Hominids tnp-1

by Robert J. Sawyer

  “I’m serious,” Reuben called. “We are containing an infectious disease here.”

  “I understand Professor Vaughan is in there, as well,” shouted the reporter. “Can she comment on the Neanderthal’s DNA?”

  “Go away! For God’s sake, man, go away!”

  “Professor Vaughan, are you in there? Stan Tinbergen, Sudbury Star. I’d like—”

  “Mon dieu!” exclaimed Louise, pointing out toward the street. “That man has a rifle!”

  Mary looked where Louise was pointing. There was indeed someone there, aiming a long gun right at the house from maybe thirty meters away. A second later, a man standing next to him raised a megaphone to his mouth. “This is the RCMP,” said the man’s amplified, reverberating voice. “Move away from the house.”

  Tinbergen turned around. “This is private property,” he shouted back. “No one has committed a crime, and—

  “Move away,” bellowed the Mountie, who was clad in plain clothes, although Mary saw that his white car was indeed marked with the letters RCMP and the French equivalent, GRC.

  “If Dr. Montego or Professor Vaughan will just answer a few questions,” said Tinbergen, “I’ll—”

  “Last warning!” said the Mountie through the bullhorn. “My partner will try only to wound you, but …”

  Tinbergen obviously wanted his story. “I’ve got a right to ask questions!”

  “Five seconds,” thundered the RCMP officer’s voice.

  Tinbergen stood his ground.

  “Four!”

  “The public has a right to know!” the reporter shouted.

  “Three!”

  Tinbergen turned around again, apparently determined to get in at least one question. “Dr. Montego,” he shouted, looking up, “does this disease pose any risk to the public?”

  “Two!”

  “I’ll answer all your questions,” Reuben shouted back. “But not like this. Move away!”

  “ONE!”

  Tinbergen swiveled around, holding his hands up at midchest height. “All right already!” He began walking slowly away from the house.

  No sooner had the reporter reached the far end of the driveway than the telephone rang inside Reuben’s house. Mary moved across the living room and picked up the teal one-piece, but Reuben must have already answered on an extension upstairs. “Dr. Montego,” she heard a man’s voice say, “this is Inspector Matthews, RCMP.”

  Normally, Mary would have put down the phone, but she was dying of curiosity.

  “Hello, Inspector,” said Reuben’s voice.

  “Doctor, we’ve been asked by Health Canada to render any assistance you might require.” The man’s voice sounded thin; Mary presumed he was calling from a cellular phone. She craned her neck to see out the front window; the man who’d been using the bullhorn earlier was indeed now standing next to his white car and talking into a cell phone. “How many people are inside your house?”

  “Four,” said Reuben. “Myself, the Neanderthal, and two women: Professor Mary Vaughan from York University, and Louise Benoit, a physics postdoctoral student associated with the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory.”

  “I understand one of them is sick,” said Matthews.

  “Yes, the Neanderthal. He’s running a high fever.”

  “Let me give you my cell-phone number,” said the Mountie. He read off a string of digits.

  “Got it,” said Reuben.

  “I’m going to be out here until my relief arrives at 2300,” said Matthews. “The relief will be on the same phone; call if you need anything.”

  “I need antibiotics for Ponter. Penicillin, erythromycin—a slew of others.”

  “Do you have e-mail access in there?” asked Matthews.

  “Yes.”

  “Do up the list. Send it to Robert Matthews—two T’s—at rcmp-grc.gc.ca—robert_matthews@grc.gc.ca. Got that?”

  “Yes,” said Reuben. “I’ll need those as soon as humanly possible.”

  “We’ll get them here tonight, if they are things a regular pharmacy or St. Joseph’s will have on hand.”

  “We’re going to need more food, too,” said Reuben.

  “We’ll get you whatever you want. E-mail me a list of food, toiletries, clothes, whatever you need.”

  “Great,” said Reuben. “And I should collect blood samples from all of us, and have you get them over to St. Joseph’s and other labs.”

  “Fine,” said Matthews.

  They agreed to call each other immediately if there were any changes in circumstances, and Reuben clicked off. Mary heard him coming down the stairs.

