by neetha Napew
Ponter immediately broke into a sweat; he hated the heat. Mary started the car. She pushed the button to lower the windows, and turned the air conditioner on full blast. It took a minute to begin to blow cool air.
With the car sitting there in the parking lot, engine running, Ponter said, simply, “So?”
Mary raised the windows, afraid that someone walking by might overhear. “You know I was raped,” she said.
Ponter nodded, and touched her arm lightly.
“I didn’t report the crime,” Mary said.
“Without Companion implants and alibi archives,” said Ponter, “I am sure there would have been little point. You told me most crimes go unsolved in this world.”
“Yes, but...” Mary’s voice broke, and she shut up for a time, trying to regain her composure. “But I didn’t think about the consequences. Somebody else was raped here at York last week. Near Farquharson-that building we were just in.”
Ponter’s deep-set eyes went wide. “And you think it was done by the same man?”
“There’s no way to know for sure, but...”
She didn’t have to finish the thought; Ponter clearly understood. If shehad reported the rape, perhaps the man might have been apprehended before he’d had a chance to do the same abominable thing to someone else.
“You could not have foreseen this turn of events,” said Ponter.
“Of course I could have,” snapped Mary.
“Do you know who the other victim was?”
“No. No, they keep that confidential. Why?”
“You need to release this pain-and the only way to do that is through forgiveness.”
Mary’s back immediately went stiff. “I could never face her, whoever she is,” she said. “After what I allowed to happen to her...”
“It was not your fault,” said Ponter.
“I wasgoing to do the right thing,” said Mary. “That’s why I wanted to stop here, at York. I was going to turn over the physical evidence of my rape to the police.”
“Is that what was in the missing containers?”
Mary nodded. The car was getting quite chilly now, but she didn’t touch the controls. She deserved to suffer.
After a time with no response from Mary, Ponter said, “If you cannot contact the other victim for forgiveness,” he said, “then you must forgive yourself.”
Mary thought about this for a moment, then, without a word, she put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. “Where are we going?” asked Ponter. “To your home?”
“Not exactly,” said Mary, and she turned the car, heading out of the parking lot.
Mary entered the wooden booth, knelt on the padded railing in front of her, and crossed herself. The small window between her chamber and the priest’s opened, and she could see Father Caldicott’s strong profile silhouetted behind the crisscrossing wooden slats.
“Forgive me, Father,” said Mary, “for I have sinned.”
Caldicott had a slight Irish accent, even though he’d been in Canada for forty years. “How long has it been since your last confession, my child?”
“Since January. Eight months.”
The priest’s tone was neutral, nonjudgmental. “Tell me about your sin.”
Mary opened her mouth, but no words came out. After a time, the priest prodded her. “Child?”
Mary took a deep breath, and let it slowly out. Then: “I...was raped.”
Caldicott was quiet for a few moments, perhaps considering his own line of thought. “You say ‘rape.’ Were you attacked?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And you gave no consent?”
“No, Father.”
“Then, my child, you have not sinned.”
Mary felt her chest tightening. “I know, Father. The rape was not my sin.”
“Ah,” said Caldicott, sounding as though he understood. “Did you-were you impregnated? Have you had an abortion, child?”
“No. No, I did not get pregnant.”
Caldicott waited for Mary to go on, but, when she didn’t, he tried again. “Was it because you were practicing artificial birth control? Perhaps, under the circumstances...”
Mary was indeed on the Pill, but she’d made her peace with that years ago. Still, she didn’t want to actually lie to the priest, and so she chose her next words with great care. “That is not the sin I speak of,” she said softly. She took another breath, gathered her strength. “My sin was that I did not report the rape.”
Mary could hear the wood creaking as Caldicott shifted on his bench. “God knows about it,” he said. “And God will punish the person who did this to you.”
Mary closed her eyes. “The person has raped again. At least, I suspect it’s the same person.”
“Oh,” said Caldicott.
Oh,thought Mary?Oh? If that’s the best he can do...
But Caldicott continued. “Are you sorry you didn’t report it?”
The question was probably inevitable; contrition was part of the quest for absolution. But Mary nonetheless found her voice cracking as she replied. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you report it, child?”
Mary thought about that. She could say that she’d simply been too busy-which was almost true. The rape had occurred the night before she’d been whisked off to Sudbury. But she’d made her decision before she’d received the phone call from Reuben Montego looking for a Neanderthal-DNA expert. “I was afraid,” she said. “I’m...separated from my husband. I was afraid of what they’d do to me, what they’d say about me, about my morals, if this matter ever came to court.”
“But now someone else has been hurt by you r...by yourinaction, “ said Caldicott.
The priest’s comment brought to mind a lecture she’d heard on AI a few months ago. The speaker, from the MIT Robotics Lab, had talked about Asimov’s Laws of Robotics, the first of which was something like, “A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.” It had occurred to Mary then that the world might be a better place if people lived by the same injunction.
