“But which organ…” Claus said, his voice trailing off. No. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it? He had asked them to step back, think differently. Jian had done exactly that and found something they all should have seen months ago.
“Well?” Tim said. “What organ was it?”
“The largest organ,” Claus said, getting the words out before Jian could say them. “The integument. The skin.”
Tim looked from Claus to Jian. “Really?”
Jian nodded, even smiled a little. “The ancestors will have cow fur.”
“And that’s it?” Tim said. “Problem solved?”
Of course that didn’t solve the problem. The boy wasn’t even close to Erika’s brilliance. “Don’t be stupid, Mister Feely. All we did was defeat the immune response. That allows us to implant, monitor, measure and modify as we go. We will probably lose all the embryos within a few days of implantation. When we cloned the quagga, we implanted over twelve hundred blastocysts before one survived to birth. That part of the quagga project was Doctor Hoel’s, Mister Feely. Now it’s yours.”
Tim’s eyes widened. “But, but I’m Jian’s assistant. We have to get someone else in here to replace Erika.”
“There is no one else,” Claus said. “We are isolated, we have to stay hidden. Congratulations, Mister Feely… you’ve just been promoted.”
“But, but… I can’t… she brought back species from extinction, I can’t—”
“You can and you will,” Claus said. “Time to grow up, Mister Feely. Millions of avoidable deaths now rest squarely on your shoulders.”
Tim blinked again. He opened his mouth to speak, but gagged, ran to a trash can and threw up in it.
BOOK THREE
Black Manitou Island
Map
NOVEMBER 9: FLY BY
THE SUN JUST breaking free somewhere behind its tail, the C-5 approached Black Manitou Island; a tiny sliver of white, brown and green in the midst of Lake Superior’s glittering blue splendor. Colding sat in the observer’s seat. Sleep fuzzed his eyes. His axe cut hurt.
“Here you go,” Cappy said, and put a half-full Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand.
“Thanks,” Colding said. “And thanks for the shirt and jacket.”
Cappy ticked off a little two-fingered salute, then walked out of the cockpit. Colding set the coffee down, keeping an eye on it so it wouldn’t spill while he opened the manila folder. The liquid vibrated in time with the C-5’s engine hum.
He took a sip—strong brew—and looked out the front canopy. They were so low the sun sparkled off whitecapped waves, creating a miles wide cone of flashbulbs reflecting the morning light.
“Middle of freakin’ nowhere,” Alonzo said. “And they call these things lakes? I’ve seen smaller oceans.”
“That’s why they call them the Great Lakes, kid,” Sara said. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen them. You gotta get out more.”
“Right,” Alonzo said. “’Cause Michigan is high up on my list of tourist spots. Especially Detroit.”
“Most of the state is just fine,” Sara said. “I grew up near here, town called Cheboygan.”
Alonzo nodded. “You grew up here. Yeah, that explains a lot.”
Sara flicked out her right hand and slapped Alonzo’s shoulder. He laughed, then turned in his seat and called back to Colding. “How ’bout you, bro? Where you from?”
“Georgia. A little town outside of At—”
“Let’s just land the plane, shall we?” Sara said. Colding leaned back. Alonzo let out a long whistle. They were at least five minutes from landing, but no one mentioned that. Seemed Sara wanted to keep the conversation all business, at least where Colding was concerned.
From the observer’s seat, Colding had a stunning view out the front canopy. Black Manitou Island looked mostly white, dotted with patches of brown and green. The island ran almost perfectly southwest to northeast. Colding referred to the map in the manila folder. Ten miles from tip to tip, three miles across at the widest point. Deep bays and fjords made it resemble a tropical archipelago. A wide, sandy beach surrounded the coastline.
Alonzo affected a southern drawl. “How close is the nearest gawd-dayum town? Da-na-neer-neer-neer-neer-neer-neer-neeerrrr.”
“This is Michigan, you idiot,” Sara said. “Put away the Deliverance banjo.”
Colding checked the map again. “You won’t be doing much partying with the locals. Closest town is Copper Harbor, about three hours away by boat.”
Alonzo groaned. “How far by plane or chopper?”
“Irrelevant,” Colding said. “Once we land, no air traffic off the island.”
“Fuck,” Alonzo said. “Looks like I’ll be dating Rosie Palms and her five friends for a while.”
“Wrong girl,” Sara said. “Around here we call that Dating Miss Michigan.”
Colding kept flipping through the folder. “It’s a bit more accommodating than it looks. Says here the place used to be a four-star resort. Marilyn Monroe supposedly stayed there.”
The island grew in size, now filling the forward horizon.
“No radar,” Alonzo said. “They have an airstrip but no radar?”
“Uhhh…” Colding flipped through more pages. “They only turn it on for landings and takeoffs. Danté doesn’t want anyone wondering why an island in the middle of the lake has functioning radar.”
As if on cue, a small ping sounded through the cockpit.
“Radar, check,” Sara said. “Looks like they’re ready for us.”
Colding leaned forward again. “Fly the length of the island before you land.”
“Please,” Sara said.
Colding looked at her. “Please what?”
“Fly the length of the island, please.” Sara continued to look out the window, never turning to meet Colding’s eyes. “Until we land, I’m in charge, remember?”
Alonzo looked at Sara, a funny expression on his face. He craned his head to look back at Colding as if to say, What’s that all about? Colding just shrugged.
“Eyes on the boat, ’Zo,” Sara said. Alonzo turned back to his normal position.
So this was how it was going to be. Well, once on the island, there was plenty of room to steer clear of this woman.
“Captain Purinam,” Colding said. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you kindly fly the length of the island before landing? Please?”
“Why, it’s no trouble at all,” Sara said. “Standard procedure, really, you didn’t even have to ask.”
Alonzo gave her that funny look again, then shrugged and turned back to his duties.
Sara took the C-5 north, wide of the island, then banked back and closed in on the northeast tip. Colding traced their path on the map as the C-5 flew over. Rapleje Bay split the northeast end of the island into a pair of mile-long, snow-covered tongues. Rocks peeked through the snow in many places, brown and gray, or black with fresh snowmelt. An inch or two of powder covered the ground, clumped on the bare branches of oaks and poplars and weighed down the boughs of thick evergreens.