Humans

  Ponter was getting ready to try to seize the dog by the neck when the animal crouched and leapt toward him, and-

  A flash of light in the semidarkness-

  A sound like wet leather hitting ice-

  And the dog yelping in pain.

  It had leapt at Ponter with enough force to trigger the shield Goosa Kusk had given him. The dog, startled, dazed, and-as Ponter could smell-bleeding from its muzzle, turned tail and ran away as fast as it had approached. Ponter took a deep, calming breath, then resumed his jog.

  “All right,” said Hak, after a time. “Here’s where we have to cross over that roadway, the Four-oh-Seven. Head left, and make your way over that bridge, there. Be careful you aren’t hit by a car.”

  Ponter did as Hak had asked, and soon he was on the other side of the highway, jogging south. Way, way off in the distance, he could see the blinking lights atop the CN Tower, down at Toronto’s lakeshore. Mare had told him how magnificent the view from it was, but so far, he’d yet to see the structure except from a great distance.

  Ponter crossed another wide road, which had cars zipping along, even at this time of night, every few beats. Within a short time, he found himself on the York University campus, and Hak directed him through it, past buildings and parking lots and through open spaces, to the far side.

  And, after several hundred armspans of additional jogging, Ponter found himself standing on a small dirty street, near the building that Ruskin lived in. Ponter bent over and placed his hands on his knees, panting to catch his breath.I guess I amgetting old... he thought. A nice wind was blowing directly into his face, cooling him off.

  Mare might have awoken by now, and noticed his absence, but she had been, in his brief experience of sharing a bed with her, a very sound sleeper, and it was still most of two daytenths until the sun would come up. He’d be home before then, although notlong before, and-

  “Reach,” hissed a voice from behind Ponter’s back, and he felt something hard stick into his kidney. And suddenly Ponter realized the flaw in Goosa Kusk’s shield design. Oh, sure, it could deflect a bullet fired from some distance away, but it wouldn’t do anything about one discharged into a person from a gun in direct contact with that person.

  Still, thiswas Canada-and Mare had said there were few handguns here. But the thought that what was sticking into his kidney was only a knife didn’t really comfort Ponter.

  Ponter didn’t know what to do. At the moment, in the dim light, from behind, whoever was accosting him presumably didn’t know that Ponter was a Neanderthal. But if he spoke, even softly, in his own tongue so that Hak could translate, that fact would certainly be given away, and-

  “What do you want?” said Hak, in English, taking the initiative.

  “Your wallet,” said the voice-male, and sounding, Ponter was disheartened to hear, not the least bit nervous.

  “I do not have a wallet,” said Hak.

  “Too bad for you,” said the Gliksin. “Either I get money-or I get blood.”

  Ponter had no doubt he could beat just about any unarmed Gliksin in hand-to-hand combat, but this one clearly had a weapon. Indeed, at that moment, Hak must have realized that Ponter couldn’t see what the weapon was. “He is holding a steel knife,” he said into Ponter’s cochlear implants, “with a serrated blade about 1.2 handspans long, and a handle whose thermal signature suggests that it is polished hardwood.”

  Ponter thought about turning rapidly around, hoping that the sight of his Barast face would be enough to startle the Gliksin, but the last thing he wanted was a witness to his having come to Ruskin’s home.

  “He keeps shifting from his left foot to his right,” said Hak through the cochlear implants. “Do you hear it?”

  Ponter nodded ever so slightly.

  “He’s leaning on the left...now on the right...the left. Have you got the rhythm?”

  Another slight nod.

  “What’s it going to be?” hissed the Gliksin.

  “All right,” said Hak, to Ponter. “When I say ‘now,’ bring your right elbow back and up with all your strength. You should hit the man’s solar plexus, and, at the very least he will stagger backward, meaning that your shield should protect you from any incoming knife thrust.” Hak switched to his external speaker. “I really do not have any money”-and, as he said that, Ponter realized Hak had made a mistake, for the “ee” sounds in “really” and “money” were provided by recordings of a Gliksin voice that didn’t match Hak’s own.

