Daklar neither nodded nor shook her head, but Mary knew she had hit upon it. “Well, then,” Mary said. She had no idea what, if anything, Ponter had said to Daklar about his relationship with Mary during the first time he’d come to Mary’s world, and...
...and surely he’d had no opportunity to speak to Daklar of the relationship that had deepened since, but...
But Daklar was a woman. She might weigh over two hundred pounds, and she might be able to bench-press twice that amount, and she might have soft fur on her cheeks.
But shewas a woman, a female of genusHomo, and she could doubtless read things as clearly as Mary could. If Daklar hadn’t known about Ponter’s interest in Mary before today, she surely did now. Not just because of the blindingly obvious-that Ponter had brought Mary to fill the role of his dead woman-mate at his daughter’s bonding-but in how Ponter looked at Mary, how he stood close to her. His posture, his body language, surely spoke as eloquently to Daklar as they did to Mary.
“Well, then, indeed,” said Daklar, echoing Mary’s words.
Mary looked back at the wedding party. Ponter was working on the deer corpse with Jasmel and Tryon and Bal, but he kept glancing in this direction. Had he been a Gliksin, perhaps Mary would have been unable to read his expression at such a distance, but Ponter’s features, and his emotions, were writ large across his broad face. He was clearly nervous about the conversation Mary and Daklar were having-and well he should be, thought Mary.
She turned her attention back to the female Neanderthal standing before her, arms crossed in front of her broad, but not particularly busty, chest. Mary had noticed that none of the Neanderthal women she’d met were, well,stacked, the way Louise Benoît was. She supposed that with males and females living mostly separate lives, secondary sexual characteristics wouldn’t be as important.
“He is of my kind,” said Daklar, simply.
And, indeed he was, thought Mary,but ...
But.
She refused to meet Daklar’s eyes, and, without another word, Mary Vaughan, woman, Canadian,Homo sapiens, walked back to join the group stripping the reddish brown hide from the carcass of the animal that one of them had killed apparently with nothing more than thrusts from his spear.
Mary had to admit the meal was excellent. The meat was juicy and flavorful, and the vegetables were tasty. It reminded her a bit of a trip she’d made two years ago to New Zealand for a conference; everyone had gone out for a Maorihangi feast.
But soon enough it was over, and, to Mary’s astonishment, Tryon left with his father. Mary leaned close to Ponter. “Why are Tryon and Jasmel separating?” she asked.
Ponter looked surprised. “It is still two days until Two next become One.”
Mary remembered the misgivings she’d had walking down the aisle with Colm, all those years ago. If she’d been given days for second thoughts, she might have backed out; after all, she could have gotten a real Roman Catholic annulment-not one of the fake ones she’d someday have to get-if the marriage hadn’t been consummated.
But...
Two days!
“So...” said Mary, slowly, and then, gaining her courage: “So you won’t want to go back to my world until after that’s over, right?”
“It is a very important time for...” He trailed off, and Mary wondered if he had intended to finish his sentence with “my family,” or with “us”-for his kind. It did, after all, make all the difference in the worlds...
Mary took a deep breath. “Do you want me to go home before then?”
Ponter took a deep breath of his own, and-
“Daddy, Daddy!” Little Megameg ran up to her father.
He bent down to be at her eye height. “Yes, sweetie?”
“Jasmel is going to take me home now.”
Ponter hugged his daughter. “I will miss you,” he said.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, Megameg.”
She put her little hands on her little hips.
“Sorry,” said Ponter, raising a hand. “I love you, too, Mega.”
The girl smiled. “When Two become One, can we go on another picnic with Daklar?”
Mary felt her heart jump.
Ponter looked up at Mary, then quickly lowered his head enough that his browridge concealed his eyes from her. “We will see about that,” he said.
Jasmel and Daklar came close. Ponter straightened up and turned to his elder daughter. “I am sure you and Tryon will be very happy.”
