by neetha Napew
“Yes. No. I mean, he-“
“He did what he had to do, no doubt,” said Selgan. “But, still, down deep, there was a part of you that...well, what?”
Ponter closed his eyes. “That resented him.”
“For bringing you home.”
Ponter nodded.
“For taking you away from Mare.”
Another nod.
“For taking you away from a potential replacement for Klast.”
“No onecan replace Klast,” snapped Ponter. “No one.”
“Of course not,” said Selgan quickly, lifting his hands, palms out. “Forgive me. But, still, it appealed to you-to some part of you-to flirt with Daklar, the woman who had almost had Adikor castrated in your absence. Your subconscious wanted to punish him, no? To make him pay for having torn you back from that other world?”
“You’re wrong,” said Ponter.
“Ah,” said Selgan lightly. “Well, I often am, of course...”
Two had finally ceased being One, and Ponter and Adikor had returned with the other males to the Rim. Ponter hadn’t said anything about his time with Daklar while they were commuting back home on the hover-bus. Not that Adikor would have been upset that Ponter was spending time with a woman; to be jealous of your man-mate’s involvements with those of the opposite sex was the height of gaucherie.
But Daklar wasn’t just any woman.
No sooner had Ponter and Adikor gotten off the hover-bus outside their house than Pabo, Ponter’s large reddish brown dog, came rushing out the front door to greet them. Sometimes Pabo came into the Center with Ponter and Adikor, but this time they’d left the old girl at home; she had no trouble hunting her own food while Ponter and Adikor were away.
They all entered the house, and Ponter took a seat in the living area. It was normally his job to prepare the evening meal, and he usually got to that as soon as they came home, but today he wanted to talk to Adikor first.
Adikor made a trip to the bathroom, and Ponter waited, fidgeting. At last he heard the sound of the plumbing jets. Adikor emerged and noted Ponter on one of the couches; he raised his eyebrow at Ponter.
“Sit down,” said Ponter.
Adikor did so, mounting a saddle-seat facing Ponter.
“I wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it from anyone else,” Ponter said.
Adikor could have prodded him to go on, Ponter thought, but instead he just looked at him expectantly.
“I spent most of Two becoming One with Daklar.”
Adikor visibly sagged in the saddle-seat, his splayed legs hanging loosely at his sides. “Daklar?” he repeated, then, as if there could be another: “DaklarBolbay?”
Ponter nodded.
“After what she did to me?”
“She wants forgiveness,” said Ponter. “From you, and from me.”
“She tried to have me castrated!”
“I know,” said Ponter, softly. “I know. But she didn’t succeed.”
“No blade, no injury,” snapped Adikor. “Is that it?”
Ponter was quiet for a long time, composing his thoughts. He’d rehearsed this all in his head during the hover-bus ride back from the Center, but, as was always the case in such matters, reality had already diverged widely from the planned script. “Look, there are my children to think of. It won’t do for their father and the woman they live with to be at odds.”
“Ido care about Megameg and Jasmel,” said Adikor. “But it was not me who created this conflict.”
Ponter nodded slowly. “Granted. But, still...they have been through so much in the last two ten months.”
“I know,” said Adikor. “I am so very sorry that Klast died, but, again, it was not me who created the conflict here. It was Daklar Bolbay.”
“I understand that,” said Ponter. “But...but forgiveness isn’t only of benefit to the person who is being forgiven. It’s also of benefit to the persondoing the forgiving. To carry hate and anger around inside you...” Ponter shook his head. “It’s far better to let it go, totally and completely.”
Adikor seemed to consider this, and, after a few moments, he said, “Two-hundred-odd months ago, I did you an injury.”
Ponter felt his mouth go tight. They never spoke of this-never. That was part of what had made it possible to go on.
“And,” continued Adikor, “you forgave me.”
Ponter was impassive.
“You’ve never asked me for anything in return,” said Adikor, “and I know that is not what you are doing now, but...”
