Hybrids (19 page)

It was time for Mary to get the codon writer to Jock, so that he could take it back to…

Well, to where?

Mary had laughed when she’d seen Councilor Bedros on the Voyeur referring to the Barast world as “Jantar.” There was no single name for the version of Earth that Mary called home. “Earth” was just the English term; it was called different things in other languages.
Terra
was the word in Latin and many of its descendants. The French—and the French-Canadians—called it
Terre
. In Esperanto, it was
Tero
. The Greek term—
Gaea
—was popular among environmentalists. Russians called it
Zemlja
; the Swedes
Jorden
. In Hebrew it was
Eretz
; in Arabic,
Ard
; in Farsi,
Zamin
; in Mandarin,
Diqiu
; and in Japanese,
Chikyuu
. The most beautiful of the lot, thought Mary, was the Tahitian,
Vuravura
. Ponter simply called it “Mare’s world,” but Mary doubted that was going to catch on in general use.

In any event, Mary now had to get the codon writer to Jock so that he could take it safely back to…to Gliksinia.

Gliksinia? No, too harsh. How about Sapientia? Or—

The travel cube Mary had called for arrived, and she clambered into one of the two rear seats. “The Debral nickel mine,” said Mary.

The driver gave her a cool look. “Going home?”

“Not me,” said Mary. “But somebody else is.”

Mary’s heart leaped when she caught sight of Ponter, part of the group returning from Donakat Island. But she had promised herself she would behave like a proper native of this world, and not run into his arms. After all, Two were not One!

Still, when no one else was looking, she blew him a kiss, and he smiled broadly back at her.

But it wasn’t him she’d really come to see. It was Jock Krieger. Mary sidled up to him, carrying her long wrapped package under her arm. “Beware of Gliksins bearing gifts!” she said.

“Mary!” exclaimed Jock.

Mary motioned for Jock to move out of earshot of the others. A silver-clad Exhibitionist tried to follow them, but Mary turned around and glared at him until he scuttled away.

“So,” said Mary, “what do you think of this world?”

“It’s
astonishing
,” said Jock. “I knew in an intellectual sort of way that we’d screwed up our environment, but until I saw all this…” He gestured at the countryside. “It’s like finding Eden.”

Mary laughed. “Isn’t it, though? Too bad it’s already occupied, eh?”

“It is indeed,” said Jock. “Are you going to come back home with us, or do you want to spend some more time in the garden?”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay a few more days.” She tried not to smile. “I’ve been making…great progress.” She presented the package. “But I do have something I want you to take back.”

“What is it?”

Mary looked left and right, then checked over her shoulder. She then looked down, just to make sure that Jock hadn’t been forced to strap on a Companion. “It’s a codon writer—a Barast DNA synthesizer.”

“Why do you need me to take it back? Why don’t you just bring it yourself when you come?”

Mary lowered her voice. “This is banned technology. I’m not really supposed to have it—no one is. But it’s the most amazing thing. I’ve written up some notes for you about it; they’re included in the package.”

Jock lifted his eyebrows up toward his pompadour, clearly impressed. “Banned technology? I knew I was doing the right thing when I hired you…”

Suddenly Mary was awake. It took her a moment to orient herself in the darkness, to figure out where she was.

A large, warm form was sleeping quietly next to her. Ponter?

No, no. Not yet, not tonight. It was Bandra; Mary had been sharing Bandra’s bed these last few nights.

Mary glanced at the ceiling. Neanderthal digits were gently glowing there, specifying the time. Mary was good at deciphering them when wide awake, but her vision was blurry right now, and it took her a few seconds—a few
beats
—to remember that she had to read them from right to left, and that a circle was the symbol for five, not zero. It was the middle of daytenth nine; a little after 3:00A.M.

There was no point leaping out of bed, even though that’s what she felt like doing. And it had nothing to do with the fact that she was sleeping next to another woman; indeed, she was surprised how easy it had been to get used to that. But the thought that had forced her awake was still in her head, burning brightly.

