The Neanderthal Parallax, Book One - Hominids

by Robert J. Sawyer

  Except ...

  Generation 140. That was the period between—let’s see—about 1,100 to 980 months ago; eighty-nine to seventy-nine years past. But the Companions had been [280] introduced just shy of a thousand months ago; celebrations commemorating that were coming up.

  Did the case in generation 140 date from before or after the introduction of the Companions? Adikor read further.

  From before. Gristle! Bolbay would doubtless argue that this rendered it not germane. Sure, she would say, bodies and even living people could easily disappear during the dark times before the great Lonwis Trob had liberated us, but a case in which there couldn’t have been a record of the accused’s activities had no bearing on one in which the accused had contrived a situation specifically to avoid having a record made.

  Adikor searched some more. He thought briefly that it might have been convenient if there were people who specialized in dealing with legal matters on behalf of others; that, it seemed, would be a useful contribution. He’d have gladly exchanged labor with someone familiar with this field who could do this research for him. But no; it was surely a bad idea. The mere existence of people who worked full-time on things legal would doubtless increase the number of such matters instigated, and—

  Suddenly Pabo came tearing out of the house, barking. Adikor looked up, and, as it always did these days, his heart jumped. Could it be? Could it be?

  But, no, it wasn’t. Of course not. And, yet, it was someone Adikor hadn’t expected to see: young Jasmel Ket. “Healthy day,” she said, once she was within ten paces.

  “Healthy day,” Adikor replied, trying to keep his tone neutral.

  Jasmel sat on the other deck chair, the one that had [281] been her father’s. Pabo knew Jasmel well; the dog had often come into the Center when Two became One, and was clearly pleased to see another familiar face. Pabo nuzzled Jasmel’s legs, and Jasmel scratched the reddish brown fur on the top of the dog’s head.

  “What happened to your chair?” asked Jasmel.

  Adikor looked away. “Nothing.”

  Jasmel evidently decided not to pursue the point; after all, what had happened was obvious. “Did Lurt agree to speak for you?” she asked.

  Adikor nodded.

  “Good,” said Jasmel. “I’m sure she’ll do the best she can.” She fell silent, for a time, then, glancing again at the damaged chair: “But ...”

  “Tes,” said Adikor. “But.”

  Jasmel looked out at the countryside. Off in the distance, a mammoth was wandering by, stolid, placid. “Now that this matter has been referred to a full tribunal, my father’s alibi cube has been moved to the wing of the dead. Daklar spent the afternoon reviewing parts of it, as she prepares to make her full case against you. That’s her right, of course, as accuser speaking on behalf of a dead person. But I insisted she let me review Ponter’s alibi archive with her. And I’ve looked at you and my father together, in the days leading up to his disappearance.” She brought her gaze back to Adikor. “Bolbay can’t see it but, then again, she has been alone for a long time. But—well, I told you I had a young man interested in me. Despite what you said about me not yet being bonded, I know what love looks like—and there is no doubt in my mind that you truly loved my father. After seeing you the way he saw [282] you, I can’t believe you would do anything to harm him.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is ... is there anything I can do to help you prepare to appear in front of the tribunal?”

  Adikor shook his head sadly. “I’m not sure anything can save me or my relatives now.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  DAY SIX

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 7

  148/118/29

  NEWS SEARCH

  Keyword(s): Neanderthal

  Playgirl has sent a letter to Ponter Boddit, asking him if he’d like to pose nude ...

  “Does he have a soul?” said Reverend Peter Donaldson of Los Angeles’s Church of the Redeemer. “That’s the key question. And I say, no, he does not ...”

  “We believe the rush to grant Ponter Canadian citizenship is calculated to allow him to represent Canada in the next Olympic Games, and we call upon the IOC to specifically bar all but Homo sapiens sapiens from competing ...”

  Get yours now: T-shirts, with Ponter Boddit’s face on them. S, M, L, XL, XXL, and Neanderthal sizes available.

