Incineration (The Incubation Trilogy Book 2)

by Laura Disilverio

  Minister Alden shoots me a look, but follows me into the lab where the humming of thousands of insect wings, and the thuds of their bodies hitting the mesh walls of their enclosures, will make it impossible for anyone to overhear or record us. The swirl of insects momentarily distracts the minister, but then she turns to me and says, “What the hell—?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s the only place I could think of where it was safe to talk.”

  She catches the urgency in my tone and expression. “Tell me.”

  I do, speaking in a voice barely loud enough to be heard over the buzzing. I detail the conversation with Minister Fonner and his threats. I gesture to the enclosures as I talk, as if I’m explaining something about the locusts. “He wants to keep you from being selected as the next premier,” I sum up.

  “I’ve known that for the better part of two decades,” she says. “Oliver’s always been the most ambitious among us. Power is everything to him. When he thought there was a chance I would choose him over Alexander—”

  “Minister Fonner was in love with you?” It’s not protocol to interrupt a minister, but I’m so startled that the words tumble out.

  “Oh, yes. Moreover, there was a time when I thought I might love him, too.” She smiles grimly. “Long, long ago. He wanted us to be a team, saw us governing Amerada together. When I chose Alexander . . . well, let’s just say he didn’t take it well. He egged the others on to distrust Alexander when it was clear he had a different philosophy than the rest of us. He made Alexander out to be unstable, dangerous, painted him as a traitor. After Alexander left, he tried to cozy up to me again.” Her tone makes it clear she rebuffed him. “Things got tense enough that Stuart Iceneder sent him to Kube 9. He’s done well there, built a power base, and now he’s got the ministership he wanted and is looking to step on my back to the premier’s office. Well, he might find I hold a few more cards than he’s aware of.”

  I know better than to ask what those cards might be. Instead, I take advantage of the opportunity, and say, “He said you paid Loránd Vestor to defend me at my trial, and that you might have been the one who gave the Defiance information on my transfer so they could free me.” The last words come out in a rush because I’m almost accusing her of being a traitor.

  She steps closer to the locust enclosure and taps it in the face of a particularly aggressive locust. “Is this fellow carnivorous?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  Still facing into the cage, she says, “It’s true I persuaded Vestor to defend you. He and I are old friends. Allies, if you will.”

  “Why?”

  She turns to face me. “Need you ask?” There’s asperity in her tone, as if she thinks I’m missing something obvious.

  I shrug helplessly.

  She throws her arms wide. “This, you fool. I knew from our conversation during Assembly, and from what Dr. Ronan and Oliver told me about you, that you were on the verge of a breakthrough that could save Amerada. That’s all I’ve ever wanted—to protect and build this country. I wasn’t about to lose your genius because you broke out of a RESCO and might or might not have killed a soldier in the attempt. You should never have been in a RESCO in the first place! You were born for more than breeding, unlike the friend you were trying to rescue.”

  Her disdain for Halla makes me bristle.

  She continues before I can say anything. “I did not, however, conspire with the Defiance. Much as I wanted to see you in my lab instead of locked up in a RESCO again, I had other plans—much more subtle but equally effective, I might add—for freeing you once you reached the RESCO. Working with the Defiance would be treason. They are malcontents determined to destroy Amerada because destruction is their nature. It’s easier to tear down than to build up. I would never traffic with them. You can’t deal with the devil and not get marked by it.”

  Her nostrils flare like she smells something noxious and I believe her. Whoever clued the Defiance in to my situation, it wasn’t Minister Alden.

  “You did right in coming to me,” she says. “I won’t forget your loyalty. You being the architect of the locust eradication solution may be the key to rehabilitating you, to letting you return to being who you really are”—I notice that even in here she doesn’t say “Everly Jax”—“and making the scientific contributions you were born to make. Rest assured that Loránd and I are working on a pardon for you. The country needs people like you. We can’t afford to marginalize anyone—geneborn or not—with your gifts.”

  “Th-thank you, ma’am.” I’m surprised and touched by her words.

