Hybrids (8 page)

But Ponter…

Ponter was supposed to understand!

They marched on in silence for a while, their helmet beams lighting the way.

Reflecting on it, Ponter
had
seemed desperate to know the details of Mary’s rape. At the police station, Ponter had grabbed the sealed evidence bag containing specimens from Qaiser Remtulla’s rape, ripped it open, and inhaled the scent within, identifying one of Mary’s colleagues, Cornelius Ruskin, as the perpetrator.

Mary looked over at Ponter, a dark, hulking form against the rock wall. “It wasn’t my fault,” said Mary.

“What?” said Ponter. “No, I know that.”

“I didn’t want it. I didn’t ask for it.”

“Yes, yes, I do understand that.”

“Then why are you seeing this—this ‘personality sculptor’?”

“I am not seeing him anymore. It is just that—”

Ponter stopped, and Mary looked over. He had his head tilted, listening to Hak, and after a moment, he made the smallest of nods, a signal intended for the Companion, not for her.

“It’s just
what?
” said Mary.

“Nothing,” said Ponter. “I am sorry I brought the topic up.”

So am I
, thought Mary as they continued on through the darkness.

At last they reached the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory. Ponter and Mary made their way through the massive facility—all hanging pipes and massive tanks—to the control room. It was deserted now; Ponter’s original arrival had destroyed the observatory’s heavy-water detector tank, and the plans to repair it had been put on hold by the subsequent re-establishment of the portal.

They came to the room above the detector chamber, went through the trapdoor, and—this was the terrifying part for Mary—backed down the long ladder to the staging area, six meters off the ground. The staging area was at the end of the Derkers tube, a crush-proof tunnel that had been shoved through the portal from the other side.

Mary stood at the threshold of the Derkers tube and looked into it. The tube was twice as long on the inside as it was on the outside, and at the other end she could see the yellow walls of the quantum-computing chamber over on Ponter’s version of Earth.

A Canadian Forces guard was there, and they presented their passports to him—Ponter had received one when he’d been made a Canadian citizen.

“After you,” said Ponter to Mary, a bit of gallantry he’d picked up in Mary’s world. Mary took a deep breath and walked down the tube, which, when one was inside it, measured sixteen meters long and six wide. Coming to the middle, she could see the ring of ragged blue luminosity through the translucent material of the tube’s wall. She could also see the shadows cast by the crisscrossing metal segments that held the tube open. Taking another deep breath, Mary stepped quickly across the discontinuity marked by the blue ring, feeling static electricity crawling over her body from front to back.

And suddenly she was
there
—in the Neanderthal world.

Mary turned around without leaving the tube and watched Ponter come toward her. She could see the blond hair on Ponter’s head ruffle as he came through the discontinuity; like most Neanderthals, his natural part was exactly in the middle of his long skull.

Once he was through, Mary turned back around and continued on to the end of the tube.

And there they were, in a world that had diverged from Mary’s own 40,000 years previously. They were inside the quantum-computing chamber she had glimpsed from her side, a vast room filled with a grid of register tanks. The quantum computer, designed by Adikor Huld to run software developed by Ponter Boddit, had been built to factor numbers larger than any that had ever been factored before; piercing into an alternate universe had been entirely accidental.

“Ponter!” said a deep voice.

Mary looked up. Adikor—Ponter’s man-mate—came running down the five steps from the control room onto the computing-chamber floor.

“Adikor!” said Ponter. He ran over to him, and the two men embraced, then licked each other’s faces.

Mary looked away. Of course, normally—if such a word could ever be applied to her existence in this world—she would rarely see Ponter when he was with Adikor; when Two became One, Adikor would hurry off to spend time with his own woman-mate and young son.

But Two were not One, and so here, now, Ponter was supposed to be spending time with his man-mate.

Still, after a few moments, the two males disengaged, and Ponter turned to Mary.

“Adikor, you remember Mare.”

“Of course,” said Adikor, smiling what seemed to be a very genuine foot-wide smile. Mary tried to emulate its sincerity, if not its dimensions. “Hello, Adikor,” she said.

“Mare! It is good to see you!”

“Thank you.”

“But what brings you here? Two is not yet One.”

There it was. A staking of claim; an establishment of turf.

“I know,” said Mary. “I’ve come on an extended visit. I’m here to learn more about Neanderthal genetics.”

“Ah,” said Adikor. “Well, I’m sure Lurt will be able to assist you.”

Mary tilted her head slightly—not that she had a Companion to listen to. Was Adikor just being helpful, or was he making a point of reminding Mary that she would need to seek the assistance of a female Neanderthal, who, of course, would be found in the City Center, far away from Adikor and Ponter.

“I know,” said Mary. “I’m looking forward to talking with her some more.”

