Incineration (The Incubation Trilogy Book 2)

by Laura Disilverio

  “Come, come,” Premier Dubonnet says sharply, beckoning us in. Gray bangs brush her brows, corralling her wide mouth and protuberant eyes into too small a space. Torina takes a seat along the wall. I scan the other ministers, noting varying degrees of interest, mistrust and hostility. My eyes snag on a cadaverous man with a long nose whose nameplate says Minister of Defense. Kareen’s husband. Does he know where his wife is now? I think so. His gold irises swim in slightly yellowed corneas; it looks like the gold of the irises has leaked out.

  The Premier snaps her fingers twice. “Don’t keep us waiting. We are eager to hear about the protocol a seventeen-year-old developed for ridding us of the locust plague.”

  Her skeptical words prompt me to begin my presentation. By the time I’m done, doubt has turned to hope on most of the faces around the table. I field a few questions and answer them confidently. Can I promise this will totally eradicate all locusts? No. Can I speculate about how long it will be after the locusts die before harvests across the country will be robust enough that we can dismantle the domes? Not my field. How did I come up with the idea? I credit Dr. Ronan, Dr. Allaway and his team, and the whole Ministry of Science and Food Production, mentioning Torina and Keegan Usher by name. I happen to glance at Minister Alden as I’m speaking and am surprised by her proud expression. Not so surprising, I suppose, since it’s her ministry that’s getting the credit.

  Premier Dubonnet dismisses me with a nod and a hint that suitable recognition will be forthcoming if my protocol pans out. The ministers rise and begin to talk among themselves while the Premier holds a low-voiced conversation with Minister Alden. A uniformed man with fiercely yellow eyes and gray hair catches up to me before we leave the room. General Bledsoe, commander of the IPF. "Well done, AC Ealy," he says, shaking my hand. His hand is dry, cool, and grips mine painfully. "You've acquitted yourself well for a nat." He nods and returns to the table in response to a summons from the Minister of Defense.

  The backhanded compliment doesn't faze me; in fact, it makes me grin. The locusts don't know or care that I'm a nat. They'll be just as dead whether or not my eyes are geneborn gold.

  “You’ll be designated a Hero of Amerada,” Torina whispers excitedly as we navigate the hallways to the capitol’s entrance.

  “Don’t be silly—” I start to say when a hand falls on my shoulder. The fingers are long and thin and I recognize them.

  “You acquitted yourself admirably, AC Ealy,” Minister Fonner says smoothly when I turn. He lifts one eyebrow at Torina and she moves out of earshot.

  “Thank you, sir.” What does he want?

  “I’d like to know more,” he says, dark eyes boring into mine, and I know he’s not talking about the locust solution. “We’ll want to broadcast news of your success very soon, so perhaps you could meet me in one of the Ministry of Information’s studios this afternoon. Say, one o’clock?”

  He phrases it like a question, but I know there’s no “perhaps” about it. “Certainly, sir.”

  He glides away. Torina returns to my side, whispering, “He makes me think of a praying mantis.”

  “Me, too!”

  We grin at each other and return to the lab. Despite the exhilaration of success and the stress of today’s presentation, there’s still a lot of work to do. I desperately want to look up Kareen in the DNA registry, and Anton Karzov, to discover if their profiles are still there, but I can’t risk it. What excuse could I offer for knowing those names, for trying to extract their data? I’d be sacrificing myself for what might turn out to be nothing. If their records are there, intact, then I’ve accomplished nothing. I make myself bypass my workstation and enter the locust lab. I tell the beady-eyed critters that they will be the instruments of death for their entire species. They seem unimpressed.

  At quarter to one, I hike over to the MOI where I’m stopped in the lobby and asked my business. When I mention the appointment with Minister Fonner, the guards check with someone and Zestina Pye appears after a few minutes, a broad smile on her thin face, rust-colored curls brushing her shoulders. The sight of her brings back the trial, and I freeze. She hugs me like we’re old friends and I smell melons.