Again, Mary was somewhat taken aback by the phraseology. In her world, the word “together” would have been tacked on to that sentiment, but Jasmel and Tryon, although now bonded, were going to spend most of their lives apart. Indeed, Jasmel would presumably have another bonding ceremony in her future, when she chose her woman-mate.
Mary shook her head. Maybe sheshould just go back home.
“Come on,” said Daklar, stepping forward and speaking to Mary, “we can share a travel cube back into the Center. I assume you are staying at Lurt’s again?”
Mary looked for a moment at Ponter, but even the bride wasn’t getting to sleep with the groom tonight. “Yes,” she said.
“All right,” said Daklar. “Let us go.” She closed the distance between herself and Ponter, and after a moment of hesitation, Ponter drew her into a farewell hug. Mary looked away.
Mary and Daklar said little to each other during the trip back. Indeed, after some awkward silence, Daklar engaged the driver in conversation. Mary looked out at the landscape. There was virtually no old-growth forest left in her Ontario, but there was plenty here.
At last, she was deposited back at Lurt’s home. Lurt’s woman-mate, and Lurt herself, wanted to hear all about the bonding ceremony, and Mary tried to oblige. Young Dab seemed awfully well behaved, sitting silently in a corner-but Lurt eventually explained that he was engrossed in a story being read to him by his Companion.
Mary knew she needed advice, but-damn!-these family relationships were so complex. Lurt Fradlo was Adikor Huld’s woman-mate, and Adikor Huld was Ponter Boddit’s man-mate. But, if Mary understood things correctly, there was no special relationship between Lurt and Ponter, just as...
Just as there was supposed to be no special relationship between Ponter, whose woman-mate had been Klast Harbin, and Daklar Bolbay, who had been Klast’s woman-mate.
And yet clearly therewas a special relationship between them. Ponter had made no mention of it to Mary during his first visit to her Earth, although he’d spoken often of what he felt he’d lost by being transported from his home world, apparently with no way ever to return. He’d talked repeatedly of Klast, whom he had already lost, and of Jasmel and Megameg and Adikor. But never Daklar-at least, not as someone he was missing.
Could the relationship between them be that new?
But, if it were, would Ponter have left his world for an extended time?
No, wait. Wait. It wasn’t really that extended a time; it was less than three weeks-three weeks that fell between two successive occurrences of Two becoming One. He couldn’t have seen Daklar during that period even if he had stayed home.
Mary shook her head. She needed not just advice-she needed answers.
And Lurt seemed the only person who could possibly provide them in the short time left between today and when Two next became One. But she’d have to get Lurt alone-and there would be no chance of that until the morning, at Lurt’s lab.
Ponter was lying on one of the couches extending from the wooden walls of his house, staring up at the painting on the ceiling. Pabo was stretched out on the mossy floor next to Ponter, sleeping.
The front door opened, and Adikor entered. Pabo roused and hurried over to meet him. “That’s a girl,” said Adikor, reaching down to scratch the dog’s head.
“Hey, Adikor,” said Ponter, not getting up.
“Hey, Ponter. How was the bonding ceremony?”
“Let me put it this way,” said Ponter. “What’s the worst thing that could h
ave happened?”
Adikor frowned. “Tryon speared himself in the foot?”
“No, no. Tryon was fine; the actual ceremony was fine.”
“Then what?”
“Daklar Bolbay was there.”
“Gristle,”said Adikor, mounting a saddle-seat. “That must have been awkward.”
“You know,” said Ponter, “they say it’s only males who are territorial, but...”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t even know. It’s not like Mare and Daklar had an argument or anything, but...”
“But they both know about the other.”
Ponter’s voice sounded defensive, even to him. “I wasn’t keeping anything from either of them. You know that Daklar’s interest took me by surprise, and, well, I didn’t know then that I’d ever see Mare again. But now...”
“Two become One the day after tomorrow. You won’t be spending any time with Jasmel, I can guarantee that. I remember the first Two becoming One after my bonding to Lurt; we hardly came up for air.”
