Evening fell, and the moon painted the town of Havenhallow with its glow. Major Grulraym was about to leave the incubation unit of the dragonborn research centre.
Half-human half dragon, dragonborn were a much-maligned subject in the general society who overall had deep hatred for what they called the half breeds. So much so Havenhollow Medical Centre was top secret, publicly labelled a high-level disease research centre.
As Grulraym, a 500-year-old dragon, wandered round checking the incubation tanks when his assistant Captain Spellscale Nyscoria entered his mind.
‘Sir, we have a problem,’ the soft-voiced dragonborn whispered through the telepathic implant.
‘What’s happening, Nyscoria?’
‘I was just checking in the new batch of implants, Sir, there is one missing.’
‘I’ll come down.’
Grulraym finished the last of his checks and locked down the unit and made his way to the stockroom. ‘Hello Nyscoria.’
‘Hell Sir, I’m sorry to bother you.’
‘It’s not your fault, let me see the new implants.’
Nyscoria pushed the steel alloy container to the dragon. ‘I haven’t moved them from the box as per protocol, Sir.’
‘Excellent, and yes there is a missing implant. I will get on to Pescon,’ he said picking up the security com. ‘Hopefully they got it wrong.’
Before he could make the connection, a screen flashed. ‘When are Havenhollow going to admit, they are developing weapons,’ said the voice of a Dragon nationalist politician.
©JG Farmer 2020