  “Derrika, such splendid news. I can’t believe you’ve found a way to get rid of the locusts. And you’re so young!” She hugs me again and I wiggle away. “And I get the honor of interviewing you for broadcast at Assembly. The whole country will know your name. Maybe they’ll name a science center after you, or proclaim a ‘Derrika Ealy Day.’ Sometime in June would be nice. There are no good holidays in June.”

  Her effusion is making me uncomfortable, and I’m worried she’ll recognize me. “I don’t expect any recognition. I was only doing my job—using my gifts for the good of the nation.”

  She claps her hands. “Oh, perfect! Say it exactly like that when we’re recording.”

  She leads me up two flights of stairs to a small room with baffles and special lighting and sound engineering equipment. Everything is in shades of camel and brown and cream. To complement Zestina’s coloring? The words “Studio 2” glow on the back wall.

  “I thought I was meeting with Minister Fonner,” I say as Zestina directs me to sit on a curved sofa surrounded by imagers. She sits on the sofa’s far end, angled to face me.

  “After the interview,” she says. She leans in. “I can tell he thinks very highly of you. Very highly.” Her curious gaze invites me to share details of my relationship with Minister Fonner, but I’m not going there.

  When I don’t respond, she leans back. “Well, let’s get started.” When she pushes a button on a panel at her elbow, the imagers whir to life and lights snap on. I blink. Unfazed, she smiles and says, “I’m Zestina Pye and I’m here today with Derrika Ealy, a young scientist from the Ministry of Science and Food Production. Don’t know the name? Don’t worry—you will. Would you believe me if I told you this natural born seventeen-year-old has found a formula to eradicate the locusts? Well, it’s true. Let’s have her tell us about it.”

  Facing me with a look of exaggerated interest, Zestina says, “AC Ealy, can you tell Amerada how you came to make this breath-taking and life-saving discovery? What in your background prepared you to be Amerada’s scientist-savior?”

  My brain suddenly springs into gear and I realize this publicity is a very, very bad idea. Yes, I’ve altered my appearance, but that doesn’t mean someone out there won’t recognize me. And talking off the top of my head about my background—not a good idea; I’ll betray myself for sure. “I’m not ready—I mean, is this live?”

  Annoyance flits across Zestina’s face and she punches another button. The lights and whirring fade out. “No, dear. We’ll record it, edit it, and broadcast it later, when the Premier and Minister Fonner deem appropriate. If you’re concerned you don’t look your best because this is spur of the moment, don’t worry about it. We prefer the natural look. It helps people connect with you. However, we have make-up—”

  I stand. “My supervisor ought to be here. I ought to discuss what I’m going to say with him first.”

  Zestina’s lips purse. She’s irritated. “Minister Fonner directed me to—”

  I wonder about that. What game is Fonner playing? Surely he can recognize the danger of broadcasting images of me nation-wide. “I hadn’t planned on being away from the lab for so long,” I improvise. “My experiments are at a crucial state . . . time critical . . . if we can reschedule this—”

  The door pushes inward.

  “Minister Fonner!” Zestina all but salaams the tall figure in the doorway. “AC Ealy is reluctant—”

  “As always,” he inserts sardonically. “You can do your interview later, Zestina.” When she doesn’t budge, he lifts a brow. “Later.”

  “Oh, oh yes.” Shooting me a poisonous look, she leaves the studio, closing the door behind her. Her melon scent lingers.

  Minister Fonner takes her place on the sofa and gestures for me to resume my seat. I stay standing. He sighs. “There’s really
no need to be obstructive,” he says.

  “I won’t do an interview,” I say. “It would be foolish.” I don’t spell out why, but I give him a meaning look.

  “I didn’t invite you here to talk about your discovery, as significant as it is. I heard you visited Dome 2 with Emilia Alden yesterday.” He shoots me a look from shuttered eyes.

  “She was kind enough to invite me to accompany her.” What’s he getting at?

  His hand strokes the sofa’s back, roughing the nap and then smoothing it. “You and she had a heated discussion. What about?” The question is gentle, almost offhand, and he seems to be engrossed with stroking the sofa, but then his gaze lands on my face and I know he’s intensely interested in my answer.

