Hominids

by Robert J. Sawyer

  “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 Twenty-seven

  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.

  But although he glanced briefly at both Louise and Mary, it turned out he was really heading for the kitchen. He apparently hadn’t noticed that Mary’s eyes were open.

  She was going to speak up, objecting to his nudity, but, well…

  My goodness, Mary thought, as he crossed through the living room. My goodness. He might not be much to look at above the neck, but…

  She swiveled her head to watch his buns as he disappeared into the kitchen, and she watched again as he re-emerged, holding one of Reuben’s cans of Coke; Reuben had a whole shelf of his fridge devoted to the stuff. The scientist in Mary was fascinated to see a Neanderthal in the flesh, and—

  And the woman in her simply enjoyed watching Ponter’s muscular body move.

  Mary allowed herself a little smile. She’d thought, perhaps, that she’d never be able to look at a man in that way again.

  It was nice to know she still could.

  Mary, Reuben, and Louise had been repeatedly interviewed by phone now, and Reuben, with Inco’s permission, had organized a press conference—all three of them standing around a speakerphone in a conference call to journalists, who were shooting the proceedings through the living-room window with zoom lenses.

  Meanwhile, tests were being done for smallpox, bubonic plague, and a range of other diseases. Blood samples had been flown in Canadian Forces jets to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta and to the level-four hot lab at the Canadian Science Centre for Human and Animal Health in Winnipeg. The results from the first round of cultures came in at 11:14 A.M. No pathogens had been found in Ponter’s blood yet, and no one else who had been with him—including all the others now quarantin
ed at St. Joseph’s—were showing any signs of illness. While other cultures were being tested, the microbiologists were also looking at blood samples for unknown pathogens—cells or other inclusions of kinds they’d never seen before.

  “It’s a pity he’s a physicist rather than a physician,” said Reuben to Mary, after the press conference.

  “Why?” asked Mary.

  “Well, we’re lucky we have any useful antibiotics left to offer him. Bacteria build up immunity over time; I usually give my patients erythromycin, because penicillin is so ineffective these days, but I actually gave Ponter penicillin first. It’s based on bread mold, of course, and if Ponter’s people don’t make bread, then they may never have stumbled on to it, so it might be very effective against any bacteriological infection he brought with him from his world. Then I gave him erythromycin, and a bunch of others, to combat anything he caught here. Still, Ponter’s people probably have antibiotics of their own, but they’re likely different from those we’ve discovered. If he could tell us what they use, we’d have a new weapon in the war on disease—one that our bacteria don’t yet have any resistance to.”

  Mary nodded. “Interesting,” she said. “It’s too bad the gateway between his world and ours closed almost immediately. There are probably lots of fascinating trade possibilities between two versions of Earth. Pharmaceuticals are surely just the tip of the iceberg. Most of the foods we eat don’t occur in the wild. He may not care for wheat products, but the modern potato and tomato, corn, the domestic chicken and pig and cow—all of them are forms of life we essentially created through selective breeding. We could trade those for whatever foodstuffs they’ve got.”

  Reuben nodded. “And that’s just for starters. There’s doubtless lots more to be done in terms of trading mining sites. I bet we know where all sorts of valuable minerals, fossils, and so on are that they haven’t found, and vice versa.”

  Mary realized he was probably right. “Anything natural that’s older than a few tens of thousands of years would be present in both worlds, wouldn’t it? Another Lucy, another Tyrannosaurus Sue, another set of Burgess Shale fossils, another Hope diamond—at least, the original uncut stone.” She paused, considering it all.

  By the middle of the day, Ponter was clearly feeling much better. Mary and Louise both looked in at him, covered by a blanket, lying on the bed, as he slept quietly. “I’m glad he doesn’t snore,” said Louise. “With a nose that big…”

  “Actually,” said Mary, softly, “that’s probably why he doesn’t snore; he’s getting plenty of airflow.”

  Ponter rolled over on the bed.

  Louise looked at him for a moment, then turned back to Mary. “I’m going to have a shower,” she said.

  Mary’s period had begun that morning; she’d certainly like a shower herself. “I’ll have one after you.”

  Louise headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  Ponter stirred again, then woke. “Mare,” he said softly. He slept with his mouth closed, and his voice on waking didn’t sound at all raw.

  “Hello, Ponter. Did you sleep well?”

  He raised his long, blond eyebrow—Mary still hadn’t gotten used to the sight of it rolling up his browridge—as if he thought it a preposterous question.

  He cocked his head; Louise had started the shower. And then he flared his nostrils, each the diameter of a twenty-five-cent piece, and looked at Mary.

  And suddenly she realized what was happening, and she felt enormously embarrassed and uncomfortable. He could smell that she was menstruating. Mary backed across the room; she could hardly wait for her turn at the shower.

  Ponter’s expression was neutral. “Moon,” he said.

  Yes, thought Mary, it’s that time of the month. But she certainly didn’t want to talk about it. She hurried back downstairs.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Adjudicator Sard had an expression on her lined, wise face that conveyed, “This had better be good.” “All right, child,” she said to Jasmel, who was still standing next to Adikor in the Council chamber. “What other explanation, besides violent action, is there for your father’s disappearance?”