  “Well?” said Louise—giving away that Mary had been listening, Mary thought, by looking in equal turns at her and at Reuben.

  Reuben summarized the call, then: “I’m sorry about this; I really am.”

  “What about the others?” said Mary. “The other people who were exposed to Ponter?”

  Reuben nodded. “I’ll get Inspector Matthews to have the RCMP round them up; they’ll probably quarantine them at St. Joseph’s rather than here.” He went into the kitchen and returned with a pad and a stubby pencil that looked like they were normally used for recording shopping lists. “All right, who else was exposed to Ponter?”

  “A grad student who was working with me,” said Louise. “Paul Kiriyama.”

  “Dr. Mah, of course,” said Mary, “and—my God—she’s already on her way back to Ottawa. We better stop her from meeting with the Prime Minister tonight!”

  “There were also a bunch of people from St. Joseph’s,” said Reuben. “Ambulance attendants, Dr. Singh, a radiologist, nurses …”

  They continued to draw up the list.

  Ponter was still lying on Reuben’s champagne-colored carpet through all this. He seemed to be unconscious now; Mary could see his massive chest rising and falling. His sloped brow was still slick with sweat, and his eyes were moving beneath their lids, subterranean animals at the bottoms of burrows.

  “All right,” said Reuben. “I think that’s everyone.” He looked at Mary, then at Louise, then at the ailing Ponter. “I’ve got to write up a list of drugs I need to treat Ponter. If we’re lucky …”

  Mary nodded, and looked at Ponter, too. If we’re lucky, she thought, none of us are going to die.

  Chapter 26

  Day Four

  Monday, August 5

  148/118/27

  NEWS SEARCH

  Keyword(s): Neanderthal

  “Did Ponter Boddit gain legal entry into Canada? That question continues to bother immigration experts at home and abroad. Our guest tonight is Professor Simon Cohen, who teaches citizenship law at McGill University in Montreal…”

  Top Ten reasons why we know that Ponter Boddit must be a real Neanderthal…

  • Number ten: When he met his first human female, he hit her with a club and dragged her away by her hair.

  • Number nine: Mistaken in dim light for Leonid Brezhnev.

  • Number eight: When Arnold Schwarzenegger dropped by for a visit, Boddit said, “Who’s the scrawny kid?”

  • Number seven: Watches nothing but Fox.

  • Number six: McDonald’s sign now says, “Billions and billions of Homo sapiens served—plus one Neanderthal.”

  • Number five: Called Tom Arnold “a hunk.”

  • Number four: When shown rare rock specimen at the Smithsonian, chipped it into a perfect spearhead.

  • Number three: Wears Fossil watch and drinks Really, Really, Really Old Milwaukee.

  • Number two: Now collecting royalties on fire.

  • And the number one reason we know that Ponter Boddit must be a Neanderthal? Hairy cheeks—all four of them.

  John Pearce, director of international acquisitions for Random House Canada, has offered Ponter Boddit the largest advance in Canadian publishing history for world rights to his authorized biography, reports the trade journal Quill & Quire…

  The Pentagon is rumored to be interested in speaking with Ponter Boddit.
The military implications of the way in which he supposedly arrived here have caught the attention of at least one five-star general…

  Now, thought Adikor Huld, as he took his seat on the stool in the Council chamber, we’ll see if I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.

  “Who speaks on behalf of the accused?” asked Adjudicator Sard.

  Nobody moved. Adikor’s heart jumped. Had Jasmel Ket decided to forsake him? After all, who could blame her? She’d seen yesterday with her own eyes that once—granted, a long time ago—Adikor had apparently tried to kill her father.

  The room was quiet, although one of the spectators, presumably making the same assumption Bolbay had earlier, let out a short, derisive laugh: no one was going to speak on behalf of Adikor.

  But then, at last, Jasmel did rise to her feet. “I do,” she said. “I speak for Adikor Huld.”

  There were gasps from many in the audience.

  Daklar Bolbay, who was sitting on the sidelines, rose as well, her face agog. “Adjudicator, this isn’t right. The girl is one of the accusers.”

  Adjudicator Sard tipped her wrinkled head forward, looking out at Jasmel from under her browridge. “Is this true?”

