ignorant superiority—that’s what she couldn’t stand. The word it was like an ice pick in her ears. It killed him, as if the it could have been a wheelbarrow or a book.
“You mean in Indonesia.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A country.”
Meg knew about the attack. A young boy in the dry season. In the dry season, everything was prey.
“We’re not here to talk about attacks, but there are some other headlines that I’d like to share with you.” Damn, that was a nice transition, which pretty much guaranteed that no secret shoppers were here today. They never evaluated her when she said smooth stuff like that.
Meg walked to the edge of the viewing platform and swung a wiry arm over the railing.
“This is Jata, our famous Komodo. You might have heard about her recently.”
At Meg’s voice, Jata swiveled her head fully around and surveyed the group. Her gaze wandered the faces until she saw Meg, and then she stared coolly up at her, unblinking. Meg smiled and winked.
“She likes you,” one of the kids said.
“I’m assigned to her exhibit, so she recognizes me. If you want to stick around after the tour, I’ll be feeding Jata her weekly meal at one o’clock.”
“Cool.” The boy pushed his head against the steel bars that lined the platform, trying to see Jata better.
Meg turned back to address the group as a whole. “Eight months ago, Jata laid a clutch of eggs, which isn’t uncommon for an adult, female dragon. They should have been sterile. What made the eggs so extraordinary is that they were viable.”
Blank gazes surrounded her. A dark-haired man wearing a Mall of America T-shirt started chewing on his fingernails, glancing between Meg and Jata.
“Jata has never mated with a male dragon. She hasn’t been exposed to a male since she was a hatchling. You are looking at one of the few known animals in the world that has reproduced via parthenogenesis.”
“Oh, the virgin-birth dragon!” The boy’s mother piped up, pulling her son’s head away from the bars. “I read about that in the paper earlier this year. That was so cute, just like a miracle, and that reporter Nicole Roberts was talking about it, too. What did she say?” She looked around for help. “Oh, I can’t remember, but it was odd, like—”
“I don’t know,” Meg interrupted. Heat seeped into her cheeks, flushing her skin with a mix of anger and embarrassment. She pulled her forearms tighter into her chest, imprinting her wrist with the security ID clipped to her breast pocket, and looked around the rest of the group to see if anyone else listened to second-rate news. A few of them glanced uncertainly at Jata, and the man in the Mall of America T-shirt suddenly took Meg’s picture.
“You are absolutely right about the virgin birth, though.” Meg tested her voice, and it came out clear and passive. Good. “Jata has reproduced asexually, although technically she hasn’t quite completed the job.”
She glanced down at Jata’s green-and-gray scaled head. “The eggs are due to hatch any day now. Then, if everything goes well, she’ll be a virgin mother to three baby boys.”
“How do you know they’re boys? Do they do ultrasounds?” someone asked.
“No. It’s the nature of parthenogenesis, actually. It’s the same way that you know if you made a human clone, it would be the same gender as the parent. This type of reproduction eliminates the possibility of females, so we know the babies will be boys.”
“We’re studying DNA in my science class,” said a bored-looking kid.
“Oh, then let me show you.” Meg lit up, her forced friendliness turning into genuine excitement at the opportunity to explain. She grabbed his visitor map and sketched it out on the back.
“This is how the genes would normally look if it were a typical birth with a father and a mother. You end up with half boys and half girls.”
The kid’s forehead wrinkled up. “I thought boys were XY and girls were
“You mean in Indonesia.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A country.”
Meg knew about the attack. A young boy in the dry season. In the dry season, everything was prey.
“We’re not here to talk about attacks, but there are some other headlines that I’d like to share with you.” Damn, that was a nice transition, which pretty much guaranteed that no secret shoppers were here today. They never evaluated her when she said smooth stuff like that.
Meg walked to the edge of the viewing platform and swung a wiry arm over the railing.
“This is Jata, our famous Komodo. You might have heard about her recently.”
At Meg’s voice, Jata swiveled her head fully around and surveyed the group. Her gaze wandered the faces until she saw Meg, and then she stared coolly up at her, unblinking. Meg smiled and winked.
“She likes you,” one of the kids said.
“I’m assigned to her exhibit, so she recognizes me. If you want to stick around after the tour, I’ll be feeding Jata her weekly meal at one o’clock.”
“Cool.” The boy pushed his head against the steel bars that lined the platform, trying to see Jata better.
Meg turned back to address the group as a whole. “Eight months ago, Jata laid a clutch of eggs, which isn’t uncommon for an adult, female dragon. They should have been sterile. What made the eggs so extraordinary is that they were viable.”
Blank gazes surrounded her. A dark-haired man wearing a Mall of America T-shirt started chewing on his fingernails, glancing between Meg and Jata.
“Jata has never mated with a male dragon. She hasn’t been exposed to a male since she was a hatchling. You are looking at one of the few known animals in the world that has reproduced via parthenogenesis.”
“Oh, the virgin-birth dragon!” The boy’s mother piped up, pulling her son’s head away from the bars. “I read about that in the paper earlier this year. That was so cute, just like a miracle, and that reporter Nicole Roberts was talking about it, too. What did she say?” She looked around for help. “Oh, I can’t remember, but it was odd, like—”
“I don’t know,” Meg interrupted. Heat seeped into her cheeks, flushing her skin with a mix of anger and embarrassment. She pulled her forearms tighter into her chest, imprinting her wrist with the security ID clipped to her breast pocket, and looked around the rest of the group to see if anyone else listened to second-rate news. A few of them glanced uncertainly at Jata, and the man in the Mall of America T-shirt suddenly took Meg’s picture.
“You are absolutely right about the virgin birth, though.” Meg tested her voice, and it came out clear and passive. Good. “Jata has reproduced asexually, although technically she hasn’t quite completed the job.”
She glanced down at Jata’s green-and-gray scaled head. “The eggs are due to hatch any day now. Then, if everything goes well, she’ll be a virgin mother to three baby boys.”
“How do you know they’re boys? Do they do ultrasounds?” someone asked.
“No. It’s the nature of parthenogenesis, actually. It’s the same way that you know if you made a human clone, it would be the same gender as the parent. This type of reproduction eliminates the possibility of females, so we know the babies will be boys.”
“We’re studying DNA in my science class,” said a bored-looking kid.
“Oh, then let me show you.” Meg lit up, her forced friendliness turning into genuine excitement at the opportunity to explain. She grabbed his visitor map and sketched it out on the back.
“This is how the genes would normally look if it were a typical birth with a father and a mother. You end up with half boys and half girls.”
The kid’s forehead wrinkled up. “I thought boys were XY and girls were
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