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could lie dormant through extremes of heat or cold； and over great spans of time。。。then suddenly switch itself on。 But it could just as well have been a prion； which was an even less lifelike mechanism。
Some people； credible scientists； thought Corfu might have evolved from the same pestilence that Moses had supposedly called down upon the Egyptians。 Given the mutation rate； its symptoms might have changed from the boils described in the Bible。 Other scientists scrutinized the terrible plague which felled Athens in the fourth centuryB 。C。E。 In hisHistory of the Jews； Josephus alluded to； but had not detailed； a plague in the century before Augustus Caesar came to rule。 Or maybe one of Alexander the Great's soldiers had brought it home。 One way or another； the contagion must have traveled along some land or sea route during some empire。
The bottom line was that the Year Zero bones from Jerusalem had remained mute。 They had yielded not one clue。 But now Miranda had an idea。
〃The call is out for Year Zero material that might be lying around in private collections or museums；〃 Miranda explained to Golding。 〃But chances are we're not going to get anything more to work with。 So I thought； why not make the bones work for us？〃
〃Go on；〃 said Golding。
〃Clone them。〃
Golding was quiet a minute。 〃You mean to bring the bones back to life？〃
〃I know it sounds crazy。〃
〃Crazy is not the word； Miranda。〃 Cloning was precisely what Golding had made this trip to stop。 Before she could say more； Miranda shot ahead with her notion。
〃I've found a way to ramp up the DNA；〃 she said。 〃It's there。 It's in the bones。 The genetic signature of probably four hundred different men right here on these tables and shelves and in these drawers。 If we restored them to life； we might find some evidence of the virus in its original state。〃
〃It would never work；〃 Golding retorted。 She needed to demolish this fancy； first。 Then she would drop the bigger bomb。 A moratorium on all human cloning research。 People needed to be focused on the basics； not fiddling around on the far edges。 〃Even if you could clone them； the virus wouldn't be resurrected inside them。〃
〃Not the virus；〃 said Miranda。 〃Its genetic shadow。 The genetic scars of the disease。〃
〃The antibody？〃
〃Or the shadow of an antibody。 It might lie in the memory T…cells。 If any of these men were a survivor of the disease； his cells would hold a permanent memory of the virus structure。 It would bee part of the code； to defend against future attacks。 Or it could be hidden in the junk DNA somewhere； zipped inside reverse transcriptease with other inert viral genomes。〃
〃Shadows；〃 murmured Golding。 She was not pleased。 She had flown all this way to lecture Miranda； to grind into her that Thou shalt not do evil in order to do good。 But what if she was wrong？ 〃I don't know about this；〃 she said。 〃It sounds so desperate。 Like an excuse。 A fishing expedition in the dirt。〃
〃I was thinking more along the lines of a manned probe into the Year Zero；〃 said Miranda。 〃But you're right； it is desperate。 We have to try everything； don't we？〃
〃Everything？〃 said Golding。 〃What does that mean？〃
〃Elise； you're so pale。 e over here。 Sit down。〃
Golding let herself be guided。 She sat。 Miranda brought her a paper cup of water。 〃Your heart？〃 she asked。
Golding patted Miranda's hand。 〃I'm just tired。〃 But it seemed the world kept on dropping out from under her feet。
8
Asia
WINTER
North from Kathmandu the highway lay silenced。 Truck and bus drivers had walked away from their stalled vehicles。 Roadside vendors had packed up their sweets and cigarettes and Tiger Balm。 Now their little shanties stood empty。 Nathan Lee was the sole traffic。 Going up； he pushed the ponderous； overloaded mountain bike。 Descending； he smelled rubber and wished for extra brake pads。
It was not that there were no people。 Villagers and animals meandered antlike on the terraced hillsides。 Their sounds carried through the valley air； the blacksmith's hammer； cows lowing； the temple bell； children's laughter。 They made him ache for a place and people of his own。 Nights he lay on the dirt by his bike and watched the distant lights of candles and fires wink out。 One afternoon； he looked down from a bend and spied boys playing soccer on a flat section of the road。 But they were long gone by his arrival。
In his role as cannibal and leper； Nathan Lee had e to take loathing for granted。 This was different。 These people didn't know him except as an outsider in the far distance。 It wasn't his reputation that frightened them； but the mere approach of a stranger。 He had never known Nepalis to act that way。
