“What were you hit with?” asked Mary. “A brick?”
“With a fist,” Ponter said.
Mary’s own jaw dropped. “I knew Neanderthals were strong, but—
wow
. One punch did that?”
Ponter nodded.
“You’re lucky you weren’t killed,” said Mary.
“We are
both
lucky—the punchee, as you might say, and the puncher.”
“Why did someone hit you?”
“A stupid argument,” said Ponter. “Certainly, he never should have done it, and he apologized profusely. I chose not to pursue the matter; if I had, he would have been tried for attempted murder.”
“Could he have really killed you with one punch?”
“Oh, yes. I had reacted in time and lifted my head; that is why he connected with my jaw instead of the center of my face. Had he punched me there, he could well have caved in my skull.”
“Oh, my,” said Mary.
“He was angry, but I had provoked him. It was as much my fault as his.”
“Could—could
you
kill someone with your bare hands?” asked Mary.
“Certainly,” said Ponter. “Especially if I approached them from the rear.” He intertwined his fingers, lifted his arms, then pantomimed smashing his interlocked fists down. “I could smash in a person’s skull by doing that from behind. From the front, if I could get a good punch or kick into the center of someone’s chest, I might crush their heart.”
“But … but … no offense, but apes are very strong, too, and they rarely kill each other in fights.”
“That is because in battles within a troop for dominance, ape fighting is ritualized and instinctive, and they simply slap each other—really just a display behavior. But chimpanzees do kill other chimpanzees, although they do it mostly with their teeth. Clenching the fingers into a fist is something only humans can do.”
“Oh … my.” Mary realized she was repeating herself, but couldn’t think of anything better to sum up her feelings. “Humans here get into fights all the time. Some even make a sport of it: boxing, wrestling.”
“Madness,” said Ponter.
“Well, I agree, yes,” said Mary. “But they almost never kill each other. I mean, it’s almost impossible for a human to kill another human with his bare hands. We just aren’t strong enough, I guess.”
“In my world,” said Ponter, “to hit is to kill. And so we
never
hit each other. Because any violence can be fatal, we simply cannot allow it.”
“But you
were
hit,” said Mary.
Ponter nodded. “It happened long ago, while I was a student at the Science Academy. I was arguing as only a youth can, as if winning mattered. I could see that the person I was arguing with was growing angry, but I continued to press my point. And he reacted in an … unfortunate manner. But I forgave him.”
Mary looked at Ponter, imagining him turning the other long, angular cheek toward the person who had hit him.
* * *
Adikor had had his Companion summon a travel cube to take him home, and he now was sitting out back, on the deck, alone, researching legal procedures. Someone might indeed be monitoring his Companion’s transmissions, but he could still use it to tap into the world’s accumulated knowledge, transferring the results to a datapad for easier viewing.
His woman-mate, Lurt, had agreed at once to speak on behalf of Adikor in front of the tribunal. But although she and others—she’d be allowed to call witnesses this time—could attest to Adikor’s character and to the stability of his relationship with Ponter, it seemed unlikely that that would be enough to convince Adjudicator Sard and her associates to acquit Adikor. And so Adikor had begun digging into legal history, looking for other cases involving a charge of murder without a body having been found, in hopes of locating a previous judgment that might help him.
The first similar case he uncovered dated way back to generation 17. The accused was a man named Dassta, and he was said to have killed his woman-mate after supposedly sneaking into the Center. But her body was never located; she’d simply disappeared one day. The tribunal had ruled that without a body, no murder could be said to have occurred.
Adikor was thrilled by that discovery—until he read further in the law.
Ponter and Adikor had selected normal deck chairs—indeed, fragile chairs. It had been a sign of Ponter’s unshakable belief that Adikor was cured, that his temper would never again erupt into physical violence. But Adikor was so frustrated now that he smashed the armrest off his deck chair with a pounding of his fist, splinters of wood flying up. For prior cases to have legal significance, he read off his datapad, they had to date from within the last ten generations; society always advanced, said the
Code of Civilization
, and what people had done long ago had no bearing on the sensibilities of today.
