Ordinarily, Mary would be delighted to hear such absolute parity in the marital pledges—she’d had to fight Colm to get the “and obey” part struck from what she was supposed to recite. But that thought was entirely subordinate to her shock to find that Ponter and Daklar were affectionate toward each other—and after what she’d done to Adikor!
Little Mega startled Mary by clapping her hands together once. “They are bonded!” she squealed. For half a second, Mary thought the girl was referring to Ponter and Daklar, but, no, no, that was ridiculous.
Bal slapped his own hands against his stomach. “Now that we have finished with that,” he said, “let us get to work preparing the feast!”
Chapter Thirty-three
“What are you?” asked Selgan, shaking his head in wonder. “A moron?”
“Daklar wasn’t supposed to be there!” said Ponter. “A bonding ceremony involves only parents and the two children being bonded. There’s no role for the same-sex mates of the parents.”
“But Daklar was tabant of your daughters.”
“Not of Jasmel,” said Ponter. “Jasmel had reached the age of majority; she no longer had a legal guardian.”
“But you had brought Mare along,” said Selgan.
“Yes. I make no apology for that: it was my right to bring someone in Klast’s place.” Ponter frowned. “Daklar should not have been there.” Selgan scratched his scalp where it was exposed by his wide part. “You people in the physical sciences,” he said, shaking his head again. “You expect humans to behave predictably, to follow immutable laws. But they don’t.”
Ponter snorted. “Tell me about it.”
To Mary’s horror, everyone was supposed to participate in flensing the deer. Bal and Yabla, as parents of the—the “groom”; Mary couldn’t help using the term—had brought sharp metal knives, and Bal slit the deer from throat to tail. Mary hadn’t been prepared for the sight of so much blood, and she excused herself, walking a short distance away.
It was cold here, in the Neanderthal world, and it was getting colder. The sun was close to setting.
Mary had her back to the group, but after a few moments, she heard footfalls on the first autumn leaves behind her. She assumed it was Ponter, come to offer some comfort…and an explanation. But Mary’s heart jumped when she heard Daklar’s deep voice.
“You seem uncomfortable with the skinning of the deer,” she said.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Mary replied, turning around. She could see that Yabla and little Mega were now off gathering wood for a fire.
“That is all right. We have an extra pair of hands here anyway.”
At first Mary thought Daklar was making a reference to her own presence, which had clearly surprised Ponter. And then, Mary thought, perhaps Daklar was taking a dig at her. “Ponter invited me,” Mary said, not liking the defensive tone in her voice.
“So I see,” said Daklar.
Mary, knowing she would regret doing so but unable to stop herself, pushed the issue. “I don’t see how you can be here all sweetness and light after what you did to Adikor.”
Daklar was quiet for a time, and Mary was unable to read her expression. “I see,” the Neanderthal woman said at last, “that our Ponter has been telling you things.”
Mary didn’t like the phrasing “our Ponter,” but said nothing in reply. After a moment, Daklar continued: “What precisely did he tell you?”
“That while Ponter was in my world, you had Adikor charged with his murder—Adikor! Whom Ponter loves!”
Daklar lifted her eyebrow. “Did he tell what the principal piece of evidence against Adikor was?”
Mary knew that Daklar was a gatherer, not a hunter, but Mary felt as though she were being maneuvered into a trap. She shook her head through an arc of only a few degrees. “There was no evidence,” said Mary, “because there was no crime.”
“Not that time, no. But before.” Daklar paused, and her tone sounded a little haughty, a little condescending. “I’m sure Ponter hasn’t told you about his damaged jaw.”
But Mary wanted to assert her intimacy with the man. “He told me all about it. I’ve even seen X rays of it.”
“Well, then, you should understand. Adikor had tried once before to kill Ponter, so—”
Suddenly Daklar broke off, and her eyes went wide as she apparently read some sign in Mary’s face. “You did not know it was Adikor, did you? Ponter had not taken you that far into his confidence, had he?”
