Pictured is an astronaut on Petrolea managing a tame Punisher. This smaller relative of the orca-sized Dragon is only the size of an eagle, and useful in capturing specimens. It flies on four rotor-embedded wings and uses its forelimbs to capture prey. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/78baa881ecafcf1bf5391f4208dc12b1/22a4a0788d37aaf9-0c/s640x960/c1de1cfb7a1287c8d7591e6248065987071db94b.jpg]

Feroza and the mother Dragon arrived in the hangar to see Toledo huddled at the end of a gooey, yellowish trail. More food-paste covered his spacesuit, especially the left forearm, where it took on the red-and-black shimmer of frozen blood. He held the father Dragon's head in his free hand, using it to shove at the Dragonlets that were trying to eat his boots.

As soon as its mother's headlights fell on them, the Dragonlets turned away from their prey and raised their snouts, mouthparts gaping.

For a moment, Feroza saw not three hungry Dragonlets, but a trio of ravening monsters. If Victor hadn't been so quick and resourceful, he would have died, and Feroza would have lost her — never mind that. It would be a tragedy for any sentient being to die in this hangar, and to assign Victor special status just because she preferred his company to that of a Dragon, such thoughts were the product of selfishness.

"Oh, thank God you're here," said Toledo. "I was getting so cold."

Feroza slipped off her mount. "That is a bad sign. Your patch must be leaking."

"My patch is porridge and blood," he said. "Of course it's leaking. And my batteries are running low. Low oxygen, too. And no food or water." He coughed. "Thank God for your pet mechanoid."

His fingers wiggled and the mother Dragon stiffened. The Dragonlets squalled and flapped, but their mother ignored them in favor of the still, which Feroza realized had a big funnel on one side.

Yes. She could not forget that even if Victor promised her baubles of companionship and hot baths, he had a moral standing no higher than one of these opportunistic predators nibbling on him, at least where animal rights were concerned.

"We two humans must be the monsters, if anybody is," Feroza said. She and Victor were the out-of-control machines, grinding their way through resources to which they had no right.

But when Victor asked for help, Feroza bent to put her hands on him.

One had to be careful, moving heavy things on Titan. A mistake, and she might fling him into the ceiling.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Only do not drain the mother Dragon dry," she said. "If you command her to go back to the feast I made for her, she can restock her supplies."

"Enough to feed three Dragonlets? I was thinking we, you and I, could replace them. Free up resources. Also," he held up his damaged glove, "there would be less danger."

"So you would lower yourself to the position of brood parasite?"

"I am very cold," he said. "I don’t want to argue."

Feroza couldn't help but share the sentiment. She peered through the fishbowl helmet at the man inside, and saw Victor's eyes were red-rimmed and wide with fear. His large nose dripped. His skin was gray and slick. "I'm reasonably certain Dragons can't count," she assured him. "The mother will care for us and her real young if we help and guide her behavior."

He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. "If you mean hacking, we will need more metal and glass as well as plastic feedstock so I can replenish my colony of slave-factors."

"I was referring to training, for which we do not need any more of your," she couldn't think of an uglier name than 'slave factor,' "…creatures."

"But I need my factors."

Pity flexed in Feroza's breast. If he wasn't in shock, Victor was certainly emotionally exhausted. "I know. But your factors need the other Dragon, and she needs her Dragonlets."

"…symbiosis…" Toledo made a vague wave in the direction of the still, which clunked and dropped a pair of oxygen canisters onto the hangar floor.

The relief when Feroza saw her oxygen meter turn green was so intense it was almost nauseating. Whatever she might think, however she might moralize or rationalize, the meat of Feroza Merchant wanted to live.

"What about electricity?" she asked, fitting the other canister into Victor's damaged suit.

"Cord," Victor waved. "In the still."

Grimacing, Feroza reached into the father Dragon's corpse and unspooled what looked like... an artery? Her mind refocused and she plugged the electrical cord into Toledo's battery pack.

The still vibrated and roared like a gasoline generator, which, Feroza realized, it was. As wrong as his philosophy was, she couldn't blame the laboratory-bound Victor for thinking that these creatures were only machines. Machines they appeared.

"We have to burn petroleum until I can grow a windmill-tree or patch into the Berg's electrical system," Toledo said, "but I don't plan to stay that long."

"No," said Feroza, "I suppose you don't."

"I still don't believe they'll arrest you. Or that being arrested would be worse than staying out here. But," Victor sighed, or maybe he was just gasping for fresh air. "We will need more feedstock, whatever you want to do."

As if in sympathy, the mother Dragon burped and stopped regurgitating fuel into the still.