“When?”
“Soon. I promise.”
“But you want her to come on this trip—come with us to the Synergy Group, come with us to see Lonwis.”
“Well, her current contribution is as a researcher at the Synergy Group. Surely it makes sense for her to return there from time to time.”
Adikor’s broad mouth was frowning. Ponter used the back of his hand to gently rub Adikor’s cheek, feeling his whiskers. “I do love you, Adikor. Nothing will ever come between us.”
Adikor nodded slowly, and then, taking the initiative himself, he spoke into his Companion. “Please connect me to Mare Vaughan.”
After a moment, Christine’s imitation of Mare’s voice emerged from Adikor’s Companion’s external speaker, a translation of what Mare had said in her language: “Healthy day.”
“Healthy day, Mare. This is Adikor. How would you like to take a trip with Ponter and me?”
“This is astonishing!” said Adikor as they drove through Sudbury, Ontario. “Buildings everywhere! And all these people! Men and women together!”
“And this is just a small city,” said Ponter. “Wait till you see Toronto or Manhattan.”
“Incredible,” said Adikor. Ponter had taken the back seat so that Adikor could ride up front. “Incredible!”
Before heading out on the long trip to Rochester, they stopped first at Laurentian University to inquire about employment opportunities for Mary and Bandra. Ponter had been absolutely right: the meeting started with the head of the genetics and geology departments, but soon the university’s president and its chancellor had shown up as well. Laurentian very much wanted to hire them both, and was more than happy to work out a schedule that would accommodate four consecutive days’ leave per month for Mary.
Since they were at Laurentian, they went down to the basement lair of Veronica Shannon. Adikor went into “Veronica’s Closet,” wearing a newly built test helmet that easily accommodated Neanderthal skulls.
Mary had hoped that Adikor might experience something when the left-hemisphere part of his parietal lobe was stimulated, but he didn’t. On the off-chance that Neanderthal brains were mirror images of Gliksin ones (unlikely, given the prevalence of right-handedness in Neanderthals), Veronica tried a second run, stimulating the right-hemisphere part of Adikor’s parietal lobe, but that also produced no response.
Mary, Ponter, and Adikor then drove down to Mary’s condo in Richmond Hill, Adikor looking out at the highway and all the other cars in absolute amazement.
When they reached Mary’s home, she picked up her huge stack of accumulated mail from the concierge’s desk in the lobby, and then they went up the elevator to her unit.
There, Adikor went out on the balcony, amazed by the view. He seemed content to just keep looking, so Mary ordered up a dinner she knew Ponter would like: Kentucky Fried Chicken, coleslaw, french fries, and twelve cans of Coke.
While they waited for it to arrive, Mary turned on her TV, hoping to catch up on the news, and before long, she found herself glued to her set.
“Habemus papam! ” said the news anchor, a white woman with auburn hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “That was the word today from Vatican City in Rome: we have a Pope.”
The image changed to show the plume of white smoke emerging from the chimney on the Sistine Chapel, indicating the burning of ballots after a candidate had received the required majority of two-thirds plus one. Mary felt her heart pounding.
Then a still image appeared: a white man of perhaps fifty-five, with salt-and-pepper hair and a narrow, pinched face. “The new Pontiff is Franco, Cardinal DiChario, of Florence, and we are told that he is taking the name of Mark II.”
A two-shot now, of the anchor and a black woman of about forty, wearing a smart business suit. “Joining us here at the CBC Broadcasting Centre is Susan Doncaster, professor of religious studies at the University of Toronto. Thank you for coming in, Professor.”
“My pleasure, Samantha.”
“What can you tell us about the man born Franco DiChario? What sort of changes can we expect him to make in the Roman Catholic Church?”
Doncaster spread her arms a bit. “Many of us were hoping for a breath of fresh air with the appointment of a new Pope, perhaps a relaxation of some of the Church’s more conservative stances. But already wags are noting that his chosen name sounds like he’s just the latest iteration of what’s already been established: the Pope, Mark II. You’ll note we’re back to having an Italian on St. Peter’s Throne, and as a cardinal, Franco DiChario was very much a conservative.”
“So we won’t see a lightening up of policies on, for instance, birth control?”
“Almost certainly not,” said Doncaster, shaking her head. “DiChario is on record calling Pope Paul’s Humanae Vitae the most important encyclical of the second millennium, and one whose tenants he believes should guide the Church throughout the third millennium.”
“What about the celibacy of the clergy?” asked Samantha.
“Again, Franco DiChario spoke frequently about how important the standard vows—poverty, chastity, and obedience—were to the taking of Orders. I can’t see any possibility of Mark II reversing Rome’s stance on that.”
“I get the impression,” said the anchor, smiling slightly, “that there’s no point in asking about the ordination of women, then.”
“Not on Franco DiChario’s watch, that’s for sure,” said Doncaster. “This is a Church under siege, and it is fortifying its traditional barricades, not tearing them down.”
“So no likelihood of a softening of rules about divorce, then, either?”
Mary held her breath, even though she knew what the answer must be.
“Not a chance,” said Doncaster.