Mary felt her heart pounding rapidly. She didn’t trust herself to make a reply.
“Well,” said Daklar, “then I do have new information for you. Yes, it was Adikor Huld who punched Ponter in the face. I submitted as evidence images from Ponter’s alibi archive showing the attack.”
Mary and Colm had had their problems—no question—but he had never hit her. Although she knew it was all too common, she couldn’t imagine staying with a physically abusive spouse, but…
But it had been just once, and—
No. No, had Ponter been female, Mary never would have forgiven Adikor for hitting him even once, just as…
She hated to think about it, hated whenever it came to mind.
Just as she had never forgiven her father for having once hit her mother, decades ago.
But Ponter was a man, was physically the equal of Adikor, and—
And yet, nothing—nothing—excused such behavior. To hit someone you were supposed to love!
Mary had no reply for Daklar, and, after sufficient time had elapsed that this was obvious, the Neanderthal woman went on. “So you see, my charge against Adikor was not unfounded. Yes, I regret it now, but…”
She trailed off. To this point, Daklar had shown no unwillingness to give voice to any thought, and so Mary wondered what it was that she was leaving unsaid. And then it hit her. “But you were blinded by the thought of losing Ponter.”
Daklar neither nodded nor shook her head, but Mary knew she had hit upon it. “Well, then,” Mary said. She had no idea what, if anything, Ponter had said to Daklar about his relationship with Mary during the first time he’d come to Mary’s world, and…
…and surely he’d had no opportunity to speak to Daklar of the relationship that had deepened since, but…
But Daklar was a woman. She might weigh over two hundred pounds, and she might be able to bench-press twice that amount, and she might have soft fur on her cheeks.
But she was a woman, a female of genus Homo, and she could doubtless read things as clearly as Mary could. If Daklar hadn’t known about Ponter’s interest in Mary before today, she surely did now. Not just because of the blindingly obvious—that Ponter had brought Mary to fill the role of his dead woman-mate at his daughter’s bonding—but in how Ponter looked at Mary, how he stood close to her. His posture, his body language, surely spoke as eloquently to Daklar as they did to Mary.
“Well, then, indeed,” said Daklar, echoing Mary’s words.
Mary looked back at the wedding party. Ponter was working on the deer corpse with Jasmel and Tryon and Bal, but he kept glancing in this direction. Had he been a Gliksin, perhaps Mary would have been unable to read his expression at such a distance, but Ponter’s features, and his emotions, were writ large across his broad face. He was clearly nervous about the conversation Mary and Daklar were having—and well he should be, thought Mary.
She turned her attention back to the female Neanderthal standing before her, arms crossed in front of her broad, but not particularly busty, chest. Mary had noticed that none of the Neanderthal women she’d met were, well, stacked, the way Louise Benoît was. She supposed that with males and females living mostly separate lives, secondary sexual characteristics wouldn’t be as important.
“He is of my kind,” said Daklar, simply.
And, indeed he was, thought Mary, but …
But.
She refused to meet Daklar’s eyes, and, without another word, Mary Vaughan, woman, Canadian, Homo sapiens, walked back to j
oin the group stripping the reddish brown hide from the carcass of the animal that one of them had killed apparently with nothing more than thrusts from his spear.
Mary had to admit the meal was excellent. The meat was juicy and flavorful, and the vegetables were tasty. It reminded her a bit of a trip she’d made two years ago to New Zealand for a conference; everyone had gone out for a Maori hangi feast.
But soon enough it was over, and, to Mary’s astonishment, Tryon left with his father. Mary leaned close to Ponter. “Why are Tryon and Jasmel separating?” she asked.
Ponter looked surprised. “It is still two days until Two next become One.”
Mary remembered the misgivings she’d had walking down the aisle with Colm, all those years ago. If she’d been given days for second thoughts, she might have backed out; after all, she could have gotten a real Roman Catholic annulment—not one of the fake ones she’d someday have to get—if the marriage hadn’t been consummated.