Occasionally she’d awoken in the middle of the night with brilliant thoughts before, only to fall back asleep and have them completely gone by morning. Indeed, many years ago she’d briefly fancied herself a poet—she and Colm had met at one of his poetry readings—and she’d kept a pad at her bedside, along with a small book-light, so that she could make notes without disturbing him. But she’d given that up soon enough, since the notes had turned out, when reviewed in the morning, to be mostly gibberish.

But
this
thought, this notion, this wonderful, wonderful idea, would still be there in the morning, of that Mary was certain. It was too important to let slip away.

She hugged herself, nestled back into the cushions, and soon was asleep, very much at peace.

The next morning Christine gently woke Mary at the agreed upon time—two-thirds of the way through the tenth daytenth. Bandra’s Companion had been asked to wake her simultaneously, and did indeed seem to be doing so.

Mary smiled at Bandra. “Hey,” she said, reaching out to touch the Barast woman’s arm.

“Healthy day,” said Bandra. She blinked a few times, still waking up. “Let me get to work on breakfast.”

“Not yet,” said Mary. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

They were facing each other on the bed, only a short distance between them. “What?”

“When Two were last One,” said Mary, “Ponter and I had a talk about…about our future.”

Bandra evidently detected something in Mary’s tone. “Ah,” she said.

“You know we had some…some matters to work out.”

Bandra nodded.

“Ponter proposed a solution—or at least a partial solution.”

“I have been dreading this moment,” Bandra said softly.

“You knew that this situation could not last,” said Mary. “I…I can’t stay here forever.”

“Why not?” said Bandra, her voice plaintive.

“Just yesterday, Jock—my boss—was asking me when I’m coming home. And I
do
have to go back; I still have to complete the annulment of my marriage to Colm. Besides, I…”

“Yes?”

Mary moved the shoulder that she wasn’t leaning on. “I just can’t take it—being here, in this world, with Ponter so close and yet being unable to see him.”

Bandra closed her eyes. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to return to my world,” said Mary.

“And that’s it? You’re leaving Ponter? You’re leaving me?”

“I’m not leaving Ponter,” said Mary. “I will come back here every month, when Two become One.”

“You will travel back and forth between worlds?”

“Yes. I will finish my contract at the Synergy Group, then try to get a job in Sudbury—that’s where the portal is located in my world. There’s a university there.”

“I see,” said Bandra, and Mary could hear the effort she was making to keep her tone even. “Well, I suppose that makes sense.”

Mary nodded.

“I will miss you, Mare. I will miss you greatly.”

Mary touched Bandra’s arm again. “This doesn’t have to be goodbye,” said Mary.

But Bandra shook her head. “I know what Two becoming One is like. Oh, for a few months, perhaps, you might make a token effort to see me briefly during each trip here, but you will really want to spend all your time with your man-mate.” Bandra raised a hand. “And I understand that. You have a good man, a fine human being. If I had the same…”

“You don’t need a man-mate,” said Mary. “No woman, on either side of the portal, does.”

Bandra’s voice was soft. “But I
have
a man-mate, so for me there is no alternative.”

Mary smiled. “A funny word, that: alternative.” She closed her eyes briefly, remembering. “I know, in your language, it is
habadik
. But unlike some words that only translate approximately, that one is an exact counterpart: the choice between two, and only two, possibilities. I have some biologist friends who would argue that the concept of alternatives is ingrained in us because of our body form: on the one hand, you could do this; on the other hand, you could do that. An articulate octopus might have no word for the condition of having only two choices.”

Bandra was staring at Mary. “What are you talking about?” she said at last, clearly exasperated.

“I’m talking about the fact that there are other possibilities for you.”

“I will do nothing to jeopardize my daughters’ ability to reproduce.”

“I know that,” said Mary. “Believe me, that’s the last thing I would want.”

“Then what?”

Mary pushed herself forward on the cushions, closing the distance between her and Bandra, and she kissed Bandra full on the lips. “Come with me,” said Mary, when she was done.

“
What?
”

“Come with me, to the other side. To my world. To Sudbury.”

“How would that solve my problem?”

“You would stay in my world when Two become One. You would never have to see Harb again.”