  “No,” said Jasmel. “Daklar Bolbay was my mother’s woman-mate; she was appointed my tabant when my mother died. But I have now seen 250 moons, and I claim the rights of majority.”

  “You’re a 147?” asked Sard.

  “Yes, Adjudicator.”

  Sard turned to Bolbay, who was still standing. “All 147s gained personal responsibility two months ago. Unless you are contending that your ward is mentally incompetent, your guardianship of her ended automatically. Is she, in fact, mentally incompetent?”

  Bolbay was seething. She opened her mouth, clearly to make a remark, but thought better of it. She looked down and said, “No, Adjudicator.”

  “All right, then,” said Sard. “Take your seat, Daklar Bolbay.”

  “Thank you, Adjudicator,” said Jasmel. “Now, if I may—”

  “Just a moment, 147,” said Sard. “It would have been polite to tell your tabant that you were going to oppose her case.”

  Adikor understood why Jasmel had remained silent. Had she forewarned Bolbay, Bolbay would have done everything she could to dissuade her. But Jasmel had her father’s charm. “You speak wisely, Adjudicator. I shall keep your advice behind my browridge.”

  Sard nodded, satisfied, and motioned for Jasmel to proceed.

  Jasmel walked into the center of the chamber. “Adjudicator Sard, you’ve heard much innuendo from Daklar Bolbay. Innuendo, and baseless attacks on Adikor Huld’s character. But she hardly knows the man. Adikor was my father’s man-mate; granted, I saw Adikor only briefly whenever Two became One—he has his own son, young Dab there, here in this chamber, and his woman, Lurt, seated next to Dab. But, still, we met frequently—much more frequently than Daklar and he did.”

  She moved next to Adikor and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I stand here, the daughter of the man Adikor is accused of killing, and say to you that I do not think he did it.” She paused, looked briefly down at Adikor, then met Adjudicator Sard’s gaze from across the room.

  “You saw the alibi recording,” prodded Bolbay, still straddling her saddle-seat at the side of the room, in the first row of spectators. Sard shushed her.

  “Yes,” said Jasmel. “Yes, I did. I knew that my father had a damaged jaw. It pained him occasionally, especially on cold mornings. I hadn’t known who had caused the damage—he never said. But he did say that it was long ago, that the person who had done it was extremely contrite, and that he’d forgiven the individual.” She paused. “My father was good at gauging character. He would not have partnered with Adikor had he thought there was the slightest possibility that Adikor would repeat his actions.” She looked at Adikor, then back at the Adjudicator. “Yes, my father is missing. But I don’t think he was murdered. If he is dead, it was because of an accident. And if he is not—”

  “Do you think him injured?” asked Adjudicator Sard. Jasmel was taken aback; it was unusual for the adjudicator to ask direct questions.

  “He might be, Adjudicator.”

  But Sard shook her head. “Child, I sympathize with you. I really do. I know all too well what it’s like to lose a parent. But what you’re saying makes no sense. Men searched the mines for your father. Women were called in to search as well, even though it was Last Five. Dogs were brought in to search, too.”

  “But if he were dead,” said Jasmel, “his Companion would have broadcast a locator signal, at least for a while. They scanned for it with portable equipment, and found nothing.”

  “True,” said Sard. “But if his Companion had been deliberately disabled or destroyed, there would be no signal.”

  “But there’s no evidence—”

  “Child,” said the adjudicator, “men have been known to disappear before. If circumstances are untenable in their personal lives, some have gouged out their own implants and headed into the wilderness. They shed all trappings of advanced civilization and join one of the communities that choose to live by traditional means, or they simply fend for themselves and live a nomadic life. Is there anything that might have made your father wish to disappear?”

  “Nothing,” said Jasmel. “I saw him when Two last become One, and he was fine.”

  “Briefly,” said the adjudicator.

  “Pardon?”

  “You saw him briefly.” Sard evidently noted Jasmel’s eyebrow going up. “No, I haven’t looked at your alibi archive; you’ve been accused of no crime, after all. But I did make some inquiries; it’s prudent for an adjudicator to do so in a case as unusual as this. So I ask again, was there any reason your father would choose to disappear? He could simply have eluded Adikor down in the mine, after all, then waited until none of the mining robots were about and gone up the elevator.”

