Incubation (The Incubation Trilogy Book 1) Read Free Page A

stills that I’ve caught his attention. He doesn’t turn, though.
    “It must mean there are still birds, somewhere.”
    “Of course there are birds somewhere,” he says irascibly, looking up from the microscope finally. The eyes beneath the lively brows are shrewd, despite age-yellowed corneas. “It is statistically unlikely that every bird on the planet perished from the avian flu. There are too many different species and habitats. Use that brain God gave you and don’t believe everything you hear. Analysis. Skepticism. Why have I wasted eight years of my life on you? Hunh .”
    I’m unoffended and undismayed by his scathing tone. He says something similar on a weekly, if not daily basis. “Well, they’re gone here.”
    He plucks the feather from between my fingers and studies it. “Something with a big wingspan. Diomedea epomophora , maybe, or fregata . Did you know that perhaps eighteen percent of the world’s population suffered from ornithophobia? Hard to imagine. Beautiful creatures, birds. Maybe it was the beaks, or the fluttering. Now, if only spiders had died out, instead of birds, imagine the relief, although that would have had a negative impact on the ecosystem, as well. Spiders are important little buggers.” He hands the feather back. “You can research it later, if you like, on the computer.”
    I commit the Latin names to memory. “Thank you. I’ll let you know what I find out.” Computer time is a gift and I’m excited. It’s hard to believe, but in the early twenty-first century, everyone had a computer and could communicate with people all over the globe. Since the Pragmatists took power, only government entities and a chosen few have computers and even they don’t have access to international networks, if such still exist.
    He takes my hand and lifts it. Startled, I start to tug it away until I realize he’s squinting at the red welt near my wrist. “Where did this come from?" he asks.
    “I got swarmed. I guess one of the locusts mistook me for a tasty leaf by accident,” I say, trying to reclaim my hand. “Or, I banged it on something when I hit the ground.”
    He lets go reluctantly. “The locusts have adapted disturbingly quickly to our countermeasures, but this . . ..”
    “‘This?’ What—you think they’ve become carnivorous?” I stare at him, incredulous. “Locusts are herbivores.”
    “I don’t think anything, not in advance of the evidence. The welt could be an anomaly, not related to your encounter with the swarm, or it could be something more. The provisional hypothesis, however, deserves consideration and study. Speaking of which, wouldn’t it be lovely if you actually got some work done before Assembly?”
    Knowing that tone, I put the feather aside, don my lab coat, and return to the data I was analyzing before lunch and my unauthorized beach visit.
     
    Assembly time rolls around and I carefully lock up the samples I was working with before hurrying to join Halla at the transport station. The monthly Assembly is the only regularly authorized out-of-Kube expedition and it’s exciting to join the other residents of Jacksonville in the arena for the broadcast. I look for Wyck on the platform and disappointment prickles when I don’t see him. He’s probably at the arena already. IPF troops file into one compartment, booted feet clanging on the metal flooring. No train travels without an IPF contingent. Halla and I settle onto the bench seats of the train, thigh to thigh with the others kids from the Kube, and head into the city.
    You can tell by the number of buildings rising on the horizon that Jacksonville was a big city before the pandemic. Now, though, only a few thousand people live here, most of them within a five mile diameter of the Kube and arena. They get their rations from our dome, so it wouldn’t make sense to live far. Half of them work in the desalinization plant, turning sea water into drinking water since many of the land-locked water