“That’s the way it came out.”

Virginia said, “Carl, you can’t jump on every—”

“I’m not. I’m just looking to see if where there’s smoke there’s fire.” He felt warm, gulped his drink.

Saul paused, running his tongue meditatively over his lower lip. “Let me begin afresh. Carl, if you knew anything about me, you would understand that I am not hostile to you people. Precisely the opposite, in fact.” He looked steadily at Carl. “I suppose you would find out sooner or later anyway… I worked for years with Simon Percell.”

Carl was stunned. Virginia gasped and said, “You did? I’d heard rumors, but… I didn’t believe them.”

“Merely as a postdoc.” Saul shrugged. “Our last project together studied deviations in the activation level of lupus erythematosus. You may remember that was one of the principal diseases Percell freed you people from. That awful, untreatable thing that attacked skin, connective tissue, spleen, kidneys.”

Virginia nodded. “My mother died from it.”

“Yes,” Saul said. “And your grandmother as well.”

Virginia ’s lips pursed in surprise. Saul shrugged. “I remember your case. Simon carried out the necessary alterations of your mother’s DNA while I was first learning the techniques.”

Virginia leaned forward. “Did you…”

“Do the actual work? I cannot remember, honestly. I performed as assistant for marry gene-tailoring methods, some experimental, some fairly straightforward.”

“Then you… could be…”

Saul blinked, sitting back in his chair, avoiding her rapt gaze. “It was a purely mechanical task by that time. Very little research to it, other than my part. I did studies of how the resulting… cells… responded to chemical incursions which, for normal lupus, would cause a spontaneous rise in the disease.”

Virginia said slowly, “And mine… did not?”

“Obviously, you were one of our successes. You have no trace of lupus, I trust?”

She shook her head. “Because of you.”

“No; Simon Percell. I merely went to him to learn his techniques. It was during those few years when he enjoyed full support, when all things were possible. Or so we thought.”

Carl said, “Still… I didn’t know you’d worked with Percell.” He felt chagrined. Saul had probably been present when Carl’s mother’s genes were delicately trimmed, freed of the microscopic molecular constellation that carried heritable leukemia. Then the gene wizards had added expert snippets of DNA to give him the suite of physical improvements that now marked every Percell. To Carl, that small, brave band of genetic engineers was legendary. He had never met one before.

Saul crossed his legs, smoothed his pants leg, visibly uncomfortable. Carl realized that the man must have been through similar meetings often, and was wary of the pent-up emotion that might burst forth from any Percell.

“I… I’m sorry about what I said,” Carl murmured.

Saul nodded silently. He, too, was holding feelings behind a tight-lipped dam.

Virginia ’s eyes brimmed. “You… could be…

Carl saw that she wanted to say You are my father, too but could find no way to state the complex blend of emotions she felt. Saul had helped give life to thousands who would have been blighted, killed, maimed. Those years could not be forgotten—except by the braying, suspicious, hate-filled majority Earthside.

That kind had killed Percell, as surely as if they had pressed the muzzle of the.32 revolver to his temple. Simon Percell himself had pulled the trigger, driven into a depression over what was now obviously an unavoidable mistake.

One gene-editing error in a treatment to eliminate an inheritable kidney disease had killed an entire year’s program of children.

Worse, they had not died until the age of three. Then it struck suddenly.

The sight of so many writhing in agony, yellow-skinned and gnarled, their kidney and liver functions stopped abruptly—it had been torture. Media bigots flashed the images around the globe. Coupled with the growing public chorus against him, the threats of prosecution, and the sudden cuts in his research support, it had been too much for a man who held himself to the very highest standards.

Carl shook himself. It was still so easy to touch off the memories. His own mother dying miserably. The years of waiting to see if he, too, would begin to show the signs. The final liberation when he knew it was all right, that he could go into space with a clean genetic record. Those memories cut deeply in him still.

“I… Look, let me buy you another drink,” Carl said lamely.

“Why, sure,” Saul said with a wobbly smile.

“Maybe a chess game later?”

“Certainly!” Saul said heartily. “This time, no quarter I’m defending the honor of normal people.” The Saul paused, quickly turned aside, and sneezed. Both Carl and Virginia jumped slightly. Then they all laughed, the tension relieved.

“Well now,” Saul said expansively as he put away his handkerchief “that’s one Percell modification I will take credit for. Tailoring in a suppression of the histamic response. Doesn’t do me any good, but you people don’t suffer as I do from pesky colds. I’ll be envying you every time Akio Matsudo releases one of his damn challenge viruses!”

But years afterward, Carl would well remember that convulsive, startling eruption, the first—but certainly not the last—time he had heard Saul’s explosive sneeze.

Saul finished reading the printout and looked up at the man who had thrust it upon him.

“For this you waste paper in a printout, Joao? You could have fast-faxed it to my console just as easily.”

Joao Quiverian was a slender, sallow-faced man with an untamable shock of black hair and a Roman, almost hawklike ornament of a nose. The man was not distracted by Saul’s banter. He insisted on an answer.

“You’d just ignore a fast-fax. I want to know right away what you think of this vote, Saul.”

“Where does my opinion matter?” Saul shrugged. “I’m disappointed the Diaspora only abstained. A worldwide federation of refugee peoples ought to take a stand on something like this. But they’re trying so hard to win acceptance that it’s really no surprise.” He handed back the sheet. “Other than that, I’d say the world is acting true to form.”

The answer obviously did not satisfy Joao, who had been made chief planetologist only three weeks ago when a freak accident killed Professor Lehman. Saul knew this had to be a frustrating time for the Brazilian, anyway. Here he was, only a few score kilometers from a truly great comet, and orders were that science would have to give way to engineering for weeks to come.

Quiverian had to rely on part-time help from Saul and a few other “amateur cometologists” who had been trained in the field as a second specialty. No doubt he looked forward to the awakening of some of the sleepers from the slot tugs and discussing cometary arcana with fully accredited peers.