Mary had put her TV remote control away in a drawer back at the beginning of the summer; she was trying to lose weight, and that had seemed a simple enough way to force herself to move around more. She got up off the couch, crossed over to the fourteen-inch RCA set, and touched the button that turned it off.
When she turned back around, she saw that Ponter was looking at her. “You’re not pleased by the choice of new Pope,” he said.
“No, I’m not. And a lot of other people won’t be, either.” She lifted her shoulders slightly, a philosophical shrug. “But, then again, I suppose there’s rejoicing going on in many places, too.” She sighed.
“What will you do?” said Ponter.
“I—I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I’m about to be excommunicated; I did promise Colm that I’d agree to an annulment rather than a divorce, but…”
“But what?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Mary. “I am glad that our child will have the God organ. But I am getting tired of all these ridiculous restrictions. It’s the twenty-first century, for Christ’s sake!”
“This new Pope may surprise you,” said Ponter. “As I understand it, he has made no announcements of his own since being named to the office. All we have heard is speculation.”
Mary sat back down on the couch. “I know that. But if the cardinals had wanted a real change, they would have elected somebody different.” She laughed. “Listen to me! That’s the secular view, of course. The choice of Pope is supposed to be divinely inspired. So what I should be saying is if God had wanted a real change, he would have selected somebody different.”
“Regardless, as that woman said, you have a Pope—and he looks young enough to serve for many tenmonths to come.”
Mary nodded. “I will get an annulment. I owe that to Colm. I’m the one who left the marriage, and he doesn’t want to be excommunicated. But even if an annulment means I could stay in the Catholic Church, I’m not going to. There are lots of other Christian denominations, after all—it hardly means giving up my faith.”
“This sounds like a big decision,” said Ponter.
Mary smiled. “I’ve been making a lot of those lately. And I can’t stay Catholic.” She was surprised at how easily the words came
. “I can’t.”
Chapter Thirty-three
“We—the kind of humanity called Homo sapiens, the kind our Neanderthal cousins call Gliksins—have a drive unique among all primates, a drive singular in the realm of conscious beings…”
“Hello, Jock,” said Mary Vaughan as she came into his office at the Synergy Group.
“Mary!” Jock exclaimed. “Welcome back!” He got up out of his Aeron chair, crossed in front of his desk, and shook her hand. “Welcome back.”
“It’s good to see you.” She motioned outside the door, and her two traveling companions stepped into view. “Jock, you remember Envoy Ponter Boddit. And this is Scholar Adikor Huld.”
Jock’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up toward his pompadour. “My goodness!” he said. “This is a surprise.”
“You didn’t know we were coming?”
Jock shook his head. “I’ve been wrapped up with…other matters. I get reports on all Neanderthal comings and goings, but I’m behind in looking at them.”
Mary thought briefly of an old joke: the bad news is that the CIA reads all your e-mail; the good news is that the CIA reads all your e-mail.
“Anyway,” said Jock, moving in and shaking Ponter’s hand, “welcome back.” He then shook Adikor’s hand. “Welcome, Dr. Huld, to the United States of America.”
“Thank you,” said Adikor. “It is…overwhelming.”
Jock managed a thin smile. “That it is.”
Mary indicated the two Barasts. “Lonwis Trob asked for Ponter to return, and this time to bring Adikor with him.”
Ponter smiled. “I’m sure that I’m too much of a theoretician for Lonwis’s tastes. But Adikor actually knows how to build things.”
“Speaking of Neanderthal ingenuity,” said Mary, pointing at a worktable that had been set up in a corner of Jock’s office, “I see you’ve been examining the codon writer.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Jock. “It’s an astonishing piece of equipment.”
“That it is,” said Mary. She looked at Jock, wondering whether to tell him. Then, too excited not to, she said, “It’s going to allow Ponter and me to have a baby, despite our differing chromosome counts.”
Jock sat up straight in his Aeron chair. “Really? My…goodness. I didn’t…I didn’t think that would be possible.”
“Well, it is!” said Mary, beaming.
“Um, well, ah, congratulations,” said Jock. “And to you, too, of course, Ponter. Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” said Ponter.
Suddenly Jock frowned, as if something important had occurred to him. “A hybrid between Homo sapiens and Homo neanderthalensis,” he said. “Will it have twenty-three pairs of chromosomes or twenty-four?”
“You mean, will it be Gliksin or Barast, according to the test I worked out?” asked Mary.
Jock nodded. “Just—you know—an idle curiosity.”
“We talked about that a lot. We finally decided to give it twenty-three pairs of chromosomes. It’ll appear as a Gliksin—a Homo sapiens —at that level.”
“I see,” said Jock. He seemed slightly displeased at the notion.
“Given that the embryo is going to be placed in my womb”—she patted her belly—“we’re trying to avoid triggering any immunological responses there.”
Jock glanced down. “You’re not pregnant now, are you?”
“No, no. Not yet. Generation 149 won’t be conceived until next year.”
Jock blinked. “So the child is going to live in the Neanderthal world? Does that mean you’re going to move there permanently?”