“I know,” said Ponter. “And although Mega will be around for some of it...”
“You’ll still have to determine who you’re going to spend your time with-and at whose home you are going to sleep.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Ponter. “I’ve no commitment to Daklar.”
“You have no commitment to Mare, either.”
“I know. But I cannot let her be abandoned during Two becoming One.” Ponter paused, hoping Adikor would not take offense at his next words. “Believe me, I know how lonely that can be.”
“Maybe she should go back to her world before then,” said Adikor.
“I don’t think she would like that.”
“Who do you want to be with?”
“Mare. But...”
“Yes?”
“But she has her world, and I have mine. The obstacles are formidable.”
“If I may be so bold, old boy, where do I fit in?”
Ponter sat up on the couch. “What do you mean? You’re my man-mate. I would never let that change.”
“Oh?”
“Of course not. I love you.”
“And I love you. But you told me about Gliksin ways. Mare isn’t looking for a man-mate that she might see for a few days out of each month, and I doubt she wants to find a woman-mate at all.”
“Well, yes, the customs of her people are different, but...”
“It’s like mammoths and mastodons,” said Adikor. “Sure, they look a lot alike, but try mixing a male mammoth with a female mastodon, and watch out!”
“I know,” said Ponter. “I know.”
“I don’t see how you can make it work.”
“I know, but...”
“May I say something?” It was Hak’s voice.
Ponter looked down at his left forearm. “Sure.”
“You know I usually stay out of these things,” said the Companion. “But there is a factor you are not considering.”
“Oh?”
Hak switched to Ponter’s cochlear implants. “You may wish me to say this in private.”
“Nonsense,” said Ponter. “I have no secrets from Adikor.”
“Very well,” said Hak, switching back to the external speaker. “Scholar Vaughan is recovering from a traumatic experience. Her emotions and behavior of late may be atypical.”
Adikor tipped his head. “What traumatic experience? I mean, I know that eating a meal Ponter has helped prepare can be pretty devastating, but...”
“Mare was raped,” said Ponter. “Back in her own world. Just before I came there.”
“Oh,” said Adikor, immediately sobering. “What did they do to the guy who raped her?”
“Nothing. He got away.”
“How could he possibly-“
Ponter raised his left arm. “No Companions. No justice.”
“Marrowless bone,” said Adikor. “What a world they must live in.”
Chapter Thirty-four
The next day, Mary walked down the corridor of the laboratory building, stepping aside to make room for one of the spindly robots that darted about the corners of Neanderthal society. She wondered for a moment about the economics of this world. They had AI, and they had robots. But they also had what amounted to cab drivers; clearly not all jobs thatcould be automated had been automated.
Mary continued on, until she came to the room Lurt was working in. “Were you planning to take a break anytime soon?” asked Mary, knowing how much she herself hated to be interrupted when work was going well.
Lurt glanced at the display on her Companion, presumably noting the time. “Sure,” she said.
“Good,” said Mary. “Can we go for a walk? I need to talk.”
Mary and Lurt stepped out into the daylight. Lurt adopted the posture Mary had seen frequently now amongst Neanderthals, slightly tipping her head forward so that her browridge provided maximal shading for her eyes. Mary held one hand above her own flat brow, trying to achieve the same effect. Although she had weightier matters on her mind, having forgotten her FosterGrants back on the other side was getting to be a nuisance. “Do your people have sunglasses?” asked Mary.
“If they need them. We have them for our daughters, too.”
Mary smiled. “No, no, no.” She pointed up. “Sunglasses. Glasses that are tinted to block out some of the sunlight.”
“Ah,” said Lurt. “Yes, such things are available, although we call them”-she had spoken continuously, but there was a pause in the translation, as Mary’s Companion considered how to interpret what Lurt had said-“snow-glare shields.”
Mary understood immediately. Browridges were all well and good for shielding against light from above, and although the broad face and wide nose probably helped shield the deep-set eyes from light reflected off the ground, there would still be times when tinted glasses would be useful.
