“At the usual time,” Kevin said. Then after a brief hesitation, he surprised himself by adding: “I might have company. Would that be a problem?”

“Not at all,” Esmeralda said. “How many persons?”

“Just one,” Kevin said. He hung up the phone and wiped his palms together. They were a little damp.

“Are we on for lunch?” Candace called from across the room.

“Let’s go!” Kevin said.

“This is some lab!” she commented. “I never would have expected to find it here in the heart of tropical Africa. Tell me, what is it that you’re doing with all this fantastic equipment?”

“I’m trying to perfect the protocol,” Kevin said.

“Can’t you be more specific?” Candace asked.

“You really want to know?” Kevin asked.

“Yes,” Candace said. “I’m interested.”

“At this stage I’m dealing with minor histocompatibility antigens. You? know, proteins that define you as a unique, separate individual.”

“And what do you do with them?”

“Well, I locate their genes on the proper chromosome,” Kevin said. “Then I search for the transponase that’s associated with the genes, if there’s any, so I can move the genes.”

Candace let out a little laugh. “You’ve lost me already,” she admitted. “I haven’t the foggiest notion what a transponase is. In fact, I’m afraid a lot of this molecular biology is over my head.”

“It really isn’t,” Kevin said. “The principles aren’t that complicated. The critical fact few people realize is that some genes can move around on their chromosome. This happens particularly in B lymphocytes to increase the diversity of antibodies. Other genes are even more mobile and can change places with their twins. You do remember that there are two copies of every gene.”

“Yup,” Candace said. “Just like there are two copies of each chromosome. Our cells have twenty-three chromosome pairs.”

“Exactly,” Kevin said. “When genes exchange places on their chromosome pairs it’s called homologous transposition. It’s a particularly important process in the generation of sex cells, both eggs and sperms. What it does is help increase genetic shuffling, and hence the ability of species to evolve.”

“So this homologous transposition plays a role in evolution,” Candace said.

“Absolutely,” Kevin agreed. “Anyway, the gene segments that move are called transposons, and the enzymes that catalyze their movement are called transponases.”

“Okay,” Candace said. “I follow you so far.”

“Well, right now I’m interested in transposons that contain the genes for minor histocompatibility antigens,” Kevin said.

“I see,” Candace said, nodding her head. “I’m getting the picture. You’re goal is to move the gene for a minor histocompatibility antigen from one chromosome to another.”

“Exactly!” Kevin said. “The trick, of course, is finding and isolating the transponase. That’s the difficult step. But once I’ve found the transponase, it’s relatively easy to locate its gene. And once I’ve located and isolated the gene, I can use standard recombinant DNA technology to produce it.”

“Meaning getting bacteria to make it for you,” Candace said.

“Bacteria or mammalian tissue culture,” Kevin said. “Whatever works best.”

“Phew!” Candace commented. “This brain game is reminding me how hungry I am. Let’s get some hamburgers before my blood sugar bottoms out.”

Kevin smiled. He liked this woman. He was even starting to relax.

Descending the hospital stairs, Kevin felt a little giddy while listening and responding to Candace’s entertaining, nonstop questions and chatter. He couldn’t believe he was going to lunch with such an attractive, engaging female. It seemed to him that more things had happened in the last couple of days than during the previous five years he’d been in Cogo. He was so preoccupied, he didn’t give a thought to the Equatoguinean soldiers as he and Candace crossed the square.

Kevin had not been in the rec center since his initial orientation tour. He’d forgotten its quaintness. He’d also forgotten how blasphemous it was that the church had been recycled to provide worldly diversion. The altar was gone, but the pulpit was still in place off to the left. It was used for lectures and for calling out the numbers on bingo night. In place of the altar was the movie screen: an unintended sign of the times.

The commissary was in the basement and was reached by a stairway in the narthex. Kevin was surprised at how busy it was. A babble of voices echoed off the harsh, concrete ceiling. He and Candace had to stand in a long line before ordering. Then after they’d gotten their food, they had to search in the confusion for a place to sit. The tables were all long and had to be shared. The seats were benches attached like picnic tables.

“There are some seats,” Candace called out over the chatter. She pointed toward the rear of the room with her tray. Kevin nodded.

Kevin glanced furtively at the faces in the crowd as he weaved his way after Candace. He felt self-conscious, given Bertram’s insight into popular opinion, yet no one paid him the slightest attention.

Kevin followed Candace as she squeezed between two tables. He held his tray high to avoid hitting anyone, then put it down at an empty spot. He had to struggle to get his legs over the seat and under the table. By the time he was situated, Candace had already introduced herself to the two people sitting on the aisle. Kevin nodded to them. He didn’t recognize either one.

“Lively place,” Candace said. She reached for catsup. “Do you come here often?”

Before Kevin could respond, someone called out his name. He turned and recognized the lone familiar face. It was Melanie Becket, the reproductive technologist.

“Kevin Marshall!” Melanie exclaimed again. “I’m shocked. What are you doing here?”

Melanie was about the same age as Candace; she’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday the previous month. Where Candace was light, she was dark, with medium-brown hair and coloration that seemed Mediterranean. Her dark brown eyes were nearly black.

Kevin struggled to introduce his lunchmate, and was horrified to realize that for the moment he couldn’t remember her name.

“I’m Candace Brickmann,” Candace said without missing a beat. She reached out a hand. Melanie introduced herself and asked if she could join them.

“By all means,” Candace said.

Candace and Kevin were sitting side by side. Melanie sat opposite.

“Are you responsible for our local genius’s presence at the ptomaine palace?” Melanie asked Candace. Melanie was a sharp-witted, playfully irreverent woman who’d grown up in Manhattan.

“I guess,” Candace said. “Is this unusual for him?”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Melanie said. “What’s your secret? I’ve asked him to come over here so many times to no avail that I finally gave up, and that was several years ago.”

“You never asked me specifically,” Kevin said in his own defense.

“Oh, really?” Melanie questioned. “What did I have to do-draw you a map? I used to ask if you wanted to grab a burger. Wasn’t that specific enough?”

“Well,” Candace said, straightening up in her seat. “This must be my lucky day.”

Melanie and Candace fell into easy conversation, exchanging job descriptions. Kevin listened but concentrated on his hamburger.

“So we’re all three part of the same project,” Melanie commented when she heard that Candace was the intensive-care nurse of the surgical team from Pittsburgh. “Three peas in a pod.”

“You’re being generous,” Candace said. “I’m just one of the low men on the therapeutic totem pole. I wouldn’t put myself on the same level with you guys. You’re the ones that make it all possible. If you don’t mind my asking, how on earth do you do it?”

“She’s the hero,” Kevin said, speaking up for the first time and nodding toward Melanie.

“Come on, Kevin!” Melanie complained. “I didn’t develop the techniques I use the way you did. There are lots of people who could have done my job, but only you could have done yours. It was your breakthrough that was key.”