July 2014
"If you'll pardon my saying, sir, but mammoths are about to go extinct again."
Draco, draconic CEO and overlord of the wealthy and predatorial Dra Co, didn't mind the pun. He didn't mind the scientist bringing him bad news. He also didn't mind that everyone in the facility he was visiting was a mammal. No, what really galled the self-proclaimed gentleman was that there really wasn't a good solution for the current issue.
For years, Dra Co had been plucking genetic tissue from one frozen, impeccably-preserved specimen of a baby mammoth Draco had won betting on Zoofights. Miniature pets, fur coats, steaks, ivory, leather...there was a great deal of money to be made by cloning the mammoths thousands of times. Unfortunately, that source of income was drying up.
"Continue," was all the response he could make.
"At our current rate of production and the current quality of mammoth we've been cloning, we only have enough genetic material for one more batch of mammoths," the scientist reported. "If we want to keep production going in 2015, we have to begin introducing the DNA of compatible species to the mix. The results won't be 100% mammoth but..."
"But nothing!" Draco suddenly roared. "We advertise pure mammoth and we will make pure mammoth! Anything less than pure and we have to include disclaimers, pay fees, levy bribes, and so on."
Everyone in the room had gone silent. Draco towered over all of his employees and liked it. He owed the company completely and would brook no possible rival within HIS organization. All the scientists and advisors and businessmen hung on his every word.
"We will continue to produce pure mammoths for the rest of the year," Draco announced. "Nix the pet line in favor of beasts we can slaughter for meat, pelts, and ivory. Raise prices by...oh...10% now, an additional 10% next month, and return to the current prices when we get to the last month of the Star Festival. We'll funnel the increased revenue into new research and investments on Porphyrion."
The horde of Yes Men and Egg Heads and other generically-branded personnel scurried about to carry out their orders, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts. He shrugged off a feeling of nostalgia for the old Zoofights days as he activated his personal computer, a Crayfish machine customized for him to comfortably use, to begin researching new avenues. Plenty of Kobber-related shenanigans to profit from: destroyed villages to rebuild, Razaan Redscales' pirates to inform, and more.
One interesting piece of material caught his eye though: Space Pirates.
That bounty hunter reminded the dragon all-too-much of the sort of wandering murder hobo that he frequently contended with in his youth and he'd gone to efforts to avoid being around her. Her adversaries were on the planet though and Scuttlebutt had it that they were building more of their elaborate underground labyrinths. A few more inquiries showed a common theme to their operations: a species of jellyfish-like predators that carried great deals of energy within their bodies. Easily replicated, intelligent enough to be tamed, and possessing a unique natural ability that could be turned to industrial use.
The cost of refurbishing the cloning materials to make Metroids instead of Mammoths would be considerably less than building new production facilities for something else. He jotted down some notes, sent orders to his Shadowrunners, and checked his schedule for the rest of the day: nothing to do but have a nice evening back at home.
Speaking of which...
He quickly called home. The sweet tones of his mate's voice after a long day of work would be music to his ears.
A loud guttural roared answered the phone. Like an angel, Draco thought as he swooned.
"Hello, Chaz," Fergie said after composing herself. "How's the office?"
"We're running out of mammoths, I'm told," Draco answered.
"Roast anyone for this outrage?" his mate said sardonically.
"I'm getting soft in my old age. I let them off with 50 lashes."
"Poor boy...so tortured, having to let your staff live," Fergie giggled un-dragonly. "On your way home, can you pick up a few beasts? I'm starved."
"Of course, my love," Draco agreed. "Another five as usual?"
"Better make it ten."
Which meant fifteen, Draco thought. She'd need to protein while another brood grew inside. More mouths to eventually feed, more impressionable hatchlings to teach the ways of the world to.
Draco grinned, causing one maintenance man to freak out. Life was good.
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