Neanderthal Parallax 3 - Hybrids Page 11

  “Hello,” said Mary. “Um, what should I call you?”

  “Whatever you wish.”

  Mary frowned, then: “How about Christine?” Christine was Mary’s sister’s name.

  “That’s fine,” said the voice in her head. “Of course, if you change your mind, you’re free to rename me as often as you like.”

  “Okay,” said Mary, then: “Say, did you say ‘that’s’ and ‘you’re’?”

  “Yes.”

  Mary made an impressed face. “So you can use contractions! Ponter’s Companion can’t.”

  “It wasn’t a difficult programming issue,” said Christine, “once the underlying concept was grasped.”

  Mary was startled by a tap on her shoulder. She’d blanked out the exterior world while talking with the Companion; she wondered if she had tilted her head the way Neanderthals routinely did—whether that was something that happened naturally, or was a learned behavior, a courtesy to let others know that you were momentarily preoccupied.

  “So,” said the surgeon, smiling down at Mary, who was still seated in the operating chair. “I take it your Companion is working?” For the first time, Mary heard a translation the way Ponter did—not through an external earpiece, but as words flowering full-blown in her head. The Companion was a good mimic; although the English words were emphasized at bizarre points—as if William Shatner were saying them—they were presented in a voice much like the surgeon’s own.

  “Yes, indeed,” said Mary—and as soon as she’d finished, her Companion’s external speaker announced what Mary recognized as the Neanderthal equivalent: “ Ka pan ka. ”

  “All right, then,” said the woman, still smiling. “That’s it.”

  “Is my Companion transmitting to my alibi archive?”

  “Yes,” replied the surgeon, and “I am,” said Christine in her own voice after translating the surgeon’s “ Ka. ”

  Mary got out of the chair, thanked the surgeon and her colleague, and headed on her way. When she came to the medical facility’s lobby, she saw four male Neanderthals, each of which seemed to have a broken arm or leg. One was dressed in the silver of an Exhibitionist. Mary figured such a person wouldn’t be offended by questions, so she walked up to him and said, “What happened?”

  “To us?” asked the Exhibitionist. “Just the usual: hunting injuries.”

  Mary thought of Erik Trinkaus and his observation that ancient Neanderthals often had injuries similar to those of rodeo riders. “What were you hunting?”

  “Moose,” said the Exhibitionist.

  Mary was disappointed that it wasn’t something more exotic. “Is it worth it?” she asked. “The injuries I mean?”

  The Exhibitionist shrugged. “Getting to eat moose is. There’s only so much passenger pigeon and buffalo you can take.”

  “Well,” said Mary, “I hope they get you all fixed up quickly.”

  “Oh, they will,” said the Exhibitionist with a smile.

  Mary said goodbye and left the hospital, going out into the late-afternoon sun; she’d probably given the Exhibitionist’s audience quite a treat.

  And then it hit her: she’d just entered a room that contained four males she’d never met, and rather than being terrified, as she would have been back on her world even after learning the identity of her rapist, she hadn’t felt any apprehension. Indeed, she’d brazenly walked over to one of the men and struck up a conversation.

  She looked down in wonder at her forearm, at her Companion, at Christine. The notion that everyone’s activities were being recorded hadn’t seemed real until her own permanent Companion had been made part of her. But now she understood how liberating it was. Here, she was safe. Oh, there might still be lots of people of ill will around her, but they would never try anything…because they could never get away with anything.

  Mary could have had Christine call for a travel cube to take her back to Lurt’s house, but it was a lovely fall day, and so she decided to walk. And, for the first time on this world, she found herself easily meeting the eyes of other Neanderthals, as though they were her small-town neighbors, as though she belonged, as though she were home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “ There are human footprints preserved in volcanic ash at Laetoli, made by a male and a female australopithecine, the ancestors to both Gliksins and Barasts, just wandering, walking slowly, side by side, exploring: the original small hominid steps. And there are human footprints at Tranquility Base and the Ocean of Storms and Fra Mauro and Hadley Rille and Descartes and Taurus-Littrow on the moon—truly giant leaps…”

  Mary was exhausted from the surgery, and when she arrived at Lurt’s house, she simply went to sleep, having a long nap on the recessed square filled with cushions that served as her bed. She didn’t wake until Lurt got home from her lab two daytenths later.

