Deception Point (14 page)

•   •   •

Rachel’s legs felt weak beneath her. “I can’t . . . believe it,” she said, turning the fossil in her hands. “I never thought . . .”

“Give it some time to sink in,” Tolland said, grinning. “Took me twenty-four hours to get my feet back under me.”

“I see we have a newcomer,” said an uncharacteristically tall Asian man, walking over to join them.

Corky and Tolland seemed to deflate instantly with the man’s arrival. Apparently the moment of magic had been shattered.

“Dr. Wailee Ming,” the man said, introducing himself. “Chairman of paleontology at UCLA.”

The man carried himself with the pompous rigidity of renaissance
aristocracy, continuously stroking the out-of-place bow tie that he wore beneath his knee-length camel-hair coat. Wailee Ming was apparently not one to let a remote setting come in the way of his prim appearance.

“I’m Rachel Sexton.” Her hand was still trembling as she shook Ming’s smooth palm. Ming was obviously another of the President’s civilian recruits.

“It would be my pleasure, Ms. Sexton,” the paleontologist said, “to tell you anything you want to know about these fossils.”

“And plenty you
don’t
want to know,” Corky grumbled.

Ming fingered his bow tie. “My paleontologic specialty is extinct Arthropoda and Mygalomorphae. Obviously the most impressive characteristic of this organism is—”

“—is that it’s from another friggin’ planet!” Corky interjected.

Ming scowled and cleared his throat. “The most impressive characteristic of this organism is that it fits
perfectly
into our Darwinian system of terrestrial taxonomy and classification.”

Rachel glanced up.
They can classify this thing?
“You mean kingdom, phylum, species, that sort of thing?”

“Exactly,” Ming said. “This species, if found on earth, would be classified as the order Isopoda and would fall into a class with about two thousand species of lice.”

“Lice?”
she said. “But it’s huge.”

“Taxonomy is not size specific. House cats and tigers are related. Classification is about physiology. This species is clearly a louse: It has a flattened body, seven pairs of legs, and a reproductive pouch identical in structure to wood lice, pill bugs, beach hoppers, sow bugs, and gribbles. The other fossils clearly reveal more specialized—”

“Other fossils?”

Ming glanced at Corky and Tolland. “She doesn’t know?”

Tolland shook his head.

Ming’s face brightened instantly.

“Ms. Sexton, you haven’t heard the good part yet.”

“There are more fossils,” Corky interjected, clearly trying to steal Ming’s thunder.
“Lots
more.” Corky scurried over to a large manila envelope and retrieved a folded sheet of oversized paper. He spread it out on the desk in front of Rachel. “After
we drilled some cores, we dropped an x-ray camera down. This is a graphic rendering of the cross section.”

Rachel looked at the x-ray printout on the table, and immediately had to sit down. The three-dimensional cross section of the meteorite was packed with dozens of these bugs.

“Paleolithic records,” Ming said, “are usually found in heavy concentrations. Often times, mud slides trap organisms en masse, covering nests or entire communities.”

Corky grinned. “We think the collection in the meteorite represents a nest.” He pointed to one of the bugs on the printout. “And there’s mommy.”

Rachel looked at the specimen in question, and her jaw dropped. The bug looked to be about two feet long.

“Big-ass louse, eh?” Corky said.

Rachel nodded, dumbstruck, as she pictured lice the size of bread loaves wandering around on some distant planet.

“On earth,” Ming said, “our bugs stay relatively small because gravity keeps them in check. They can’t grow larger than their exoskeletons can support. However, on a planet with diminished gravity, insects could evolve to much greater dimensions.”

“Imagine swatting mosquitoes the size of condors,” Corky joked, taking the core sample from Rachel and slipping it into his pocket.

Ming scowled. “You had better not be stealing that!”

“Relax,” Corky said. “We’ve got eight tons more where this came from.”

Rachel’s analytical mind churned through the data before her. “But how can life from space be so similar to life on earth? I mean, you’re saying this bug
fits
in our Darwinian classification?”

“Perfectly,” Corky said. “And believe it or not, a lot of astronomers have predicted that extraterrestrial life would be very similar to life on earth.”