  The German Skeptics, headquartered in Nuremberg, today announced that there was no good reason to believe that Ponter Boddit comes from a parallel universe. “That would be the last interpretation to accept,” said Executive Director Karl von Schlegel, “and should only be adopted after every other simpler alternative has been eliminated ...”

  Mounties today arrested three men found trying to infiltrate the cordon around Dr. Reuben Montego’s home in Lively, a town 14 km southwest of Sudbury, where the Neanderthal man is quarantined ...

  [284] There were many ways to pass time, and it seemed that Louise and Reuben had found one of the oldest. Mary hadn’t really looked at Reuben in that light, but, now that she did take stock of him, she realized he was indeed quite handsome. The shaved head wasn’t her thing, but Reuben did have good, sturdy features, a dazzling smile, and intelligent eyes, and he was lean and nicely muscled.

  And, of course, he had that wonderful accent—but that wasn’t all. It turned out that he was fluent in French, meaning Louise and he could converse in her language. Plus, judging by his home, he obviously made a fair bit of money—not surprising, given he was a doctor.

  Quite a find, as Mary’s sister might say. Of course, Mary was sophisticated enough to understand that once the quarantine ended, Reuben and Louise’s relationship would likely end, too. Still, it made Mary uncomfortable—not because she was a prude; she liked to think, despite her good-girl Catholic upbringing, that she wasn’t. But rather because she was afraid Ponter might get the wrong idea about sexuality in this world, that he might think he was now expected to pair off with Mary. And the attention of a man was the last thing she wanted right now.

  Still, Louise and Reuben’s affair did mean that she and Ponter got a lot of time alone together. After a day, it had developed that Reuben and Louise would spend most of their time downstairs, in the basement, watching videos from Reuben’s vast collection, while Mary and Ponter were usually together on the ground floor. And since Reuben and Louise were now sleeping together, they had reclaimed the queen-sized bed from Ponter. Mary didn’t know quite what Reuben had said to manage the switch, [285] but Ponter’s new bed was the couch in Reuben’s upstairs office, leaving the living room all to Mary.

  Some Sundays, Mary went to Mass. She hadn’t gone this week—although she could have, since it wasn’t until Sunday evening that the LCDC had ordered the quarantine. But now she was sorry she’d missed it.

  Fortunately, there were Masses on TV; Vision showed a Roman Catholic one broadcast from a church in Toronto every day. Reuben had a TV in his upstairs office, in addition to the set he and Louise were using in the basement. Mary went up to the office to watch the service being broadcast. The priest was dressed in opulent green vestments. He had silver hair but black eyebrows, and a face that made Mary think of a scrawny Gene Hackman.

  “... Grace and peace of our Lord, Jesus Christ, the love of God our Father and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all,” pronounced the priest, a Monsignor DeVries, according to the title superimposed on the screen.

  Mary, sitting now on the couch that tonight would serve as Ponter’s bed, crossed herself. “Jesus was sent here to heal the contrite,” announced DeVries. “Lord have mercy.”

  Mary joined the TV congregation in repeating, “Lord have mercy.”

  “He came to call sinners,” said DeVries. “Christ have mercy.”

  “Christ have mercy,” repeated Mary and the others.

  “He pleads for us at the right hand of the Father. Lord have mercy.”

  “Lord have mercy.”

  “May Almighty God have mercy on all of us,” s
aid [286] DeVries, “forgive our sins, and bring us to everlasting life.”

  “Amen,” said the congregation.

  The reading, by a black woman with short-cropped hair wearing a purple robe, was from the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah. Behind her, a beautiful stained-glass window depicted a haloed Jesus and the twelve Apostles, with the Virgin Mary looking on. Mary wasn’t exactly sure why she’d felt the need to hear a Mass today. After all, she wasn’t the one who needed forgiveness for sin ...

  Organ music was playing now; a young man sang, “Save me, O Lord, in Your steadfast love ...”

  Mary had done nothing wrong. She was the victim.