But…
Two days!
“So…” said Mary, slowly, and then, gaining her courage: “So you won’t want to go back to my world until after that’s over, right?”
“It is a very important time for…” He trailed off, and Mary wondered if he had intended to finish his sentence with “my family,” or with “us”—for his kind. It did, after all, make all the difference in the worlds…
Mary took a deep breath. “Do you want me to go home before then?”
Ponter took a deep breath of his own, and—
“Daddy, Daddy!” Little Megameg ran up to her father.
He bent down to be at her eye height. “Yes, sweetie?”
“Jasmel is going to take me home now.”
Ponter hugged his daughter. “I will miss you,” he said.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, Megameg.”
She put her little hands on her little hips.
“Sorry,” said Ponter, raising a hand. “I love you, too, Mega.”
The girl smiled. “When Two become One, can we go on another picnic with Daklar?”
Mary felt her heart jump.
Ponter looked up at Mary, then quickly lowered his head enough that his browridge concealed his eyes from her. “We will see about that,” he said.
Jasmel and Daklar came close. Ponter straightened up and turned to his elder daughter. “I am sure you and Tryon will be very happy.”
Again, Mary was somewhat taken aback by the phraseology. In her world, the word “together” would have been tacked on to that sentiment, but Jasmel and Tryon, although now bonded, were going to spend most of their lives apart. Indeed, Jasmel would presumably have another bonding ceremony in her future, when she chose her woman-mate.
Mary shook her head. Maybe she should just go back home.
“Come on,” said Daklar, stepping forward and speaking to Mary, “we can share a travel cube back into the Center. I assume you are staying at Lurt’s again?”
Mary looked for a moment at Ponter, but even the bride wasn’t getting to sleep with the groom tonight. “Yes,” she said.
“All right,” said Daklar. “Let us go.” She closed the distance between herself and Ponter, and after a moment of hesitation, Ponter drew her into a farewell hug. Mary looked away.
Mary and Daklar said little to each other during the trip back. Indeed, after some awkward silence, Daklar engaged the driver in conversation. Mary looked out at the landscape. There was virtually no old-growth forest left in her Ontario, but there was plenty here.
At last, she was deposited back at Lurt’s home. Lurt’s woman-mate, and Lurt herself, wanted to hear all about the bonding ceremony, and Mary tried to oblige. Young Dab seemed awfully well behaved, sitting silently in a corner—but Lurt eventually explained that he was engrossed in a story being read to him by his Companion.
Mary knew she needed advice, but—damn!—these family relationships were so complex. Lurt Fradlo was Adikor Huld’s woman-mate, and Adikor Huld was Ponter Boddit’s man-mate. But, if Mary understood things correctly, there was no special relationship between Lurt and Ponter, just as…
Just as there was supposed to be no special relationship between Ponter, whose woman-mate had been Klast Harbin, and Daklar Bolbay, who had been Klast’s woman-mate.
And yet clearly there was a special relationship between them. Ponter had made no mention of it to Mary during his first visit to her Earth, although he’d spoken often of what he felt he’d lost by being transported from his home world, apparently with no way ever to return. He’d talked repeatedly of Klast, whom he had already lost, and of Jasmel and Megameg and Adikor. But never Daklar—at least, not as someone he was missing.
Could the relationship between them be that new?
But, if it were, would Ponter have left his world for an extended time?
No, wait. Wait. It wasn’t really that extended a time; it was less than three weeks—three weeks that fell between two successive occurrences of Two becoming One. He couldn’t have seen Daklar during that period even if he had stayed home.
Mary shook her head. She needed not just advice—she needed answers.
And Lurt seemed the only person who could possibly provide them in the short time left between today and when Two next became One. But she’d have to get Lurt alone—and there would be no chance of that until the morning, at Lurt’s lab.
