Humans (24 page)

And, indeed, maybe there really was something to be said for extending that notion right into adult life, into the workplace, letting women labor—funny how that word had a double meaning for females, Mary thought—in an environment free of men and their egos.

Although Neanderthal time keeping quite sensibly divided the day into ten equal parts, starting at the point that was dawn on the vernal equinox, Mary still relied on her Swatch, rather than the cryptic display on her Companion band—after all, although she’d traveled to another universe, she
was
still in the same time zone.

Mary was quite used to the rhythm of morning and afternoon coffee breaks, and an hour off for lunch, but the Neanderthal metabolism didn’t let them go that long without eating. There were two long breaks in the workday, one at about 11:00A. M. , and the other at about 3:00P .M ., and at both of them, great quantities of food were consumed, including raw meat—the same laser technique that killed infections inside people made uncooked meat quite safe to eat, and Neanderthal jaws were more than up to the task. But Mary’s stomach wasn’t; she sat with Lurt and her colleagues while they ate, but tried to keep from looking at their food.

She could have excused herself during the meal breaks, but this was Lurt’s time off, and Mary wanted to talk with her. She was fascinated by what the Neanderthals knew about genetics—and Lurt seemed quite willing to freely share it all.

Indeed, Mary learned so much in her short time with Lurt, she was beginning to think just about anything was possible—especially if there were no men around.

Mary had been to a dozen or so weddings over the years—several Catholic, one Jewish, one traditional Chinese, and a few civil services. So she thought she knew in vague terms what to expect at Jasmel’s bonding ceremony.

She was wrong.

Of course, she knew that the ceremony could not take place in a hall of worship—the Neanderthals had no such thing. Still, she’d expected some sort of official venue. Instead, the event took place out in the countryside.

Ponter was already there when a travel cube dropped off Mary; they were the first to arrive, and, since no one was around, they indulged in a long hug.

“Ah,” said Ponter, after they’d separated, “here they come.” It was bright out here. Mary had discovered she’d forgotten her sunglasses back on the other side, and she had to squint to make out the approaching party. It consisted of three women—one in her late thirties, Mary thought, another who was a teenager, and a child of eight. Ponter looked at Mary, then at the approaching women, and back again. Mary tried to read the expression on his face; had he been one of her own kind, she might have thought it was profound discomfort, as if he’d realized that he’d unexpectedly landed in an awkward situation.

The three females were walking, and they were coming from the east—from the direction of the Center. The oldest and youngest were carrying nothing, but the middle one had a large pack strapped to her back. As they got nearer, the little girl shouted out, “Daddy!” and ran toward Ponter, who scooped her up in a hug.

The other two were walking more slowly, the older female keeping pace beside the younger one, who seemed to be trudging along, weighed down by the pack.

Ponter had now released the eight-year-old, and, holding one of the child’s hands, turned and faced Mary. “Mare, this is my daughter, Mega Bek. Mega, this is my friend, Mare.”

Mega had clearly had eyes only for her father to this point. She looked Mary up and down. “Wow,” she said at last. “You are a Gliksin, right?”

Mary smiled. “Yes, I am,” she said, letting her strapped-on Companion translate her words into the Neanderthal tongue.

“Would you come to my school?” asked Mega. “I would like to show you to the other kids!”

Mary was a bit startled; she’d never thought of herself as a show-and-tell exhibit. “Umm, if I have the time,” she said.

The other two had now drawn near. “This is my other daughter, Jasmel Ket,” said Ponter, indicating the eighteen-year-old.

“Hello,” said Mary. She looked at the girl, but had no idea whether she was considered attractive by Neanderthal standards. Still, she did have her father’s arresting golden eyes. “I’m—” she decided not to embarrass the girl by putting forth a name she wouldn’t be able to pronounce. “I’m Mare Vaughan.”

“Hello, Scholar Vaughan,” said Jasmel, who must have heard of her before; otherwise, she’d have had no idea how to parse Mary’s name. And, indeed, Jasmel’s next comment confirmed that. “You gave my father that bit of metal,” she said.

Mary was lost for a moment, but then realization dawned. The crucifix. “Yes,” said Mary.

“I saw you once before,” said Jasmel, “on a monitor when we were rescuing my father, but…” She shook her head in wonder. “Even so, I still did not really believe it.”

“Well,” said Mary, “here I am.” She paused. “I hope you don’t mind me coming to your bonding ceremony.”

Whether she really did or not, Jasmel had her father’s courtesy. “No, of course not. I am delighted you are here.”

Ponter spoke up quickly, perhaps, thought Mary, detecting that his daughter was secretly displeased, and wanting to move along before the topic came into the open. “And this is—
was
—my daughter’s guardian.” He looked at the thirty-eight-year-old. “I, ah, hadn’t expected you,” he said.

The Neanderthal woman’s eyebrow moved up her browridge. “Apparently not,” she said, glancing at Mary.

“Ah,” said Ponter, “yes, well, this is Mare Vaughan—the woman I told you about from the other side. Mare, this is Daklar Bolbay.”

“My God,” said Mary, and her Companion bleeped, unable to translate the phrase.

“Yes?” said Daklar, prodding Mary to try again.

“I—ah, I mean, pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I you,” said Daklar evenly.

Mary forced a smile and looked away.

“Daklar,” explained Ponter, “was the woman-mate of my woman-mate, Klast, and so she had served as Jasmel’s guardian. He turned pointedly to Daklar. “Until Jasmel reached the age of majority when she reached 225 months in the spring, that is.”