  With a quick nod, she pushes through the lab door, sails past Torina and the others, and is gone from the lab by the time I lock up and turn.

  “What was that about?” Torina asks.

  I mumble something about the minister wanting an up close and personal view of the experiment and excuse myself. I spend the rest of the day evaluating my data, making sure I haven’t misinterpreted anything. I manage to push aside thoughts of political infighting and betrayal, and fight a rising tide of excitement related to releasing my modified locusts so they can begin the mating dance that will actually bring death rather than life. The elegance and irony of it pleases me.

  For once, I’m not the last one out the door. Torina and a couple of the lab techs are still working when I get ready to leave. Torina’s voice catches me as I reach the door.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you—Dr. Usher will be in tomorrow.” I acknowledge the information with a grimace and wave goodnight.

  I’m abstracted as I emerge from the ministry into late afternoon. A brisk wind chills me until the intelli-textile of my jumpsuit warms in response. My hair blows around my head, and I hold it back with one hand. I wish I could ponytail it, but letting it curl around my face helps fool any facial recognition programs searching for Everly Jax. Since that’s what I’m thinking, I almost miss the fact that someone is calling my name. My real name. The voice is low and yet instantly recognizable.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  I turn and find myself face to face with Halla. She has come up behind me and we’re standing a mere two feet apart. She looks just the same. Her skin is the same dark cocoa color, her eyes warm brown, her black hair spiraling in tight ringlets that cascade over her ears and brush her collar. She’s always been plump and motherhood might have added a few pounds. After my initial assessment, though, I notice tension in her neck and jaw that wasn’t there before, and a gray pallor beneath her skin that hints at exhaustion or illness. She doesn’t look as if she laughs as much as she used to.

  “You’re mistaken,” I say after too long a pause. “My name is Derrika. Derrika Ealy.” I make as if to leave.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, her voice husky with stress. “I knew who you were when you showed up at my house with that story about testing the water. Not right when I saw you, but as soon as you opened your mouth.”

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  “No.”

  “Well, now you know you were right, that you didn’t succeed in killing me along with Cas and the others.”

  Her head jerks slightly, as if I’ve struck her. “If you’d left me in the RESCO like I wanted, none of this would have happened. None of it.”

  “Well, excuse the hell out of me for not wanting my best friend to end up as a surrogacy slave.”

  “I just wanted my baby.”

  I stare at her coldly, my anger rising. “At least three people died so you could raise Little Loudon yourself. I don’t think it was worth it.”

  “They said no one would get hurt,” she says, tears brimming. “They promised.”

  “Well, ‘they’ lied. People died. Fiere and I were tortured. Want to see the scars?”

  She winces and turns her head.

  “Didn’t think so. Saben was shot and Alexander gravely injured.”

  “Wyck?” Her voice is small.

  “Oh, you care about what happened to Wyck now? You didn’t care when you sent IPF t
roops to Bulrush to blast us all to bits. You don’t deserve to know.” I realize both arms are rigid at my sides, fists clenched. I consciously open them and take a deep breath. “If you came to apologize or whatever, consider it not accepted. I’ve got to go.”

  I stride away, wanting to be long gone before the tears fall. She doesn’t get to know that seeing her again confuses me, makes me sad. Angry, yes, but also sad. We were best friends for sixteen years. Much as I wish it had, her betrayal hasn’t wiped out my memories of the good times, hasn’t completely burned away my love. I’m angrily aware that when I heard her say my name, my first instinctual reaction was gladness.

  Running footsteps sound behind me and her hand touches my shoulder. “Ev—”

  Dropping my shoulder so her hand falls away, I pivot. My hand comes up and then it’s arcing toward her face. My palm catches her a stinging blow across her cheek. Pent up anger and pain lend me strength and her head snaps to the side. My palm burns.

  “Hey!” A passerby starts toward us, shock on his face.

  Halla holds up a hand to stop him. “It’s okay,” she says, straightening. “I’m fine. We’re fine, aren’t we?” Her hand goes to her cheek which is red and already swelling.

