Hybrids (20 page)

It had been almost three weeks since the United Nations contingent, including Jock, had returned home. Ponter and Adikor were working down in their quantum-computing facility, a thousand armspans below the surface, when the message came through: a courier envelope, passed along the Derkers tube by a Canadian Forces officer.

Ponter himself happened to open the package. The interior envelope bore the bisected-globe logo of the Synergy Group, and so Ponter at first assumed it was for Mare. But it wasn’t. To his astonishment, the inner envelope was addressed to him, in both English letters and Neanderthal glyphs.

Ponter opened the envelope, with his beloved Adikor looking over his shoulder. Inside was a memory bead. Ponter popped it into the player on his control console, and a three-dimensional image of Lonwis Trob appeared, his mechanical blue eyes shining from within. The image was about a third of life-size, and it floated a handspan above the console.

“Healthy day, Scholar Boddit,” said Lonwis. “I need you to return to the Synergy Group headquarters, here on the south side of Lake Jorlant—what the Gliksins still insist on calling Lake Ontario, despite me having corrected them repeatedly. As you know, I am working here with Dr. Benoît on quantum-computing issues, and I have a new idea about preventing decoherence even in surface-level systems, but I require your expertise in quantum computing. Bring your research partner, Scholar Adikor Huld; his expertise would be of considerable utility, too. Be here within three days.”

The image froze, meaning the playback had come to an end. Ponter looked at Adikor. “Would you like to come along?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Adikor. “A chance to meet Lonwis Trob! I’d love to come.”

Ponter smiled. Gliksins said that Barasts lacked the desire to explore new places. Maybe they were right: until now, despite it being his hardware that had made the portal possible, Adikor hadn’t shown any interest in seeing the Gliksin world. But now he was going to go over—so he could meet one of his Barast heroes.

“Three days gives us plenty of time to pack,” said Ponter. “It’s not far from here—the here that is there, I mean—to the Synergy Group headquarters.”

“I wonder what Lonwis has behind his ridge?” asked Adikor. “Who knows? But I’m sure it’s brilliant.”

The control room was empty except for Ponter and Adikor, although a Neanderthal technician was working on the computing floor, and a Neanderthal enforcer was seated by the mouth of the portal, just in case.

“I must invite Mare to join us,” said Ponter.

Adikor’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not yet time for Two to become One.”

Ponter nodded. “I know. But that rule doesn’t apply in her world, and she would never forgive me if I went over there and didn’t bring her.”

“Scholar Trob did not ask for her,” said Adikor.

Ponter reached out and touched Adikor’s arm. “I know this has been difficult for you. I’ve spent far too much time with Mare, and far too little with you. You know how much I love you.”

Adikor nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m trying—I really am—not to be petty about Mare and you. I mean, I
want
you to have a woman-mate; you know that. But I never thought you’d find a woman-mate who would intrude on our time together.”

“It has been…complex,” said Ponter. “I apologize for that. But shortly your son Dab will come to live with us—and then
you
will have less time for me.”

As soon as he’d said those words, Ponter regretted them. The hurt was obvious on Adikor’s face. “We will raise Dab together,” Adikor said. “That is the way; you know that.”

“I do know. I’m sorry. It’s just that…”

“That this is so rotted
awkward
,” said Adikor.

“We will resolve it all soon,” said Ponter. “I promise.”

“How?”

“Mare will move to the other side of the portal and live there, in her world, except when Two become One. Things will go back to being normal between you and me, Adikor.”

“When?”

“Soon. I promise.”

“But you want her to come on
this
trip—come with us to the Synergy Group, come with us to see Lonwis.”

“Well, her current contribution
is
as a researcher at the Synergy Group. Surely it makes sense for her to return there from time to time.”

Adikor’s broad mouth was frowning. Ponter used the back of his hand to gently rub Adikor’s cheek, feeling his whiskers. “I do love you, Adikor. Nothing will ever come between us.”

Adikor nodded slowly, and then, taking the initiative himself, he spoke into his Companion. “Please connect me to Mare Vaughan.”

After a moment, Christine’s imitation of Mare’s voice emerged from Adikor’s Companion’s external speaker, a translation of what Mare had said in her language: “Healthy day.”

“Healthy day, Mare. This is Adikor. How would you like to take a trip with Ponter and me?”

“This is astonishing!” said Adikor as they drove through Sudbury, Ontario. “Buildings everywhere! And all these people! Men and women together!”

“And this is just a
small
city,” said Ponter. “Wait till you see Toronto or Manhattan.”

