Free Yesterday's Kin by Nancy Kress Page B

Lisa said, “Dr. Jenner—”
    The other woman gestured at a far door. Before she could speak, Noah flung the door open. His mother sat at a small table, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee she wasn’t drinking. Her eyes widened.
    Noah said, “Mom—why the fuck didn’t you ever tell me I was adopted?”
    MARIANNE
    Evan and Marianne sat in his room, drinking sixteenyear-old single-malt Scotch. She seldom drank but knew that Evan often did. Nor had she ever gone before to his quarters in the   Embassy , which were identical to hers: ten-foot-square room with a bed, chest of drawers, small table, and two chairs. She sat on one of the straight-backed, utilitarian chairs while Evan lounged on the bed. Most of the scientists had brought with them a few items from home, but Evan’s room was completely impersonal. No art, no framed family photos, no decorative pillows, not even a coffee mug or extra doughnut carried off from the cafeteria.
    “You live like a monk,” Marianne said, immediately realizing how drunk she must be to say that. She took another sip of Scotch.
    “Why didn’t you ever tell him?” Evan said.
    She put down her glass and pulled at the skin on her face. The skin felt distant, as if it belonged to somebody else.
    “Oh, Evan, how to answer that? First Noah was too little to understand. Kyle and I adopted him in some sort of stupid effort to save the marriage. I wasn’t thinking straight—living with an alcoholic will do that, you know. If there was one stupid B-movie scene of alcoholic and wife that we missed, I don’t know what it was. Shouting, pleading, pouring away all the liquor in the house, looking for Kyle in bars at two a.m. . . . anyway. Then Kyle died and I was trying to deal with that and the kids and chasing tenure and there was just too much chaos and fragility to add another big revelation. Then somehow it got too late, because Noah would have asked why he hadn’t been told before, and then somehow . . . it all just got away from me.”
    “And Elizabeth and Ryan never told him?”
    “Evidently not. We yell a lot about politics and such but on a personal level, we’re a pretty reticent family.” She waved her hand vaguely at the room. “Although not as reticent as you.”
    Evan smiled. “I’m British of a certain class.”
    “You’re an enigma.”
    “No, that was the Russians. Enigmas wrapped in riddles.” But a shadow passed suddenly behind his eyes.
    “What do you—”
    “Marianne, let me fill you in on the bits and pieces of news that came in while you were with Noah. First, from the Denebs: They’re bringing aboard the   Embassy   any members of their ‘clan’—that’s what the translator is calling the L7 haplogroup—who want to come. But you already know that. Second, the—”
    “How many?”
    “How many have we identified or how many want to come here?”
    “Both.” The number of L7 haplotypes had jumped exponentially once they had the first few and could trace family trees through the female line.
    “Sixty-three identified, including the three that Gina flew to Georgia to test. Most of the haplogroup may still be in Africa, or it may have largely died out. Ten of those want to visit the   Embassy .” He hesitated. “So far, only Noah wants to stay.”
    Marianne’s hand paused, glass halfway to her mouth. “To   stay ? He didn’t tell me that. How do you know?”
    “After Noah . . . left you this afternoon, Smith came to the lab with that message.”
    “I see.” She didn’t. She had been in her room, pulling herself together after the harrowing interview with her son. Her adopted son. She hadn’t been able to tell Noah anything about his parentage because she hadn’t known anything: sealed adoption records. Was Noah the way he was because of his genes? Or because of the way she’d raised him? Because of his peer group? His astrological sign? Theories went in and out of fashion, and none of them explained personality.
    She said, “What