  “What the-?” said the Gliksin, clearly puzzled by the sound. “Turn around, you piece of-“

  “Now!” said Hak into Ponter’s inner ears.

  Ponter jerked his elbow back with all his might, and he could feel it connecting with the Gliksin’s stomach. The Gliksin made anooof! sound as air was forced from his lungs, and Ponter wheeled around to face him.

  “Jesus!” said the Gliksin, catching sight of Ponter’s browridged, hairy face. The Gliksin lunged forward, fast enough that Ponter’s shield came up with a flash of light, blocking the knife blade. Ponter shot his own right arm out, and seized the Gliksin by his scrawny neck. The person looked to be about half Ponter’s age. For a brief moment, Ponter thought about closing his fist, crushing the young man’s larynx, but no, he couldn’t do that.

  “Drop the knife,” said Ponter. The Gliksin looked down. Ponter did the same, and saw that the knife’s blade was bent from its impact with the shield. Ponter tightened his fingers a bit. The Gliksin’s grip opened as Ponter’s own closed, and the knife fell to the roadway with a clattering sound.

  “Now get out of here,” said Ponter, and Hak translated. “Get out of here, and speak to no one of this.”

  Ponter let go of the Gliksin, who immediately started gasping for breath. Ponter raised his arm.”Go!” he said. The Gliksin nodded and scuttled off, one hand clutching his belly where Ponter’s elbow had hit it.

  Ponter wasted no time. He headed up the cracked-concrete walk leading to the apartment building’s entrance.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Ponter waited silently in the building’s entryway, one glass door behind him, another in front. It had taken several hundred beats, but finally someone was approaching, crossing over from the elevators that Ponter could see inside to the inner glass door. He turned his back, hiding his face, and waited. The approaching Gliksin left the lobby, and Ponter easily caught the glass door before it swung shut. He quickly crossed the tiled floor-about the only place he ever saw squares in Gliksin architecture was in floor tiles-and pushed the button to call an elevator. The one that had just delivered the Gliksin was still there, and Ponter went inside.

  The floor buttons were arranged in two columns, and the top two had the symbol pairs “15” and “16.” Ponter selected the one on the right.

  The elevator-the smallest, dirtiest one he’d ever been in on this world, even dirtier than the mining elevator in Sudbury-rumbled into motion. Ponter watched the indicator above the dented steel door, waiting for it to match the symbol pair he had selected, which, at last, it did. He got out of the elevator and entered the hallway, whose simple beige carpeting was worn through in some places and stained in most others. The walls were lined with thin sheets of paper decorated with green-and-blue swirls; some of the sheets had partially peeled away from the wall.

  Ponter could see four doorways on each side of the hall to his left, and four more on each side to his right: a total of sixteen apartments. He moved to the closest doorway, brought his nose to the seam opposite the hinges, sniffing up and down rapidly, trying to isolate the smells that were emanating from within from the general mildewy stink of the hallway’s carpeting.

  Not this one. He moved to the next door, and sniffed up and down the seam again. Here he did recognize a smell-the same acrid burning he’d experienced wafting up from Reuben Montego’s basement sometimes when Reuben and Lou Benoît had been down there.

  He continued to the third door. There was a cat inside, but, at present, no humans
.

  In the next apartment, he could smell urine. Why these Gliksins did not always flush their toilets he would never understand; once the technology had been explained to him, Ponter had never failed to do so. He also smelled the scents of four or five people. But Mare had said that Ruskin lived alone.

  Ponter had reached the end of the corridor. He switched to the opposite side and inhaled deeply at the first door there. Cow had recently been cooked within, and some pungent vegetable matter. But there was no human scent he recognized.

  He tried the next door. Tobacco smoke, and the pheromones of one-no, two-women.

  Ponter moved along to the next door-but it turned out to be different from the others, lacking a suite number or any lock. Upon opening it, he found a little room with a much smaller door that hinged down, revealing some sort of chute. He moved on to the next apartment, waving a splayed hand in front of his face, trying to clear the stench that had come up from the chute. He took a deep breath, and-

  More tobacco smoke, and-

  And a man’s scent...a thin man, one who did not perspire too much.