  “See!” said Mary, showing off her new Companion.

  Almost all Companions looked the same, but Lurt evidently detected that Mary wanted a compliment. “It’s lovely,” she said.

  “Isn’t it, though?” said Mary. “But it’s not an it; it’s a she. Her name is Christine.”

  “Hello,” said the synthesized voice from Christine’s speaker.

  “Christine,” said Mary, “this is Scholar Lurt Fradlo. She is the woman-mate of Scholar Adikor Huld, who is the man-mate of my…” Mary halted, looking for the correct word, then, with a shrug, continued: “…of my boyfriend, Scholar—and Envoy—Ponter Boddit.”

  “Healthy day, Scholar Fradlo,” said Christine.

  “Healthy day,” replied Lurt. “You may call me Lurt.”

  “Thank you,” said the Companion.

  Lurt took a deep breath, apparently inhaling scents. “Ginrald is not home yet,” she said. Ginrald was Lurt’s woman-mate.

  “No,” said Mary. “Nor is Dab or Karatal.” Dab was Lurt’s young son by Adikor Huld; Karatal was Ginrald’s young daughter by her own man-mate.

  Lurt nodded. “Good. Then perhaps we can talk. There is a circumstance we must resolve.”

  “Yes?”

  But then Lurt remained silent, apparently reluctant to go on.

  “Have I done something wrong?” asked Mary. “Have I offended you somehow?” She knew being in this world would be fraught with cultural difficulties, but she’d tried hard to follow Lurt’s lead in everything.

  “No, no,” said Lurt. “Nothing like that.” She gestured for Mary to have a seat in the circular living area. Mary moved to the couch, and Lurt straddled a nearby saddle-seat. “It’s simply a question of your living arrangements.”

  Mary nodded. Of course. “I’ve overstayed my welcome,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Lurt raised a large hand, palm out. “Please don’t misunderstand. I enjoyed your company on your previous visit greatly. But my home is already crowded. Granted, Dab will leave us in a couple of tenmonths to go live with Ponter and Adikor, but…”

  Mary nodded. “But that’s in a couple of tenmonths.”

  “Exactly,” said Lurt. “If you’re to spend much time in this world, you must have your own home.”

  Mary frowned. “I have no idea how to do that. And I’ll have to talk to Ponter. It’s one thing to have his account debited for my incidentals, but if I’m going to buy a house—”

  Lurt laughed, but it wasn’t derisive. “You don’t buy a house. You select one that’s vacant and occupy it. Your contribution is unquestioned; you have brought much new knowledge to us. You are certainly entitled to a house.”

  “You mean houses aren’t privately owned?”

  “No. Why would they be? Ah, I think I see. Remember, we have a stable population size. There is no need for new houses, except to replace those trees that ultimately die. And trees for houses are planted and tended by the government, since, after all, it’s a long time before they’re big enough to be occupied. But there are always some surplus ones, to accommodate temporary visitors to Saldak. We can find you one of those. I know an excellent carpenter who can ma
ke furniture for you—I rather suspect she would enjoy the challenge of accommodating your particular needs.” Lurt paused for a moment. “Of course, you would be living alone.”

  Mary didn’t want to say that would be a relief—but, in fact, she was used to being on her own. In the years since she and Colm had split, Mary had gotten to quite enjoy her quiet evenings at home. In comparison, the hustle and bustle of Lurt’s household had been nerve-wracking. And yet—

  And yet, this world was so strange . Mary was nowhere near ready to deal with it without assistance. Even with the aid of Christine, she knew she was still in way over her head.

  “Do you perhaps have a friend who could use a roommate?” asked Mary. “You know, someone who is alone, but might enjoy sharing household duties for a while with another?”