“Incredible,” said Adikor. Ponter had taken the back seat so that Adikor could ride up front. “Incredible!”

Before heading out on the long trip to Rochester, they stopped first at Laurentian University to inquire about employment opportunities for Mary and Bandra. Ponter had been absolutely right: the meeting started with the head of the genetics and geology departments, but soon the university’s president and its chancellor had shown up as well. Laurentian very much wanted to hire them both, and was more than happy to work out a schedule that would accommodate four consecutive days’ leave per month for Mary.

Since they were at Laurentian, they went down to the basement lair of Veronica Shannon. Adikor went into “Veronica’s Closet,” wearing a newly built test helmet that easily accommodated Neanderthal skulls.

Mary had hoped that Adikor might experience something when the left-hemisphere part of his parietal lobe was stimulated, but he didn’t. On the off-chance that Neanderthal brains were mirror images of Gliksin ones (unlikely, given the prevalence of right-handedness in Neanderthals), Veronica tried a second run, stimulating the right-hemisphere part of Adikor’s parietal lobe, but that also produced no response.

Mary, Ponter, and Adikor then drove down to Mary’s condo in Richmond Hill, Adikor looking out at the highway and all the other cars in absolute amazement.

When they reached Mary’s home, she picked up her huge stack of accumulated mail from the concierge’s desk in the lobby, and then they went up the elevator to her unit.

There, Adikor went out on the balcony, amazed by the view. He seemed content to just keep looking, so Mary ordered up a dinner she knew Ponter would like: Kentucky Fried Chicken, coleslaw, french fries, and twelve cans of Coke.

While they waited for it to arrive, Mary turned on her TV, hoping to catch up on the news, and before long, she found herself glued to her set.

“
Habemus papam!
” said the news anchor, a white woman with auburn hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “That was the word today from Vatican City in Rome: we have a Pope.”

The image changed to show the plume of white smoke emerging from the chimney on the Sistine Chapel, indicating the burning of ballots after a candidate had received the required majority of two-thirds plus one. Mary felt her heart pounding.

Then a still image appeared: a white man of perhaps fifty-five, with salt-and-pepper hair and a narrow, pinched face. “The new Pontiff is Franco, Cardinal DiChario, of Florence, and we are told that he is taking the name of Mark II.”

A two-shot now, of the anchor and a black woman of about forty, wearing a smart business suit. “Joining us here at the CBC Broadcasting Centre is Susan Doncaster, professor of religious studies at the University of Toronto. Thank you for coming in, Professor.”

“My pleasure, Samantha.”

“What can you tell us about the man born Franco DiChario? What sort of changes can we expect him to make in the Roman Catholic Church?”

Doncaster spread her arms a bit. “Many of us were hoping for a breath of fresh air with the appointment of a new Pope, perhaps a relaxation of some of the Church’s more conservative stances. But already wags are noting that his chosen name sounds like he’s just the latest iteration of what’s already been established: the Pope, Mark II. You’ll note we’re back to having an Italian on St. Peter’s Throne, and as a cardinal, Franco DiChario was very much a conservative.”

“So we won’t see a lightening up of policies on, for instance, birth control?”

“Almost certainly not,” said Doncaster, shaking her head. “DiChario is on record calling Pope Paul’s
Humanae Vitae
the most important encyclical of the second millennium, and one whose tenants he believes should guide the Church throughout the third millennium.”

“What about the celibacy of the clergy?” asked Samantha.

“Again, Franco DiChario spoke frequently about how important the standard vows—poverty, chastity, and obedience—were to the taking of Orders. I can’t see any possibility of Mark II reversing Rome’s stance on that.”

“I get the impression,” said the anchor, smiling slightly, “that there’s no point in asking about the ordination of women, then.”

“Not on Franco DiChario’s watch, that’s for sure,” said Doncaster. “This is a Church under siege, and it is fortifying its traditional barricades, not tearing them down.”

“So no likelihood of a softening of rules about divorce, then, either?”

Mary held her breath, even though she knew what the answer must be.

“Not a chance,” said Doncaster.

Mary had put her TV remote control away in a drawer back at the beginning of the summer; she was trying to lose weight, and that had seemed a simple enough way to force herself to move around more. She got up off the couch, crossed over to the fourteen-inch RCA set, and touched the button that turned it off.

When she turned back around, she saw that Ponter was looking at her. “You’re not pleased by the choice of new Pope,” he said.

“No, I’m not. And a lot of other people won’t be, either.” She lifted her shoulders slightly, a philosophical shrug. “But, then again, I suppose there’s rejoicing going on in many places, too.” She sighed.