  Ponter sniffed again, running his nose up and down the length of the door’s seam. It might be...

  Yes, it was. He was sure of it.

  Ruskin.

  Ponter was a physicist, not an engineer. But he’d been paying attention in this world, and so had Hak. They conferred for a few moments, standing in the corridor outside Ruskin’s apartment, Ponter whispering, and Hak speaking through the cochlear implants.

  “The door is doubtless locked,” said Ponter. Such things were rarely seen in his world; doors were usually only secured to protect children from hazards.

  “The simplest solution,” said Hak, “is if he opens the door of his own accord.”

  Ponter nodded. “But will he? I believe that”-he pointed-“is a lens, allowing him to see who is outside.”

  “Despite his despicable qualities, Ruskin is a scientist. If a being from another world showed up at your door in Saldak Rim, would you refuse to open it?”

  “It’s worth a try.” Ponter rapped his knuckles on the door, as he’d seen Mare do upon occasion.

  Hak had been listening carefully. “The door is hollow,” he said. “If he does not let you in, you should have no trouble breaking it down.”

  Ponter rapped again. “Perhaps he is a heavy sleeper.”

  “No,” said Hak. “I hear him approaching.”

  There was a change in the quality of the light behind the door’s viewing lens: presumably Ruskin looking through to see who was knocking at this time of night.

  Finally, Ponter heard the sound of a metal locking mechanism working, and the door opened slightly, revealing Ruskin’s pinched face. A small gold-colored chain at shoulder height seemed to be securing the door against opening farther. “Doc-Doctor Boddit?” he said, clearly astonished.

  Ponter had planned to spin a story of how he needed Ruskin’s help, in hopes of gaining easy access to the apartment, but he found himself unable to speak in civilized tones to this...thisprimate . He shot his right hand up, palm out, connecting with the door. The chain snapped, the door burst open, and Ruskin tumbled backward.

  Ponter quickly entered and closed the door behind him.

  “What the-!” shouted Ruskin, scrambling back to his feet. Ponter noted that Ruskin was dressed in normal day clothes, despite the late hour-and that made him think he’d only just returned home, possibly from yet another attack on a woman.

  Ponter started moving closer. “You raped Qaiser Remtulla. You raped Mare Vaughan.”

  “What are youtalking about?”

  Ponter kept his volume low. “I can kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Are you crazy?” shouted Ruskin, backing away.

  “No,” said Ponter, stepping forward. “I am not crazy. It is this world of yours that is crazy.”

  Ruskin’s eyes were darting left and right in the messy room, clearly looking for an escape route...or a weapon. Behind him was an opening in the wall-a pass-through, isn’t that what Mare called the one in her apartment?-into what looked like it might be a food-preparation area.

  “You will face me,” said Ponter. “You will face justice.”

  “Look,” said Ruskin, “I know you’re new to this world, but we have laws. You can’t just-“

  “You are a multiple rapist.”

  “What are youon ?”

  “I can prove it,” Ponter said, still moving closer.

  Suddenly Ruskin spun around and arched his body, reaching through the pass-through. He turned back around, holding a heavy frying pan-Ponter had seen such things before when he was quarantined at Reuben Montego’s house. Ruskin held the pan up in front of him, gripping its handle with both hands. “Don’t come any closer,” he said.

  Ponter continued his advance undeterred. When he was only a pace from Ruskin, Ruskin swung. Ponter brought up his left arm to shield his face. Air resistance must have slowed the pan enough that the shield didn’t kick in, and so Hak took much of the impact. Ponter’s right hand shot forward and seized Ruskin’s larynx.

  “Drop that object,” said Ponter, “or I will crush your throat.”

  Ruskin tried to speak, but Ponter constricted his fingers. The Gliksin managed to get one more good blow with the pan to Ponter’s shoulder-fortunately, not the one with the bullet wound. Ponter lifted Ruskin off the ground by the neck. “Drop that object!” Ponter growled.