Pabo, evidently disturbed by the break from routine-it was time to make dinner!-came into the living area and nuzzled Ponter’s legs. He reached down and scratched the top of the dog’s head.
“Daklar does want forgiveness,” said Ponter.
Adikor looked at the moss-covered floor. Ponter knew what he was thinking. Emasculation was the highest degree of punishment allowed under law, and Daklar had sought it when no crime had existed. Her own unfortunate circumstances provided the motive, if not the excuse, for her behavior.
“Are you going to bond with her?” asked Adikor, without looking up. As it happened, Ponter himself quite liked Adikor’s woman-mate, the chemist Lurt, but there was certainly no law that said you had to get along with your mate’s other mate.
“It’s premature to even think about that,” said Ponter. “But I did spend four enjoyable days with her.”
“Did you have sex?”
Ponter wasn’t offended by the question; it was normal enough for two mated men to discuss their intimate encounters with women-indeed, it was a common way of dealing with the difficult-to-express notions of what each man found pleasing.
“No,” said Ponter. He shrugged. “I might have, if a real opportunity had presented itself, but we spent most of our time with Jasmel and Megameg.”
Adikor nodded, as if Ponter were revealing a vast conspiracy. “The way to win a man’s love is by paying attention to his children.”
“She is theirtabant, you know. They are her children in a way, too.”
Adikor made no reply.
“So,” said Ponter, at last, “will you forgive her?”
Adikor looked up at the painting on the room’s ceiling for a time, then: “Ironic, isn’t it? This issue between you and me now exists only because of your kindness to me all those ten-months ago. If you had made a public accusation after what I did to you, I would have been castrated back then. Had that been done, I would have had no testicles for Daklar to come after in your absence.” He lifted his shoulders. “I have no choice but to forgive her, since you wish it.”
“You have a choice,” said Ponter.
“As did you, all those months ago.” Adikor nodded. “I will forgive her.”
“You are a good man,” said Ponter.
Adikor frowned, as if contemplating the platitude. “No,” he said. “No, I am anadequate man. But you, my friend...”
Ponter smiled and rose to his feet. “It’s time I got to work on dinner.”
Even though Two had just ceased being One, Ponter and Adikor headed back In, back to the Council chamber. The High Grays had announced that they were ready to make a decision about reopening the portal.
The Council chamber was packed with spectators of both sexes. Adikor looked rather uneasy, and it took Ponter a moment to figure out why. The last time Adikor had seen this chamber when it had been crowded like this, it was being used for thedooslarm basadlarm . But Adikor said nothing about his discomfort-after all, to do so would be to again bring up the matter of his unfortunate history with Daklar-and Ponter loved him all the more for that.
There were eleven Exhibitionists in the audience, dressed in silver. Ponter had never quite gotten used to the Gliksin idea of “news:” a constant reporting-some channels devoted ten tenths a day to it-of bad things happening all over the world. The Companion implants, which had ensured the safety of citizens here for almost a thousand months now, had all but put an end to theft and murder and
assault. Still, humans here were equally hungry for information-Ponter had read that gossiping served the same purpose in people as grooming pelts for insects did in other primates, binding them together. And so some citizens made their contribution by allowing the transmissions from their implants to be publicly received by anyone who wished; people tuned their Voyeurs to whichever Exhibitionist they preferred to watch.
A couple of Exhibitionists always sat in on Council sessions, but the item to be announced today was of wide interest, and even Exhibitionists who normally only attended sporting events or poetry readings were in attendance.
High Council president Pandaro rose to address the assembled group. She used a carved wooden cane to help support herself as she did so. “We have studied the issues Scholar Huld and Scholar Boddit have put before us,” she said. “And we have pored over Scholar Boddit’s lengthy narrative of his trip to the Gliksin world, and the limited physical evidence we have from it.”
Ponter fingered the small gold object he sometimes wore around his neck. He’d hated giving it up for analysis, and was delighted to have it back. Mare had handed it to him just before he’d left her world, a pair of overlapping mutually perpendicular gold strips, one longer than the other.