  Lurt tapped her thumb against the center of her forehead, just above where the twin arches of her browridge joined. “Let me think…Let me think…” But then she tipped her head, clearly listening to a suggestion from her own Companion. “That’s an excellent idea,” she said, nodding. She looked at Mary. “There is a woman named Bandra Tolgak who lives not far from here. She is a geologist, and one of my favorite people. And she’s absolutely fascinated by Gliksins.”

  “And she doesn’t have a family living with her?”

  “That’s right. Her union with her woman-mate dissolved some time ago, and both of Bandra’s children have left home now—her younger daughter just recently. She’s mentioned how empty her house seems; perhaps she might be amenable to an arrangement…”

  It was a cool fall day, with cirrus clouds finger-painted on a silvery sky. Lurt and Mary walked along. Ahead was a building about the width of a football field and, judging by the deployment of windows, four stories tall. “This is our Science Academy—the one for women,” said Lurt. “Bandra Tolgak works here.”

  They came to one of many doors—solid, opaque, hinged. Lurt opened it, and they continued down a corridor, square in cross section, light provided by catalytic reactions inside tubes set into the walls. Many female Neanderthals of generation 147—the right age for a university education—were milling about, and a variety of spindly robots were zipping to and fro, running errands. Lurt stopped when they came to the station for a pair of elevators. Neanderthals, very sensibly, left their elevator doors open when idle, keeping the cabs from getting stuffy and making it obvious at a glance when one was available on the current floor. Lurt led Mary into the one that was waiting. “Bandra Tolgak’s lab,” Lurt said into the air. The doors closed, and the elevator began moving upward. After a few seconds, the doors reopened, and they were looking out into another corridor. “Third door on your right,” said a synthesized voice.

  Mary and Lurt walked to that door, opened it, and entered.

  “Healthy day, Bandra,” said Lurt.

  A Neanderthal woman’s broad back was facing them. She turned around and smiled. “Lurt Fradlo! Healthy day!” Then her eyes—an arresting wheat color—fell on Mary. “And you must be Scholar Vaughan,” she said. “Lurt said you were coming.” She smiled again and, to Mary’s astonishment, offered her hand.

  Mary took it and shook it firmly. “I—I didn’t think Neanderthals shook hands.”

  “Oh, we don’t,” said Bandra, grinning. “But I have been reading all about you Gliksins. Such a fascinating people!” She let go of Mary’s hand. “Did I do it properly?”

  “Yes,” said Mary. “Just fine.”

  Bandra was beaming. She was a 144, nine years older than Mary—actually, eight and a half, more likely, since Mary had been born in September, and most Neanderthals were born in the spring. Bandra’s facial and body hair was a lovely mixture of copper and silver. “Good, good. Oh, wait! There is another ritual!” She composed her pleasant features into a mock-serious expression. “How are you?”

  Mary laughed. “I’m fine, thanks. And you?”

  “I am fine, too.” Bandra burst out laughing. “Such wonderful people! So many little pleasantries!” She smiled at Mary. “It really is a treat to meet you, Scholar Vaughan.”

  “You can call me Mary.”

  “No, I can’t,” said Bandra, laughing again. “But I would be delighted to call you ‘Mare.’ ”

  Bandra’s lab was filled with mineralogical specimens—rock crystals, polished stones, beautifully prepared geodes, and more. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet a Gliksin,” continued Bandra. “I read everything I can find about you people.”

  “Um, thank you.”

  “So, tell me about yourself. Do you have children?”

  “Not yet,” said Mary.

  “Ah. Well, I have two daughters and a grandson. Would you like to see pictures?”

  “Um, sure.”

  But Bandra laughed once more. “You Gliksins and your complex manners! How wonderfully accommodating you are! I understand I could force you to look for daytenths at images I have recorded while traveling.”

  Mary found herself feeling very relaxed; Bandra’s good humor was infectious.

  “I hope you don’t mind us stopping by,” said Lurt, “but…”

  “But you were in the neighborhood!” said Bandra, grinning broadly at Mary.

  Mary nodded.

