like a falcon diving into water, only it breaks the maneuver, spreads its wings wide, and arches in the air so near to the ground that large branches creaked and leaves loudly rustle as it flies past.

It flew close enough to me that several white bracts, torn from the dove trees above, tenderly brush against my feet, alerting me to the fact that they’ve slowly slipped outside the protection of the camo-throw. Leisurely, I retract them, fairly confident they won’t be noticed.

Despite its terrifying appearance, the smaller dragon seems joyful, playful like dolphins following boats at sea. For a moment, I imagine its wide-mouthed expression is more akin to a happy dog than a gruesome monster.

The dragons start veering north by northwest so I consider getting up to follow them, worried they’ll go out of sight and I’ll lose them again. I reconsider that thought, overwhelmed by the implications. I’m observing the most horrific beasts of legend and I’m worrying they’ll get away so they won’t be able to kill me. What’s wrong with me?

Then, to my surprise, I hear the grisly screech of some creature not far away and to my left. My heart pounds wildly.

Although I’ve only ever seen these creatures on holo-videos, I immediately recognize two crustacean people hovering over a small takin with a half-dozen extra horns. The once-humans bear unique, dark brown exoskeletons that were nearly black, with unusual, orangish-red streaks just like rumors had said.

So, it’s true.

Different races express goo-induced traits differently.

Each major bone in their bodies connects to corresponding exoskeletal pieces shaped like mini shields, oddly scalloped at the ends to allow room for joints to bend while maintaining sharp edges. The helmet, for lack of a better word, looks like something designed in a high-tech aerodynamics lab and sports large enough openings for the creature to have decent peripheral vision.

The takin releases a second, surreal shriek as the crustacean people scratch at its face and hover over it to clean the mess. Revolting. I feel sorry for the goat-like creature but I also know there is nothing I can do to help it at this point. If I fire my pistol, I alert the dragon to my location. If I shoot the magma-rifle at the takin’s attackers, I may not have enough left to sedate one dragon, let alone two.

I slowly draw my pistol and scratch my hand on a nearby bush whose genus and species I don’t have downloaded for some reason. I passingly note that while keeping my eyes riveted on the people, beasts in front of me.

They’re both slurping, scratching, and holding the takin down with unnaturally strong muscles. Although the takin is probably only a juvenile based on its size, it’s large enough to require massive strength to hold it down. As I look more carefully, I realize the crustacean person on the right is holding a pointy protrusion of its exoskeleton against the beast’s neck and it may be doing the same thing to the takin’s belly. Perhaps, that accounts for its timidity. Nevertheless, it cries more frantically than before, drawing the attention of the smaller dragon.

I’m holding my breath again. This is not a good idea. I try to casually exhale while the screaming sounds continue and then methodically take breaths until they return to normal, but I’m scared I’m going to start hyperventilating.

I have zero training for situations like this. I’m not a soldier. I’m not a martial artist. I haven’t even downloaded a single fight training module. With strict regulations on downloadable content, I always choose resources that help me analyze and understand scientific data. Now, all of a sudden, I’m regretting those decisions. What would it have hurt me to download at least one course in survival tactics? or, I don’t know, dragon fighting strategies?

My previous plan to carry coagulating pepper spray in case of an emergency feels pretty shortsighted.

The crustacean people seem oblivious to their plight. Before I could quote two lines from my favorite song, the dragon flies across the valley and torches all three creatures while essentially landing on top of their smoldering bodies. I wince, cower from the heat, and gag from the smell.

I assume the creatures died instantly from the fire, but I soon discover they didn’t. Hellacious cries erupt from all three. The dragon’s claws wrap around one, snuff out its life as its exoskeleton gives way to the dragon’s powerful grip. The takin receives the most mercy as the dragon tears out its throat with massive jaws. From my vantage point, I’m not entirely certain what is happening to the second crustacean guy, but it sounds nightmarishly unhappy and I hear more bones crunching and other nauseating sounds I cannot identify.

I’m trying to remain calm, but I’m quickly learning that my personalty is not exactly well suited for this situation. I’m literally only twenty feet away from the beast and I’m trying not to retch from whatever combination of smells I’m inhaling. I’d rather wash my hair in toilet water twice a day for a month than breathe this air any longer. It’s unbelievably disgusting and the fact that I can now distinctly smell burning blood isn’t helping.