  The Eucharist continued, with the Monsignor reading from Luke: “ ‘Declare that these two sons of mine will sit one at Your right hand and one at Your left in Your kingdom ...’ ”

  Of course, Mary knew the story the priest was reciting of the woman who beseeched Christ on the road to Jerusalem; she knew the context. But the words echoed in her head: two sons, one at Your right hand and one at Your left ...

  Could it have been that way? Could two kinds of humanity have lived peacefully side by side? Cain had been an agriculturalist; he grew corn. Abel had been a carnivore, who raised sheep for slaughter. But Cain had slain Abel ...

  The priest was pouring wine now. “Blessed to You, Lord God of all Creation, through Your goodness we have this wine to offer. Fruit of the vine and the work of human hands, it will become a spiritual drink ...

  “Pray, brothers and sisters ...

  “God of power and might, we praise You through Your Son Jesus Christ, who comes in Your name ...

  [287] “God our Father, we have wandered far from You but, through Your Son, You have brought us back ...

  “We ask You to sanctify these gifts through the power of Your spirit ...

  “Take this, all of you, and eat it. This is My body, which will be given up for you ...

  “Take this, all of you, and drink from it. This is the cup of My blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven ...”

  Mary wished she could be with the congregation, taking Communion. When the ceremony was done, she crossed herself again and stood up.

  And that’s when she saw Ponter Boddit, standing quietly in the doorway, watching, his bearded, chinless jaw agape.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “What was that?” asked Ponter.

  “How long have you been there?” demanded Mary.

  “A while.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I did not wish to disturb you,” said Ponter. “You seemed ... intent on what was happening on the screen.”

  Well, thought Mary, she had, in a way, usurped his room; the couch where he slept was the one she was now sitting on. Ponter came fully into Reuben’s office and moved toward the couch, presumably to sit next to her. Mary scooted down to the far end, leaning against one of the couch’s padded arms.

  “Again,” said Ponter, “what was that?”

  Mary lifted her shoulders slightly. “A church service.”

  Ponter’s Companion bleeped.

  “Church,” said Mary. “A, um, a hall of worship.”

  Another bleep.

  “Religion. Worshiping God.”

  Hak spoke up at this point, using its female voice. “I am sorry, Mare. I do not know the meaning of any of these words.”

  [290] “God,” repeated Mary. “The being who created the universe.”

  There was a moment during which Ponter’s expression remained neutral. But then, presumably upon hearing Hak’s translation, his golden eyes went wide. He spoke in his language, and Hak translated, using the male voice: “The universe did not have a creator. It has always existed.”

  Mary frowned. She suspected Louise—if she ever emerged from the basement—would enjoy explaining big-bang cosmology to Ponter. For her part, Mary simply said, “That’s not our belief.”

  Ponter shook his head, but was evidently willing to let that go. Still: “That man,” he said, indicating the TV, “talked of ‘everlasting life.’ Does your kind have the secret of immortality? We have specialists in life-prolongation, and they have long sought that, but—”

  “No,” said Mary. “No, no. He’s talking about Heaven.” She raised her hand, palm out, and successfully forestalled Hak’s bleep. “Heaven is a place where we supposedly continue to exist after death.”

  “That is oxymoronic.” Mary marveled briefly at Hak’s proficiency. Ponter had actually spoken a dozen words in his own language, presumably saying something like “that’s a contradiction in terms,” but the Companion had realized that there was a more succinct way to express this in English, even if there wasn’t in the Neanderthal tongue.

  “Well,” replied Mary, “not everyone on Earth—on this Earth, that is—believes in an afterlife.”

  “Do the majority?”

  “Well ... yes, I guess so.”

  “Do you?”

  [291] Mary frowned, thinking. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  “Based on what evidence?” asked Ponter. The tone of his Neanderthal words was neutral; he wasn’t trying to be derisive.