  Ruskin’s face had turned purple, and his eyes-his blue eyes-were bugging out. He finally dropped the pan, which hit the hardwood floor with a loud clang. Ponter spun Ruskin around and slammed him against the wall adjacent to the pass through. The wall material caved in somewhat under the impact, and a large crack appeared. “Did you see the media coverage of Ambassador Prat killing our attacker?”

  Ruskin was still gasping for air.

  “Did you?”demanded Ponter.

  Finally, Ruskin nodded.

  “Ambassador Prat is a 144. I am a 145; I am ten years younger than her. Although my wisdom does not yet equal what she possesses, my strength exceeds hers. If you provoke me further, I will cave in your skull.”

  “What-“ Ruskin’s voice sounded incredibly raw. “What do you want?”

  “First,” said Ponter, “I want the truth. I want you to admit your crimes.”

  “I know that thing on your arm is a recorder, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Admit the crimes.”

  “I never-“

  “The Toronto Enforcers have samples of your DNA from Qaiser Remtulla’s rape.”

  Ruskin choked out the words. “If they knew it was my DNA, they’d be here, not you.”

  “If you persist in denial, I will kill you.”

  Ruskin managed to shake his head slightly, despite Ponter’s crushing grip. “A coerced confession is no confession at all.”

  Hak bleeped, but Ponter guessed the meaning ofcoerced . “All right, then convince me that you are innocent.”

  “I don’t have to convince you of squat.”

  “You were passed over for advancement, and for job security, because of your skin tone and gender,” said Ponter.

  Ruskin said nothing.

  “You hated the fact that others-that females-were being advanced ahead of you.”

  Ruskin was struggling, trying to get away from Ponter, but Ponter had no trouble holding him.

  “You wished to hurt them,” Ponter said. “To humiliate them.”

  “Keep fishing, caveman.”

  “You were denied that which you wanted, and so you took that which should only be given.”

  “It wasn’t like that...”

  “Tell me,” hissed Ponter, bending one of Ruskin’s arms backward. “Tell me what itwas like.”

  “I deserved tenure,” said Ruskin. “But they kept screwing me over. Those bitches kept screwing me over, and-“

  “And what?”

  “And so I showed them what a man could do.”

  “You are a
disgrace to manhood,” said Ponter. “How many did you rape?How many?”

  “Just...”

  “More than Mare and Qaiser?”

  Silence.

  Ponter pulled Ruskin away from the wall, then slammed him into it again. The crack grew longer.”Were there any others?”

  “No. Just...”

  He bent Ruskin’s arm farther. “Just who? Just who?” The beast yowled with pain. “Just who?” repeated Ponter.

  Ruskin grunted, and then, through clenched teeth: “Just Vaughan. And that Paki bitch...”

  “What?” said Ponter, baffled, as Hak bleeped. He twisted the arm again.

  “Remtulla. I raped Remtulla.”

  Ponter relaxed his grip somewhat. “It stops now, do you understand? You will never do this again. I will be watching. Others will be watching. Never again.”

  Ruskin grunted inarticulately.

  “Never again,”said Ponter. “Make that pledge.”

  “Ne-ver...again,” said Ruskin, his teeth still clenched.

  “And you will never speak of my visit here, to anyone. To do so would bring your society’s punishment for your crimes. Do you understand?Do you?”

  Ruskin managed a nod.

  “All right,” said Ponter, briefly loosening his grip. But then he slammed Ruskin against the wall again, this time a piece of its material falling free. “No, no, it is not all right,” Ponter continued, his own teeth clenched. “It is not enough. It is not justice.” He threw his weight against Ruskin once more, his groin slamming against the Gliksin’s backside. “You will find out what it is like to be a woman.”

  Ruskin’s whole body tensed. “No, man. Christ, no-not that-“

  “It is only justice,” said Ponter, reaching down into his medical belt, and pulling out a compressed-gas injector.

  The device hissed against the side of Ruskin’s neck. “What the hell is that?” he shouted. “You can’t just...”

  Ponter felt Ruskin collapse. He lowered him to the floor.