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starting with the most available research subjects, their own children. The geneticists had believed themselves to be giving their children a survival advantage, not much different than the augmented muscles, boosted intelligence, or enhanced beauty common to the rich. It hadn’t quite worked out like that. Instinctively understanding your neighbor might aid you, but it disconcerted the neighbor. Many, many people do not wish to be understood. They would rather that their feelings and intentions remained hidden.
    When the “Sensitives” encountered notoriety, job discrimination, and the inevitable hate crimes, most of them reacted to the news frenzy by disappearing into anonymity. Marbet Grant, daughter of the brazenly publicity seeking Dr. Eric Grant, had merely moved to the moon.
    She said, “Major, let’s not fence. What do you want me to do?”
    “I want you to go on a scientific expedition to the far end of the galaxy. A military science expedition. There’s something there that we’re interested in, and we’re putting together an expedition to study it.”
    “But you don’t need a Sensitive for that.”
    He noted that she used the word, an ordinary one turned pejorative through prejudice, without irony. “No. But there’s a chance, not certain but definite, that the expedition may also capture the first live Faller ever. If so, we want you to be there to help interpret whatever it says or does.”
    He had succeeded in astonishing her. She said, “I thought that in twenty years of war, no one has captured a live Failer.”
    “No. Not even a Faller ship. At the mere possibility they blow up themselves, their crafts, their colonies, and their civilians. If they have civilians.”
    “And no one has communicated with the Fallers, either, have they?”
    “No.” Humanity didn’t even know why it was at war. The Fallers didn’t negotiate, warn, convey terms, or surrender. To humans, they had exhibited only two behaviors: killing and dying.
    “Then how—”
    “I can’t tell you that. There’s a plan, and it may or may not work. But if it does, and we get a live Faller, we want you to be there. To give us an edge in communicating with it.”
    “I’m sure you already know, Major, that communication signals are always species-specific, and usually culture-specific. What I do is interpret human behavior. Also, after direct observation of them and many trials and errors, the behavior of alien species. But those alien species have all been DNA-based, and remarkably similar to our own. The ‘galaxy-seeding theory,’ in fact. An enormous amount of behavior grows out of genetic imperatives. We know from charred corpses that the Fallers are not seeded from DNA like our own. And there is no reason to think I would be any better at reading Faller behavior than would any other random human. You, for instance.”
    Kaufman smiled. “Thank you. But we will provide direct observation for you to build on, plus trial-and-error. It should be, if nothing else, a fascinating experience for you. Can you pack and leave with me now?”
    She laughed, a laugh full and deep for that slight frame. “You knew I would say yes. You’re something of a Sensitive yourself, Major.”
    “No, Ms. Grant. I have no particular talents.”
    She studied him for a long minute. “You actually believe that.”
    Kaufman didn’t answer. She might be a Sensitive, but he was better acquainted with the recesses of his own mind. All she could read was the outer packaging. Still, with the Fallers, perhaps that would be better than nothing.
    Perhaps.

FOUR
    ABOARD THE ALAN B. SHEPARD
    W ho’s arrived on Mars so far?” General Gordon asked. He was again feeding and watering whatever lived in the mesh cage in his underground office. Lyle Kaufman wondered what animal actually lived under all those artificial plastic shavings. So far, the shavings hadn’t as much as rustled.
    “Dr. Capelo’s arrived, with his children and their nurse. Marbet