“But my daughters…”

“Are just that:
daughters
. They will always live in the City Center. They will be safe from him.”

“But I would die if I could never see them again.”

“So come back when Two are separate. Come back when there is no chance of you seeing Harb. Come back and visit your daughters—and their children—as often as you wish.”

Bandra was clearly trying to take it all in. “You mean you and I would both
commute
between the two worlds, but we would each come back here at different times?”

“Exactly. I’d only come for visits when Two
are
One—and you’d only come for visits when they aren’t. Work schedules in Canada are five days on, two days off—we call the days off ‘weekends.’ You could come back for each weekend that didn’t happen to fall during Two becoming One.”

“Harb would be furious.”

“Who cares?”

“I would have to travel to the Rim in order to use the portal.”

“So just don’t ever do it alone. Make sure there’s no way he could approach you there.”

Bandra sounded dubious. “I…I suppose it might work.”

“It
will
,” said Mary firmly. “If he objected, or tried to see you at the wrong times of the month, the truth about him would come out. He may not care about what happens to you or to his daughters, but he doubtless doesn’t wish to be castrated himself.”

“You would do this for me?” said Bandra. “You would make a home with me in your world?”

Mary nodded and hugged her close.

“What would I do there?” asked Bandra.

“Teach, at Laurentian, with me. There’s not a university in my world that would turn down a chance to add a Neanderthal geologist to its faculty.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, indeed.”

“So we could live and work together in your world?”

“Yes.”

“But…but you told me that it was not the way of your people. Two women together…”

“It is not the way of
most
of my people,” said Mary. “But it is of some. And Ontario, where we’ll live, is one of the most understanding places in all my world about such things.”

“But…but would this make you happy?”

Mary smiled. “There are no perfect solutions. But this one comes close.”

Bandra was crying, but they were clearly tears of joy. “Thank you, Mary.”

“No,” said Mary. “Thank you. To you, and to Ponter.”

“Ponter I can understand, but me? Why?”

Mary hugged her again. “You both showed me new ways of being human. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

“Asshole!”

Jock knew the other driver couldn’t hear him—it was too cold a day for anyone to have their windows down—but he hated it when morons cut him off.

The traffic seemed intolerable today. Of course, Jock reflected, it was probably no worse than any other day driving here in Rochester, but everything seemed unbearable in comparison to the clean, idyllic beauty he’d seen on the other side.

“The other side.” Christ, his mother used to talk about heaven that way. “Things’ll be better on the other side.”

Jock didn’t believe in heaven—or hell, for that matter—but he couldn’t deny the reality of the Neanderthal world. Of course, it was pure dumb luck that they hadn’t made a mess of things. If real humans had noses like that, we probably wouldn’t have been willing to wallow in our own garbage, either.

Jock stopped at a traffic light. A front page from
USA Today
was blowing across the street. Kids were smoking at the bus stop. There was a McDonald’s a block ahead. Sirens were wailing in the distance, and car horns were honking. A truck next to him belched smoke out of a vertical exhaust pipe. Jock looked left and right, eventually spotting a single tree growing out of a concrete planter half a block away.

The radio newsreader started with a disgruntled man having shot and killed four coworkers at an electronics plant in Illinois. He then gave ten seconds to a suicide bombing in Cairo, a dozen more to what looked like impending war between Pakistan and India, and rounded out his minute with an oil spill in Puget Sound, a train derailment near Dallas, and a bank robbery here in Rochester.

What a mess
, Jock thought, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for the signal to go.
What a goddamned mess.

Jock came in the front door of the Synergy Group mansion. Louise Benoît happened to be in the corridor. “Hey, Jock,” she said. “So is it as beautiful as they say over on the other side?”

Jock nodded.

“I don’t know about that,” said Louise. “You missed the most amazing aurora while you were gone.”

“Here?” said Jock. “This far south?”

Louise nodded. “It was incredible; like nothing I’d ever seen before—and I’m a solar physicist. Earth’s magnetic field is really beginning to act up.”

“You seem to still be conscious,” Jock said wryly.

