Incubation (The Incubation Trilogy Book 1) by Laura Disilverio Page A
Authors: Laura Disilverio
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Ronan approaches, lab coat flapping around his knees. Damn the luck. I try to wipe the tears away with the back of my hand.
“There you are, Jax,” he says. “Where the hell have you been? I’m afraid the data from the histocompatibility experiment were corrupted. I need you to re-run the last hundred samples through electrophoresis again. Come along.”
My swollen eyes and dejected aspect completely escape him. Dr. Ronan doesn’t notice anything that’s not on a slide or growing in a Petri dish. Part of me is relieved, the other part hurt or maybe pissed off. I’ve spent more time with him than with any other single person in this Kube and my unhappiness should matter to him.
“Today was Reunion Day,” I say pointedly, hurrying after him. We’re passing the tanks where other scientists are working on a new fertilizer and it smells rank. Holding my breath, I say nasally, “My parents didn’t come.”
“Of course not,” he says tetchily, disappearing into a field of gold-tinged genetically modified wheat. “Really, Jax, use that brain God gave you.” He breaks off a head, pops it in his mouth, and chews it thoughtfully. Despite his height and leonine appearance, he looks like a cow working a cud.
I stop dead. “What do you mean ‘Of course not?’”
“Definitely bitter enough to discourage the locusts, I would think,” he says. “We’ll need to see if the flavor dissipates with cooking heat, however, like we postulated. We need to name the new strain—any ideas?”
“What do you know about my parents?” I ask, stopping him by tugging his sleeve.
“Why, nothing, of course. No one does.”
“That’s ridiculous. The Ministry of Reproduction couldn’t have repossessed me without having a file on my parents, my mother at least.” It isn’t possible.
“That’s just it,” Ronan says. “They didn’t repossess you. Your parents left you at the Kube when you were an infant. Abandoned you. Well, someone did, at any rate. We have no empirical evidence that it was your parents.” He breaks off another head of wheat and tastes it with his tongue, as if he hasn’t brought my world crashing down.
I sway. “What?” It comes out as a whisper. I clear my throat and say louder, “You’re lying.”
He turns an astonished face to me. “Lying? Leaving aside the impugning of my integrity, what would I have to gain by lying to you? I can’t recall that I’ve ever bothered to lie.” He pauses to consider, shakes his head as if nothing comes to mind, then continues. “Things that happen outside the lab don’t always catch my interest, but there was such a kerfuffle about your arrival, in such a way, that I took note. Why, it was the talk of the staff dining room for a month. Boring, I thought it at the time. Another baby. I failed to see why you caused such excitement. However, I’m pleased to report that you have turned out to be a most satisfactory addition to InKubator 9. Most satisfactory.” He gives me a small, approving smile, and begins to talk about the wheat again, as if the matter of my birth and arrival at the Kube is now closed.
“Why wasn’t I told?” I burst out. How many years had I spent looking forward to Reunion Day, imagining what my parents would look like, what they would say? Imagining the first hug from my mother, the way she would smell of gardenia or maybe vanilla. A day Proctor Fonner and Dr. Ronan and who knows how many others must have known was an impossibility.
“Really, Jax.” Dr. Ronan is impatient now. His bushy brows twitch together. After a moment, he shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Either way, you got a first-class education, food, shelter, all the necessities.” He gestures to indicate the dome. “You’ve had access to the finest research facilities anywhere, as well as the most brilliant bio-chemist in the land, probably on the planet, to teach you, shape your thought processes, urge you to think past your first simplistic
“There you are, Jax,” he says. “Where the hell have you been? I’m afraid the data from the histocompatibility experiment were corrupted. I need you to re-run the last hundred samples through electrophoresis again. Come along.”
My swollen eyes and dejected aspect completely escape him. Dr. Ronan doesn’t notice anything that’s not on a slide or growing in a Petri dish. Part of me is relieved, the other part hurt or maybe pissed off. I’ve spent more time with him than with any other single person in this Kube and my unhappiness should matter to him.
“Today was Reunion Day,” I say pointedly, hurrying after him. We’re passing the tanks where other scientists are working on a new fertilizer and it smells rank. Holding my breath, I say nasally, “My parents didn’t come.”
“Of course not,” he says tetchily, disappearing into a field of gold-tinged genetically modified wheat. “Really, Jax, use that brain God gave you.” He breaks off a head, pops it in his mouth, and chews it thoughtfully. Despite his height and leonine appearance, he looks like a cow working a cud.
I stop dead. “What do you mean ‘Of course not?’”
“Definitely bitter enough to discourage the locusts, I would think,” he says. “We’ll need to see if the flavor dissipates with cooking heat, however, like we postulated. We need to name the new strain—any ideas?”
“What do you know about my parents?” I ask, stopping him by tugging his sleeve.
“Why, nothing, of course. No one does.”
“That’s ridiculous. The Ministry of Reproduction couldn’t have repossessed me without having a file on my parents, my mother at least.” It isn’t possible.
“That’s just it,” Ronan says. “They didn’t repossess you. Your parents left you at the Kube when you were an infant. Abandoned you. Well, someone did, at any rate. We have no empirical evidence that it was your parents.” He breaks off another head of wheat and tastes it with his tongue, as if he hasn’t brought my world crashing down.
I sway. “What?” It comes out as a whisper. I clear my throat and say louder, “You’re lying.”
He turns an astonished face to me. “Lying? Leaving aside the impugning of my integrity, what would I have to gain by lying to you? I can’t recall that I’ve ever bothered to lie.” He pauses to consider, shakes his head as if nothing comes to mind, then continues. “Things that happen outside the lab don’t always catch my interest, but there was such a kerfuffle about your arrival, in such a way, that I took note. Why, it was the talk of the staff dining room for a month. Boring, I thought it at the time. Another baby. I failed to see why you caused such excitement. However, I’m pleased to report that you have turned out to be a most satisfactory addition to InKubator 9. Most satisfactory.” He gives me a small, approving smile, and begins to talk about the wheat again, as if the matter of my birth and arrival at the Kube is now closed.
“Why wasn’t I told?” I burst out. How many years had I spent looking forward to Reunion Day, imagining what my parents would look like, what they would say? Imagining the first hug from my mother, the way she would smell of gardenia or maybe vanilla. A day Proctor Fonner and Dr. Ronan and who knows how many others must have known was an impossibility.
“Really, Jax.” Dr. Ronan is impatient now. His bushy brows twitch together. After a moment, he shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Either way, you got a first-class education, food, shelter, all the necessities.” He gestures to indicate the dome. “You’ve had access to the finest research facilities anywhere, as well as the most brilliant bio-chemist in the land, probably on the planet, to teach you, shape your thought processes, urge you to think past your first simplistic
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