Like every modern scientist, Ferdinand earned his pay by making persuasion videos. A compelling enough documentary usually led to a brief crowd-funded career. Though traditionally trained, he eased into the dominating entertainment era with all the other academics who now had to film for income. His decades-old, unhip publications meant nothing anymore. Thus, at age 56, he took on the latest tactics of the cyber economy. He strolled into the shanty town with a minicam in each of the two buttons of his white shirt collar. His straw hat hid a microphone. The thin power cable ran down the back of his neck to a battery pack in his slacks pocket. The hidden cords taped to him felt like live snakes, because old-school biologists only filmed one way: reluctantly. The wind wended around the corrugated metal shacks as though to bully away the junkie population. Each smack of the breeze covered Ferdinand with a slight rust odor and plenty of autumn coldness. He tasted the brown dirt and its hi

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