“What will you do?” said Ponter.

“I—I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I’m about to be excommunicated; I did promise Colm that I’d agree to an annulment rather than a divorce, but…”

“But what?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Mary. “I
am
glad that our child will have the God organ. But I am getting tired of all these ridiculous restrictions. It’s the twenty-first century, for Christ’s sake!”

“This new Pope may surprise you,” said Ponter. “As I understand it, he has made no announcements of his own since being named to the office. All we have heard is speculation.”

Mary sat back down on the couch. “I know that. But if the cardinals had wanted a real change, they would have elected somebody different.” She laughed. “Listen to me! That’s the secular view, of course. The choice of Pope is supposed to be divinely inspired. So what I should be saying is if
God
had wanted a real change,
he
would have selected somebody different.”

“Regardless, as that woman said, you have a Pope—and he looks young enough to serve for many tenmonths to come.”

Mary nodded. “I
will
get an annulment. I owe that to Colm. I’m the one who left the marriage, and he doesn’t want to be excommunicated. But even if an annulment means I
could
stay in the Catholic Church, I’m not going to. There are lots of other Christian denominations, after all—it hardly means giving up my faith.”

“This sounds like a big decision,” said Ponter.

Mary smiled. “I’ve been making a lot of those lately. And I can’t stay Catholic.” She was surprised at how easily the words came. “I can’t.”

“Hello, Jock,” said Mary Vaughan as she came into his office at the Synergy Group.

“Mary!” Jock exclaimed. “Welcome back!” He got up out of his Aeron chair, crossed in front of his desk, and shook her hand. “Welcome back.”

“It’s good to see you.” She motioned outside the door, and her two traveling companions stepped into view. “Jock, you remember Envoy Ponter Boddit. And this is Scholar Adikor Huld.”

Jock’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up toward his pompadour. “My goodness!” he said. “This
is
a surprise.”

“You didn’t know we were coming?”

Jock shook his head. “I’ve been wrapped up with…other matters. I get reports on all Neanderthal comings and goings, but I’m behind in looking at them.”

Mary thought briefly of an old joke: the bad news is that the CIA reads all your e-mail; the good news is that the CIA reads
all
your e-mail.

“Anyway,” said Jock, moving in and shaking Ponter’s hand, “welcome back.” He then shook Adikor’s hand. “Welcome, Dr. Huld, to the United States of America.”

“Thank you,” said Adikor. “It is…overwhelming.”

Jock managed a thin smile. “That it is.”

Mary indicated the two Barasts. “Lonwis Trob asked for Ponter to return, and this time to bring Adikor with him.”

Ponter smiled. “I’m sure that I’m too much of a theoretician for Lonwis’s tastes. But Adikor actually knows how to build things.”

“Speaking of Neanderthal ingenuity,” said Mary, pointing at a worktable that had been set up in a corner of Jock’s office, “I see you’ve been examining the codon writer.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Jock. “It’s an astonishing piece of equipment.”

“That it is,” said Mary. She looked at Jock, wondering whether to tell him. Then, too excited not to, she said, “It’s going to allow Ponter and me to have a baby, despite our differing chromosome counts.”

Jock sat up straight in his Aeron chair. “Really? My…goodness. I didn’t…I didn’t think that would be possible.”

“Well, it is!” said Mary, beaming.

“Um, well, ah, congratulations,” said Jock. “And to you, too, of course, Ponter. Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” said Ponter.

Suddenly Jock frowned, as if something important had occurred to him. “A hybrid between
Homo sapiens
and
Homo neanderthalensis
,” he said. “Will it have twenty-three pairs of chromosomes or twenty-four?”

“You mean, will it be Gliksin or Barast, according to the test I worked out?” asked Mary.

Jock nodded. “Just—you know—an idle curiosity.”

“We talked about that a lot. We finally decided to give it twenty-three pairs of chromosomes. It’ll appear as a Gliksin—a
Homo sapiens
—at that level.”

“I see,” said Jock. He seemed slightly displeased at the notion.

“Given that the embryo is going to be placed in my womb”—she patted her belly—“we’re trying to avoid triggering any immunological responses there.”

Jock glanced down. “You’re not pregnant now, are you?”

“No, no. Not yet. Generation 149 won’t be conceived until next year.”

Jock blinked. “So the child is going to live in the Neanderthal world? Does that mean you’re going to move there permanently?”

Mary looked over at Ponter and Adikor. She hadn’t expected to get into this just yet. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I’m going to mostly stay in this world…”

“It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ coming,” said Jock.

