Chapter 6: INTRODUCING DOCTOR FORD

Darkened lairs are places where wild beasts live, especially those that are most dangerous. Lairs like the ones which belonged to mythological dragons, who piled high their coveted wealth and waited for thieves to enter.

The lair in question had high ceilings that gave one the sense that they had stepped into a place of reverence: like a temple or cathedral. It was filled with bookshelves of rare and expensive texts. Glass cases displayed awards, and memorabilia from archeological expeditions of sites like Petra of Jordan, Staffordshire of England, and Sanxingdui of China. Bones, ancient art and tools, modern paintings and sculptures, and rare animal specimens from around the world were displayed alongside gilded plaques informing the viewer of their unique and priceless pedigree.

On the right was a floor to ceiling window, but heavy drapes all but covered it to block out the damaging rays of the sun, lest they cause damage to the treasures displayed there. For a similar reason, the study was kept quite cold. This lair was, like every nightmare fantasy described, dark and cold with its very own dragon lurking deep inside.

An aging dragon rested comfortably in his lair surrounded by the glitter of wealth he'd amassed during the victorious campaigns of his earlier years. He leaned comfortably in a massive throne-like chair; his legs crossed at the knees, his right finger marked the place in a book he'd been reading, now closed and resting forgotten on his lap. His heavy brows framed dispassionate eyes and stoically regarded the young man before him.

"I'll give you the money," the dragon said. His voice a deep and pleasant rumble. "But I want something in return."

Mac Whitter's cold expression twitched. He'd neither seen nor spoken to the man in years. Showing up all of the sudden to ask for a large sum of money was bound to raise some questions. But no questions were asked; no pleasantries exchanged; merely a tit-for-tat transaction. How cold, how calculating, how completely predictable.

"And what would that be, father?" Hands crossed behind his back; Mac raised a questioning brow. "Perhaps you were thinking of a seat on the board or shares of WAT?"

Mac's father – Kevin Whitter – chuckled. It was so pleasant and disarming to hear; one might almost forget the dangerous creature attached to it. The senior Whitter dismissed his son's words with a wave of his hand.

"I can hear the ring of suspicion in your tone," the dragon said. His eyes were smiling as if he enjoyed playing cat-and-mouse games and watching his opponent's squirm.

"But relax, son. I have no intention of planning any more hostile take-overs." This assurance did nothing to relieve Mac's mind, for he knew all too well the games his father played.

Mac had been raised to emulate his father, to be worthy of his name, and the blood he carried. Early on he tried. But as he soon learned, seeking his father's approval was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone. Though never with words, his father always managed to make him feel worthless, broken, or flawed.

Had it not been for a wise and caring tutor who encouraged Mac to break free of the need to be loved by his father, Mac might never have learned to step out of his father's shadow or to emit his own light. Though he still struggled with emotional dependency, he has learned to choose people who didn't treat love as something conditional – to be rationed out or withheld in order to control him.

Mac waited for his father to tell him what the cost would be to secure the requested amount. To Mac, it didn't matter the cost. He would pay it, even if it meant walking into a trap.

"All I ask are two things," the dragon continued.

The first condition surprised Mac. He asked that Mac visit him more often: once every six months should be enough. During their meetings, Mac and he would share a meal and discuss whatever topics came to mind. Mac would need to stay for the whole meal, participate in the conversation, and be deemed moderately pleasant by a third party – a person or persons of Mac's choosing.

Mac scowled as he considered the request. It seemed almost paternal. Perhaps the old dragon has grown emotional in his old age. Though this explanation was unlikely, Mac agreed none-the-less. The request was hardly something he could complain about.

"And the second condition?"

The dragon shrugged casually, as if the second thing was of less significance. "Hire a woman."

Mac was dumbfounded. "I have hired many women," he protested unsure of what his father was implying.

The dragon raised his hand to halt further argument. "A specific woman named Brenda Ford. She's a doctor."

Mac asked why he would hire a doctor when he was in the aerospace technology business. His father sighed, as if the details didn't matter to him. "I'm sure you'll find something for her," he said.

He went on to explain that Dr. Ford was in the field of robotics for human augmentation. Surely there was a need for her skills in the colonies, he argued.

Mac was growing more suspicious. He asked what the catch was. Nothing, of course, the old dragon assured him. The doctor was merely the child of a friend. Recently, she had gotten into trouble due to her innovative research.

"'Borderline crimes against humanity' they claim," Mac's father scoffed. Several countries had issued arrest warrants, claiming that her research was too radical, immortal, and on par with human experimentation and cloning.

"Is any of that true?" Mac asked.

Dr. Ford was an innovative researcher on the brink of a new field – set to aid the development of mankind by linking technology and biology. Primitive medical devices using similar augmentations already exited. But her research was more advanced and had the unfortunate curse of leaving some afraid of the unknown impact it could have on society.

Rather than trying to understand the need for such advancements and the science behind it, they've decided to simply fear monger against it. A number of activist groups have whipped their local governments up into a frenzy, and religious leaders have come out to decry that such advancements are an attempt to play God.

The old dragon sneered in distain. "Nothing is ever new," he said, implying that the same old fear mongering troupes had been around for centuries, waiting to crop up whenever human advancements are made: technology, vaccines, gene editing, robotics, space exploration…

"Even Galileo's discovery that the Earth wasn't the center of the universe," he added. It seemed once again that the world was resisting the inevitable upset of its cherished status quo. "Perhaps in another 20 or 30 years, we will see the error of our ways."

But in the meantime, he hoped to protect the doctor from prison or a similar fate to Galileo's. Luckily, he just so happened to have a son whose company was off-Earth. Perhaps in space she could continue her research free from government interference. 

Mac wasn't convinced hiring a doctor would serve any purpose to him or his company, even less so if it was an outlaw. Nevertheless, he agreed.

The old dragon seemed satisfied and agreed to have the money wired to Mac by the end of the day. Mac nodded and turned to leave.

"I'll have the doctor and her daughter sent over to your place," his father added before Mac reached the door. Mac stopped. His father had turned his attention again to his book.

"Daughter?" Mac repeated.

Without looking up, his father informed him that Dr. Ford had a thirteen-year-old daughter who would need to go with her. When Mac remained rooted by the door, he raised his gaze and nothing more.

"Is that a problem?" The tone was low and challenging.

Mac narrowed his eyes. "No," he replied and left.

If Mac Whitter had any reservations about harboring a fugitive of Earth and her daughter on his company's orbiting space station, he did not share them with anyone.