INDIA, Wednesday 15:00

The wrapping on the hypodermic needle tore open with a satisfying rip. Doctor Hugh Fisher discarded the packaging and placed the needle on a frosted blue plastic tray. The young woman sitting in the chair before him watched it nervously with large brown eyes. Doctor Fisher held out his hand, and she obediently placed her forearm in his open palm. He rolled her upper sleeve clear of her elbow, tapped the timer on the table and began swabbing her skin with alcohol. The timer beeped a few seconds later. He set down the swap and picked up the needle. He smiled reassuringly at her.

She just nodded, her face blank. They never smiled back, and it bothered him. He smiled at them all the time. He was proud of his smile. It exuded warmth and trust. His smile alone could open a lot of doors, and more than just a few hearts. The blue scrubs he wore didn't hurt the image of the caring, concerned medial professional either. But every subject - no, every patient, he reminded himself, they're patients - simply sat there and let the doctors in his team do their work. The villagers just didn't care enough about them to do any more. At least they are cooperative, he thought.

His expert fingers found at once the vein he was seeking and he jabbed the needle into her arm. He pulled carefully on the pump, held the needle still to avoid leaving even the slightest bruise, filled the vial with blood, and withdrew the needle with a swift, practised motion. He twisted the needle from the plastic tube and dropped it in the scuffed yellow sharps bucket under the table. Doctor Fisher pulled a small plaster from the dispenser and unpeeled it against the tiny wound.

He smiled again. Nothing.

"We're all done here, thank you."

Nothing.

He pointed at the doorway.

"You can go now." Smile.

She stood, shrugged her sleeve back over her arm and left, pushing aside the white canvas tent flap. Outside, gathering clouds of yellow and grey fought against the afternoon sun. Fisher could see that the brightness of the early afternoon was already beginning to fade.

Before the tent flap had settled back into place another hand, gloved in green latex like his own, caught it and tied it back against the frame.

"That's better," said the new arrival in a faded texan accent, "It's stuffy in here."

"I don't notice it anymore, and besides it's just the same outside," said Fisher. He gave the recently vacated chair a shove with his foot and it skidded across the floor with a half-turn. "Take a pew, Doctor Andersson."

"That's what I hate most about you, you know that?" said Andersson. He unclipped his name badge from his scrubs and dropped it on the table. The badge landed face-up, displaying an over-exposed photograph of a man with a full head of hair which had long since departed, and his full name in large print, 'Doctor Erik Andersson'. Below this was the name of the company they both worked for; Geniosis. The company name was encircled by a stylised wreath of the dna double-helix. Below this, arranged to look like the smile of a cyclops, was the company slogan 'Making life better'.

"That and the stock options," continued Andersson. "You acclimatise so easy. India, Alaska, Peru, it's all the same to you."

Fisher shrugged. "It's a gift. And as for those stock options, I told you you should have joined the company sooner. You snooze, you lose, buddy."

Andersson gestured at the vial of blood on the tray.

"You need a hand with that?"

"Nah, I'm good. I'm just finishing up. That was the last one for the day. How'd you get on?" Fisher timed and dated the last barcode label from a sheet, then peeled it off and wrapped it around the vial. The vial he placed into a small medical cool box, filling the last of the forty-eight spaces. He sealed the box shut with a snap.

Fisher gestured to a crate behind Andersson. "Hey, can you pass me the shipping crate, this one's ready to go."

Andersson leaned back in his chair and lifted the lightweight container with one hand and swung it to the floor between them. He lifted the lid and Fisher settled the box into place among the insulation and webbing designed to protect it from the rigours of air transportation. Andersson dropped the lid down for his colleague to fasten. The top of the box displayed the same logo and branding as his ID card.

"How did you get on today, anyway?" Fisher asked Andersson.

"I had a couple no-shows today. It's a break in the records but they weren't the most promising candidates anyway."

"I mean treatments, not the project."

"Oh those? The usual simple stuff. I think the work we are doing here is making a difference. This village is in great shape now."