  “Well, they say that ...” She trailed off. Why did she believe it? She was a scientist, a rationalist, a logical thinker. But, of course, her religious indoctrination had occurred long before she’d been trained in biology. Finally, she shrugged a little, knowing her answer would be inadequate. “It’s in the Bible.”

  Hak bleeped.

  “The Bible,” repeated Mary. “Scriptures.” Bleep. “Holy text.” Bleep. “A revered book of moral teachings. The first part of it is shared by my people—called Christians—and by another major religion, the Jews. The second part is only believed in by Christians.”

  “Why?” asked Ponter. “What happens in the second part?”

  “It tells the story of Jesus, the son of God.”

  “Ah, yes. That man spoke of him. So—so this ... this creator of the universe somehow had a human son? Was God human, then?”

  “No. No, he’s incorporeal; without a body.”

  “Then how could he ... ?”

  “Jesus’ mother was human, the Virgin Mary.” She paused. “In a roundabout way, I’m named after her.”

  Ponter shook his head slightly. “Sorry; Hak has been doing an admirable job, but clearly is failing here. My Companion interpreted something you said as meaning one who has never had sexual intercourse.”

  “Virgin, yes,” said Mary.

  [292] “But how can a virgin also be a mother?” asked Ponter. “That is another—” and Mary heard him speak the same string of words that Hak had rendered before as “oxymoron.”

  “Jesus was conceived without intercourse. God sort of planted him in her womb.”

  “And this other faction—Jews, you said?—rejects this story?”

  “Yes.”

  “They seem ... less credulous, shall we say.” He looked at Mary. “Do you believe this? This story of Jesus?”

  “I am a Christian,” Mary said, confirming it as much for herself as for Ponter. “A follower of Jesus.”

  “I see,” said Ponter. “And you also believe in this existence after death?”

  “Well, we believe that the real essence of a person is the soul”—bleep—“an incorporeal version of the person, and that the soul travels to one of two destinations after death, where that essence will live on. If the person has been good, the soul goes to Heaven—a paradise, in the presence of God. If the person has been bad, the soul goes to Hell”—bleep—“and is tortured”—bleep—“tormented forever.”

  Ponter was silent for a long time, and Mary tried to read his broad features. Finally, he said, “We—my people—do not believe in an afterlife.”

  “What do you think happens after death?” asked Mary.

  “For the person who has died, absolutely nothing. He or she ceases to be, totally and completely. All that they were is gone fo
revermore.”

  “That’s so sad,” said Mary.

  [293] “Is it?” asked Ponter. “Why?”

  “Because you have to go on without them.”

  “Do you have contact with those who dwell in this afterlife of yours?”

  “Well, no. I don’t. Some people say they do, but their claims have never been substantiated.”

  “Color me surprised,” said Ponter; Mary wondered where Hak had picked up that expression. “But if you have no way of accessing this afterlife, this realm of the dead, then why give it credence?”

  “I’ve never seen the parallel world you came from,” said Mary, “and yet I believe in that. And you can’t see it anymore—but you still believe in it, too.”

  Once again, Hak got full marks. “Touché,” it said, neatly summarizing a half dozen words uttered by Ponter.

  But Ponter’s revelations had intrigued Mary. “We hold that morality comes from religion: from the belief in an absolute good, and from the, well, the fear, I guess, of damnation—of being sent to Hell.”

  “In other words,” said Ponter, “humans of your kind behave properly only because they are threatened if they do not.”

  Mary tilted her head, conceding the point. “It’s Pascal’s wager,” she said. “See, if you do believe in God, and he doesn’t exist, then you’ve lost very little. But if you don’t, and he does, then you risk eternal torment. Given that, it’s prudent to be a believer.”

  “Ah,” said Ponter; the interjection was the same in his language as hers, so no rendering of it was made by Hak.

  “But, look,” said Mary, “you still haven’t answered my question about morality. Without a God—without a belief [294] that you will be rewarded or punished after the end of your life—what drives morality among your people? I’ve spent a fair bit of time with you now, Ponter; I know you’re a good person. Where does that goodness come from?”