He held on to his theory that the new king had made up the plague to scare his people out of democracy and back into the fourteenth century。 It wouldn't be the first time。 Pol Pot had done it in Cambodia； Hoxha in Soviet Albania； bin Laden with Islam。 The fact was he had no proof either way。 Mile after mile； he saw no sign of medical clinics or health workers。 He saw no sick people。 No stacks of dead。 It was so much less plicated to believe the plague was imaginary。
Nearing the border； Nathan Lee kept anticipating soldiers。 If Nepal had locked itself in feudal antiquity； then someone had to be keeping the outside world at bay。 While he pedaled； he worked up an elaborate story to bluff his way through。 But when he got to the crossing； there was not a sentry in sight； even on the Chinese side。 He simply pedaled across the bright yellow stripe in the middle of the Friendship Bridge and exchanged one country for the next。 First an imaginary plague； now an imaginary border。
The river thundered below； fed by Himalayan snow。 Langur monkeys barked and sprang through green rhododendron forests glued to the gorge walls。 A large red flag of the People's Republic hung in limp tatters。 Nathan Lee didn't like the looks of that。 It was one thing for a tiny kingdom to fall into neglect。 But a whole empire？ Maybe； he considered； the Bamboo Curtain had fallen。 Maybe China was fracturing into independent states。 Maybe they'd given Tibet back to the Dalai Lama for his dream of an Asian Switzerland。 The French woman's word came back to him。 Shambala。
A mile further up the steep road； the town of Tingri perched upon a mountainside。 As he pushed his bicycle along the single； winding street； there was not a movement or sound。 It was not like in Nepal where windows and doors were tightly shut while entire villages waited for him to pass on。 There you could smell the life。 Here the doors and shutters flapped open。 Tingri didn't smell like a town。 It smelled like a cold rock。 Not a soul stirred。 Oddly； that gave him hope。 In the plague chronicles he'd read； from Thucydides to Camus； there was always some stubborn old woman or a simpleton or blind man who remained behind。 With his mother in Africa； he'd passed through ghost towns ravaged by AIDS； and there was always someone left。
The door to the customs post yawned wide。 Inside the floor was littered with application forms that had blown from the counter。 The bureaucrats had been in such a rush they'd even left their rubber stamps。 On a whim； Nathan Lee took out his book of fairytales and stamped a Chinese visa on a blank page。 Grace would like that。
He looted a bit and found a pair of quilted pants to go with the Jagged Edge parka he'd stolen from a trek shop in Kathmandu。 Then he continued upward and north。 The air poured cold through the shadows of the gorge。 On his first day in Tibet he more than doubled his altitude。
Long ago； when he was seventeen years old； Nathan Lee had taken this very road on his way to Everest with his father。 Just as he remembered； the dirt road was carved from cliffsides and skirted waterfalls。 But rockslides had not been cleared away in months。 Ominously； certain sections looked dynamited； as if the Chinese were trying to close the door behind them。 There could be only one reason they would do such a thing。 His high hopes faded。 Maybe the plague was real。
His progress up the canyon became a crawl。 The larger rockslides forced multiple trips back and forth to transfer his food； gear； and bike。 The rubble shifted； threatening to spill him hundreds of feet to the river。 Every slide cost him hours。 One day he covered less than a mile。 At that rate； with a mere 12；000 miles to go； he might as well have stayed in jail。 〃God damn it；〃 he shouted at the empty sky。 His words rounded back on him in echoes。
Every day was a fight to keep his spirits up。 He reminded himself that the slow pace was allowing his body to acclimate to the thin air and dropping temperatures。 His aching muscles were proof of his convalescence。 Legs； lungs； and calluses： he was regaining his body。
AT LAST； after a fortnight in the bleak gorge； Nathan Lee reached the high side of the Himalayan barrier。 He came to the Chinese highway at 12；000 feet above sea level。 It was a glorified dirt road running from west to east； built to supply soldiers on the far borders and transport ore to the interior。 Tibetan pilgrims used it on their overland treks to the holy mountain Kailas。 Tourists rode it to Lhasa。 This morning； as far as the eye could see； the highway was em