“But why?” she demanded. “This species came from an entirely different environment.”

“Panspermia.” Corky smiled broadly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Panspermia is the theory that life was
seeded
here from another planet.”

Rachel stood up. “You’re losing me.”

Corky turned to Tolland. “Mike, you’re the primordial seas guy.”

Tolland looked happy to take over. “Earth was once a lifeless planet, Rachel. Then suddenly, as if overnight, life exploded. Many biologists think the explosion of life was the magical result of an ideal mixture of elements in the primordial seas. But we’ve never been able to reproduce that in a lab, so religious scholars have seized that failure as proof of God, meaning life could not exist unless God touched the primordial seas and infused them with life.”

“But we astronomers,” Corky declared, “came up with another explanation for the overnight explosion of life on earth.”

“Panspermia,” Rachel said, now understanding what they were talking about. She had heard the panspermia theory before but didn’t know its name. “The theory that a meteorite splashed into the primordial soup, bringing the first seeds of microbial life to earth.”

“Bingo,” Corky said. “Where they percolated and sprang to life.”

“And if
that’s
true,” Rachel said, “then the underlying ancestry of earth’s life-forms and extraterrestrial life-forms would be identical.”

“Double bingo.”

Panspermia,
Rachel thought, still barely able to grasp the implications. “So, not only does this fossil confirm that life exists elsewhere in the universe, but it practically
proves
panspermia . . . that life on earth was seeded from elsewhere in the universe.”

“Triple bingo.” Corky flashed her an enthusiastic nod. “Technically, we may
all
be extraterrestrials.” He put his fingers over his head like two antennas, crossed his eyes, and wagged his tongue like some kind of insect.

Tolland looked at Rachel with a pathetic grin. “And this guy’s the pinnacle of our evolution.”

R
achel Sexton felt a dreamlike mist swirling around her as she walked across the habisphere, flanked by Michael Tolland. Corky and Ming followed close behind.

“You okay?” Tolland asked, watching her.

Rachel glanced over, giving a weak smile. “Thanks. It’s just . . . so much.”

Her mind reeled back to the infamous 1996 NASA discovery—ALH84001—a Mars meteorite that NASA claimed contained fossil traces of bacterial life. Sadly, only weeks after NASA’s triumphant press conference, several civilian scientists stepped forward with proof that the rock’s “signs of life” were really nothing more than kerogen produced by terrestrial contamination. NASA’s credibility had taken a huge hit over that gaffe. The
New York Times
took the opportunity to sarcastically redefine the agency’s acronym: NASA—N
OT
A
LWAYS
S
CIENTIFICALLY
A
CCURATE.

In that same edition, paleobiologist Stephen Jay Gould summed up the problems with ALH84001 by pointing out that the evidence in it was chemical and inferential, rather than “solid,” like an unambiguous bone or shell.

Now, however, Rachel realized NASA had found irrefutable proof. No skeptical scientist could possibly step forward and question
these
fossils. NASA was no longer touting blurry, enlarged photos of alleged microscopic bacteria—they were offering up real meteorite samples where bio-organisms visible to the naked eye had been embedded in the stone.
Foot-long lice!

Rachel had to laugh when she realized she’d been a childhood fan of a song by David Bowie that referred to “spiders from Mars.” Few would have guessed how close the androgynous British pop star would come to foreseeing astrobiology’s greatest moment.

As the distant strains of the song ran through Rachel’s mind, Corky hurried up behind her. “Has Mike bragged about his documentary yet?”

Rachel replied, “No, but I’d love to hear about it.”

Corky slapped Tolland on the back. “Go for it, big boy. Tell her why the President decided that the most important moment in science history should be handed over to a snorkeling TV star.”

Tolland groaned. “Corky, if you don’t mind?”

“Fine, I’ll explain,” Corky said, prying his way in between them. “As you probably know, Ms. Sexton, the President will be giving a press conference tonight to tell the world about the meteorite. Because the vast majority of the world is made up of half-wits, the President asked Mike to come onboard and dumb everything down for them.”

“Thanks, Corky,” Tolland said. “Very nice.” He looked at Rachel. “What Corky’s trying to say is that because there’s so much scientific data to convey, the President thought a short visual documentary about the meteorite might help make the information more accessible to mainstream America, many of whom, oddly, don’t have advanced degrees in astrophysics.”

