How I Built A Dragon In My Garage

HOW I BUILT A DRAGON IN MY GARAGE

"You want me to build a what?"

"A dragon. I thought we made those on a regular basis."

"Oh, dragons!!! Sorry, Yuri, the local network has been acting up. I need to get IT up here to work on it. What kind of dragon does the client want? European? Asian? Mesoamerican?"

"Let me send you a picture of what he wants."

A second computer screen came on, displaying an idealized version of a European dragon found in the fantasy art style common in the latter half of the last century.

"That's no problem, though I don't know why the client would want us to do this. We farmed out the patent on dragons ten years ago. and the picture you showed me falls well within the parameters of the genetic designs in the franchises. Unless he wants something unusual, of course. And I'm assuming the client understands the international convention on mandated sterility of exotic creatures. Even out in the Protectorates, we can't circumnavigate that."

"No, nothing like that, Dr. Harrison. The Prince understands that we can't condone illegal activities in the Garage."

I kept my opinion on that statement to myself.

"What the client wants is a dragon that breathes fire."

"Not a problem, Yuri. I'll just transfer you to robotics, although I'm fairly sure that that technology has been farmed out as well."

Yuri had a pained looked on his face. "The client wants a biological fire-breathing dragon."

"Not a problem. While we're at it, how about we make it twenty tons with gossamer wings and shooting gold eggs out its---"

"Dr. Harrison, please!"

"Yuri, you know damn well we can't do this."

"Dr. Harrison---Jennifer." I mentally swore. Yuri never used my first name unless he was going to ask a personal favor for---

"The Prince would consider it a personal favor. It has to do with---politics."

Even though Yuri hated the fact, politics was the driving force in the Prince's life. The Prince's father was a younger son of the ruler of Umm al-Quwain. He and a few of the other men of his generation knew fossil fuels wouldn't last forever and decided that now was the time to diversify their wealth. With the advent of true supranationalism, the Prince's father was able to use this foresight into catapulting his political position in the expanded United Arab Emirates. But the Prince wanted more. Currently, he was the prime minister of the U.A.E., the highest rank that a non-monarch could hold. But the Prince wanted everything. And the Garage was one of his tools to get it.

The Garage (as the scientist and engineers who worked there called it) was located on an artificial island in the Gulf. It was a creation of the Prince's father, a place to delve into research such as bio-engineered foods that was suffering a popular backlash elsewhere. It was also where unique luxury items could be created for the ultrarich, luxury items that could be found nowhere else.

Luxury items which earned the Prince, like his father before him, political favors.

I sighed. I liked the Prince. I really did. Unlike so many of his misogynistic countrymen, the Prince was respectful to his female employees and expected his underlings and guests to be the same. When a touring V.I.P tried to cop a feel off of me, the Prince slapped him in the face and then publicly challenged him to a duel. The Prince demanded much from his employees, but as long as you produced, you were his, and the Prince protected his own fiercely. I can't think of another man or woman anywhere in the world who would do the same.

"I'll talk to my team, Yuri, and see what I can do. No promises, though."

"The Prince thanks you, Jennifer. And I thank you. And---we will need the dragon in three years."

"Three years??!! It takes four months to force grow a known species of that size, Yuri, not to mention the hard wir---"

"Jennifer..."

I took another deep breath. "I'll try, Yuri. But make sure the Prince knows I make no promises."

"We have all the confidence in your best, Dr. Harrison."

* * * * *

Three years later, the Prince and I were standing on a shielded platform looking into a dome in which a twenty-foot green dragon was quietly munching on a pile of sugar stalks.

"Amazing, Dr. Harrison. I sometimes think that you tell me something is impossible to make yourself more of a miracle worker in my eyes." At that moment, the dragon shot out a stream of fire with deadly accuracy at one of the small rodents who occupied its habitat. With a snuffle, the dragon half scurried, half flew to where the rodent had been burned. "So how did you solve the problem of fire breathing?"

I watched the dragon nose the rodent before dismissing it and returning to the sugar stalks.

"Two bladders in its throats. One starts secreting a protective coating about a week before the other bladder is activated; the other bladder projects a high pressure stream of an alcohol-based mixture that ignites when the streams hits two 'flints' implanted in the upper portion of the dragon's mouth. We have special 'plating' on the dragon's mouth and face to prevent fire damage, but even so, we only feed the dragon the 'fire activating' enzymes about once a month. Any more than that, and the flames would do irreparable damage to the dragon, no matter what kind of protection we gave it. The real credit goes to Dr. Fields, however. There was no inherited behavorial patterns for him to manipulate---"

"Excuse me, Dr. Harrison, but how does the dragon push out the stream with such force?"

"Redirected flatus." The Prince laughed at the color that came to my cheeks. Then he gazed back at the dragon which would become the herald of his burgeoning empire.