  I mentally sift through the ways he could know about the conversation. The aide, or the IPF driver, or imaging devices installed in the minister’s ACV. All in all, my money’s on Eunice, the aide. “None of your business.”

  Throwing back his head, he laughs long and hard. “You’re growing up, Ealy, and it’s been amusing to watch you transition from rebellious child to a young woman with a mind of her own. But. But . . .” He leans forward and skewers me with his dark eyes. “Lest you forget, I’m the reason you’re alive. I’m the reason you were able to make your break-through. You owe me and it’s time to make a down payment. Now, what were you and Emilia Alden discussing?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  His eyes narrow. “To give you your own again, ‘None of your business.’ You can’t be so naïve or oblivious that you don’t know that either Emilia or I is going to be selected as the next premier. Emilia is too weak, too focused on science to be an effective leader. I am the premier this country needs when Fabienne steps down. Just between us”—he waggles a finger from himself to me and back again—“I’m not above a little espionage to discredit the lovely Emilia. In fact, I meant for you—. But that backfired. Her star shines more brightly now that you’ve come up with a way to eradicate the locusts. I warn you, though, it would be unwise to hitch your wagon to that particular star. Because it’s going supernova very soon. Now, tell me what you talked about.” He leans back against the sofa, not feeling the need for physical intimidation, obviously, confident I’ll do as he asks.

  “Lettuce. We talked about lettuce.”

  His brows snap together. “Don’t lie. No one gets heated about lettuce.”

  “She thought the dome’s new lettuce tasted fine and I thought it was nasty.” My gaze dares him to prove I’m lying. I’m not sure why I don’t want to mention the real subject of our conversation—Alexander—but I don’t. I realize with surprise that I feel more loyalty to Minister Alden, a woman I’ve known only a short time, than I do to the man in front of me, whom I’ve known all my life. Maybe it’s because Alden and I are both scientists.

  Apparently Fonner recognizes that my allegiance might be in doubt because his lips curl back to show a flash of white teeth. “I hope you don’t imagine you’re an asset in Emilia’s arsenal, Jax, because your very presence in her ministry is enough to bring her down. Despite your locust solution, how do you think Ameradans will feel if—when?—it’s revealed that you’re a convicted murderer, that Emilia Alden engineered your freedom—oh, yes, I know she was on the jury and that she paid Loránd Vestor’s exorbitant fee for your defense—and then hid you in plain sight after feeding the Defiance intelligence on your location so they could help you escape?”

  I gape at him. “She didn’t! You helped me—”

  He shakes his head lazily. “I don’t think so. There’s no proof that I had a hand in it. Emilia, on the other hand . . . well, she’s the one that manipulated the DNA registry to match Everly Jax’s genetic fingerprint with the Ealy identity. She’s the one who concocted a new DNA fingerprint for Jax, who inserted you into one of the MSFP labs. She’ll certainly say I brought you to her, and you’ll say I harbored you, but where’s the proof? I don’t have access—I couldn’t have changed the DNA registry.” He gives the sofa nap one last flick and stands.

  “They’ll quarantine you for a month, and without access to eye color changing tablets, hair dye, and the rest, you’ll begin to look like you again. The public may be happy about the locusts, but I guarantee you Fabienne Dubonnet hates being played for a fool. Emilia goes to prison, you go to the RESCO to serve your sentence, and I become premier.” He steps within arm’s length and stares down at me. “It doesn’t have to play out that way, however.”

  I’m standing rigid, shocked by how thoroughly he’s planned this. From the moment I showed up on his doorstep, he was planning to use me to discredit Minister Alden. I lick my dry lips. “What do you mean?”

  “I like you, Jax. I really do. I don’t want to see you dragged down with Emilia Alden. I don’t need to expose you to bring her down, although it’s the most certain and effective route. I have other means at hand, although—. Tell me what you talked about. I have an idea, but I want to hear you say it.” He steeples his hands with the fingers against his lips. Something eager and heated in his eyes makes my flesh crawl.