And yet-
And yet, so many of the principles she used to guide her were exhortationsto inaction. Most of the Ten Commandments were things you werenot to do.
Mary’s sin had been one of omission. Still, Caldicott would probably say that it was a venial sin, not a mortal one, but-
But somethinghad died in Mary the day the crime was committed. And, she was sure, the same had happened to the animal’s new victim, whoever it might have been.
“Yes,” said Mary at last, her voice very small. “Someone else has been hurt because I didn’t do anything.”
She saw Caldicott’s silhouette move. “I could prescribe some prayer or Bible reading as penance, but...” The priest trailed off, clearly inviting Mary to complete the thought.
And Mary nodded, finally giving voice to what she already had known. “But the only real solution is for me to go to the police and tell them everything I know.”
“Can you find the strength in you to do that?” asked Caldicott.
“I was going to, Father. But the evidence I had of the rape-it’s gone.”
“Still, you may have information that can be of help. But, if you wish another penance...”
Mary closed her eyes again, and shook her head. “No. No, I will go to the police.”
“In that case...” said Caldicott. “God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins.” Mary wiped her eyes, and Caldicott went on: “Through the ministry of the Church, may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins...”
Even though she was facing a most difficult task, Mary did feel a weight lifting from her.
“...in the name of the Father...”
She’d go today. Right now.
“...and of the Son...”
But she would not go alone.
> “...and of the Holy Spirit.”
Mary crossed herself. “Amen,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Ponter was sitting in a pew. As she approached, Mary was surprised to see that he had an open book in his lap and was flipping through the pages. “Ponter?” she said.
He looked up. “How did it go?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Do you feel better?”
“Somewhat. But there’s still more I have to do.”
“Whatever is required,” said Ponter. “I will help in any way I can.”
“Are you reading the Bible?” asked Mary, astonished, as she looked at the open book.
“Then I have guessed correctly!” said Ponter. “Thisis your religion’s central text.”
“Yes,” said Mary. “But...but I thought you couldn’t read English.”
“I cannot. Nor can Hak, yet. But Hak is more than capable of recording the images on each page of this book, so that when he does acquire that capability, he can translate it for me.”
“I can get you a talking Bible, you know-either one that uses an electronic device to speak the words, or tapes of an actor reading the words. There’s a great set that James Earl Jones did...”
“I was unaware of such alternatives,” said Ponter, simply.
“I didn’t know you wanted to read the Bible. I, ah, didn’t think it would be of any interest to you.”
“It is important to you,” said Ponter. “Therefore, it is important to me.”
Mary smiled. “I am so lucky to have found you,” she said.
Ponter tried to make a joke of it. “I am easy to spot in a crowd,” he said.
Still smiling, Mary shook her head. “You are indeed.” She looked up at the crucifix above the pulpit, and crossed herself once more. “But, come on, we should get going.”
“Where to now?” asked Ponter.
Mary took a deep breath. “The police station.”
“’It’s important to you,’” repeated Selgan. “’Therefore, it’s important to me.’”
Ponter looked at the personality sculptor. “That’s what I said, yes.”
“And was that truly your only motivation in consulting this book?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, was this not the book that contained the supposed historical accounts you mentioned earlier? Was this not the book that held their principal evidence for a life after death?”
“I honestly don’t know,” said Ponter. “It was quite a massive book-not overly thick, but the symbols in it were small, and the paper used was the thinnest I’d yet encountered. It will be quite some time before it is translated.”
“And yet you were moved to examine it?”
“Well, there were many copies in the room I was waiting for Mare in. One in front of each position on the benches, it seemed.”
“Have you consulted an audio version, as Mare suggested?”
Ponter shook his head.
“And so you still wonder about this supposed proof?”
“I am curious, yes.”
“How curious?” asked Selgan. “How important is this issue to you?”
Ponter shrugged. “You accused me before of having a closed mind. But I don’t. If there is truth in this outlandish claim, I want to know it.”
“Why?”
“Just out of curiosity.”
“Is that all?” asked Selgan.
“Of course,” replied Ponter. “Of course.”
The desk sergeant was looking Ponter up and down. “If any of you Neanderthals ever want a new job,” he said, “we could use a hundred of you on the force.” They were at 31 Division headquarters on Norfinch Drive, only a few blocks from York.
Ponter smiled awkwardly, and Mary laughed a little. The cop was indeed one of the strongest-lookingHomo sapiens males Mary had seen in a long time, but there was no doubt who her money would be on in a fight.
“Now, ma’am, what can I do for you?”
“There was a rape last week at York University,” said Mary. “It was reported in the campus newspaper, theExcalibur, and so I assume someone reported it here, as well.”
“That’d be Detective Hobbes’s department,” said the cop. He shouted to somebody else. “Hey, Johnny, can you see if Hobbes is in?”