"That's what six months with the worlds finest will get you."

"Yeah, but do you have any idea what we can charge for these treatments in the States?"

"Sure I do. I also know about the malpractice suits you would face in the U.S."

"Ha, good point. Good thing those rules don't apply here. Besides, it's for the good of all mankind, right? Here we are, working hard and making life better."

Fisher stood up, snapped off his latex gloves and dropped them into a white bucket marked 'medical waste only'. He grinned.

"You're just thinking of how the stock options will make your life better once the company goes public."

"Don't be like that," Andersson chided. "I'm a good doctor, you know I am. And we do good work here. We do good work everywhere we get posted from Alaska to... to... what's a country beginning with 'z'?"

"Zimbabwe?"

"Yeah. So what's wrong with being able to make some money along the way? The company pays for good leads as well as results, and I have student loans to pay off. Is that so wrong? Or are you telling me you are giving back all the ten percent bonuses you've earned so far?"

"Probably not."

"Exactly! And why should you? You've done the hard work, and the world is a better place for it. No-one can even say you've violated the hippocratic oath. We've done no harm! So why not get paid for it?"

"Is it harm if they don't know about it?"

"Of course not."

"It's just, if someone stole from you it would still be theft, even if you didn't know anything was missing."

"Like what? A DVD?"

Fisher stared at the rear wall of the tent and shrugged.

"Sure. You hear that?"

"Hear what? But what if you had, like, ten copies of the same movie? What have you lost, really?"

"Technically, I've still lost a movie."

"Technically my ass. One disc has gone but you can still watch it anytime you want. I just saved you a little shelf space. No harm, no foul, right?"

Fisher walked to the tent flap and peered out. The sky was darker now, the yellow overcome by the grey, and a fat raindrops had begun to fall. Each one left a tiny dust crater where it struck the ground.

"I guess not."

The raindrops began to patter against the roof of the tent, and Fisher watched the villagers and the other Geniosis staff stationed here hurry for cover. Over the sound of the rain came the noise of an engine, and three black G-class Mercedes appeared on the main road. The sides of each vehicle were splattered with dried mud from earlier travels, and wipers swished back and forth in an endless, futile war against the rain.

Fisher beckoned to Andersson. "Benoit's here."

"Cool, he's delivering the bonus cheques in person now!"

Fisher smiled at the thought of the Frenchman handing out cheques with a smile on his face. It didn't fit with the style of a man who took himself and his work far too seriously.

Andersson appeared beside him, apparently thinking the same thing. "The work I can get behind, but his end game? That's just nuts."

Fisher shrugged. "What he believes is up to him. You don't have to agree with him, but you can't deny the good he has brought to villages like this."

"And a few embryos here and a couple of stem cells there is a tiny price to pay, right?"

"I hope so."

The Mercedes parked carefully next to the tent lining up exactly parallel with the canvas wall. Benoit must be driving, thought Fisher. Most of the staff here, especially his fellow brits, parked haphazardly anywhere they liked (although careful enough to keep the tent entrances clear), happy to be free from the constant vigilance of parking attendance and traffic cameras.

Benoit, however, always did everything with great care. Everything he did was so serious.

"He's like a tightly wound spring," Fisher had told Andersson once when he was pulling cold beers from a cryogenic storage unit he had co-opted into a makeshift fridge after another hot day. "I wonder if he ever snaps, or what he would be like if he did."

"I don't think that guy knows how to lose his temper," Andersson had replied.

A man emerged from the passenger seat. He had the build of a rugby player but the grace and poise of a sommelier. Some people seemed to fill the available space around them but Benoit seemed to be ashamed of the space he occupied. At a glance he gave the impression of a man smaller than his five feet ten inches would suggest.

Benoit retrieved a briefcase from the passenger seat, then gently closed the car door. Behind him Fisher saw other team members running from tents to vehicles, delivering their own samples while struggling to stay dry.

"Bonjour Monsieur's," he said as he approached.