“And, after this deliberation,” Pandaro continued, “we believe the potential value in gaining access to another version of Earth, and another kind of humanity, with scientific expertise and goods to trade, is too great to ignore.”
“It’s a mistake!” shouted a man’s voice from the opposite seating gallery. “Don’t do it!”
Councilor Bedros, next to President Pandaro, fixed a steady gaze on the person who had shouted out. “Your opinion was noted if you bothered to vote in the poll on this matter. Regardless, it is the job of this Council to make decisions, and you will do us the courtesy of waiting until you hear ours.”
Pandaro continued. “The High Gray Council,” she said, “by a fourteen-to-six margin, recommends that Scholars Huld and Boddit attempt to reopen the portal to the parallel universe, with reports to be made to this Council every ten days, and with the decision to continue this work subject to review every three months.”
Ponter rose, and made a little bow. “Thank you, President.” Adikor was on his feet, too, now, and the two men embraced.
“Save that for later,” said Pandaro. “Let’s get down to the marrow of the security and health issues...”
Chapter Eight
“Welcome to the Synergy Group, Professor Vaughan.”
Mary smiled at Jock Krieger. She hadn’t really known what to expect by way of facilities. The Synergy Group, it turned out, was housed in-well, a house: an old-money mansion in the Seabreeze section of Rochester, right on the shore of Lake Ontario. Ponter would have liked this place: Mary had seen a heron walking along the sandy beach, and ducks, geese, and swans in the harbor, which was lined with pleasure craft.
“Let me show you around,” continued Krieger, ushering Mary farther into the old house.
“Thanks,” said Mary.
“We’ve got twenty-four people on staff currently,” said Krieger, “and we’re still growing.”
Mary was stunned. “Twenty-four people all working on Neanderthal immigration issues?”
“No, no, no. Synergy is involved in a lot more than just that. The DNA project is a particularly high priority, because it’s something we may need right away if the portal ever opens again. But here at Synergy we’re studying all aspects of the Neanderthal situation. The U.S. government is particularly interested in the Companion implants, and-“
“Big Brother is watching,” said Mary.
But Krieger shook his head. “No, my dear, nothing like that. It’s simply that, if we believe what Ponter said, the Companion implants can make a 360-degree detailed recording of everything that’s going on around an individual. Now, yes, we do have four sociologists here evaluating whether the particular uses the Neanderthals put that kind of monitoring to might ever have any applicability in this world-although frankly, I doubt it; we value privacy too much. But, again, if the portal reopens, we want to be on an even footing. If their emissaries can effortlessly record everything they see and hear at all times, obviously we’d like our emissaries to their world to have the same advantage. It’s all about trade, after all-fair trade.”
“Ah,” said Mary. “But Ponter said his Companion wasn’t able to transmit anything to the alibi archives from here; none of the images from his visit were recorded.”
“Yes, yes, a minor technological problem, I’m sure. A recorder could be built on this side.”
They had been walking down a long corridor and had now reached its end. Krieger opened a door. Inside were three people-a black man, a white man, and a white woman. The black man was leaning way back in a chair, tossing crumpled up pieces of paper at a wastebasket. The white guy was staring out at the beach and Lake Ontario beyond. And the woman was pacing back and forth in front of a whiteboard, a felt-tipped marker in hand.
“Frank, Kevin, Lilly, I’d like you to meet Mary Vaughan,” said Krieger.
“Hi,” said Mary.
“Are you in imaging?” asked the one who must be Lilly.
“Sorry?”
“Imaging,” said Frank, and “Imaging,” repeated Kevin-or perhaps it was the other way around. “You know,” added the black man, helpfully, “photography and all that.”
Krieger explained. “There’s a reason we’re in Rochester,” he said. “Kodak, Xerox, and Bausch & Lomb all have their headquarters here. As I said, replicating the Companion technology is a priority; there’s no city in the world that has more experts on imaging and optics.”
“Ah,” said Mary. She looked at the three occupants of the room. “No, I’m a geneticist.”