I review the settings on my magma-rifle and determine they’re all properly set when the dragon violently thrashes its tail. It isn’t exactly a near miss but I can feel wind from the motion and it makes me wonder if this is some ecstatic rush of pleasure or if it’s aware of my presence and is trying to let me know that it perceives no threat. Initially, I hope it’s simply enjoying its meal, but on second thought, I find that fundamentally disturbing so I try not to think about it either way.

Nevertheless, through some adrenaline rush or some survival instinct, I’m able to push the end of the magma-rifle outside of the protective camouflage so I can take better aim. With the dragon’s backside mostly toward me, I don’t have any decent place to aim the sedative but I do have a pretty good shot at its right inner thigh, which is where I need to apply at least one nanobot solution. I have extra vials under the magma-rifle’s last chance setting, but without a sedative, the distraction could very well be life-threatening for me.

I swear something in French, not entirely certain I pronounced it correctly. I know it’s a bad habit, but some things are complicated to articulate, and crouching several paces away from the most nightmarish beast you can imagine while suffocating under sewer-laced air in the scorching heat of the day while scared out of your wits and on the verge of heart failure is one of those things that’s difficult to portray with erudition. “Maird” is all I can summon.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to balance the possibility that a sedative may not be useful.

There’s a larger dragon not too far away. Now that I’ve seen its size, I’m confident I don’t have enough to put both beasts down. I’d contemplated that possibility, of course. Regardless, I underestimated the bulk of these things.

Vastly underestimated.

Apparently, herds of takin were keeping it healthy and growing at a surprising rate.

By now, the screams and shrieks have clearly drawn the attention of the larger dragon. Despite its bland grayish coloring, I’m guessing it is probably the alpha and willing to contend over this substantial sum of protein.

I reconsider options again.

If I shoot both dragons with the nanobot slime, transmissions will be routed to three specialized AI at my lab and other scientists will have access to the data. They’re automated to report findings globally if I don’t return to review them quickly enough.

These dragons will likely survive for a while. Backward politics have kept local governments from focusing on international protocols and treaties so far. Sure, neighboring governments will intensify pressures to slaughter all dragons sooner or later but for now, these specimens are reasonably safe.

We need more data. We need more extensive nanobot transmissions to unravel the mechanism behind these femoral excretions. If organic nanobot technologies weren’t so blasted glitchy, a few days might be enough time to gather data. However, two other dragons had been tracked for a couple of weeks without uncovering anything useful. To be fair, the dragons had been in a state of metamorphosis, but still, why did technology have to be so interminably slow?

My life versus twelve billion lives.

If I cannot sedate a dragon and manually insert nanobots into its body, the much less efficient alternative is my best shot, the world’s best shot, at reversing the effects of the goo. It’s becoming apparent that I need to confront all of my fears and take what fate is delivering to me.

I begin adjusting magma-rifle settings to inject nanobot solutions instead of sedatives when I hear a very large branch snap to my left.

Heart pounding, I instinctively turn my head to discover a massive, saber-toothed jaguar standing about six-feet high at the shoulder. Boasting a shiny, almost coppery coat underneath its trademark circular patterns, the beast is furrowing its brows, slightly baring its teeth, and looking directly into my eyes while growling. I swear that I can feel the earth rumbling beneath me. If I wasn’t frozen before, I’m an iceberg now. I have no clue how to respond so I do nothing.

I hear an ethereal female voice. I think she uses the word “mage,” but then I remember the word “mage” is similar to the name for jaguar in Chinese. Well, at least to my American ears, they sound alike. Whatever she says after that is either unintelligible or in a language I haven’t downloaded. My rudimentary Chinese suggests she may be scolding it for being distracted.

Reluctantly, the jaguar averts its gaze to the backside of the dragon who continues to noisily munch its meal. For a moment, I turn to see how close that larger dragon is, expecting it to crash into the first, perhaps sending it tumbling away so the larger one can eat in its stead, but it’s nonchalantly gliding in a different direction, apparently disinterested.

The woman starts to sing. Not only is her voice beautiful, the melody is hauntingly bewitching. I could listen to it for days.

