“You’re well informed,” Alyce said.

“I like to know what I’m flying into.”

Joan nodded, suppressing a smile. “Very wise. But Rabaul hasn’t suffered a major eruption in more than a thousand years. It would be a little unlucky if it were to come just when you happen to be within a few hundred kilometers, uh—”

“I’m Bex. Bex Scott.”

Bex — for Rebecca? — Scott. Of course. Alison Scott was one of the conference’s more high-profile attendees, a very media-friendly genetic programmer with a brace of beautifully engineered daughters. “Bex, the gunk outside the window really is from the forest fires. We aren’t in any danger.”

Bex nodded, but Joan could see that under her bluster she wasn’t reassured.

“Well,” Joan said brightly, “if we are all going to get crisped in a volcanic caldera, we ought to get to know each other first. My name’s Joan Useb. I’m a paleontologist.”

Bex said brightly, “A fossil hunter?”

“Near enough. And this lady—”

“My name’s Alyce Sigurdardottir.” Alyce extended a slim hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Bex.”

“Sorry, but your names are kind of strange,” Bex said, staring.

Joan shrugged. “Useb is a San name — or an anglicized version; the real thing is pretty much unpronounceable. My family has deep roots in Africa, very deep roots.”

“And I,” said Alyce, “had an American father and an Icelandic mother. A military romance. Long story.”

Joan said, “We live in a mixed-up world. Humans have always been a wandering species. Names and genes scattered all over the place.”

Bex frowned at Alyce. “I know your name, I think. Chimpanzees?”

Alyce nodded. “I took over some of Jane Goodall’s work.”

Joan said, “Alyce is one of a long line of prominent female primatologists. I always wondered why women did so well in the field.”