The other cop shouted back an acknowledgment, and a few moments later, a plainclothes officer-a white man with red hair, perhaps thirty-came forward. “Wassup?” he said. And then, realizing who Ponter was, “Holy cow!”
Ponter smiled wanly.
“The lady here would like to talk to you about the rape at York last week.”
Hobbes gestured down the corridor. “This way,” he said. Mary and Ponter followed him back to a small interrogation room, lit by fluorescent panels in the ceiling. “Hang on a sec; let me get the file.” He returned a moment later with a manila file folder, which he placed on the desk in front of him. He sat down, and then his eyes went wide. “My God,” he said to Ponter, “it wasn’t you, was it? Christ, I’ll have to get in touch with Ottawa...”
“No,” said Mary sharply. “No, it was not Ponter.”
“Do you know who it was?” asked Hobbes.
“No,” said Mary, “but...”
“Yes?”
“But I was also raped at York. Near the same building-the life-sciences building.”
“When?”
“Friday, August 2nd. About 9:30 or 9:35.”
“At night?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it.”
Mary tried to bring all her scientific detachment to the task, but by the end of it she had tears running down her cheeks. This apparently wasn’t abnormal for the interrogation room; a box of tissues was at hand, and Hobbes offered them to Mary.
She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Hobbes made a few more notes on sheets inside the file folder. “All right,” he said. “I’ll let-“
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Hobbes got up and opened it. A uniformed cop was there, and he began to speak to Hobbes in hushed tones.
Suddenly, to Mary’s astonishment, Ponter scooped up the file folder from the desk, and flipped through the pages within it. Hobbes wheeled around, perhaps at a sign from the other cop. “Hey!” he shouted. “You’re not allowed to look at that.”
“My apologies,” said Ponter. “Do not worry, though. I cannot read your language.”
Ponter proffered the folder, and Hobbes grabbed it back.
“What likelihood is there that you will catch the criminal?” asked Ponter.
Hobbes was silent for a moment. “Honestly? I don’t know. We’ve got two reported crimes now, two rapes in pretty much the same location within weeks of each other. We’ll work with the campus police to keep a tighter eye on things. Who knows? We might get lucky.”
Lucky,thought Mary. He meant yet another person might be attacked.
“Still...” continued Hobbes.
“Yes?”
“Well, if he’s part of the York community, he has to know it’s been written up in the campus paper.”
“You do not anticipate success,” said Ponter, simply.
“We will do what we can,” said Hobbes.
Ponter nodded.
Ponter and Mary returned to her car. She’d left the windows down a bit this time, but it was still hot inside. She turned the key and activated the air conditioner.
“So?” she said.
“Yes?” said Ponter.
“You scanned the file. Anything interesting?”
“I cannot tell.”
“Is there any way to show me what Hak saw?”
“Not here,” said Ponter. “He is recording, of course, and we have added storage capacity to him, so that everything he sees here will be saved. But until we can upload his recordings into my alibi archive in Saldak, there is no way for us to view them, although Hak can describe them.”
Mary looked down at Ponter’s forearm. “Well, Hak?” she said.
The Companion spoke through its external speaker. “There were eleven sheets of white paper in the folder. The ratio between the page height and width was 0.77 to 1. Six of the pages seemed to be preprinted forms, with spaces in which some text had been written in by hand. I am no expert on such things, but it seemed to be the same script Enforcer Hobbes was using to make his notes, although the ink was a different color.”
“But you can’t tell me what the forms said?” asked Mary.
“Icould describe it to you. You read from left to right, correct?” Mary nodded. “The first word on the first page began with a symbol made by a vertical line topped by a horizontal line. The second symbol was a circle. The third-“
“How many total symbols are there in the report?”
“Fifty-two thousand, four hundred and twelve,” said Hak.
Mary frowned. “Too many to work through a character at a time, even if I taught you the alphabet.” She shrugged. “Well, I’ll be curious to see what it says when we get to your world.” She looked at the dashboard clock. “Anyway, it’s a long trip to Sudbury. We’d better get cracking.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
The last time Mary and Ponter had taken a ride down this metal-cage elevator, Mary had tried to make him understand that shedid like him-indeed, that she liked him a lot-but that she hadn’t been ready to start a relationship. She’d told Ponter about what had happened to her at York University, making him the only person to that point besides Keisha, the rape-crisis counselor, that Mary had told about it. Ponter’s emotions had mirrored Mary’s own: general confusion plus profound anger aimed at the rapist, whoever he might be. During that trip down, Mary had thought she was about to lose Ponter forever.
As they again made the long, long descent to the Creighton Mine’s sixty-eight-hundred-foot level, Mary couldn’t help recalling all of that, and she supposed the awkward silence from Ponter meant that he was remembering it, too.
There’d been some discussion about installing a new high-speed elevator directly down to the neutrino-observatory chamber, but the logistics were formidable. To sink a new shaft through two kilometers of gabbroic granite would be a major undertaking, and the Inco geologists weren’t sure that the rock could take it.
