There could be life all over the place! Anywhere it can possibly evolve from an Astrophage-like ancestor into the cells I have today. I don’t know what this “pre-Astrophage” organism would be like, but Astrophage is pretty darn tough. So any planet that can possibly support life of any kind would be likely to get it.

Rocky might be a long-lost relative. Very long. The trees outside my house back home are closer relatives to me than Rocky. But still.

Wow.

“Very good theory!” I say again.

“Thank,” Rocky says. I guess he’d worked that all out a while ago. But I still had to let it sink in.

For once, an aircraft carrier was the perfect place to be.

The Chinese Navy didn’t even question Stratt’s orders anymore. The higher-ups got sick of approving every action and finally just issued a general order to do whatever she said as long as it didn’t involve firing weapons.

We anchored off the coast of western Antarctica in the dead of night. The coastline sat in the extreme distance, visible only by moonlight. The entire continent had been evacuated of humans. Probably an overreaction—the Amundsen–Scott South Pole Station was 1,500 kilometers away. The people there would have been just fine. Still, no reason to take chances.

It was the largest naval exclusion zone in history. So big, even the U. S. Navy had to stretch itself thin to make sure no commercial ships entered the area.

Stratt spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Destroyer One, confirm observation status.”

“Ready,” came an American accent.

“Destroyer Two, confirm observation status.”

“Ready,” came a different American’s voice.

The scientific team stood together on the carrier’s flight deck, staring toward land. Dimitri and Lokken hung back away from the edge. Redell was off in Africa running the blackpanel farm.

And of course Stratt stood slightly ahead of everyone else.

Leclerc looked for all the world like a man being led to the gallows. “We’re almost ready,” he said with a sigh.

Stratt clicked on her walkie-talkie again. “Submarine One, confirm observation status.”

“Ready,” came the response.

Leclerc checked his tablet. “Three minutes… mark.”

“All ships: We are at Condition Yellow,” Stratt said into her radio. “Repeat: Condition Yellow. Submarine Two, confirm observation status.”

“Ready.”

I stood next to Leclerc. “This is unbelievable,” I said.

He shook his head. “I wish to God this wasn’t on my shoulders.” He fiddled with his tablet. “You know, Dr. Grace, I have spent my entire life as an unapologetic hippie. From my childhood in Lyon to my university days in Paris. I am a tree-hugging antiwar throwback to a bygone era of protest politics.”

I didn’t say anything. He was having the worst day of his life. If I could help by just listening, I’d do it.