  “No, Adjudicator,” said Jasmel. “I saw no evidence of mental instability, no sign that he wasn’t happy—well, as happy as one who had lost a mate could be.”

  “I’ll vouch for that,” said Adikor, speaking directly to the adjudicator. “Ponter and I were very happy together.”

  “Your word is somewhat suspect, given the present circumstances,” said Sard. “But, again, I have made my own inquiries, and they confirm what you have said. Ponter had no debts he could not handle, no enemies, no nadalp—no reason to leave behind a family and a career.”

  “Exactly,” said Adikor, knowing that yet again he should be quiet but being unable to control himself.

  “So,” said Adjudicator Sard, “if he had no reason to wish to disappear, and no mental instability, then we return to Bolbay’s assertion. If Ponter Boddit were merely injured, or dead by natural causes, the search teams would have found him.”

  “But—” said Jasmel.

  “Child,” said, Sard, “if you have some proof—not simple assertions on your part, but actual evidence—that Adikor Huld is not guilty, let’s have it.”

  Jasmel looked at Adikor. Adikor looked at Jasmel. Except for the odd person coughing or shifting in his or her chair, the giant hall was quiet.

  “Well?” said the adjudicator. “I’m waiting.” Adikor shrugged at Jasmel; he had no idea whether presenting this would be the right thing to do. Jasmel cleared her throat. “Yes, adjudicator, there is one other possibility …”

  Chapter 27

  It had been an uncomfortable night for Mary.

  Reuben Montego had wind chimes in his backyard; Mary thought all people with wind chimes should be shot, but, well, given that Reuben did have a couple of acres of land, normally they probably didn’t disturb anyone else. Still, the constant tinkling had made it hard for her to get to sleep.

  There’d been much discussion of sleeping arrangements. Reuben had a queen-size bed in his bedroom, a couch upstairs in his office, and another down in the living room. Unfortunately, neither of the couches folded out into beds. Ultimately, they agreed to give Ponter the bed; he needed
it more than anyone else. Reuben took the upstairs couch, Louise had the downstairs couch for the first night, and Mary slept in a La-Z-Boy, also in the living room.

  Ponter was indeed sick—but Hak wasn’t. Mary, Reuben, and Louise had agreed to take turns giving further language lessons to the implant. Louise said she was a night person, anyway, so Hak could be taught pretty much around the clock now. And Louise had indeed disappeared into Ponter’s room a little before 10:00 P.M., not coming down to the living room again until after 2:00 A.M. Mary wasn’t sure if it was the sound of Louise’s arrival that woke her, or whether she had really already been awake, but she knew she had to go up now and help Hak learn more English.

  Speaking to the Companion was uncomfortable for Mary, not because she was unnerved talking to a computer—far from it; she was fascinated—but because she had to go alone into Ponter’s upstairs bedroom, and because she had to close the door behind her, lest the noise of her conversations with the Companion disturb Reuben sleeping next door.

  She was astonished by how much more fluent Hak had become in the hours the Companion had spent talking with Louise.

  Fortunately, Ponter slept right through the language lesson, although Mary did have a brief moment of panic when he suddenly moved, rolling over on his side. If Mary understood what Hak was trying to convey, the Companion was pumping white noise through Ponter’s auditory implants so that the quiet conversations Hak was having wouldn’t disturb Ponter.

  Mary only managed about an hour of naming nouns and acting out verbs for Hak before she was too tired to go on. She excused herself and went back downstairs. Louise had stripped down to her bra and panties and was lying on the couch, partly covered by an afghan.

  Mary leaned back in the recliner, and this time, out of sheer exhaustion, fell quickly to sleep.

  * * *

  By morning, Ponter’s fever had apparently broken; perhaps the aspirin and antibiotics Reuben had given him were helping. The Neanderthal got out of bed and came downstairs—and, to Mary’s shock, he was absolutely naked. Louise was still asleep, and Mary, curled up in the recliner, had only recently awoken. For half a second, she was afraid Ponter had come down looking for her or—no, doubtless, if he were interested in anyone, it was surely the young, beautiful French-Canadian.