I can see her now. She’s sitting atop the jaguar and has long, black hair, hazel eyes, and a stunning face. Dressed in a ruffly crop top and a skirt cut and pleated high onto the hip, I can see a glowing, bluish mist coming from her inner thighs as she sings. I have no context for what’s happening, recall the asinine prattling that magic was to blame for summoning dragons, and stare in disbelief.

The dragon glances toward her for a moment, bellows some sound somewhere between a growl and a lion’s roar, and returns to its meal. Honestly, if anything that happened moments before was scary, it now pales when compared to the roar that erupted from its throat. I’m so shocked that I completely miss the opportunity to aim at its neck while I could see it.

The female mage, however, seems unaffected. She continues to sing and to adjust her sitting position while striking an unusual pose with her legs. Yoga, or something like it, was clearly no stranger to her. Soon, the air around her hands glows like her legs and her song swells to an unnatural loudness.

The dragon roars, growls a second time, far more menacingly than the first time, but it turns its attention back to its meal all the same.

The woman briefly interrupts her pose, though not her song, to access a spoon in an open box, one of those traditional kinds with loops and small sticks to seal it shut. She retrieves a heaping scoop of brightly saturated blue powder I instantly recognize. It’s blue powder extracted from the dragons’ fire-creating organs. We obtained some from the Alaskan specimens. It’s the stuff we need to replicate in order to destroy the blue goo, to stop this evolutionary apocalypse. It’s what I was hoping to extract from one of its glands to better understand it. We’ve used every trace of it we could find.

Then, she does what might have been obvious to any onlooker who wasn’t distracted by the scientific details I just described.

She pauses the song to ingest the chalky substance.

Honestly, I don’t know how she does it. I half-expect her mouth to be stuck shut for an hour, but she simply arches her neck, offers a sensuous expression that looks very out of place, and then smiles with great satisfaction.

When she opens her eyes, they too glow, and as she begins to sing again, bluish, glowing mists pour out of her mouth. Soon, glowing mists surround her body and she appears to be floating slightly above the monstrous jaguar, despite clearly remaining attached to it.

That’s when it happened.

I’d all but forgotten about the larger dragon, but it decides to jog my memory. Clearly very interested in whatever is happening, it lands next to the smaller dragon, striking its head with one of its wings and roaring at the smaller beast as if rebuking it for some obvious wrongdoing.

I surprise myself. Magma-rifle in hand, settings in order, I shoot the small dragon at the base of the neck it’s now raising in response to the blow. The shot doesn’t appear to take well. Grayish liquid bounces off of the neck, apparently because I shot too far toward the back of the neck where the scales are thicker. It’s improbable, but I can’t help but hope some nanobots find their way under the scales and into the dragon’s body.

My hands are shaking, but I take another shot at the larger dragon’s neck as it rears back. It’s a solid hit. That’s not too impressive, really. The thing is huge, it isn’t very far away, and the nanobot solution sprays somewhat like a shotgun. The large dragon doesn’t seem to notice. It’s smacking the other dragon’s head with its wings and biting. I’d be reticent to describe it as a playful bite, but it seems like it’s holding back, almost like it’s asserting dominance rather than trying to severely damage the smaller dragon. Nevertheless, the smaller dragon yelps in surprise and bleeds freely.

Shockingly, the mage’s song never misses a beat. Her expression lingers somewhere in between the unusual mixture of ecstasy and alarm, but she remains relatively frozen in her pose, swaying her fingers and head as if enjoying herself.

Meanwhile, as the larger dragon pumps its wings to establish a little distance between itself and the smaller dragon, I see my shot and fire the magma-rifle at its left, inner thigh, somewhere close to its femoral gland and take a third shot at the base of its neck. Both are decent shots but not as solid as the first.

I still can’t get a clean shot on the smaller dragon, but it’s pivoting so I’m hopeful.

That doesn’t last long.

The jaguar steps toward me, growls.

Both dragons join in with their own deafening roars and nearly shatter my soul in the process. I’m crumbling in fear, only vaguely aware that I’m too terrified to shoot either dragon again.

Besides, they were both succumbing to the blue mist, which is growing in size, circling both beasts, and grows denser. Then, without warning, both dragons stop roaring and fly away.

The jaguar maintains its gaze on me, one paw slightly raised as if ready to pounce, while the mage seems lost in some unseen, extreme pleasure. Then, absent fanfare and without looking toward me, she says in very choppy English, “what are you doing here and why are you shooting my dragons?”