The scale of the project daunted Rysha. Could it truly be made in anything less than years?
“The weapons I’m proposing could also be fired from the ground by a smart, sexy artillery officer—” Trip squeezed her shoulders, “—but by creating a mobile launch platform, they could be easily moved all over the country. I believe that with Dr. Targoson’s help, I could also figure out how to instill commands in the dragon blood—apparently, the Cofah were doing that three years ago before they lost their source of it—that would cause the weapons to seek out and follow dragons, so the big creatures couldn’t simply outmaneuver them. I’ll refine my plans more. I have a lot of ideas. I’m positive I can make this work. And when it’s successful, we can build more than one weapons platform and station the others around the country. If the dragons keep encountering them, they might realize it would be easier on them to simply leave Iskandia alone.”
“I’m positive you can make it work too.” Rysha smiled and patted him on the chest. She was less positive he could make it work in less than five years, but she was glad to see him using his passion for creating things for this. It made perfect sense to her. “May I ask what prompted you to start thinking of doing more than flying and shooting things and becoming a hero that way? Those were your words as I recall. I don’t disapprove, mind you. I’m just curious.”
He gazed down at the floor, then over at the cribs.
“Part of it was the attack last night and how bad I felt for not being there to help. I realized that I’m not immortal and I won’t always be here for Iskandia and my relatives and descendants—should there one day be descendants.” Trip smiled briefly at her. “Even when I am here, I’m only one man, and not nearly as powerful as an actual dragon, so the magic I can do at any one given time isn’t the answer. Not to mention that I’ll likely be fighting prejudices and outdated concepts all my life.” He winced.
He must have heard about Lockvale’s accusations.
“But if I create something that anyone can use, and that can protect a city—maybe even the whole country—without me having to be in the area… that seems like something I must do. Yes, it’s taken me a long time to realize this. It’s hard to give up those boyhood dreams. I still envy Zirkander his reputation and the adoration he gets from the newspaper journalists. And yes, I know that’s immature and un-evolved.” He smiled again. “It was actually a conversation last night with Shulina Arya’s parents about my birth mother that changed something for me. One of them remembers her, you see. They thought she might have chosen to sleep with my sire of her own free will, not because she cared about him but because she wanted a half-dragon baby who would grow up to change the world. If there’s any truth to that, it’s daunting, I’ll admit, to think someone conceived you thinking you’d be this great being, but it’s also… I feel this expectation now. I don’t want to fail. I know she’s been gone for three thousand years, but I’d hate to disappoint her.”
Rysha left her hand on Trip’s chest as she listened to him. She thought it sounded awful, to choose a father—a sire—not out of love but to create more desirable offspring, but it did strike her as better than the likely alternative, that his mother had been forced against her wishes. Remembering that bronze dragon pawing over her in Lagresh still made her shudder.
“You couldn’t disappoint anyone if you tried, Trip,” she said.
“Lord Lockvale seems less than pleased with me.”
“Only because you haven’t made him a coffee maker.”
Trip paused. “Do you think that would work?”
“Maybe you should keep gifts for the home in your cockpit. You could have tried wooing him with one on the highway. Though I wouldn’t want you to make friends with the man who’s been plotting against my family.”
“I can assist people with their coffee woes without befriending them.”
Rysha grinned, and was thinking of kissing him, but Trip stiffened and turned toward the wall. His eyes grew distant, and she knew he was investigating more than the paint.
“The military police are coming.” He sighed, let go of her, and started stacking papers so he could roll them up. “I need to get out of here.”
“Get out? Are you officially going AWOL?”
“I can’t build this from a military prison.”
“You can’t build some huge half-mile-long flying weapons platform while you’re out hiding in the woods, either. Trip, that’s a job for fifty people. Plus, you need the banded iron ore from that quarry, right?”
“The woods aren’t the place I have in mind. Have you seen Bhrava Saruth’s temple? I was thinking of asking him for sanctuary there. There’s a huge flat area out back. If I agree to worship him or rub his belly or make him tarts, I bet he would let me stay. Maybe he could even be convinced to help. Even better, only his human followers go out there, and there aren’t many of them. No dragons would be caught there, so we could build the platform and spring it on our enemies before they knew anything about it.”
“Make tarts? Trip, I’ve never even seen you make your own breakfast. Everything you eat comes out of the mess hall or a ration box.”
“Yes, much to Azarwrath’s lament.” Trip rolled up his drawing-filled papers and grabbed the pen and pencils he’d been using. He reached for the pink ruler, but left it, perhaps afraid to borrow such a precious belonging without permission. “If I can’t make tarts myself, I’ll make a machine to make them. How hard can be it be?”
“Trip…”
He glanced at the door, then headed for the window and pushed it open. One of the babies woke up and gurgled a protest. Or maybe that was an incipient cry.
“Trip, wait.” Rysha lunged after him and caught his arm.
“I can’t stay, Rysha. They’re almost to the front door.”
“I don’t care. Listen to reason for a minute. That being me, since I’m the only other one here over six months old.”
She feared he would pull his arm away, dart out the window, and disappear into the woods, but he paused and looked at her.
“If you run and hide—if you go AWOL—you’re only going to make things worse. Much worse. People will think you’re guilty, that you have something to hide.”
“General Zirkander told me to come out here.”
“He told you to go AWOL?”
“No, he said to spend the night here and that we’d go see the king together in the morning. But then he never came home. And the military police did.”
“Trip, don’t make this way worse than it is. Just wait for the general. If you insist on being difficult, nobody can arrest you against your wishes, but that won’t help your cause. If you let them take you, it would only be temporary. I’m sure Zirkander can find you right away. And if he forgets—which he won’t—I will find you. Trip, I have a dragon, and I’m not afraid to use her.”
He snorted, but he smiled too. Rysha found that encouraging.