Mary nodded. “There is. You know I finished the task you hired me for here at Synergy much faster than we’d originally anticipated. I’m thinking it’s time I moved on. I’ve been offered a full-time tenured position in the genetics department at Laurentian.”

“Laurentian?” said Jock. “Where’s that?”

“It’s in Sudbury—you know, where the portal is. Laurentian is a small university, but it’s got a great genetics department—and it does DNA forensic work for the RCMP.” She paused. “I find myself interested in that area these days.”

Jock smiled. “Who’d have thought ‘location, location, location’ would ever apply to Sudbury?”

“Hello, Mary.”

Mary dropped the mug she was holding. It shattered, and coffee laced with chocolate milk splattered across the floor of her office. “I’ll scream,” said Mary. “I’ll call for Ponter.”

Cornelius Ruskin closed the door behind him. “There’s no need for that.”

Mary’s heart was pounding. She looked around for anything she could use as a weapon. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Cornelius managed a small smile. “I work here. I’m your replacement.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Mary. She scooped up the handset of her desk phone.

Cornelius moved closer.

“Don’t you touch me!” said Mary. “Don’t you dare!”

“Mary—”

“Get out! Get out! Get out!”

“Just give me two minutes, Mary—that’s all I ask.”

“I’ll call the police!”

“You can’t do that. You know you can’t, not after what Ponter did to me, and—”

Suddenly Cornelius stopped talking. Mary’s heart was pounding furiously, and her face must have betrayed something that Cornelius detected.

“You don’t know!” he said, his blue eyes wide. “You don’t know, do you? He never told you!”

“Told me what?” said Mary.

Cornelius’s lean form went limp, as if his limbs were only loosely connected to his body. “It never occurred to me that you weren’t involved in planning it, that you didn’t know…”

“Know what?” demanded Mary.

Cornelius backed away. “I won’t hurt you, Mary. I
can’t
hurt you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know that Ponter came to see me, at my apartment?”

“What? You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“When?”

“Back in September. Late at night…”

“You
are
lying. He never—”

“Oh, yes he did.”

“He would have told me,” said Mary.

“So I would have thought,” agreed Cornelius with a philosophical shrug. “But apparently he didn’t.”

“Look,” said Mary. “I don’t care about any of that. Just get the hell out of here. I came down here to get away from you! I’m going to call the police.”

“You don’t want to do that,” said Cornelius.

“Just watch me—and if you come one step closer, I’ll scream.”

“Mary—”

“Don’t come any closer.”

“Mary, Ponter
castrated
me.”

Mary felt her jaw drop. “You’re lying,” she said. “You’re making that up.”

“I’ll show you, if you like…”

“No!” Mary almost vomited, the notion of seeing his naked flesh again too much to bear.

“It’s true. He came to my apartment, maybe two in the morning, and he—”

“Ponter would never do that. Not without telling me.”

Cornelius moved a hand to his zipper. “Like I said, I can prove it.”

“No!” Mary was gasping for air now.

“Qaiser Remtulla told me you’d gone native—moving permanently to the other side. I never would have come down here otherwise, but…” He shrugged again. “I need this job, Mary,” said Cornelius. “York was a dead end for me—for any white male of my generation. You know that.”

Mary was close to hyperventilating. “I can’t work with you. I can’t even be in the same room as you.”

“I’ll stay out of your way. I promise.” His voice softened. “Damn it, Mary, do you think I like seeing you? It reminds me of”—he paused, and his voice cracked, just a little—“of what I used to be.”

“I hate you,” hissed Mary.

“I know you do.” He shrugged a little. “I—I can’t say that I blame you, either. But if you spill the beans about me to Krieger, or anyone else, it will be game over for Ponter Boddit. He’ll go to jail for what he did to me.”

“God damn you,” said Mary.

Cornelius just nodded. “No doubt he will.”

“Ponter!” said Mary, storming into the room at Synergy where he was working with Adikor Huld and Lonwis Trob. “Come with me!”

“Hello, Mare,” said Ponter. “What’s wrong?”

“Now!” snapped Mary. “Right now!”

Ponter turned to the other two Neanderthals, but Christine continued to translate. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”

Lonwis nodded, and made a crack to Adikor that it must be Last Five. Mary marched out of the room, and Ponter followed.

“
Outside!
” snapped Mary, and without looking back, she headed down the mansion’s carpeted main-floor corridor, took her coat from the rack, and went out the front door.

Ponter followed, taking no coat. Mary marched across the brown lawn and crossed the road, until they were at the boardwalk of the deserted marina. She wheeled on Ponter. “Cornelius Ruskin is here,” she said.