  Jasmel was quiet for a moment. “I would gladly tell you, Adjudicator, but…”

  Sard was growing more impatient than usual. “Yes?”

  “But, well, Scholar Huld could explain it much better than I.”

  “Scholar Huld!” exclaimed the adjudicator. “You propose the accused should speak on his own behalf?” Sard shook her head in astonishment.

  “No,” said Jasmel quickly, clearly realizing Sard was about to prohibit this outlandish notion. “No, nothing like that. He would simply address some points of technical information: information about quantum physics, and—”

  “Quantum physics!” said Sard. “What bearing could quantum physics possibly have on this case?”

  “It may in fact be the key,” said Jasmel. “And Scholar Huld can present the information much more eloquently…” she saw Sard frowning “…and succinctly than could I.”

  “Is there no one else who could provide the same information?” asked the adjudicator.

  “No, Adjudicator,” said Jasmel. “Well, there is a group of females in Evsoy engaged in similar research, but—”

  “Evsoy!” exclaimed Sard, as if Jasmel had named the far side of the moon. She shook her head again. “Oh, all right.” She fixed a predator’s gaze on Adikor. “Do be brief, Scholar Huld.”

  Adikor wasn’t sure if he should rise, but he was getting tired of sitting on the stool, and so he did. “Thank you, Adjudicator,” he said. “I, ah, I appreciate you allowing me to speak other than simply in response to questions posed.”

  “Don’t make me regret my indulgence,” said Sard. “Get on with it.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Adikor. “The work Ponter Boddit and I were doing involved quantum computing. Now, what quantum computing does—at least in one interpretation—is reach into countless parallel universes in which identical quantum computers also exist. And all these quantum computers simultaneously tackle different portions of a complex mathematical problem. By pooling their capabilities, they get the work done much more quickly.”

  “Fascinating, I’m sure,” said Sard. “But what has this to do with Ponter’s alleged death?”

  “It is, ah, my belief, Worthy Adjudicator, that when we were last running our quantum-computing experiment, a…a macroscopic passage of some sort…might have opened up into another one of these universes, and Ponter fell through that, so—”

  Daklar Bolbay snorted derisively; others in the audience followed her lead. Sard was once again shaking her head in disbelief. “You expect me to believe that Scholar Boddit vanished into another universe?”

  Now that the crowd knew which way the adjudicator’s sentiments were leaning, they felt no need to hold back. There was out-and-out laughter emanating from many seats.

  Adikor felt his pulse quickening, and his fists clenching—which was the last thing he should be doing, he knew. He couldn’t do anything about the tachycardia, but he slowly managed to force his hands to open. “Adjudicator,” he said, managing as deferential a tone as he could, “the existence of parallel universes underlines much theoretical thought in quantum physics these days, and—”

  “Silence!” shouted Sard, her deep voice thundering in the hall. Some audience members gasped at her volume. “Scholar Huld, in all my hundreds of months as an adjudicator, I have never heard such a flimsy excuse. You think those of us who didn’t go to your vaunted Science Academy are ignoramuses who can be fooled by outlandish talk?”

  “Worthy Adjudicator, I—”

  “Shut up,” said Sard. “Just shut up and sit back down.”

  Adikor took a deep breath, and held it—just as they’d taught him to those 250-odd months ago when he’d been treated for having punched Ponter. He let the breath out slowly, imagining his fury escaping with it.

  “I said sit down!” snapped Sard.
/>   Adikor did so.

  “Jasmel Ket!” said the adjudicator, turning her fiery stare now on Ponter’s daughter.

  “Yes, Adjudicator?” said Jasmel, her voice quavering.

  The adjudicator took a deep breath of her own, composing herself. “Child,” she said, more calmly, “child, I know you lost your mother recently to leukemia. I can only imagine how unfair that must have seemed to you, and little Megameg.” She smiled at Jasmel’s sister, new wrinkles piling atop the old ones on her face. “And now, it seems perhaps your father is dead, too—and, again, not the inevitable death that comes eventually to us all, but unexpectedly, without warning, and at a young age. I can understand why you are so reluctant to give up on him, why you might accept an outrageous explanation…”

  “It’s not like that, Adjudicator,” said Jasmel.

  “Isn’t it? You’re desperate for something to hold on to, some hope to cling to. Isn’t that so?”

  “I—I don’t think so.”

  Sard nodded. “It will take time to accept what has happened to your father. I know that.” She looked around the chambers, then finally her gaze landed on Adikor. “All right,” Sard said. She was quiet for a moment, apparently considering. “All right,” she said again. “I’m prepared to rule. I do believe it is just and appropriate to find that a good circumstantial case for the crime of murder has been made, and I therefore order this matter be tried by a trio of adjudicators, assuming anyone still wishes to pursue the issue.” She looked now at Bolbay. “Do you wish to press the charge further, on behalf of your minor ward, Megameg Bek?”