Ponter looked at Adikor. “I will take Mary briefly to our home,” he said, “and get her a few things she will need for an extended stay. Then I will arrange her transportation into the Center.”

“Fine,” said Adikor. He looked at Mary, then back at Ponter. “I assume it will be just the two of us for the evening meal?”

“Of course,” said Ponter. “Of course.”

Mary stripped naked—she was losing her self-consciousness about nudity in this world that had never had any religion to impose such taboos—and went through the tuned-laser decontamination process, coherent beams at precise wavelengths passing through her flesh to zap foreign molecules within her body. Already, similar devices were being built in Mary’s world to treat many forms of infection. Sadly, though, since tumors were made of the patient’s own cells, this process couldn’t cure cancers, such as the leukemia that had taken Ponter’s wife, Klast, two years ago.

No—not “taken.” That was a Gliksin term, a euphemism that implied she’d gone somewhere, and at least by the standards of these people, she hadn’t. As Ponter himself would say, she no longer existed.

And not “Ponter’s wife,” either. The term was
yat-dija
—“woman-mate.” When in the Neanderthal world, Mary really did try to think in Neanderthal terms; it made it easier to deal with the differences.

The lasers danced over—and through—Mary’s body until the square light above the door changed color, signaling that she should leave. Mary stepped out and began changing into Neanderthal clothes, while Ponter took his turn in the chamber. He’d fallen ill with equine distemper while in Mary’s world the first time—members of
Homo sapiens
were immune to it, but
Homo neanderthalensis
individuals were not. This process made sure they weren’t bringing the
Streptococcus equii
bacterium, or any other nasty germs or viruses, across with them; everybody who passed through the portal was subjected to it.

No one who had any choice would live where Cornelius Ruskin did. Driftwood was a rough neighborhood, full of crime and drugs. Its only appeal for Cornelius was that it was an easy walk to the York University campus.

He took the elevator down the fourteen floors to the grungy lobby of his building. Still, despite everything, he had a certain—well, affection was too strong a word, but a certain gratitude for the place. After all, living within walking distance of York saved him the cost of a car, driver’s insurance, and a university parking permit—or the alternative, the monthly $93.50 for a Toronto Transit Commission Metro-Pass.

It was a beautiful day with a clear blue sky. Cornelius was wearing a brown suede jacket. He continued up the road, past the convenience shop that had bars on its windows. That seedy little store had a giant rack of porno mags and dusty tin cans of food. It was where Cornelius bought his cigarettes; fortunately he’d had half a carton of du Mauriers in his apartment.

Cornelius crossed onto the York campus, walking by one of the residence towers. Students were milling about, some still in short sleeves, others wearing sweatshirts. He suspected he might be able to get testosterone supplements at York. Why, he could even devise a genetics project that might require them. That certainly would be an incentive to go back to his old job, but…

But things
had
changed in Cornelius. For one thing, the nightmares had finally ended, and he was now sleeping like a rock. Instead of lying awake for an hour or two, tossing and turning, fuming over all the things that were wrong in his life—all the slights, all his anger at having no one in his life—instead of lying awake, tortured by all that, he’d fall asleep within moments of putting his head to the pillow, sleep soundly through the night, and wake refreshed.

True, for a while, he hadn’t wanted to get out of bed, but he was over that now. He felt…not energetic, not ready for the daily fight for survival. No, he felt something he hadn’t felt for years, since the summers of his childhood, when he was away from school, away from the bullies, away from the daily beatings-up.

Cornelius Ruskin felt
calm
.

“Hello, Dr. Ruskin,” said a perky male voice.

Cornelius turned. It was one of his Eukaryotic Genetics students—John, Jim…something like that; the guy wanted to become a genetics prof, he’d said. Cornelius wanted to tell the poor sap to drop out now; there were no decent jobs these days for white men in academe. But instead he just forced a smile and said, “Hello.”

“Great to have you back!” said the student, heading off in the other direction.

Cornelius continued along the sidewalk, fields of grass on one side, a parking lot on the other. He knew where he was going, of course: the Farquahrson Life Sciences Building. But he’d never before noticed what a funny-sounding name that was: it now made him think of Charlie Farquahrson, the hick character Toronto’s Don Harron had played for years on CFRB radio and the U.S. TV series
Hee Haw
. Cornelius shook his head; he’d always been too…too
something
…when approaching that building to let such a whimsical thought percolate to the surface.

Walking on autopilot, his feet trod the well-known terrain. But suddenly, with a start, he realized that he’d come to…

It didn’t have a name, and he’d never even bestowed one upon it in his mind. But this was it: the two retaining walls that met at right angles, far from any lighting standard, shielded by large trees. This was the spot, the place where he’d thrown two different women against the wall. This was where he’d shown Qaiser Remtulla who
really
was in charge. And this was where he’d rammed it into Mary Vaughan.

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.

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.”