Adikor continued searching and eventually turned up an intriguing case from generation 140—just eight generations before the current one—in which a man was accused of killing another male during a dispute over whether the latter had grown a home too close to the former’s. But, again, no body was ever found. In that case, too, the tribunal had ruled that the lack of the body was enough to dismiss the accusation. That buoyed Adikor, except—
Except …
Generation 140. That was the period between—let’s see—about 1,100 to 980 months ago; eighty-nine to seventy-nine years past. But the Companions had been introduced just shy of a thousand months ago; celebrations commemorating that were coming up.
Did the case in generation 140 date from before or after the introduction of the Companions? Adikor read further.
From before.
Gristle!
Bolbay would doubtless argue that this rendered it not germane. Sure, she would say, bodies and even living people could easily disappear during the dark times before the great Lonwis Trob had liberated us, but a case in which there
couldn’t
have been a record of the accused’s activities had no bearing on one in which the accused had contrived a situation specifically to
avoid
having a record made.
Adikor searched some more. He thought briefly that it might have been convenient if there were people who specialized in dealing with legal matters on behalf of others; that, it seemed, would be a useful contribution. He’d have gladly exchanged labor with someone familiar with this field who could do this research for him. But no; it was surely a bad idea. The mere existence of people who worked full-time on things legal would doubtless increase the number of such matters instigated, and—
Suddenly Pabo came tearing out of the house, barking. Adikor looked up, and, as it always did these days, his heart jumped. Could it be? Could it be?
But, no, it wasn’t. Of course not. And, yet, it
was
someone Adikor hadn’t expected to see: young Jasmel Ket. “Healthy day,” she said, once she was within ten paces.
“Healthy day,” Adikor replied, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Jasmel sat on the other deck chair, the one that had been her father’s. Pabo knew Jasmel well; the dog had often come into the Center when Two became One, and was clearly pleased to see another familiar face. Pabo nuzzled Jasmel’s legs, and Jasmel scratched the reddish brown fur on the top of the dog’s head.
“What happened to your chair?” asked Jasmel.
Adikor looked away. “Nothing.”
Jasmel evidently decided not to pursue the point; after all, what had happened was obvious. “Did Lurt agree to speak for you?” she asked.
Adikor nodded.
“Good,” said Jasmel. “I’m sure she’ll do the best she can.” She fell silent, for a time, then, glancing again at the damaged chair: “But …”
“Yes,” said Adikor. “But.”
Jasmel looked out at the countryside. Off in the distance, a mammoth was wandering by, stolid, placid. “Now that this matter has been referred to a full tribunal, my father’s alibi cube has been moved to the wing of the dead. Daklar spent the afternoon reviewing parts of it, as she prepares to make her full case against you. That’s her right, of course, as accuser speaking on behalf of a dead person. But I insisted she let me review Ponter’s alibi archive with her. And I’ve looked at you and my father together, in the days leading up to his disappearance.” She brought her gaze back to Adikor. “Bolbay can’t see it but, then again, she has been alone for a long time. But—well, I told you I had a young man interested in me. Despite what you said about me not yet being bonded, I
know
what love looks like—and there is no doubt in my mind that you truly loved my father. After seeing you the way he saw you, I can’t believe you would do anything to harm him.”
“Thank you.”
“Is … is there anything I can do to help you prepare to appear in front of the tribunal?”
Adikor shook his head sadly. “I’m not sure anything can save me or my relatives now.”
Chapter 32
Day Six
Wednesday, August 7
148/118/29
NEWS SEARCH
Keyword(s):
Neanderthal
Playgirl
has sent a letter to Ponter Boddit, asking him if he’d like to pose nude …
“Does he have a soul?” said Reverend Peter Donaldson of Los Angeles’s Church of the Redeemer. “That’s the key question. And I say, no, he does not …”
“We believe the rush to grant Ponter Canadian citizenship is calculated to allow him to represent Canada in the next Olympic Games, and we call upon the IOC to specifically bar all but
Homo sapiens sapiens
from competing …”
Get yours now: T-shirts, with Ponter Boddit’s face on them. S, M, L, XL, XXL, and Neanderthal sizes available.