  I bite my lip, annoyed with myself and her for making me lose it on the street. I’ve drawn attention to myself, which is dangerous. “We’re fine,” I say curtly. “She slept with my fiancé.”

  The man backs away, hands raised palm out, not wanting to get caught between jealous women.

  “I’m going home. Don’t follow me,” I tell Halla.

  “You can’t. It’s not safe.”

  Something in her voice sends a trickle of ice water down my spine.

  “I didn’t come to apologize. I came to warn you.”

  I study her face and make a snap decision. “We can’t talk here.” Having decided that, I realize I don’t know where to go. We can’t go into the ministry and I’m not taking her to the stadium—that’s Saben’s and my special place and I can’t get in, anyway—and everywhere else is too open. A microdrone buzzes overhead and I instinctively drop my head so my hair swings forward to hide my face.

  “I know a place—”

  “No.” The word is out of my mouth before I think about it. I don’t trust Halla and I’m not letting her lead me into an ambush. I don’t know what she’d have to gain by betraying me a second time, but I’m not risking it.

  Hurt flits across her face, quickly followed by resignation. “Where, then?”

  “The zoo. At the carousel. Psyche dealers meet clients there at night, but it should be deserted now.” I give her directions. “I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

  Waiting only for her nod, I spin away. Walking briskly, I wander aimlessly for a few minutes, looking over my shoulder three times to see if I can spot a follower. No one’s interested in me, as far as I can tell. I liberate a rental scooter with a wave of my ration card and glide away from the city center toward the zoo, wondering why I can’t go back to my apartment and how Halla knows I’m in danger.

  It gets dark earlier this time of year and dusk is already settling by the time I pass under the listing, weathered sign that once read “Zoo Atlanta” and curve to the right toward the carousel. The pathways are scummed with mosses, and chartreuse kudzu winds its way around dead tree trunks, over concession stands, and between the links of enclosure fences. Water tinkles somewhere. It’s eerie here, and even though I know the animals are long gone—dead or escaped—I can’t help feeling like predatory eyes peer from the shadows. My shoulders are hunched toward my ears and I force them down as the carousel comes into sight.

  Canted to one side, the circular platform is silent. A variety of animal figures impaled on swirly poles are frozen in attitudes of leaping or flying or running. Traces of paint linger, and someone has stripped away most of the kudzu, although it’s creeping back. Did the Psyche dealers tear the weed away to give better lines of sight, or does someone care about this merry-go-round and tend to it for sentimental reasons? No matter. I stop the scooter short of the carousel and do a 360-degree scan. No one. Dismounting, I lean the scooter against the remains of a fence, and tread on a partial coil of Psyche inhaler tube. I step up onto the platform which rocks. I stagger, then regain my balance. As I do, I spot Halla moving cautiously toward me, swiveling her head from side to side.

  “I don’t think I was followed,” she says when she reaches the carousel. The whites of her eyes and her teeth are especially white in the gathering dusk.

  “Good.” An awkward silence falls.

  Halla joins me on the platform, making it rock again, and hauls herself—not without effort—onto a leopard in full stride. I hesitate, but then swing myself onto the red-saddled manatee beside it. A smudge of pink oils my fingers and I wipe the traces of Psyche on my jumpsuit. I can’t imagine what nightmares the Psyche creates for users who inhale it here among the fantastical carousel beasts. Remembering my own experience with it and the gigantic snakes I hallucinated attacking me, I shudder. I dangle my legs off the manatee’s side so I’m facing Halla. I want to be able to read her face.

  “You know Loudon is in the IPF?” At my nod, she says, “I overheard him this morning, talking with his captain. Even though he’s geneborn, he doesn’t treat his men as badly as some. His wife is a little snootier. She says—”

  “Halla.”