  With the sense of stepping to the edge of an abyss, I suck in a deep breath and say, “No one will eat blue-gray lettuce. It’s just not appetizing. That’s what I told her. You’d agree with me if you’d seen it.”

  Fury flares in Fonner’s eyes and his elbow jerks. For a moment, I think he’s going to strike me. The habit of years reasserts itself, however, and he spits out, “On your head be it.”

  I remain frozen for a moment after he slams through the door and then I start to tremble.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Much as I want to find Saben and tell him what’s happened, I make myself return to the MSFP. I have a sense of events getting away from me, of time moving faster. Now, more than ever, I have to do what’s expected, not bring attention to myself. I check Keegan’s office when I come through the door; it’s still dark. Thank goodness. One less thing to worry about. Torina’s talking to a scientist I don’t know from another lab and barely looks up as I pass. One of the technicians is autoclaving Petri dishes and it stinks worse than the Kube's compost pit. I sit at my workstation, staring at nothing for long moments. I’ve alienated the one ally I thought I could count on in this city. Minister Fonner is not going to help me get away if I get discovered. On the contrary, he’s likely to be the source of my undoing. Minister Alden, although I refused to betray her confidence, is equally unlikely to help me. She barely knows me. I don’t for a moment believe what Fonner said about her paying Vestor or contacting the Defiance to arrange my escape. He was just trying to throw me off balance. If she was a Defiance mole, she’d have known Alexander was alive.

  I have to warn her, let her know that Fonner may be planning to discredit her by revealing the truth about me. Mumbling a vague excuse in Torina’s direction, I head for the door and wend my way through the labyrinthine halls to Minister Alden’s office. I haven’t been there since the day Minister Fonner introduced me to her. I don’t know where we can talk safely. Clearly, Minister Alden has a mole on her staff, someone who’s spying on her for Fonner, so it’s probably not safe to talk in her office.

  In the anteroom, I approach Eunice, who studies me, gold eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re not on the minister’s schedule for today,” she says, sniffing.

  I sense something beneath Eunice’s hostility; she seems wounded, somehow, an animal caught in a trap growling at any creature that comes by. She’s jealous, I realize, afraid of me for some reason. Does she think I want her service? Not in a thousand years. “I know, Eunice, and I’m sorry to disrupt the schedule, but there’s been a new development with the locust experiment and it’s important that I talk to Minister Alden. Imperative. If you could please let her know?”

  My civility has spiked her guns. Without a reason to deny my request, Eunice gets up slowly, and crosses to Minister Alden’s door, keeping an eye on me all the while, as if she’s afraid I’m going to try to steal state secrets off her d
esk. She knocks, enters the office and closes the door, and emerges, all within thirty seconds.

  “The minister asks that you wait,” Eunice says. Clearly, she would rather the minister had given an order that I be boiled in oil or at least tossed into a dank dungeon. Returning to her desk, she busies herself with something, sniffing loudly at intervals.

  It’s twenty minutes before Minister Alden appears and Eunice has ignored me the whole time. The minister looks tired and rushed, and motions to me with a brisk, “Come in, Ealy. I’ve only got a couple of minutes, but Eunice said it was important.”

  I stand my ground. “Actually, Minister Alden, it would be easier to explain if you came down to the lab. Then I could show you what the problem is.”

  My eyes are urging her to acquiesce, to understand that what I need to say can’t be said in her office. Her brow furrows, she hesitates, and then says, “Push back my meeting with Minister O’Connell, Eunice. Tell him I’m sorry, but that something’s come up. Reschedule for tomorrow, if you can.”

  “But, ma’am—”

  Minister Alden silences her with a look and strides across the room. “This better be good,” she mutters.

  “It’s necessary.”

  We don’t speak again until we reach the lab, both of us wary of being overheard in the corridors. Torina jumps up, gaping, when I come through the door with the minister in tow. The lab techs snap to attention. Minister Alden motions for everyone to go about their business.

  “It’s okay, Torina,” I say, passing her on my way to the locust lab. “Minister Alden wants to see the locusts.”