“Did you know,” Corky said to Rachel, “that I’ve just learned our nation’s President is a closet fan of
Amazing Seas?”
He shook his head in mock disgust. “Zach Herney—the ruler of the free world—has his secretary tape Mike’s program so he can decompress after a long day.”

Tolland shrugged. “The man’s got taste, what can I say?”

Rachel was now starting to realize just how masterful the President’s plan was. Politics was a media game, and Rachel could already imagine the enthusiasm and scientific credibility the face of Michael Tolland on-screen would bring to the press conference. Zach Herney had recruited the ideal man to endorse his little NASA coup. Skeptics would be hard-pressed to challenge the President’s data if it came from the nation’s top television science personality as well as several respected civilian scientists.

Corky said, “Mike’s already taken video depositions from all of us civilians for his documentary, as well as from most of the top NASA specialists. And I’ll bet my National Medal that
you’re
next on his list.”

Rachel turned and eyed him. “Me? What are you talking about? I have no credentials. I’m an intelligence liaison.”

“Then why did the President send you up here?”

“He hasn’t told me yet.”

An amused grin crossed Corky’s lips. “You’re a White House intelligence liaison who deals in clarification and authentication of data, right?”

“Yes, but nothing scientific.”

“And
you’re the daughter of the man who built a campaign around criticizing the money NASA has wasted in space?”

Rachel could hear it coming.

“You have to admit, Ms. Sexton,” Ming chimed in, “a deposition from you would give this documentary a whole new dimension of credibility. If the President sent you up here, he must want you to participate somehow.”

Rachel again flashed on William Pickering’s concern that she was being used.

Tolland checked his watch. “We should probably head over,” he said, motioning toward the center of the habisphere. “They should be getting close.”

“Close to what?” Rachel asked.

“Extraction time. NASA is bringing the meteorite to the surface. It should be up any time now.”

Rachel was stunned. “You guys are actually
removing
an eight-ton rock from under two hundred feet of solid ice?”

Corky looked gleeful. “You didn’t think NASA was going to leave a discovery like this buried in the ice, did you?”

“No, but . . . ,” Rachel had seen no signs of large-scale excavation equipment anywhere inside the habisphere. “How the heck is NASA planning on getting the meteorite out?”

Corky puffed up. “No problem. You’re in a room full of rocket scientists!”

“Blather,” Ming scoffed, looking at Rachel. “Dr. Marlinson enjoys flexing other people’s muscles. The truth is that everyone here was stumped about how to get the meteorite out. It was
Dr. Mangor
who proposed a viable solution.”

“I haven’t met Dr. Mangor.”

“Glaciologist from the University of New Hampshire,” Tolland said. “The fourth and final civilian scientist recruited by the President. And Ming here is correct, it was Mangor who figured it out.”

“Okay,” Rachel said. “So what did this guy propose?”

“Gal,” Ming corrected, sounding smitten. “Dr. Mangor is a
woman.”

“Debatable,” Corky grumbled. He looked over at Rachel. “And by the way, Dr. Mangor is going to hate
you.”

Tolland shot Corky an angry look.

“Well, she will!” Corky defended. “She’ll hate the competition.”

Rachel felt lost. “I’m sorry? Competition?”

“Ignore him,” Tolland said. “Unfortunately, the fact that Corky is a total moron somehow escaped the National Science Committee. You and Dr. Mangor will get along fine. She is a professional. She’s considered one of the world’s top glaciologists. She actually moved to Antarctica for a few years to study glacial movement.”

“Odd,” Corky said, “I heard UNH took up a donation and sent her there so they could get some peace and quiet on campus.”

“Are you aware,” Ming snapped, seeming to have taken the comment personally, “that Dr. Mangor almost died down there! She got lost in a storm and lived on seal blubber for five weeks before anyone found her.”

Corky whispered to Rachel, “I heard no one was looking.”

T
he limousine ride back from the CNN studio to Sexton’s office felt long for Gabrielle Ashe. The senator sat across from her, gazing out the window, obviously gloating over the debate.