“How much do you know about your planet’s genetic background, Your Grace?”

“No more than any other layman, I imagine,” he said after a moment. “Even our doctors were several centuries behind your own in that regard before the Alliance, of course, but we Graysons have been aware of the need to keep track of our bloodlines and avoid inbreeding since the Founding. Aside from that and the genealogical and family health history information my own and my wives’ physicians have requested from us over the years, I’m afraid I know very little.”

He paused, watching her intently, and she felt the unasked “Why?” floating in the air between them.

“Very well, Your Grace. I’ll try to keep this as simple and nontechnical as I can, but I have something I need to show you.”

She switched on the holo unit, and a holographic representation of a chromosome appeared in the air above the coffee table. It didn’t look very much like an actual magnified chromosome would have, for it was a schematic rather than visually representative, yet Sullivan’s eyes flickered with interest as he realized he was looking at the blueprint for a human life. Or, to be more precise, a portion of the blueprint for a human life. Then Allison tapped a command into the holo unit, and the image changed, zooming in on a single, small portion of the schematic and magnifying that portion hugely.

“This is the long arm of what we call Chromosome Seven, Your Grace,” she told him. “Specifically, this—” she tapped a macro on the holo unit and a cursor flashed, indicating a point on the image “—is a gene with a long and sometimes ugly history in medical science. A single gene mutation at this site produces a disease known as cystic fibrosis, which drastically alters the secretory function of the lungs and pancreas.”

It was also, she did not mention, a disease which had been eradicated over a millennium and a half ago on planets with modern medical science… and one which still turned up from time to time on Grayson.

“I see,” Sullivan said after a moment, then quirked one eyebrow at her. “And the reason for telling me this, My Lady?” he inquired politely.

“The reason for telling you, Your Grace, is that my research and mapping suggest quite conclusively to me that this portion of the genetic code of your people—” she jabbed an index finger at the cursor in the holo image “—was deliberately altered almost a thousand years ago.”

“Altered?” Sullivan sat upright in his chair.

“Altered, Your Grace. Engineered.” Allison drew a deep breath. “In other words, Sir, you and all your people have been genetically modified.”

She sat very still, awaiting the potential eruption, but Sullivan only gazed at her for several seconds without speaking. Then he leaned back, reclaimed his teacup, and took a deliberate sip. She wasn’t certain if he was buying time for shattered thoughts to settle or simply deliberately defusing the tension, but then he set saucer and cup back in his lap and cocked his head.