Free The Rise and Fall of Khan Noonien Singh, Volume One by Greg Cox Page B

to whisper to Roberta, “Please, let me pretend we’re together.”
    What the heck? Roberta wondered, caught off guard. Looking past the other woman, though, she spotted a small pack of young male scientists hovering only a few feet away, scoping out both women as [55] though they held the cure for cancer hidden somewhere in their cleavage. Each man was clutching a bottle of beer, and they were strutting and posing and trying to look as cool and debonair as a bunch of inebriated science nerds can be. Oh, I get it, Roberta thought, grasping the situation in an instant.
    “About time you got here!” she exclaimed, playing along. She patted the empty stool next to her, which she’d planned to keep free for Dr. Takagi. “Here, I was saving you a seat.” She leaned sideways to address the lurking party animals. “Sorry, guys, but we’ve got a lot to catch up on here. Girl talk, you know?”
    Disappointed, the amorous biologists drifted away in search of other prospects, leaving Roberta alone with the new arrival. “Thanks!” the younger woman said, her voice clearly identifying her as an American: A college student, Roberta guessed, attending the conference on her own. “Gillian Taylor,” the grateful stranger identified herself.
    “Ronnie Neary,” Roberta supplied, shaking Gillian’s hand. “And no problem. We American chicks need to stick together, especially abroad.”
    “I’ll say!” Gillian agreed. Her rosy cheeks, pearly smile, and corn-fed good looks clearly marked her as a daughter of the American heartland. For a second, Roberta was briefly reminded of those robot housewives she and Seven had stumbled onto in Connecticut earlier that year—Gillian was that cheerleader pretty and well groomed—but it was also clear that there was a lively and genuine personality behind her cheerful auburn eyes. “Some of these wild and crazy geneticists are a little too eager to pass on their DNA, if you know what I mean.”
    “Tell me about it,” Roberta said sympathetically. She’d had to fend off a few unwelcome advances herself. “I think the male-to-female ratio at this conference is about ten to one. Reminds me of a science fiction convention I went to once; in fact, I think I recognize some of the same faces.”
    “You’re probably right,” Gillian laughed. The bartender swung by and she ordered herself a glass of wine. “So, are you here for the conference, too?”
    “Definitely,” Roberta said sincerely, before bending the truth a [56] lit tle. “Genetic engineering is my favorite pastime; at least, I hope it will be someday.”
    “Really?” Gillian asked, sounding intrigued. “I’m into marine biology myself, but I’m fascinated by the notion of preserving endangered species through cloning. There’s talk of starting a genetic repository, where we can save tissue samples from any of the hundreds of species threatened with extinction, from the bald eagle to the humpback whale. In theory, someday it might even be possible to bring back a species that has already died out, provided there’s enough leftover genetic material to work with. The Russians are even talking about resurrecting the woolly mammoth, using DNA harvested from frozen carcasses in Siberia.”
    Roberta was impressed by Gillian’s obvious passion and enthusiasm for wildlife preservation; she’d have to ask Gary Seven if this mammoth-cloning idea could really work. “Sounds like a worthwhile goal,” she said.
    “I think so,” Gillian stated. “Human progress has wiped out so many other species’ natural habitats; it would be nice if we could use our ingenuity and technology to actually preserve some of the other living creatures on the planet. Once a species goes extinct, it’s gone forever, at least until somebody invents a working time machine.” Her wine arrived, and she paused to take a sip. “How about you? What kind of projects are you working on?”
    “Oh, you know,” Roberta fudged, “your basic chromosome