“No,” said Ponter. “I would have smelled him if—”

“Maybe slicing off his balls has changed his scent,” snapped Mary.

“Ah,” said Ponter, and then: “Oh.”

“That’s it?” demanded Mary. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I—um, well…”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have approved,” said Ponter, looking down at the sidewalk, which was half-blanketed with dead leaves.

“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have! Ponter, how could you
do
something like that? For Christ’s sake…”

“Christ,” Ponter repeated softly. “Christ taught that forgiveness was the greatest of virtues. But…”

“Yes?” snapped Mary.

“But I am not Christ,” he said, his voice sounding very sad indeed. “I could not forgive.”

“You told me you wouldn’t hurt him,” said Mary. A seagull wheeled overhead.

“I told you I would not
kill
him,” said Ponter. “And I did not, but…” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “My honest intention had been simply to warn him that I had identified him as the rapist, so that he would never commit that crime again. But when I saw him, when I smelled him, smelled the stench of him, the stench he’d left on his latest victim’s clothing, I could not help myself…”

“Jesus, Ponter. You know what this means: he’s got the upper hand. Anytime he wants, he could blow the whistle on you. The issue of whether he was guilty of rape wouldn’t even figure in your trial, I suspect.”

“But he is guilty! And I couldn’t stand the thought of him getting away with his crime.” And then, perhaps to defend himself even more, he repeated the last word in the plural—“Crimes,” reminding Mary that she had not been Cornelius Ruskin’s only victim, and that the second rape had happened because Mary had failed to report her own.

“His relatives,” said Mary, the moment the thought came to her. “His brothers, sisters. Parents. My God, you didn’t do anything to them, did you?”

Ponter hung his head, and Mary thought he was going to admit further attacks. But that wasn’t the cause of his shame. “No,” he said. “No, I have done nothing about any other copies of the genes that made him what he was. I wanted to punish
him
—to hurt
him
, for hurting you.”

“But now he can hurt
you
,” said Mary.

“Don’t worry,” said Ponter. “He won’t ever reveal what I did.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“To accuse me would mean that his own crimes would come to light. Perhaps not at my own trial—but in separate proceedings, no? Surely the enforcers here wouldn’t let the matter drop.”

“I suppose,” said Mary, still furious. “But a judge might rule that he’d already been punished enough by you. After all, Canadian law considers castration too great a penalty even for rape. So, if he’d already been punished to that level, a judge might deem it pointless to impose the lesser, legal penalty of imprisonment. If that’s the case, he would have nothing to lose by seeing to it that you were jailed for what you did to him.”

“Regardless, it would become public knowledge that he had been a rapist. Surely there would be social consequences of that which he would not risk.”

“You should have talked to me first!”

“As I said, I had not intended to exact this…this…”

“Revenge,” said Mary, but the word came out in a plain tone, as if she were merely providing another bit of vocabulary. She shook her head slowly back and forth. “You should not have done this.”

“I know.”

“And to do it, but then not tell me! Damn it, Ponter—we’re not supposed to have secrets! Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

Ponter looked out at the marina, at the cold gray water. “I’m sure I am safe from repercussions in
this
world,” he said, “for, as I said, Ruskin will never reveal what I did to him. But in my world…”

“What about it?” snapped Mary.

“Don’t you see? If it were to become known in my world what I’d done, I’d be judged excessively violent.”

“You trust bloody Ruskin to keep a secret, but not me!”

“It’s not that. It’s not that at all. But everything is recorded. There would be a record in my alibi archive of me telling you, and there would be a record in yours of the same thing. Even if neither of us ever let the matter slip out, there would always be a chance that the courts might order access to your archives or mine, and then…”

“What? What?”

“And then not only I would be punished, but so would Mega and Jasmel.”

Oh, Christ
, thought Mary.
It comes full circle.

“I am sorry,” said Ponter. “I really am—about what I did to Ruskin, and about not letting you know.” He sought out her eyes. “Believe me, it has not been an easy burden to bear.”

Suddenly Mary got it. “The personality sculptor!”

“Yes, this is why I saw Jurard Selgan.”

“Not because of my rape…” said Mary slowly.

“No, not directly.”

“…but because of what you’d
done
about my rape.”

“Exactly.”

Mary let out a long sigh, anger—and much else—exiting her body. He hadn’t thought less of her because she’d been raped…“Ponter,” she said softly. “Ponter, Ponter…”

“I do love you, Mare.”

She shook her head slowly back and forth, wondering what to do next.