The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection) (12 page)

CHAPTER
TEN

Hot Season Five
, Year 2095

Phuck wanted to see the new catch of eggs, to be able to count them himself, although his air intake region squeezed uncomfortably with the thought.  The Rha's private dragon grounds housed Forge's lair.  Although House dragons were supposed to be the property of the overseers, dragons, as a rule, were twitchy with Plutians.  The only way around it was to wear specially made suits that not only covered a Plutian's entire body, but insulated it, so the dragons couldn't sniff them out. 

Since Diem's dragon was neither caged nor chained, even the occupants of Fly House stayed away.   Especially after one of the wall guards got drunk on distilled gorne and decided to take Diem's mighty dragon for a ride.  The recovered, charred body was all it took to ensure that Diem's private grounds remained that way. 

Phuck met Diem a mile from the grounds and
they walked in together.  It would have been a quiet walk, but Phuck felt he'd jeopardized a great deal when he confirmed that Diem's life was based on how he handled the quiet side-business that the two shared.  Of course, the human had guessed right—Diem's talent for training proved profitable for Phuck's side venture in the Hope Market.  It was definitely what kept Diem alive and his House favored.  However, if Diem continued to dwell upon his possible death, Phuck worried that it could ruin any chance he had of gaining the human's sister for a mating.

"You should trust m
e," Phuck complained.  "I am your overseer.  It seems right to trust me, since I trust you with the catches."

"Trust?" Diem grunted.  He pulled back a spindling branch, but didn't bother to hold it back.  It snapped back and struck Phuck across the cheek.  "You count every egg you give me and you question every single one that doesn't hatch."

"Of course.  Why wouldn't I?"

"Exactly."
Diem pushed aside another sharp branch of a spindling and let it fly.  It slapped Phuck in his partial mouth.  "Sorry," Diem grumbled. 

"I understand you are sorry.  I just wish you'd stop doing it,"  Phuck said, just as another branch whizzed back and whacked the alien. 

"Sorry," Diem said.  Phuck dropped behind for a few feet, on guard against more branches, but when nothing came at him, he sped up and returned to the conversation. 

"I trust that you..."

Diem stopped abruptly and spun around.  "You trust me?  What would happen if an entire catch died?  Or went missing?  How much would you trust me then?"

"Well...I...if they all died?" the Plutian stammered.  "They would never all die.  You wouldn't be in the position you are, if a catch had ever all died."

"Fine.  Went missing.  Say some of them flew off.  I made a mistake and didn't clip their wings early enough."

"Oh...ah," Phuck prodded his little Plutian brain to think its way down all the possible avenues, but every single one drove him to the same dead end
—the truth.  He really did want this human to accept him, to allow him to take his sister as a Link.  Or, at least for a long period of mating that would last until his term as an Earthen Overseer was complete.   "If they went missing, I suppose I'd have to kill you.  It would be obvious neglect on your part."

"No, it wouldn't."  The human's jaw clenched; the muscles drew tight all the way to his temples.  "Things happen.  Mistakes happen and dragons die.  Understanding that, and knowing your business partner isn't going to kill you if it happens, is called trust."

Tight jaw, teeth bared, brow furrowed low over the eyes.  Phuck's data-packed brain registered Diem's symptoms as signs of stress.  The conversation was still not going well.

"Death does occur, but mistakes are most definitely neglect," Phuck reasoned.  "I suppose if it were death, I could make a concession.  So long as it wasn't a death created by a mistake.  That is fair.  I agree to that.  So, now you can trust me."

Diem's lips pulled to the side.  Brow still furrowed, the human shook his head.  "Yeah, I trust you...Phuck."

The name sent a surge of
warm pride rushing around beneath the alien's skin.  Long ago, when the humans had trouble remembering his Plutian name, they insisted on naming him themselves, and he was honored that they sought to make him one of their own, even in this small way.  He reveled in their gesture of respect and acceptance and was reminded of it each time they used the title they'd given him.