“Oh, I know you!” declared the black man. He got up out of his chair, the chair’s back making a relieved sound as it resumed a normal position. “You’re the woman who spent all that time with NP.”
“NP?”
“Neanderthal Prime,” said Krieger.
“His name is Ponter,” said Mary, somewhat miffed.
“Sorry,” said the black man. He extended his hand. “I’m Kevin Bilodeau, formerly with the skunkworks at Kodak. Listen, we’d love to pick your brain about the Companion implant. You saw it up close. What sort of arrangement of lenses did it have?”
“There was only one,” said Mary.
“You see!” crowed Lilly, looking accusingly at the man who, by process of elimination, must be Frank.
“Ponter said it used sensor fields to record images,” said Mary.
“Did he say what sort of sensors?” “Did he mention charge-coupled devices?” “Holography-did he say anything about holography?” “What sort of resolution did the sensors have?” “Did he mention a pixel count?” “Can you describe-“
“People!” said Jock loudly. “People! Mary’s going to be with us for a good, long time. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to chat with her. She’s still getting the orientation tour.”
The three apologized, and they all made small talk for a few moments, then Krieger led Mary out of the room. “They’re certainly enthusiastic,” she said, once the door was closed.
Krieger nodded. “Everyone here is.”
“But I don’t see how they can accomplish what you’ve asked. I mean, I’ve heard of reverse engineering, but without a sample of a Companion implant, how can they hope to duplicate it?”
“Just knowing that it’s possible may be enough to get them going in the right direction.” Krieger opened the door on the opposite side of the hall, and Mary felt her eyes going wide.
“Louise!” she exclaimed.
Sitting at a worktable, a notebook computer open in front of her, was Louise Benoît, the physics postdoc who had saved Ponter’s life when he’d first appeared inside the heavy-water tank at the heart of the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory.
“Hello, Mary,” said Louise, speaking with the French accent Mary had come to know so
well. She rose, and her thick brown hair tumbled halfway down her back. Mary was 38 and she knew Louise was 28-but Mary also knew that she herself hadn’t looked that good even when she was 18. Louise was busty, leggy, and had a model’s face; Mary had instinctively disliked her the first time they’d met.
“I’d forgotten that you knew Dr. Benoît,” said Krieger.
Mary shook her head in amazement. “You’re a one-man brain drain, Jock.” She looked again at Louise, wondering how anyone could be so radiant without makeup. “It’s good to see you, Louise.” And then, the cat in her coming to the fore, “How’s Reuben?”
Reuben Montego was the on-site physician at the Creighton Mine. Louise had had quite a torrid little affair with him while Mary, Ponter, Reuben, and she were all quarantined in Sudbury. Mary had assumed they were simply passing time, so she was surprised by Louise’s response. “He’s fine,” she said. “He helped me move my stuff down here, and I’m going up to see him again next weekend.”
“Ah,” said Mary, realizing she’d been put in her place. “And what’s your job here?”
“Dr. Benoît is heading our Portal Group,” said Krieger.
“That’s right,” said Louise. “We’re trying to work out the technology to open a portal from our side into the other universe.”
Mary nodded. Louise hadn’t spent all her time making love with Reuben; she’d also had many long late-night conversations of her own with Ponter Boddit, and doubtless knew more about the Neanderthal view of physics than anyone else on this version of Earth. Mary was ashamed of herself; Louise had never done anything to her-her only crime was being beautiful. “It’ll be nice to spend some time with you again,” said Mary.
“Say,” said Louise, “I could use a roommate down here. What do you think? We seemed to get along well when we were quarantined at Reuben’s.”
“Umm, no,” said Mary. “No thanks. I, ah, I like my privacy.”
“Well, you’ll have no trouble finding a place here in Rochester,” said Louise.
Krieger nodded. “Both Xerox and Kodak have had a lot of layoffs in the last few years, and they’re the city’s principal employers. You can buy houses for a song, and you’ll have your pick of hundreds of apartments.”