Ponter was lying on one of the couches extending from the wooden walls of his house, staring up at the painting on the ceiling. Pabo was stretched out on the mossy floor next to Ponter, sleeping.
The front door opened, and Adikor entered. Pabo roused and hurried over to meet him. “That’s a girl,” said Adikor, reaching down to scratch the dog’s head.
“Hey, Adikor,” said Ponter, not getting up.
“Hey, Ponter. How was the bonding ceremony?”
“Let me put it this way,” said Ponter. “What’s the worst thing that could have happened?”
Adikor frowned. “Tryon speared himself in the foot?”
“No, no. Tryon was fine; the actual ceremony was fine.”
“Then what?”
“Daklar Bolbay was there.”
“Gristle,” said Adikor, mounting a saddle-seat. “That must have been awkward.”
“You know,” said Ponter, “they say it’s only males who are territorial, but…”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t even know. It’s not like Mare and Daklar had an argument or anything, but…”
“But they both know about the other.”
Ponter’s voice sounded defensive, even to him. “I wasn’t keeping anything from either of them. You know that Daklar’s interest took me by surprise, and, well, I didn’t know then that I’d ever see Mare again. But now…”
“Two become One the day after tomorrow. You won’t be spending any time with Jasmel, I can guarantee that. I remember the first Two becoming One after my bonding to Lurt; we hardly came up for air.”
“I know,” said Ponter. “And although Mega will be around for some of it…”
“You’ll still have to determine who you’re going to spend your time with—and at whose home you are going to sleep.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Ponter. “I’ve no commitment to Daklar.”
“You have no commitment to Mare, either.”
“I know. But I cannot let her be abandoned during Two becoming One.” Ponter paused, hoping Adikor would not take offense at his next words. “Believe me, I know how lonely that can be.”
“Maybe she should go back to her world before then,” said Adikor.
“I don’t think she would like that.”
“Who do you want to be with?”
“Mare. But…”
“Yes?”
“But she has her world, and I have mine. The obstacles are formidable.”
“If I may be so bold, old boy, where do I fit in?”
Ponter sat up on the couch. “What do you mean? You’re my man-mate. I w
ould never let that change.”
“Oh?”
“Of course not. I love you.”
“And I love you. But you told me about Gliksin ways. Mare isn’t looking for a man-mate that she might see for a few days out of each month, and I doubt she wants to find a woman-mate at all.”
“Well, yes, the customs of her people are different, but…”
“It’s like mammoths and mastodons,” said Adikor. “Sure, they look a lot alike, but try mixing a male mammoth with a female mastodon, and watch out!”
“I know,” said Ponter. “I know.”
“I don’t see how you can make it work.”
“I know, but…”
“May I say something?” It was Hak’s voice.
Ponter looked down at his left forearm. “Sure.”
“You know I usually stay out of these things,” said the Companion. “But there is a factor you are not considering.”
“Oh?”
Hak switched to Ponter’s cochlear implants. “You may wish me to say this in private.”
“Nonsense,” said Ponter. “I have no secrets from Adikor.”
“Very well,” said Hak, switching back to the external speaker. “Scholar Vaughan is recovering from a traumatic experience. Her emotions and behavior of late may be atypical.”
Adikor tipped his head. “What traumatic experience? I mean, I know that eating a meal Ponter has helped prepare can be pretty devastating, but…”
“Mare was raped,” said Ponter. “Back in her own world. Just before I came there.”
“Oh,” said Adikor, immediately sobering. “What did they do to the guy who raped her?”
“Nothing. He got away.”
“How could he possibly—”
Ponter raised his left arm. “No Companions. No justice.”
“Marrowless bone,” said Adikor. “What a world they must live in.”
Chapter Thirty-four
The next day, Mary walked down the corridor of the laboratory building, stepping aside to make room for one of the spindly robots that darted about the corners of Neanderthal society. She wondered for a moment about the economics of this world. They had AI, and they had robots. But they also had what amounted to cab drivers; clearly not all jobs that could be automated had been automated.
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