Mary looked over at Ponter and Adikor. She hadn’t expected to get into this just yet. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I’m going to mostly stay in this world…”
“It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ coming,” said Jock.
Mary nodded. “There is. You know I finished the task you hired me for here at Synergy much faster than we’d originally anticipated. I’m thinking it’s time I moved on. I’ve been offered a full-time tenured position in the genetics department at Laurentian.”
“Laurentian?” said Jock. “Where’s that?”
“It’s in Sudbury—you know, where the portal is. Laurentian is a small university, but it’s got a great genetics department—and it does DNA forensic work for the RCMP.” She paused. “I find myself interested in that area these days.”
Jock smiled. “Who’d have thought ‘location, location, location’ would ever apply to Sudbury?”
“Hello, Mary.”
Mary dropped the mug she was holding. It shattered, and coffee laced with chocolate milk splattered across the floor of her office. “I’ll scream,” said Mary. “I’ll call for Ponter.”
Cornelius Ruskin closed the door behind him. “There’s no need for that.”
Mary’s heart was pounding. She looked around for anything she could use as a weapon. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Cornelius managed a small smile. “I work here. I’m your replacement.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Mary. She scooped up the handset of her desk phone.
Cornelius moved closer.
“Don’t you touch me!” said Mary. “Don’t you dare!”
“Mary—”
“Get out! Get out! Get out!”
“Just give me two minutes, Mary—that’s all I ask.”
“I’ll call the police!”
“You can’t do that. You know you can’t, not after what Ponter did to me, and—”
Suddenly Cornelius stopped talking. Mary’s heart was pounding furiously, and her face must have betrayed something that Cornelius detected.
“You don’t know!” he said, his blue eyes wide. “You don’t know, do you? He never told you!”
“Told me what?” said Mary.
Cornelius’s lean form went limp, as if his limbs were only loosely connected to his body. “It never occurred to me that you weren’t involved in planning it, that you didn’t know…”
“Know what?” demanded Mary.
Cornelius backed away. “I won’t hurt you, Mary. I can’t hurt you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you know that Ponter came to see me, at my apartment?”
“What? You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“When?”
“Back in September. Late at night…”
“You are lying. He never—”
“Oh, yes he did.”
“He would have told me,” said Mary.
“So I would have thought,” agreed Cornelius with a philosophical shrug. “But apparently he didn’t.”
“Look,” said Mary. “I don’t care about any of that. Just get the hell out of here. I came down here to get away from you! I’m going to call the police.”
“You don’t want to do that,” said Cornelius.
“Just watch me—and if you come one step closer, I’ll scream.”
“Mary—”
“Don’t come any closer.”
“Mary, Ponter castrated me.”
Mary felt her jaw drop. “You’re lying,” she said. “You’re making that up.”
“I’ll show you, if you like…”
“No!” Mary almost vomited, the notion of seeing his naked flesh again too much to bear.
“It’s true. He came to my apartment, maybe two in the morning, and he—”
“Ponter would never do that. Not without telling me.”
Cornelius moved a hand to his zipper. “Like I said, I can prove it.”
“No!” Mary was gasping for air now.
“Qaiser Remtulla told me you’d gone native—moving permanently to the other side. I never would have come down here otherwise, but…” He shrugged again. “I need this job, Mary,” said Cornelius. “York was a dead end for me—for any white male of my generation. You know that.”
Mary was close to hyperventilating. “I can’t work with you. I can’t even be in the same room as you.”
“I hate you,” hissed Mary.
“I know you do.” He shrugged a little. “I—I can’t say that I blame you, either. But if you spill the beans about me to Krieger, or anyone else, it will be game over for Ponter Boddit. He’ll go to jail for what he did to me.”
“God damn you,” said Mary.
Cornelius just nodded. “No doubt he will.”
“Ponter!” said Mary, storming into the room at Synergy where he was working with Adikor Huld and Lonwis Trob. “Come with me!”
“Hello, Mare,” said Ponter. “What’s wrong?”
“Now!” snapped Mary. “Right now!”
Ponter turned to the other two Neanderthals, but Christine continued to translate. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”
Lonwis nodded, and made a crack to Adikor that it must be Last Five. Mary marched out of the room, and Ponter followed.
“Outside! ” snapped Mary, and without looking back, she headed down the mansion’s carpeted main-floor corridor, took her coat from the rack, and went out the front door.
Ponter followed, taking no coat. Mary marched across the brown lawn and crossed the road, until they were at the boardwalk of the deserted marina. She wheeled on Ponter. “Cornelius Ruskin is here,” she said.
“No,” said Ponter. “I would have smelled him if—”
“Maybe slicing off his balls has changed his scent,” snapped Mary.
“Ah,” said Ponter, and then: “Oh.”
“That’s it?” demanded Mary. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“I—um, well…”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“You wouldn’t have approved,” said Ponter, looking down at the sidewalk, which was half-blanketed with dead leaves.
“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have! Ponter, how could you do something like that? For Christ’s sake…”
“Christ,” Ponter repeated softly. “Christ taught that forgiveness was the greatest of virtues. But…”
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