Louise smiled, and indicated the package he was holding. “I’m going to let that remark pass, since you brought me flowers.”

Jock looked down at the long box Mary Vaughan had given him. “Actually, it’s something Mary wanted me to bring back for her.”

“What is it?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Jock headed down the corridor to the desk where Mrs. Wallace, who served as receptionist and Jock’s administrative assistant, sat.

“Welcome back, sir!” she said.

Jock nodded. “Any appointments today?”

“Just one. I set it up while you were away; I hope you don’t mind. A geneticist looking for a job. He came very highly recommended.”

Jock grunted.

“He’ll be here at 11:30,” said Mrs. Wallace.

Jock checked his e-mail and voice mail, got himself some black coffee, and then unwrapped the package Mary had given him. It was obvious at a glance that it was alien technology: the textures, the color scheme, the overall appearance—everything was different from what a human would have made. The Neanderthal fondness for squares was very much in evidence: a square cross section, square display, and control buds arranged in squares.

Various controls were labeled—some, to his surprise, in what looked like Neanderthal handwriting. It clearly wasn’t a mass-produced device; maybe it was a prototype of some sort…

Jock picked up his telephone, and dialed an internal number. “Lonwis? It’s Jock. Can you come down to my office, please…”

Jock’s door opened—no knock first—and in came Lonwis Trob. “What is it, Jock?” said the ancient Neanderthal.

“I’ve got this device here”—he indicated the long contraption sitting on his desktop—“and I was wondering how to turn it on.”

Lonwis moved across the room; Jock could almost hear the Neanderthal’s joints creaking as he did so. He bent over—this time the creak was definitely audible—bringing his blue mechanical eyes closer to the unit. “Here,” he said, pointing to an isolated control bud. He grabbed it between two gnarled fingers, and plucked it out. The unit began to hum softly. “What is it?”

“Mary said it’s a DNA synthesizer.”

Lonwis peered some more at it. “The housing is a standard unit, but I have never seen anything quite like this. Can you pick it up for me?”

“What?” said Jock. “Oh, sure.” He lifted the device off the desktop, and Lonwis stooped to look at its underside. “You will want to hook it up to an external power source, and—yes, good: it has a standard interface port. Dr. Benoît and I have built some units that allow Neanderthal technology to be hooked up to your personal computers. Would you like one of those?”

“Um, sure. Yes.”

“I will have Dr. Benoît attend to it.” Lonwis headed for the door. “Have fun with your new toy.”

Jock spent hours examining the codon writer, and reading over the notes Mary had prepared on it.

The thing could make DNA, that much was clear.

And RNA, too, which Jock knew was another nucleic acid.

It also seemed to be able to produce associated proteins, such as those used to bind deoxyribonucleic acid into chromosomes.

Jock had a cursory understanding of genetics; many of the studies he’d been involved with at RAND concerned bio-warfare. If this device could produce nucleic-acid strings and proteins, then…

Jock steepled his fingers. What the boys at Fort Detrick would give for this!

Nucleic acids. Proteins.

Those were the building blocks of viruses, which were, after all, just scraps of DNA or RNA contained in protein coats.

Jock stared at the machine, thinking.

The phone on Jock’s desk made its distinctive internal-call ring. Jock picked up the handset. “Your 11:30 appointment is here,” said Mrs. Wallace’s voice.

“Right, okay.”

A moment later a thin, blue-eyed man in his mid-thirties came through the door. “Dr. Krieger,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Have a seat.”

The man did so, but first handed Jock a copy of a lengthy
curriculum vitae
. “As you can see, I have a Ph.D. in genetics from Oxford. I was associated with the Ancient Biomolecules Centre there.”

“Did you do any Neanderthal work?”

“No, not specifically. But lots of other late-Cenozoic stuff.”

“How did you hear about us?”

“I was with York University, where Mary Vaughan used to be, and—”

“We generally do our own recruiting, you know.”

“Oh, I understand that, sir. But I thought, with Mary having gone to the other universe, you might have need of a geneticist.”

Jock glanced at the object on his desktop. “As a matter of fact, Dr. Ruskin, I do.”