"Bon-jor," said Fisher with no accent at all. "Ca va?"

Benoit smiled indulgently. "I am well, thank you, and while I appreciate your attempts at french my ears do not welcome it."

"So you do have a sense of humour," said Andersson, as he reached out to shake Benoit's hand. "I guess I owe you that drink," he said to Fisher over his shoulder. Benoit politely ignored his comments.

"You're here for the samples? We just packed them," said Fisher.

"Thank you, yes. But please do not refer to the great sacrifices these women have made as samples. They are not laboratory specimens. They are women. Important women. More important than you or me. Treat them with respect and treat the work with respect. This is not about money. Do you understand?"

"Of course, Mr Benoit," said Fisher.

"Calling it a sacrifice is a bit of a stretch, don't you think?" said Andersson.

Benoit fixed him with a stare. "There is a nobility in sacrifice, Mr Andersson, that you fail to comprehend. What they are giving us, what they are giving the world, has immeasurable value. You should respect that, even if you do not understand it. Please."

Andersson grinned again. "Hey man, what can I tell you? Nobody's perfect."

Benoit smiled at him. "No, they are not. Not yet."

Fisher pulled a clipboard free from the bungee cable that dangled by the tent opening and began scribbling. "Here are the latest updates for you. I'm just adding the last contribution."

"Is there anything significant to report?"

"I doubt it," said Fisher. The early finds here were the best, and they were catalogued and extracted weeks ago. You must be about ready for integration by now."

"Indeed. You must still be unaware of the most recent developments. We have reduced integration to only days."

"New hardware?" said Andersson.

"New software. Recent acquisitions have apparently given us access to better sequencing algorithms. This is not my area of expertise, you understand."

"Don't worry about it," said Andersson. "Bronze age myths ain't mine."

Benoit smiled again. "And yet here we are, working to a common goal."

A beeping sounded from inside his jacket. "I'm sorry I have to take this call," said Benoit as he held up one finger. "Une minute." He retrieved the satellite phone. "This is Benoit. Oui?"

"Where are you? Bangladesh?" said the voice on the phone. Although thousands of miles away the voice was crystal clear. If only his own mobile phone reception was this good in London or Paris, Benoit mused.

"India. Our work here is complete. We will be replacing the project teams with our colleagues at Medicine sans Frontier over the next week."

"And?"

"I have been reviewing the work with the senior staff here. Treatments are progressing well, and the final shipment of blood is being delivered tonight. You should receive it tomorrow."

"Any new developments?"

Benoit shook his head, as though the person on the phone could see him. "Nothing new. It seems the first-fruits here will be our best hope."

A pause. "Ok, more samples would have been better but I think we can work with what we have."

"Please don't call them samples."

"My apologies, Mr Benoit. I forget that you approach this work with a less, uh, academic mindset. I am only speaking in scientific terms. Forgive me."

"Very well."

"And what about the other, uh, candidates?" said the voice.

"We have identified strong matches in Indonesia, East Africa and Australia. The Australian matches are of both European and Aboriginal descent. I know you have extensive records from northern Europe already but it seemed sensible to me to cross reference for drift since the nineteenth century."

"Benoit, you have the mind of a detective."

"Merci. Have you made any progress on the remaining piece?"

"We have. I was actually hoping you could leave tonight."

"Tonight? But of course. You have found her?"

"Would you believe she was hiding in plain sight the whole time? Still, we found her in the end."

"Where is she? Who is she?"

The voice on the phone told him.

"Unexpected," said Benoit "Although perhaps not considering population movements. I shall leave at once."

Benoit ended the call. He missed his old flip phone. He enjoyed snapping it shut to end a call. It conveyed authority and purpose, two qualities her adored in himself.

"Doctor Fisher, Doctor Andersson? Thank you for your work here. Please oversee the remaining shipments and liaise with Medicine sans Frontier for the handover. I must depart at once."

"You found another piece?" said Fisher.

"The last piece."

"Where was it? Ethiopia? Sudan?"

"London."