  “Out and about,” continued Bandra—saying it as “oot and aboot,” the exaggerated accent that Americans ascribed to Canadians but that Mary had yet to actually hear from any of her compatriots. “Such wonderful turns of phrase you Gliksins have.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So,” said Bandra, “Lurt said you had a favor to ask.” She gestured at the rocks spread out around the room. “I can’t imagine what help a geologist might be to you, but—and this one is one of my favorites—‘I am all ears.’ ” Bandra beamed at Mary.

  “Well, um, I…um, I’m looking for a place to stay, here in Saldak Center.”

  “Really?” said Bandra.

  Mary smiled. “If I’m lying, I’m dying.”

  Bandra roared with laughter. “I hope you’re doing neither!” She paused. “I do have a big old house, and I am all alone in it now.”

  “So Lurt said. I will only be here for a month or so, but if you’d like to have a housemate…”

  “I would , but…” Bandra trailed off.

  Mary wanted to say, “But what?” But she had no right to pry; it was hardly incumbent on Bandra to justify turning Mary down.

  Still, after a moment, Bandra went on. “Only a month, you say? So, you would be here only during the next Two becoming One?”

  “Yes,” said Mary, “but I’ll stay out of your way then, of course.”

  Mary could see emotions warring across Bandra’s wide face—and she certainly could understand that. The Neanderthal woman was doubtless weighing the inconvenience of having a stranger move in against her scientific fascination at getting to spend time with a being from another world.

  “Very well,” said Bandra, at last. “What is your phrase? ‘Your home is my home.’ ”

  “I think it’s the other way around,” said Mary.

  “Ah, yes, yes! I’m still learning!”

  Mary smiled. “So am I.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “ But it has been three decades since Eugene Cernan became the last person to walk on the moon. The last person! Who would have thought that whole generations would be born after 1972 for whom the notion of humans on other worlds would be nothing but a lesson in history class…?”

  Mary found Bandra’s home much more comfortable than Lurt’s, even though it wasn’t any bigger. For one thing, the furniture was more to Mary’s taste. And for another, it turned out that Bandra was both a bird-watcher and a wonderful artist: she had covered the wooden interior walls and ceilings with Audubon-quality paintings of local birds, including, of course, passenger pigeons. Mary loved birds herself: that had been why she’d been working on passenger-pigeon DNA back at York while her grad student, Daria, had had the seemingly more sexy assignment of recovering genetic material from an Egyptian mu
mmy.

  Mary found it strange to come home before Bandra did—and even stranger just to walk in the front door. But, of course, Neanderthals didn’t lock their homes; they didn’t have to.

  Bandra had a household robot—many Barasts did. It was a spindly, insectlike being. It regarded Mary with blue mechanical eyes—not unlike those Lonwis had—but went puttering along, cleaning and dusting.

  Although Mary knew she couldn’t see Ponter until Two next became One, there was no reason she couldn’t call him—her shiny new Companion could connect to his Companion, or any other, without difficulty.

  And so Mary made herself comfortable—lying down on the couch in Bandra’s living room, staring up at the beautiful mural on the ceiling—and had Christine call up Hak.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she said—which was even worse than “honey” as far as being an endearment that couldn’t be reproduced by Ponter, but all he would have heard was the translation Christine provided.

  “Mare!” Ponter’s voice was full of excitement. “How good to hear from you!”

  “I miss you,” Mary said. She felt like she was eighteen again, talking to her boyfriend Donny from her bedroom at her parents’ house.

  “I miss you, too.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I am taking Pabo for a walk. We can both use the exercise.”

  “Is Adikor with you?”

  “No, he’s at home. So, what’s new?”

  It was astonishing after all this time to hear Ponter using contractions—which led to Mary starting by telling him all about the installation of her permanent Companion. She went on to talk about moving into Bandra’s house, and then: “Lurt said something very intriguing. She said there’s a banned device that could help us have a child.”

  “Really?” said Ponter. “What is it?”

  “She said it was the invention of someone named Vissan Lennet.”

  “Oh!” said Ponter. “I recall her now; I saw it on my Voyeur. She removed her Companion, and went to live in the wilderness. Some sort of conflict with the High Grays over an invention.”