Cornelius used to walk by here even in broad daylight when he needed a boost, reminding himself that at least some of the time he had been in control. Often, merely the sight of this place used to give him a raging hard-on, but this time his groin didn’t stir at all.
The walls were covered with graffiti. For the same reason Cornelius chose this spot, spray-paint artists liked it, as did lovers who wanted to immortalize their youthful commitment, just as…
He’d long since obliterated it, but, once upon a time, eons ago, his initials and Melody’s had shared a cartoon heart here.
Cornelius blinked that thought away, looked once again at this place, then turned his back on it.
It was much too nice a day to go to work, he thought, heading back home, the day seeming even brighter still.
Chapter Twelve
“ It was that questing spirit that lifted the wings of Orville and Wilbur Wright, of Amelia Earhart, of Chuck Yeager…”
As Mary and Ponter emerged from the elevator building at the Debral nickel mine, Mary was astonished to find it was dark, given that it should only be the middle of the afternoon. She looked up and gasped.
“My God. I’ve never seen so many birds!” A great cloud of them was flying overhead, virtually obliterating the sun. Many were making a kek-kek-kek call.
“Really?” said Ponter. “They are a common type.”
“Apparently so!” exclaimed Mary. She continued to look up. “Good Christ,” she said, noting the pinkish bodies and the blue-gray heads. “They’re passenger pigeons!”
“I doubt they could carry a passenger,” said Ponter.
“No, no, no. But that’s what we called them. That, or Ectopistes migratorius . I know them well; I’d been working on recovering DNA from them.”
“I noticed the absence of these birds when I first visited your world. They are extinct there, are they not?”
“Yes.”
“Through the fault of Gliksins?”
Mary nodded. “Yes.” She shrugged. “We hunted them to death.”
Ponter shook his head. “No wonder you had to adopt this thing you call agriculture. Our name for this bird is—Hak, do not translate the next word— quidrat . They are delicious, and we eat them often.”
“Really?” said Mary.
Ponter nodded. “Yes. I am sure you will have some during your stay here.”
As soon as Hak had regained access to the planetary information network, Ponter had had him request a travel cube. That vehicle was now barreling toward them. It was about the size of an SUV, but it worked by large fans mounted on its base and rear, plus a trio of smaller ones for steering. The cube was mostly transparent, and contained four saddle-seats, one of which was occupied by the male driver, a trim member of generation 146.
The travel cube slowed, then settled to the ground, and most of one side flipped up, providing access to the interior. Ponter clambered in, taking the far rear seat. Mary followed him, taking the other rear seat. Ponter spoke briefly to the driver, and the cube rose. Mary watched the driver operate the two main control levers, rotating the cube and setting it on its way toward Ponter’s home.
Mary had strapped on a temporary Companion before leaving the elevator building; all Gliksins who visited the Neanderthal world were required to wear them, constantly monitoring their activities, and transmitting information to the alibi archives. But the damned things itched. Mary found herself sticking a ballpoint pen she’d brought with her underneath the Companion, trying to scratch with it. “Are the permanent ones this uncomfortable?” she asked, looking at Ponter.
“I am not aware of Hak’s physical presence at all,” said Ponter. He paused. “But, on this subject…”
“Yes?”
“These temporary Companions expire after twenty days or so—they are battery-powered, after all, instead of drawing power from your bodily processes. Of course, given who you are, we could certainly get you another one.”
Mary smiled. She wasn’t used to this notion that just being Mary Vaughan entitled her to special treatment. “No,” she said. “No, I should get a permanent one, I think.”
Ponter smiled broadly. “Thank you,” he said. And then, presumably just to be sure, he added, “You do know that permanent means permanent . To remove it later will be very difficult, and might seriously damage your forearm muscles and nerves.”
Mary nodded. “I understand that. But I also understand that if I don’t get a permanent Companion, I’ll always be an outsider here.”
“Thank you,” said Ponter warmly. “What kind do you want?”
Mary had been looking out at the pristine landscape—old-growth forest mixed with shield rocks. “Pardon me?”
“Well, you could get the standard sort of Companion. Or”—and here Ponter raised his left arm and faced its inner surface toward Mary—“you could opt for one like mine, with a true artificial intelligence installed.”
Mary lifted her eyebrows. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Few people have intelligent Companions,” said Ponter, “although I expect they will become very common in times to come. You will certainly want the processing capability that goes with an advanced unit; you will need that for real-time language translation. But it is up to you what features you get beyond that.”
Mary looked at Ponter’s Companion. Externally, it seemed no different from the dozens of others she’d now seen—except, of course, the gold one Lonwis Trob had. But inside, she knew, dwelt Hak. “What’s it like,” asked Mary, “having an intelligent Companion?”
“Oh, it is not so bad,” said Hak’s voice, coming from the implant’s external speaker. “I have gotten used to the big guy.”
Mary laughed, half in amusement and half in surprise.
Ponter rolled his eyes, a facial expression he’d picked up from Mary. “It is a lot like that,” he said.
“I’m not sure I could take it,” said Mary, “having someone with me all the time.” Mary frowned. “Is Hak really…conscious?”