Mary tried to follow the undercurrents. It seemed that Ponter was saying that since Daklar had no official role in Jasmel’s life anymore, she shouldn’t be here. Well, Mary could certainly understand Ponter’s discomfort. Daklar, after all, had tried to have Adikor castrated.

But whatever awkwardness Ponter felt was interrupted by the arrival of still more people: a male and a female Neanderthal, each looking to be approaching fifty.

“These are Tryon’s parents,” said Ponter. “Bal Durban,” he continued, indicating the male, “and Yabla Pol. Bal, Yabla, this is my friend Mare Vaughan.”

Bal had a booming voice. “No need to introduce her,” he said. “I’ve been watching you on my Voyeur.”

Mary tried to suppress a shudder. She’d caught sight of the occasional silver outfit, but she’d had no idea that she had been the object of the Exhibitionists’ attention.

“Look at you!” said Yabla. “All skin and bones! Do they have enough food in your world?”

In her whole life, no one had ever referred to Mary as “skin and bones.” She rather liked the sound of it. “Yes,” she said, blushing a bit.

“Well, tonight we feast,” said Yabla. “One meal cannot undo ten months of neglect, but we will make a good start!”

Mary smiled politely.

Bal turned to his woman-mate. “What is keeping that boy of yours?” he said.

“Who knows?” said Yabla, her tone one of gentle teasing. “He clearly got his time sense from you.”

“Here he comes,” shouted Jasmel, still wearing her heavy pack.

Mary looked in the direction the girl was pointing. A figure was emerging in the distance, trudging toward them, something large slung across his shoulders. It looked like it would be several minutes before he closed the distance, though. Mary leaned over to Ponter. “What’s your daughter’s intended’s name again?”

Ponter frowned for a moment, evidently listening to Hak trying to make sense out of the question. “Oh,” he said at last. “Tryon Rugal.”

“I don’t understand your names,” said Mary. “I mean, ‘Vaughan’ is my family name: both my parents, both my brothers, and my sister all share it.” She shielded her eyes with a hand as she looked out at the approaching boy again.

Ponter was looking that way, too, but his browridge was all the shielding he needed. “The last name, the one that is used by the outside world, is chosen by the father; the first name, the one that is used by those one knows well, is chosen by the mother. You see the sense of it? Fathers live at the periphery; mothers in the center. My father chose ‘Boddit’ for me, which means ‘wonderfully handsome’ and my mother chose ‘Ponter,’ which means ‘magnificently intelligent.’”

“You’re kidding,” said Mary.

Ponter cracked his giant grin. “Yes, I am. Sorry; I just wanted something as impressive as your own ‘mother of God.’ Seriously, ‘Ponter’ means ‘full moon,’ and ‘Boddit’ is the name of a city in Evsoy, known for its great painters.”

“Ah,” said Mary. “Then—my God!”

“Well,” said Ponter, still in a kidding mood, “he certainly is not mine.”

“No, look!” She pointed at Tryon.

“Yes?” said Ponter.

“He’s carrying a deer carcass!”

“You noticed that?” Ponter smiled. “It is his hunting offering to Jasmel. And in her pack, she has her gathering offering for him.”

Indeed, Jasmel was finally unslinging her pack. Perhaps, thought Mary, it was traditional to wait until the man had seen that the woman had brought the goods herself. As Tryon came closer, Ponter moved toward him and helped him get the deer off his shoulders.

Mary’s stomach turned. The deer’s hide was bloody, a half dozen wounds piercing its torso. And, as Tryon bent over, she saw that his own back was slick with deer blood.

“Does someone have to officiate over the ceremony?” asked Mary.

Ponter looked confused. “No.”

“We have a judge or a representative of the church do it,” said Mary.

“Jasmel and Tryon’s pledges to each other will automatically be recorded at the alibi archives,” said Ponter.

Mary nodded. Of course.

Now that Tryon was free of the deer, he ran toward his dear. Jasmel accepted him with open arms, and they hugged tightly, and licked each other’s faces, rather passionately. Mary found herself looking away.

“Come on,” said Tryon’s father, Bal. “It will take tenths to roast that deer. We should get on with it.”

The two let go of each other. Mary saw that Jasmel’s hands were now stained red from running them up Tryon’s back. It disgusted Mary, but Jasmel just laughed when she noticed it.

And, without further preamble, the ceremony was apparently under way. “All right,” said Jasmel. “Here we go.” She turned to Tryon. “I promise to hold you in my heart twenty-nine days a month, and to hold you in my arms whenever Two become One.”

Mary looked at Ponter. The muscles of his wide jaw were bunching; he was clearly moved.

“I promise,” continued Jasmel, “that your health and your happiness will be as important to me as my own.”

Daklar was clearly moved, too. After all, as Mary understood it, she and Jasmel had lived together all of Jasmel’s life.

Jasmel spoke again: “If, at any time, you tire of me, I promise to release you without acrimony, and with the best interests of our children as my highest priority.”

Mary was impressed by that. How much simpler her own life would have been if she and Colm had made a similar pledge. She looked again at Ponter, and—

Jesus!

Daklar had moved to stand next to him, and—Mary could scarcely believe it—the two of them were holding hands!

It was apparently Tryon’s turn to speak now. “I promise,” he said, “to hold you in my heart twenty-nine days a month, and to hold you in my arms whenever Two become One.”

Two becoming One,
thought Mary. Surely that had already happened once here in the time between Ponter’s first returning home and his reappearance on Mary’s Earth. She’d assumed he’d spent that time alone, but…

“I promise,” said Tryon, “that your happiness and wellbeing will be as important to me as my own.”

“If you ever tire of me,” he continued, “I promise to release you without pain, and with the best interests of our children as my highest priority.”

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!”

“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 join 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.”