simply process blood samples to identify members of the L7 haplogroup.”
“It is,” Lisa said, “and then I take it from there.”
“Take what from there?”
Lisa studied her. “You know, of course, that the Denebs would like to identify those surviving human members of their own haplogroup. They consider them family. The concept of family is pivotal to them.”
Marianne said, “You’re not a genetic counselor. You’re a xenopsychologist.”
“That, too.”
“And what happens after the long-lost family members are identified?”
“I tell them that they are long-lost family members.” Her smile never wavered.
“And then?”
“And then they get to meet Ambassador Smith.”
“And then?”
“No more ‘then.’ The Ambassador just wants to meet his six-thousand-times-removed cousins. Exchange family gossip, invent some in-jokes, confer about impossible Uncle Harry.”
So she had a sense of humor. Maybe it was a qualification for billing oneself a “xenopsychologist,” a profession that until a few months ago had not existed.
“Nice to meet you both,” Lisa said, widened her smile another fraction of an inch, and left.
Evan murmured, “My, people come and go so quickly here.”
But Marianne was suddenly not in the mood, not even for quoted humor from such an appropriate source as The Wiard of OZ . She sent a level gaze at Evan, Max, Gina.
“Okay, team. Let’s get to work.”
II: S minus 9.5 months
MARIANNE
There were four other scientific teams aboard the Embassy , none of which were interested in Marianne’s backwater. The other teams consisted of scientists from the World Health Organization, the Centers for Disease Control, the United States Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases, the Institute of Molecular Medicine at Oxford, the Beijing Genomics Institute, Kyushu University, and the Scripps Clinic and Research Foundation, perhaps the top immunology center in the world. Some of the most famous names in the scientific and medical worlds were here, including a dozen Nobel winners. Marianne had no knowledge of, but could easily imagine, the political and scientific competition to get aboard the Embassy . The Americans had an edge because the ship sat in New York Harbor and that, too, must have engendered political threats and counter threats, bargaining and compromise.
The most elite group, and by far the largest, worked on the spores: germinating, sequencing, investigating this virus that could create a worldwide human die-off. They worked in negative-pressure, biosafety-level-four chambers. Previously the United States had had only two BSL4 facilities, at the CDC in Atlanta and at USAMRIID in Maryland. Now there was a third, dazzling in its newness and in the completeness of its equipment. The Spore Team had the impossible task of creating some sort of vaccine or other method of neutralizing, worldwide, a pathogen not native to Earth, within ten months.
The Biology Team investigated alien tissues and genes. The Denebs gave freely of whatever was asked: blood, epithelial cells, sperm, biopsy samples. “Might even give us a kidney, if we asked nicely enough,” Evan said. “We know they have two.”
Marianne said, “ You ask, then.”
“Not me. Too frightful to think what they might ask in exchange.”
“So far, they’ve asked nothing.”
Almost immediately the Biology Team verified the Denebs as human. Then began the long process of finding and charting the genetic and evolutionary differences between the aliens and Terrans. The first, announced after just a few weeks, was that all of the seventeen aliens in the Embassy carried the same percentage as Terrans of Neanderthal genes: from one to four percent.
“They’re us,” Evan said.
“Did you doubt it?” Marianne asked.
“No. But more interesting, I think, are the preliminary findings that the Denebs show so much less genetic diversity than we do. That wanker Wilcox must be weeping in
“It is,” Lisa said, “and then I take it from there.”
“Take what from there?”
Lisa studied her. “You know, of course, that the Denebs would like to identify those surviving human members of their own haplogroup. They consider them family. The concept of family is pivotal to them.”
Marianne said, “You’re not a genetic counselor. You’re a xenopsychologist.”
“That, too.”
“And what happens after the long-lost family members are identified?”
“I tell them that they are long-lost family members.” Her smile never wavered.
“And then?”
“And then they get to meet Ambassador Smith.”
“And then?”
“No more ‘then.’ The Ambassador just wants to meet his six-thousand-times-removed cousins. Exchange family gossip, invent some in-jokes, confer about impossible Uncle Harry.”
So she had a sense of humor. Maybe it was a qualification for billing oneself a “xenopsychologist,” a profession that until a few months ago had not existed.
“Nice to meet you both,” Lisa said, widened her smile another fraction of an inch, and left.
Evan murmured, “My, people come and go so quickly here.”
But Marianne was suddenly not in the mood, not even for quoted humor from such an appropriate source as The Wiard of OZ . She sent a level gaze at Evan, Max, Gina.
“Okay, team. Let’s get to work.”
II: S minus 9.5 months
MARIANNE
There were four other scientific teams aboard the Embassy , none of which were interested in Marianne’s backwater. The other teams consisted of scientists from the World Health Organization, the Centers for Disease Control, the United States Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases, the Institute of Molecular Medicine at Oxford, the Beijing Genomics Institute, Kyushu University, and the Scripps Clinic and Research Foundation, perhaps the top immunology center in the world. Some of the most famous names in the scientific and medical worlds were here, including a dozen Nobel winners. Marianne had no knowledge of, but could easily imagine, the political and scientific competition to get aboard the Embassy . The Americans had an edge because the ship sat in New York Harbor and that, too, must have engendered political threats and counter threats, bargaining and compromise.
The most elite group, and by far the largest, worked on the spores: germinating, sequencing, investigating this virus that could create a worldwide human die-off. They worked in negative-pressure, biosafety-level-four chambers. Previously the United States had had only two BSL4 facilities, at the CDC in Atlanta and at USAMRIID in Maryland. Now there was a third, dazzling in its newness and in the completeness of its equipment. The Spore Team had the impossible task of creating some sort of vaccine or other method of neutralizing, worldwide, a pathogen not native to Earth, within ten months.
The Biology Team investigated alien tissues and genes. The Denebs gave freely of whatever was asked: blood, epithelial cells, sperm, biopsy samples. “Might even give us a kidney, if we asked nicely enough,” Evan said. “We know they have two.”
Marianne said, “ You ask, then.”
“Not me. Too frightful to think what they might ask in exchange.”
“So far, they’ve asked nothing.”
Almost immediately the Biology Team verified the Denebs as human. Then began the long process of finding and charting the genetic and evolutionary differences between the aliens and Terrans. The first, announced after just a few weeks, was that all of the seventeen aliens in the Embassy carried the same percentage as Terrans of Neanderthal genes: from one to four percent.
“They’re us,” Evan said.
“Did you doubt it?” Marianne asked.
“No. But more interesting, I think, are the preliminary findings that the Denebs show so much less genetic diversity than we do. That wanker Wilcox must be weeping in
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