“How do you mean?” asked Ponter.
“Well, I know you don’t believe in souls; I know that you think your own mind is just utterly predictable software running on the hardware of your brain. But, I mean, does Hak really think? Is he self-aware?”
“An interesting question,” said Ponter. “Hak, what do you say?”
“I am aware of my existence.”
Mary lifted her shoulders. “But…but, I don’t know, I mean, do you have wants and desires of your own?”
“I want to be of use to Ponter.”
“And that’s it?”
“That is it.”
Wow , thought Mary. Colm should have married one of these. “What will happen to you—forgive me, Ponter—but what will happen to you when Ponter dies?”
“My power comes from his own biochemical and bio-mechanical sources. Within a few daytenths of his death, I will cease to function.”
“Does that bother you?”
“I would have no further purpose without Ponter. No, it does not bother me.”
“It is very useful having an intelligent Companion,” said Ponter. “I doubt I would have retained my sanity during my first visit to your world without Hak’s help.”
“I don’t know,” said Mary. “It…well, it seems—forgive me, Hak—a bit creepy. Is it possible to upgrade later? You know, start with the basics and then add artificial intelligence at some future date?”
“Of course. My Companion originally had no intelligence.”
“Maybe that’s the way to go,” said Mary. “But…”
But no. No, she was trying to fit in here, and having a Companion that could advise her and explain things to her would be very useful. “No, let’s go whole hog.”
“I—beg your pardon?” said Ponter.
“I mean, I’ll get one that can think, just like Hak.”
“You will not regret the decision,” said Ponter. He looked at Mary, a proud smile on his face. “You were not the
first Gliksin to visit this world,” he said—and that was true. Either a woman from the Laboratory Centre for Disease Control in Ottawa or another woman from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta had that distinction; Mary wasn’t sure which one had actually crossed over first. “Still,” said Ponter, “you will be the first Gliksin to have a permanent Companion—the first to become one of us.”
Mary looked out the travel cube’s transparent side, at the gorgeous autumn countryside.
And she smiled.
The driver let them off on the solar-panel array, which doubled as a landing pad, next to Ponter and Adikor’s house. Grown by arboriculture, the house’s central structure was the hollow bole of a massive deciduous tree. Mary had seen Ponter’s home before, but not with all the leaves having changed color. It looked magnificent.
Inside, chemical reactions produced a cool green-white light, running in ribs up the sides of the walls. Ponter’s dog Pabo bounded over to greet them. Mary had gotten used to the animal’s wolflike appearance, and bent down to scratch her behind the ears.
Mary looked around the circular living chamber. “It’s too bad I can’t stay here,” she said wistfully.
Ponter took her in his arms, and Mary hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. Still, four days a month with Ponter beat full-time with Colm.
Whenever she thought about Colm, the topic he’d raised came to mind, a topic that Mary had obviously suppressed thinking about until Colm had brought it into the open.
“Ponter,” Mary said softly, feeling his chest rise and fall as he breathed.
“Yes, woman that I love?”
“Next year,” said Mary, trying to keep her tone as neutral as possible, “a new generation is to be conceived.”
Ponter let go of Mary and looked at her, slowly lifting his eyebrow as he did so. “ Ka. ”
“Should we have a child then?”
Ponter’s eyes went wide. “I did not think that was an option,” he said at last.
“Because we have different chromosome counts, you mean. Certainly, that would be an obstacle, but there must be some way to get around it. And, well, Jock has sent me here to learn about Neanderthal genetic technology. While I’m exploring that, I could look into ways in which we might be able to combine our own DNA and produce a child.”
“Really?”
Mary nodded. “Of course, the fertilization would have to be done in vitro .”
Hak bleeped.
“In glassware. Outside my body.”
“Ah,” said Ponter. “I am surprised that your belief system supports that process, while banning so much else related to reproduction.”
Mary shrugged. “Yeah, the Roman Catholic Church is against IVF— in vitro fertilization. But I do want a baby. I want your baby. And I can’t see how giving nature a little helping hand is wrong.” She lowered her gaze. “But I know you already have two children. Perhaps…perhaps you don’t want to be a father again?”
“I will always be a father,” said Ponter, “until the day I die.” Mary lifted her eyes, and was glad to see Ponter was looking right at her. “I had not thought about having another child, but…”
Mary felt as though she were about to burst. She hadn’t realized until just this moment how very much indeed she wanted Ponter’s answer to be yes. “But what?” she said.
Ponter lifted his massive shoulders, but they moved slowly, ponderously, as if he were shifting the weight of his world with them. “But we believe in zero population growth. Klast and I have two children already; they are our replacements.”
“But Adikor and Lurt have only one child,” said Mary.
“Dab, yes. But they may try again next year.”
“Are they going to do that? Have you discussed it with Adikor?” Mary did not like the desperation that had come into her tone.
“No, I have not,” said Ponter. “I suppose I could broach the topic, but even if they are not going to try again, the Gray Council—”
“Damn it, Ponter, I’m sick of the Gray Council! I’m sick of all these rules and regulations! I’m sick of a bunch of old people controlling your life.”
