5 The Hatchling
Although it’d been two weeks since they’d returned from Dragons’ Realm, none of Zens’ dragon spawn had taken. He stalked along the row of tharuks tending the nano-dishes in which not a single cell had replicated. Hundreds of experiments had failed. Something in dragon DNA resisted his cloning process, no matter what they tried.
As Zens paced back and forth, 000 stroked the giant golden egg under heat lamps in the corner of the lab. He snorted. They’d even ordered a bale of hay—on Professor Anderson’s tab—to nestle the egg in. The heat lamp had been his idea, of course—and the dragonet in the egg seemed to respond to it. A tiny dark dragon was visible through the translucent shell, twisting and turning in fluid. Occasionally, a wing, talon, or snout pressed up against the shell.
A vibration ran through the egg.
000 laid its furry head against the egg, snout twitching. “It’s hatching, master.”
“Stand back,” Zens said.
His firstborn tharuk scuttled out the way, letting Zens access the egg. About time. 000 had spent nearly all of its waking hours tending the silly egg. A dark crack ran down the shell. Excitement thrilled through Zens. This was it—he was finally going to have his own dragon to worship him.
More cracks ran through the egg, spider-webbing out across the shell until it was covered in a network of dark veins. A talon smashed a hole near the top. Another talon burst out halfway down. With a chirrup, the dragonet’s head bashed its way through. Tiny wings flapping, it burst out of the shell, scattering fragments over the hay and lab floor. It tilted its head, golden eyes gazing at 000. The wee thing landed and stretched its wings. Steam rose from them as they dried under the heat lamp. It adjusted its stance, talons clacking on the floor, tail twitching.
000 grinned, its snout hanging open and eyes glazed.
The dragonet bared its fangs in a dragonly smile.
Its minuscule scales were perfect. None of Zens’ failed experiments mattered now. He had a real dragonet—all his. Wait a minute...
000 and the dragonet were still staring at each other—bonding. Imprinting.
Zens slid into the dragonet’s mind. “I am your master.”
The dragonet whirled, eyes flying wide, and flapped its wings. It reared, screeches grating along Zens’ skull. He scooped it up. The dragonet scrabbled, raking at Zens with its talons, shredding his shirt and gouging his chest. His torso throbbed.
The dragonet’s fear spiked through him. Flashes of its memories shot through Zens’ head, seen though the golden film of the translucent egg: its mother’s roars shaking the nest; the flurry of snow burying its mother alive; him lunging at the dark-scaled dragon and slicing off the tip of her tail; his malicious smile; and finally, the egg being nestled against 000’s warm chest.
Zens dropped the dragonet, staring at 000 as the newborn creature scrambled into his firstborn tharuk’s arms.
Enraged, Zens flung out his hands and squeezed his fists tight. The dragonet gurgled and slumped. A trail of blood leaked from its nostrils and its eyes rolled back in its head.
“Dead?” 000 asked.
Zens gasped, “000, what have I done?”
“Dead,” said 000, laying the dragonet’ dead body among the hay and egg shards.
Cold prickles ran down Zens’ spine. He’d killed their only dragon and couldn’t use the dragonet’s DNA to grow more, because his cloning techniques had failed on dragon DNA.
He gritted his teeth. If they couldn’t grow the DNA here, perhaps the conditions were wrong.
He’d transport his methimium-powered laboratory, piece by piece, to the valley beyond the Terramites in Dragons’ Realm where methimium was plentiful and the people so primitive it was easy to influence their minds. One way or another, with the help of his tharuks, he would have his dragons.
Zens grinned. “Come on, 000. Gather your tharuk siblings. Let’s go hunting in Dragons’ Realm.”