"Thank you," Phuck said.  Diem turned away, trudging on toward the dragon grounds.  Phuck followed behind, the grizzly black hole in his face blotting out a great deal of his broad smile, until Diem let g
o of another spindling branch.

***

By the time Diem reached the dragon grounds, streamers of red welts stretched out from all around the dark center of the Plutian's face.  Diem stepped into the flattened pasture only after he'd scanned for his sheathen, Forge, and given a soft, peaceful whistle.  She was nestled in a cave at the far end of the field, a line of satisfied smoke drizzling from the opening. 

"Is the beast sleeping?" Phuck asked, staying back in the trees. 

"Looks like she is," Diem said.  "I'll call out the hens."

"Let me get further back!" Phuck said and the spindling branches snapped and shook as he scrambled to get deeper into the fire-retardant trees.  Good thing, too, because Forge not only despised Plutians, but she was also fiercely loyal to Diem.  His dragon read his feelings as if they were her own and that meant she would very likely express her equal disdain for the overseer by roasting him with one sympathetic sigh. 

Diem stepped out onto the field and whistled again.  It was more like the beginning notes to an upbeat tune than a simple whistle for attention.  There was an initial puff of smog from the cave opening and then the ground trembled as the dragon stirred. 

Diem continued to whistle.  The melody heightened and suddenly, the dragon shot from the cave into the air, twirling as she ascended high into the sky.  Her wings beat once and even at the distance, the gust they generated blew Diem's hair back.  He continued to whistle his tune, even as the dragon twisted in the sky and began a furious decent toward him.  Forge came roaring down, pulling up at the last second and landing with such grace, just a yard away from Diem, that only a quiver rippled through the soil.  She dropped down, folding up her wings, her long neck swerving back and folding in on itself, until her chin rested on the ground at his feet.  Her wide eyes blinked at him.

"Don't let it eat you!" Phuck shrieked from the spindlings.  The dragon jerked up her head, drawing in a deadly breath that could shrivel and then incinerate the leaves.  Nevertheless, she could still try, her instinct was to protect Diem, and if she aimed well enough, she might be able to fry the overseer. 

As pleasing as it seemed at the moment, Diem knew it wasn't a good idea.  He knew how to handle Phuck.  A different overseer might not be so manageable.

"Quiet!" Diem snapped over his shoulder.  He raised his arms, capturing Forge's attention again.  He swept his limbs toward the ground in rhythmic strokes, until the dragon finally relaxed with his coaxing.  Her chin touched the ground again and the breath she'd taken was released, in a torrent of steam, from the downward flaps behind her jaw.  Her exhale left black scorch marks on the ground. 

The hens were a tremendous blessing
—Phuck usually bartered for two eggs at a time from Ice House, which Diem incubated and trained.  But six hens, obtained without any loss, meant that in three season's time, Phuck may be independent of Pluto.  And Phuck had promised Diem that he would liberate Fly House.  There was no way of knowing if Phuck could do it, but Phuck had increased Diem's portions all along as he said he would.  Since Diem had nothing, there was nothing to lose but hope. 

"Where are the hens?" Phuck hissed from the trees. 

This time, the dragon jumped to her feet and puffed a hot breath across the spindlings over Diem's head.  The heat shriveled the leaves and sent them raining down on Phuck like dead bullets.  He groaned as they pummeled him, but when the dragon heard him, she pulled in another breath, so the Plutian finally shut his mouth.

It took Diem several moments to calm the dragon again, but this time, although he kept his eyes on the sheathen, he spoke aloud to Phuck, in tones that also soothed Forge. 

"I'm going to tell her she can release the hens.  Now, don't say a word.  Just listen as I whistle and when you see them, stay quiet or she could kill us both."

Diem knew that wasn't exactly the truth, but he didn't want Phuck thinking the dragon had been trained to kill Plutians on command.  Diem had never used the command and didn't know if he'd ever be able to, but it relaxed him to know the option was there if he needed it. 

Phuck remained squatted in the trees.  Diem began another slow, melodic whistle, different from the first two.  It wavered and dipped like playing a reed.  It was a beautiful sound, the sound even a bird might make, if there were any left on Earth.