“Is it possible I could get a pair?”
“You need two of them?” asked Lurt.
“Um, no. We, ah, we refer to glasses in the plural-you know, because there are two lenses.”
Lurt shook her head, but it was in a good-humored way. “You might as well refer to a pair of ‘pants,’ then,” she said. “After all, they have two legs.”
Mary decided not to pursue that. “In any event, is it possible to get a ‘snow-glare shield’ for me?”
“Certainly. There is a lens grinder just over there.”
But Mary hesitated. “I don’t have any money-any way to pay for them. I mean, forit.”
Lurt gestured at Mary’s forearm, and, after a moment Mary realized that she was indicating the strapped-on Companion. Mary presented her forearm to Lurt’s inspection. She pulled a couple of the tiny control buds on it, and watched as symbols danced across its display.
“As I thought,” said Lurt. “This Companion is tied to Ponter’s account. You may acquire anything you wish, and he will be billed for it.”
“Really? Wow.”
“Come, the lens grinder’s shop is over here.”
Lurt crossed a wide strip of tall grass, and Mary followed. She felt a certain guilt spending Ponter’s money, given what she wanted to talk to Lurt about, but she was getting a headache, and she didn’t want to have so sensitive a conversation within earshot of Lurt’s coworkers. No, more than that: Mary was becoming savvy in the ways of Neanderthals. She knew that when they were indoors or when the wind was still, a Neanderthal could tell much about what the person she was with was thinking or feeling simply by inhaling his or her pheromones. Mary felt disadvantaged, and naked, under such circumstances. But there was a good breeze today, and while she and Lurt walked, Lurt would have to take Mary’s words at face value.
They entered the building Lurt had indicated. It was a large facility, made out of three shaped trees close enough together that their branches intertwined into a single canopy overhead.
Mary was surprised by what she saw. She’d expected some alternate-world LensCrafters, devoted to e
yewear, but so much of the eyewear business was driven by mercurial fashion in frames, and the Neanderthals, with their conserving natures, didn’t go in for fads. Also, with a smaller population, infinite specialization of work apparently wasn’t possible. This lens grinder made all manner of optics. Her shop was filled with what were clearly telescopes, microscopes, cameras, projectors, magnifying glasses, flashlights, and more. Mary tried to take it all in, sure that Lilly, Kevin, and Frank would barrage her with questions about it when she returned to the Synergy Group.
An elderly Neanderthal woman emerged. Mary tested herself, trying to identify the female’s generation. She looked to be getting on to seventy, so that would make her-let’s see-a142. The woman’s eyes went wide at the sight of Mary, but she quickly recovered. “Healthy day,” she said.
“Healthy day,” responded Lurt. “This is my friend Mare.”
“Yes, indeed,” said the 142. “From the other universe! My favorite Exhibitionist has been catching glimpses of you ever since you arrived.”
Mary shuddered.
“Mare needs a snow-glare shield,” said Lurt.
The woman nodded and disappeared into the back of her shop for a moment. When she returned, she was holding a pair of dark lenses-dark blue, they seemed to be, not the green or amber Mary was used to-attached to a wide band that looked liked the elastic out of a pair of Fruit of the Looms. “Try these on,” she said.
Mary took the offered lenses, but wasn’t sure exactly how to wear them. Lurt laughed. “Like this,” she said, taking the contraption from Mary and stretching the elastic until she was able to get it easily over Mary’s head. “Normally, the band would fit in here,” said Lurt, running her finger along the furrow between her own prominent browridge and forehead. “That would keep them from slipping down.”
And, indeed, the band did seem to want to slip down. The lens maker clearly realized this. “Let me get you one for a child,” she said, disappearing into the back.
Mary tried not to be embarrassed. Gliksins had tall heads; Neanderthals had long ones. The woman returned with another pair, one with a less generous elastic band. These seemed to fit snugly.
“You can flip the lenses up or down, as needed,” said the woman, demonstrating for Mary.