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Tony stood up in the saddle to let his gaze slide over the fluffy backs of the herd, counting idly. All present and accounted for, he settled back into his seat and patted JARVIS’ neck. JARVIS rumbled at him affectionately, and Tony made a mental note to round up an extra treat or two, when they made it back to camp.
An unpleasant honk of a noise heralded Bucky’s approach as he returned from his wider patrol, a duty he took up somewhat more often than his fair share, mostly because the unnamed hydra he rode had a tendency to spook the other dragons.
Tony still couldn’t understand why Bucky had bothered to tame the hydra after it had cost him an arm and nearly killed him, but that was Bucky’s business. Tony had to admit, the hydra was useful for keeping the herd contained and moving.
JARVIS hissed at the hydra and spat a repulsor burst at it as it tried to angle in to nip at JARVIS’ tail.
Bucky reined it in with a strong arm and a gentle cluck of the tongue, and then pulled alongside Tony. “Couple of ‘em at the outskirts look like they might go ‘nimbus soon,” he said by way of greeting.
“So soon? Think we need to step it up?” If the clouds went ‘nimbus and started raining before they’d brought the herd back to the water collection camp, it’d be coming out of their ration, no doubt about it.
Bucky adjusted the angle of his hat as he considered it. “Nah. We’re only two days out. I’ll keep an eye on ‘em, though, and let you know if they look like they’re gonna pop.”
The arid desert planet of New Atacama had resisted human settlement for centuries before they’d stumbled onto the secret: New Atacama’s few verdant spots were maintained not by underground springs, like Earth’s oases, but by the dragons.
The fancifully-named local wildlife looked almost nothing like the creatures of Earth-lore, but that hadn’t stopped the early colonists from calling them that. They had long, sinuous bodies and legs and wings, sure, but there, the resemblance stopped. The New Atacama dragons were covered not with scales but thousands of rough strands that scooped water out of the atmosphere. Some of it went to the dragons’ own needs, but the rest, they shed into clouds that they hoarded in the skies over their own territories.
From that discovery, it had only taken a generation or two for the settlers to domesticate the dragons. Tony’s father had been instrumental in designing the saddles the ‘riders used as well as the techniques of harvesting the rainwater. Tony expected that someday he’d follow in his father’s footsteps and put into practice some of the ideas he’d had for improving the efficiency of the cloud ranch and the next generation of intellicrops that would be less wasteful of the water they used.
He’d worked nearly all the jobs the ranch had to offer, growing up, from shoveling dragon dung and scouring kitchen pans to collaborating with the other scientists in the gene-splicing labs that were working on making their carefully-preserved Earth stock fit to live here on New Atacama. But then he’d rotated into the ‘rider position and just... never left.
Moving on, starting to take up the reins of ranch management, would mean giving up the open skies and the swooping thrill of flying with JARVIS every day. Not to mention the company of the other ‘riders. Not that he was thinking of any particular ‘rider, there.
He glanced sideways at Bucky, perched comfortably on the hydra’s wide back, spine shifting sinuously with each beat of those eight-fingered wings.
Nah, he was in no hurry to take over running the ‘ranch. He liked being a cloud cowboy just fine.