  She breaks off. “Oh, right. I heard the captain say something about ‘the escaped murderer Jax’ and I crept to the kitchen door to listen. I shouldn’t have—Loudon’s told me time and again that IPF business is sensitive. Anyway, the captain said something about knowing your new identity and where you worked and lived. He laughed and said recapturing you would be easier than scooping up a stray cat. I missed a few things because the baby started crying, but then heard something about ‘credible information’ and ‘ready at a moment’s notice.’ Then he started to talk about all the kudos they would get for bringing you in, and told Loudon he’d undoubtedly get a promotion. When the captain left, Loudon got all quiet and kept giving me these looks, I think because he knew you and I are—used to be . . . ”

  “Friends.” The word comes out sharply, brittle as the paint flakes peeling from my manatee steed.

  Halla nods unhappily. “I’m really sorry, Everly,” she whispers. “You can’t know how much. I think about you every day. I’ve rehearsed speech after speech in my head, exactly what I’d say if I had the chance to, how I’d try to make you understand the agony a mother feels being separated from her baby—the agony I felt at the thought of not being with my baby. I’ve wanted to be able to talk to you, to explain, to ask for your forgiveness.”

  “Would you do things differently if you had another chance?”

  Her chin tips up and her mouth falls open a little bit. She closes it and thinks. “I don’t know. If I knew people were going to die . . . I think so.”

  She’s being honest, at any rate. Sliding off the manatee puts me too close to her. I can feel the warmth coming off of her. I sidle away as she gets down, too.

  “Do you know when?” I ask. “When they’re coming to get me?”

  She shakes her head so her curls dance. I remember how I used to tug at them sometimes to watch them sproing back. “Not for sure, but I think tomorrow. I know Loudon’s planning to be home tonight.” She pauses. “I’m risking a lot to be here.”

  “Do you want gratitude?” My voice is hard. “Okay, thank you. I appreciate the warning, but it doesn’t buy forgiveness. It doesn’t make it okay that you set three people up to die because you couldn’t stand the thought of being separated from your baby.”

  Halla begins to weep quietly. “It’s not easy for me to betray my husband like this, you know.”

  “Really? I’d think it would get easier with practice.”

  I’m on the scooter and halfway back to the zoo entrance before I regret my harsh words. The knowledge that I sacrificed the chance to get Halla out of the RESCO while she wa
s still pregnant pricks at me. If I hadn’t been so determined to get my parents’ names from the DNA registry . . . I’m a hypocrite. A mean, vengeful hypocrite. Halla was under the influence of hormones when she made her fateful decision, too. Birth hormones and whatever chemical cocktail they fed her at the RESCO. Something Dr. Ronan once said comes back to me: compounds have to behave in keeping with their elemental makeup. Halla's bond with her baby and desire to protect him is part of who she is, not something she chooses. I don’t know if I forgive her, but I can at least tell her that I understand how she came to do what she did. I circle the scooter back toward the carousel, startling when a frog hops across the path, but the ride is empty. Halla is gone. A fiberglass crane faces me, paint flaked away from his eyes so they gleam dead-white and empty.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Back on the street. I feel exposed now, vulnerable. I look over my shoulder twice, but then make myself stop. I have to take stock, figure out the implications. As I glide toward the city center, I consider my options. If what Halla said is true, and I’m inclined to believe her because I can’t see a motive for her to lie about this, I can’t go back to my billet. Too risky. Even though she thinks the IPF is planning to re-take me tomorrow, there might already be soldiers watching the building. There’s nothing there I need, especially now that it looks like I’ll have to abandon the Derrika Ealy persona. My Little House book has been lost to me since I left the prison and Saben’s drawing . . .. I wince as I remember tearing it up when I thought he was the Bulrush traitor.

  Saben. I can go to Saben. He’ll help me get away. A moment’s thought tells me “no.” I can’t put him at risk. Every fiber of my being wants to run to Saben, tell him what’s happened, beg him to come with me, but I can’t do that to him. Apart from Marizat, no one knows of our connection; he should be safe, even if I’m captured. A rattling sound makes me turn, hands coming to a defensive position instinctually. It’s only a piece of paper caught in a grate and I lower my hands. My tongue probes the capsule implanted in my cheek. If the IPF takes me, I’ll have no hesitation in biting down. I’ll do it to protect Saben. Death by nerve agent holds little appeal, though, so I’m going to do my damnedest to avoid being captured.