Ponter looked at Mary, his eyebrow lifted again in surprise. “They are elected, you know. The rules they enact are the rules my people have chosen for themselves.”
Mary took a deep breath. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s just that it shouldn’t matter to anyone but you or me if we have a baby.”
“You are correct,” said Ponter. “As is, some people in my world have more than two children. Twins are not uncommon; my nearest neighbor has twin sons. And, often enough, there will be three conceptions by a woman: one when she is nineteen years old, another when she is twenty-nine, and sometimes again when she is thirty-nine.”
“ I’m thirty-nine. Why can’t we try?”
“There will be those who will say such a child would be unnatural ,” replied Ponter.
Mary looked around. She moved over to one of the couches growing out of the wall, and patted the spot next to her, inviting Ponter to join her. He did.
“Where I come from,” said Mary, “many people say that two men having—what did Louise call it back at Reuben’s place? ‘Affectionate touching of the genitals’? There are those among my species who say that that is unnatural, and that relations between two women are unnatural, too.” Mary’s face was firm. “But they’re wrong. I don’t know if I would have said that with such assurance before first coming to your world, but I know it now.” She nodded, as much to herself as to Ponter. “The world— any world—is a better place when people are in love, when people care about other people, and, as long as those people are consenting adults, it’s nobody’s business except their own who they are. A male and a female, or two males, or two females—they’re all natural , as long as they’re in love. And a Gliksin and a Barast— that’s natural, too, if they’re in love.”
“And we are in love,” said Ponter, taking Mary’s small hand in his two massive ones. “But, still, there are people in your world and mine who will object to our having a child.”
Mary nodded sadly. “I know, yes.” She let air escape from her lungs in a long, rueful sigh. “You know Reuben is black.”
“More of a medium brown, I would say,” replied Ponter, smiling. “A rather nice shade.”
But Mary was in no mood for jokes. “And Louise Benoît is white. There are still people in my world who object to a black man and a white woman having a relationship. But they are wrong, wrong, wrong. Just as those who might object to us being together—or having a child together—are wrong, wrong, wrong.”
“I agree, of course, but—”
“But what? Nothing could be a better symbol of the synergy between our worlds—and of our love for each other—than us having a baby together.”
Ponter looked into Mary’s eyes, his golden orbs dancing with excitement. “You are right, my love. You are absolutely right.”
Chapter Thirteen
“ It was that questing spirit that made brave men and women like Yuri Gagarin and Valentina Tereshkova and John Glenn ride on pillars of flame into Earth orbit…”
Every week, Jock Krieger reviewed the press coverage of the Neanderthals, both in the hundred and forty magazines Synergy subscribed to and as collected and forwarded by various print, radio, and video clipping services. The current batch of material included a preprint of an interview with Lonwis Trob coming up in Popular Mechanics ; a five-part series from the San Francisco Chronicle on what Neanderthal technology was doing to the future of Silicon Valley firms; an appearance by runner Jalsk Lalplun on ABC’s Wide World of Sports ; an editorial from the Minneapolis Star Tribune saying Tukana Prat should win the Nobel Peace Prize for finding a way to keep contact between the two worlds open; a CNN special with Craig Ventner interviewing Borl Kadas, who headed the Neanderthal version of the Human Genome Project; an NHK documentary on Neanderthals in fact and fiction; a DVD re-release of Quest for Fire with an audio comment
ary track by a Neanderthal paleoanthropologist; a new Department of Defense study of security issues related to interdimensional portals; and more.
Louise Benoît had come down to the living room of the old mansion that housed the Synergy Group to have a look through the materials, as well. She was reading an article in New Scientist that questioned why Neanderthals had ever domesticated dogs given that their own sense of smell was at least as good as that possessed by canines, meaning dogs would have added little to their ability to hunt. But she was interrupted when Jock blew out air noisily.
“What’s wrong?” asked Louise, looking over the magazine at him.
“I get sick of this,” Jock said, indicating the pile of magazines, newspaper clippings, audio tapes, and VHS cassettes. “I get sick to death of it. ‘The Neanderthals are more peaceful than we are.’ ‘The Neanderthals are more environmentally conscious than we are.’ ‘The Neanderthals are more enlightened than we are.’ Why the hell should that be?”
“You really want to know?” asked Louise, smiling. She rummaged in the pile of magazines, then plucked out the current Maclean’s . “Did you read the guest editorial in here?”
“Not yet.”
“It says that the Neanderthals are like Canadians, and the Gliksins are like Americans.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, the writer says the Neanderthals believe in everything that Canada stands for: socialism, pacifism, environmentalism, humanism.”
“Good grief,” said Jock.
“Oh, come on,” said Louise, her tone teasing. “I overheard you talking to Kevin: you agreed with Pat Buchanan when he said my country should be called ‘Soviet Canuckistan.’ ”
“Canadians are Gliksins, too, Dr. Benoît.”
“Not all of them,” Louise said, still teasing. “After all, Ponter is a Canadian citizen.”
“I hardly think that’s the reason they keep coming off so well in the press. It’s that bloody left-wing journalistic bias.”