The German Skeptics, headquartered in Nuremberg, today announced that there was no good reason to believe that Ponter Boddit comes from a parallel universe. “That would be the last interpretation to accept,” said Executive Director Karl von Schlegel, “and should only be adopted after every other simpler alternative has been eliminated …”
Mounties today arrested three men found trying to infiltrate the cordon around Dr. Reuben Montego’s home in Lively, a town 14 km southwest of Sudbury, where the Neanderthal man is quarantined …
There were many ways to pass time, and it seemed that Louise and Reuben had found one of the oldest. Mary hadn’t really looked at Reuben in that light, but, now that she did take stock of him, she realized he was indeed quite handsome. The shaved head wasn’t her thing, but Reuben did have good, sturdy features, a dazzling smile, and intelligent eyes, and he was lean and nicely muscled.
And, of course, he had that wonderful accent—but that wasn’t all. It turned out that he was fluent in French, meaning Louise and he could converse in her language. Plus, judging by his home, he obviously made a fair bit of money—not surprising, given he was a doctor.
Quite a find
, as Mary’s sister might say. Of course, Mary was sophisticated enough to understand that once the quarantine ended, Reuben and Louise’s relationship would likely end, too. Still, it made Mary uncomfortable—not because she was a prude; she liked to think, despite her good-girl Catholic upbringing, that she wasn’t. But rather because she was afraid Ponter might get the wrong idea about sexuality in this world, that he might think he was now
expected
to pair off with Mary. And the attention of a man was the last thing she wanted right now.
Still, Louise and Reuben’s affair did mean that she and Ponter got a lot of time alone together. After a day, it had developed that Reuben and Louise would spend most of their time downstairs, in the basement, watching videos from Reuben’s vast collection, while Mary and Ponter were usually together on the ground floor. And since Reuben and Louise were now sleeping together, they had reclaimed the queen-sized bed from Ponter. Mary didn’t know quite what Reuben had said to manage the switch, but Ponter’s new bed was the couch in Reuben’s upstairs office, leaving the living room all to Mary.
Some Sundays, Mary went to Mass. She hadn’t gone this week—although she could have, since it wasn’t until Sunday evening that the LCDC had ordered the quarantine. But now she was sorry she’d missed it.
Fortunately, there were Masses on TV; Vision showed a Roman Catholic one broadcast from a church in Toronto every day. Reuben had a TV in his upstairs office, in addition to the set he and Louise were using in the basement. Mary went up to the office to watch the service being broadcast. The priest was dressed in opulent green vestments. He had silver hair but black eyebrows, and a face that made Mary think of a scrawny Gene Hackman.
“… Grace and peace of our Lord, Jesus Christ, the love of God our Father and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all,” pronounced the priest, a Monsignor DeVries, according to the title superimposed on the screen.
Mary, sitting now on the couch that tonight would serve as Ponter’s bed, crossed herself. “Jesus was sent here to heal the contrite,” announced DeVries. “Lord have mercy.”
Mary joined the TV congregation in repeating,
“Lord have mercy.”
“He came to call sinners,” said DeVries. “Christ have mercy.”
“Christ have mercy,”
repeated Mary and the others.
“He pleads for us at the right hand of the Father. Lord have mercy.”
“Lord have mercy.”
“May Almighty God have mercy on all of us,” said DeVries, “forgive our sins, and bring us to everlasting life.”
“Amen,”
said the congregation.
The reading, by a black woman with short-cropped hair wearing a purple robe, was from the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah. Behind her, a beautiful stained-glass window depicted a haloed Jesus and the twelve Apostles, with the Virgin Mary looking on. Mary wasn’t exactly sure why she’d felt the need to hear a Mass today. After all, she wasn’t the one who needed forgiveness for sin …
Organ music was playing now; a young man sang, “Save me, O Lord, in Your steadfast love …”