“Nope.”
“So you were never in jail?”
“Yes, I was. Once. Mistaken identity. I was arrested for a hit and run. Spent the night in a cell, and they caught the real guy the next day.”
“What was that like? Being behind bars, I mean.”
Gideon shrugged. “I read poetry.”
“Poetry?”
“There was an old, battered anthology of poems in the holding cell. It was either that or The Watchtower.”
They began to dress. “I hate putting these dirty clothes back on,” said Amy.
“Think boat. Think showers. Soap. Fresh linen. Clean sheets. Soft bed. Hot espresso.”
“Espresso…”
“If we want to explore those islands, we’re going to need a boat, we’re going to need maps and a GPS. We won’t need the trust of the natives. Tomorrow, we’ve got to call Glinn.”
Amy was silent a long time, and then she sighed. “All right. Tomorrow morning.” She smiled. “I could really use an espresso…”
41
This time, there were only three of them in the conference room: Garza, Glinn, and Weaver, the chief DNA tech. The atmosphere was tense, like a newsroom in which a big story was about to break.
Weaver — who had in past meetings looked apprehensive — now seemed haggard, at the limits of exhaustion. It had been days since his last report. This time there were no papers before him, no reports or documents of any kind.
“Let’s have it,” Glinn said simply.
The tech ran one hand through his sandy hair. “We reran the DNA analysis, as requested. In fact, we’ve done not only a second run, but a third as well, all with fresh genetic material. We sampled several hundred sequences along the genome. The gene sequences among all three runs have been linked and cross-matched. They agree beautifully: the runs have proven functionally identical. Also, the BWA-SW hybrid routine has completed its analysis of the sample: the level of contamination is roughly 0.04 base pairs, well below statistical relevance.” He fell silent.
“And?”
“All runs pointed to the same thing. The DNA is primarily human — with some major differences. There were a few sections of the DNA that belonged to no recognizable species. There are sequences that appear to be pongid, that is, ape-like.”
Garza shook his head. This was getting more bizarre by the minute.
Weaver cleared his throat. “And then there were a number of key sequences that we were able to identify as—” Here his voice dropped almost to a whisper—“Neanderthal.”
“What?” Garza said.
“Neanderthal,” Weaver repeated.
“That’s preposterous!” Garza blurted out. “How could you know what the Neanderthal genome even looks like?”
“As it happens, the Neanderthal genome was fully sequenced by the Max Planck Institute in Leipzig a few years back. The analysis was done on ancient DNA taken from Neanderthal teeth found at sites in Europe. But we couldn’t believe it, either. So we went ahead and sequenced the entire genome of the creature that this vellum came from.”
Glinn frowned. “The entire genome?”
“It’s the best way. Once that was complete, we ran the results through our gene frequency analysis machine.”
“What is that?” Garza asked.
“It’s a dedicated computer — series of linked computers, actually — that can take an organism’s genome and then, in essence, reconstruct or re-create its possible morphology, behavior, and other attributes.” Weaver hesitated. “I have to warn you. We’re dealing with a species nobody has seen before. A cousin of the Neanderthals, yes, but…quite different in some ways.”
“How so?”
“The unusual genes of this creature fall into the areas involved in aging, size, robustness, and some areas of visual processing. Its hemoglobin shows an unusually high carrying capacity for oxygen. Its respiration and metabolic rate appear to be abnormally low, and our analyses indicate it has the ability to alter these rates at will in times of environmental stress, thus preventing oxidative damage to tissues.”
“What does it mean?” Glinn asked. “Can you be more specific?”
Weaver looked from Glinn to Garza and back again. “Yes. There are powerful genetic expressions in the growth and growth hormone sequences. It would appear this organism is large. Much larger, for example, than its Neanderthal cousin.”
“How much larger?” Garza asked.
“Hard to say. Fifty percent larger, perhaps.”
“So, you mean, like nine feet?”
Weaver nodded. “All factors indicate an extremely robust, moderately intelligent, and highly aggressive beast.”
“Aggressive?”
“Yes. There’s a whole suite of genes involving the fight-or-flight response, hormonal changes involving the control of emotion, and areas of the brain used in processing fear and aggression — all significantly enhanced. In the same way that it’s unusually adaptive to its environment, it also appears to be well developed to defend that environment.”
“So we’re talking about a large, primitive hominid,” Garza said. “Intelligent, aggressive, powerful. Well adapted to its environment.”
“Did you determine the age of the vellum?” Glinn asked.
“Yes. It carbon-dates to about fifteen hundred years ago. In other words, this species didn’t become extinct until sometime after 500 AD.”
Glinn shifted in his wheelchair. “That’s remarkable. Tell me more about the visual processing genes.”
Weaver glanced at him. “I was wondering when you’d ask. That might be the strangest thing of all…”
42
First thing the next morning, Gideon and Amy took the sat phone down to the beach, where they would have the best chance for reception. Amy turned on the unit. As it warmed up, the LED screen flashed with calls received and messages left. There were several — all from EES. Gideon felt a twinge of nervousness: they hadn’t called Glinn in days, and the man was not going to be happy.
Amy set the phone to speaker and put in the call. It was answered immediately — by Glinn. The voice wasn’t, as Gideon expected, excited or angry. It was cool, formal, measured.
“It’s been too many days since I heard from you,” Glinn said. “Would you care to explain yourselves?”
“We have to talk fast,” Amy said. “We’re down to four percent battery power, and no way to recharge.”
“Then talk.”
Gideon listened as Amy launched into an explanation of her discovery related to Homer’s Odyssey. But Glinn almost immediately interrupted her. “I’ve heard enough. This is irrelevant. Listen to me please — and listen well. We’re aborting the mission.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Gideon asked.
“There’s new information that needs to be evaluated.”
“What new information?”
“We solved the riddle. No time to go into the details, except to say that the vellum was made from the skin of a Neanderthal-like hominid.”
“Wait. What are you saying?”
“This new information has thrown off our computer models. In addition, there is a consensus here that you can’t be left on your own any longer — we’ve got to regroup, reanalyze, and plan a revised mission. I’ll be sending a boat to pick you up and bring you back to New York. I commend your fine work and I look forward to debriefing you both—”
The battery indicator on the sat phone started to blink red.
Amy reached over and shut off the phone.
Gideon stared at her. “What are you doing?”
Amy turned her dark eyes on him. “Is that what you want to do? Abort the mission? After all we’ve risked, all we’ve done?”