Forge seemed to love the sound.  She sat up, exposing the hard kernels of her underbelly armor.  The lower half of her belly relaxed, the front of a hard pouch pulling away from the softness of her gut beneath, to reveal the tiny snouts of the hens poking up from the protective pocket.

"Atta girl," Diem encouraged her gently.  The mighty dragon stayed upright and poised as the hens made their way out, onto the ground, her eyes watching the human with a softness that Diem thought no Plutian would ever believe. 

The hens, all seven of them, skittered about, stumbling over and climbing on one another, raising the dust all around them.  The hens were as high as Diem's calf now, growing fast but still clumsy.  One suddenly focused in on D
iem and advanced, scratching its small talons in the dirt. 

It was a challenge to Diem and no m
atter how young the hen was, its claws could shred Diem with one swipe.  But there was a way of handling hens, as nerve wracking as it was.  Diem planted his feet and held his chin high, standing his ground as the young dragon advanced.  He only hoped the overseer would stay quiet in the burnt trees.  Panicked hens were prone to indigestion, and one sound from Phuck might cause the hen to burp a fireball that could potentially singe off Diem's entire face.  Otherwise, all there was to do was stand his ground and show the young that he was not afraid.  Show the young that Diem was the one to be feared.

The first few feet, the hen came with head high, tiny nostrils blasting enough flame to light as large as the fire beneath a House kettle.  Diem stood rooted, his eyes roving over the ground at his feet, searching for what he would need.  The next couple of feet, the hen slowed its gait, its eyelids stuck wide open as it considered the man in front of it. 

Diem locked his own body in place; even the twitch of a muscle could startle a snort of fire from the hen that could disfigure him forever.  The next steps were the most crucial to his survival, but he knew this dance well and he knew how to ensure that a hen respected and followed him loyally.    

He waited until the young dragon froze, preparing itself to attack.  A rivulet of sweat licked a path down Diem's arm.

In a sudden burst, the hen charged.  Diem swooped down, scooping up a rock.

Wings splayed, the hen was nearly upon him when Diem fired the rock, aiming right between the young dragon's eyes.  The rock slammed into the hen's head before it could open its mouth to clamp down on the man.  The hen stopped only a foot from Diem, where it swayed.

Diem was ready to jump out of the way.  He hoped the strike had been hard enough, but if it hadn't, he was about to get a furnace blast. The hen staggered and fell, its head at Diem's feet.

He let out a long exhale.

The other hens, watching from beneath Forge, blinked at the hen lying at Diem's feet.  Diem quickly knelt and put his hand on the unconscious hen's head.  The weaker siblings scuttled forward then, their scorched caws sounding defeated as they watched the most aggressive hen, allowing Diem's touch.

Once the hens gathered around Diem, he reached out one at a time and touched their heads too.  The dragons ducked their heads beneath his palm and their tongues licked the air around him, memorizing his scent.   After he had touched the top of each of their heads, Forge dropped back down to the ground, laying on her side.  Her exhales from the flaps at her jaw made the air humid.  The hens moved away from Diem, frolicking together and nestling in close to Forge when the play got too rough. 

"You can come out now," Diem called to Phuck.  The overseer's voice wafted weakly from the spindling trees.

"What about when that one wakes?"

"My hand will be on its head as it wakes," Diem assured him.  "I am its master now."

Phuck stepped carefully from the
spindlings.  He'd seen this whole process a few dozen times, but he was never comfortable with it.  Most likely because he'd tried to do it on his own once, after observing Diem.  It had been a blessing that Diem had happened upon him and intervened, since Phuck had been standing in the field, with a hen advancing and blowing bursts of flame right at the overseer.  Phuck didn't have the sense to throw the rock in his fist, so Diem picked one up and hurled it instead.  He caught the hen at such an angle that the animal went down, but got back to its feet.  It took two more rocks before the hen fell unconscious and by that time, Phuck's clothing was burned right off him, along with all his hair.