“What do you mean, different?”

“Where it came from. The Galapagos Rift.” Blankenship shook his head. “I don’t see the significance.”

“This culture was discovered by scientists aboard the vessel Gabriella, a ship belonging to SeaScience. One of those was a Dr. Stephen Ahearn, who was flown out to Gabriella, apparently as a last-minute consultant. Within a week, he was dead. His minisub became trapped at the bottom of the rift, and he suffocated.” Blankenship said nothing, but his gaze remained focused on Jack’s.

“Dr. Ahearn was known for his research on tektites,” said Jack. “Those are glassy fragments produced whenever a meteor collides with the earth. That was Dr. Ahearn’s field of expertise. The geology of meteors and asteroids.” Still Blankenship said nothing. Why isn’t he reacting?

Jack wondered. Doesn’t he understand what this means?

“SeaScience flew Ahearn to the Galapagos because they needed a geologist’s opinion,” said Jack. “They needed confirmation of what they’d found on the sea floor. An asteroid.” Blankenship’s face had gone rigid. He turned and walked toward the kitchen.

Jack and Gordon followed him. “That’s why the White House is so scared of Chimera!” said Jack. “They know where it comes from. They know what it is.” Blankenship picked up the telephone and dialed. A moment later, he said, “This is JSC director Kenneth Blankenship. I speak to Jared Profitt. Yes, I know what time it is. This is an emergency, so if you could connect me to his home…” There was a moment’s silence. Then he said into the phone, “They know. No, did not tell them. They found out on their own.” A pause. “Jack McCallum and Gordon Obie. Yes, sir, they’re standing right here in my kitchen.” He handed the receiver to Jack. “He wants to speak to you.”

Jack took the phone. “This is McCallum.”

“How many people know?” was the first thing Jared Profitt asked him.

That question instantly told Jack how sensitive this information was. He said, “Our medical people know. And a few people in Life Sciences.” That was all he’d say, he knew better than to name names.

“Can you all keep it quiet?” asked Profitt.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether your people cooperate with us. Share information with us.”

“What do you want, Dr. McCallum?”

“Full disclosure. Everything you’ve learned about Chimera. The autopsy results. The data from your clinical trials.”

“And if we don’t share? What happens?”

“My colleagues at NASA start faxing every news agency in the country.”

“Telling them what, exactly?”

“The truth. That this organism is not terrestrial.” There was a long silence. Jack could hear his own heartbeat thudding in the receiver.

Have we guessed right? Have we really uncovered the truth?

Profitt said, “I’ll authorize Dr. Roman to tell you everything. He’ll be expecting you at White Sands.” The phone went dead.

Jack hung up and looked at Blankenship. “How long have you known?” Blankenship’s silence only fueled Jack’s anger. He took a threatening step forward, and Blankenship backed up against the wall. “How long have you known?”

“Only—only a few days. I was sworn to secrecy!”

“Those were our people dying up there!”

“I had no choice! This has got everyone terrified! The White House. Defense.” Blankenship took a deep breath and looked Jack straight in the eye. “You’ll understand what I’m talking about. When you get to White Sands.”

August 20

With one end gripped in her teeth, Emma yanked the tourniquet tight, and the veins of her left arm plumped up like blue worms beneath the pale skin. She gave her antecubital vein a quick swipe with alcohol and winced at the prick of the needle. Like a junkie desperate for a fix, she injected the entire contents of the syringe, releasing the tourniquet halfway through. When she was finished, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift as she imagined the HCG molecules, like tiny stars of hope, coursing up her veins, into her heart and lungs. streaming out into arteries and capillaries. She imagined she could already feel its effect, the headache melting away, the hot flames of her fever smothered to a dying glow. Three doses left, she thought. Three more days.

She imagined herself drifting out of her own body, and she saw herself, as though from a distance, curled up like a mottled a coffin. A bubble of mucus spilling out of her mouth, breaking into bright squirming threads like maggots.

Abruptly she opened her eyes and realized that she had been sleeping.

Dreaming. Her shirt was saturated with sweat. It was a good sign. It meant that her fever had eased off.

She massaged her temples, trying to force out the images from her dream, but she could not, reality and nightmares had merged into one.

She stripped off the sweat-soaked shirt and put on a clean one from Diana’s locker. Despite the bad dreams, that brief nap had refreshed her, and she was alert again, ready to search for new solutions. She floated into the U.S. Lab and pulled up all the files on the computer.

It was an extraterrestrial organism, Todd Cutler had informed her, and everything NASA now knew about the life-form had been transmitted to her onboard computers. She reviewed the files, hoping to find some new inspiration, some approach that no one else had thought of. Everything she read was dismally familiar.

She opened the genome file. A nucleotide sequence spilled across the monitor in an unending stream of As, Cs, Ts, and Gs.

Here was Chimera’s genetic code—parts of it, anyway. The parts USAMRIID had chosen to share with NASA. She stared, hypnotized, as the lines of code marched down the screen. This was the essence of the alien life-form now growing inside her. It was the key to the enemy. If only she knew how to use it.

The key.

She suddenly thought of what Jack had said earlier, about hormones. In order for a hormone to work, it has to bind to a receptor on the target cell. It’s like a key in search of just the lock in which to fit.

Why would a mammalian hormone like HCG suppress the reproduction of an alien life-form? she wondered. Why would an extraterrestrial organism, so foreign to anything on earth, properly fitting locks to our keys?

On the computer, the nucleotide sequence had finished scrolling to the end. She stared at the blinking cursor and of the earth-born species whose DNA had been raided by Chimera.

By acquiring those new genes, this alien life-form had become part human. Part mouse. Part amphibian.

She got on the comm with Houston. “I need to speak to somebody in Life Sciences,” she said.

“Any one in particular?” asked Capcom.

“An amphibian expert.”

“Stand by, Watson.” Ten minutes later, a Dr. Wang from NASA Life Sciences came on the loop. “You had a question about amphibians?” he asked.

“Yes, about Rana pipiens, the northern leopard frog.”

“What can I tell you about it?”

“What happens if you expose the leopard frog to human hormones?”

“Any hormone in particular?”

“Estrogen, for instance. Or HCG.” Dr. Wang answered without hesitation.

“Amphibians in general are adversely affected by environmental estrogens. It’s been quite a bit, actually. A number of experts think the worldwide decline in frog populations is due to estrogenlike substances polluting streams and ponds.”

“What estrogenlike substances?”

“Certain pesticides, for instance, can mimic estrogens. They disrupt the frogs’ endocrine systems, making it impossible for them to reproduce or thrive.”

“So it doesn’t actually kill them.”

“No, it just disrupts reproduction.”

“Are frogs in particular sensitive to this?”

“Oh, yes. Far more than mammals. Plus, frogs have permeable skin, so they’re susceptible to toxins in general. That’s sort of their, well, Achilles’ heel.” Achilles’ heel. She fell silent for a moment, thinking about that.