Robert Sawyer - Hybrids

Cornelius continued along the sidewalk, fields of grass on one side, a parking lot on the other. He knew where he was going, of course: the Farquahrson Life Sciences Building. But he’d never before noticed what a funny-sounding name that was: it now made him think of Charlie Farquahrson, the hick character Toronto’s Don Harron had played for years on CFRB radio and the U.S. TV series Hee Haw. Cornelius shook his head; he’d always been too…too something…when approaching that building to let such a whimsical thought percolate to the surface.

Walking on autopilot, his feet trod the well-known terrain. But suddenly, with a start, he realized that he’d come to…

It didn’t have a name, and he’d never even bestowed one upon it in his mind. But this was it: the two retaining walls that met at right angles, far from any lighting standard, shielded by large trees. This was the spot, the place where he’d thrown two different women against the wall. This was where he’d shown Qaiser Remtulla who really was in charge. And this was where he’d rammed it into Mary Vaughan.

Cornelius used to walk by here even in broad daylight when he needed a boost, reminding himself that at least some of the time he had been in control. Often, merely the sight of this place used to give him a raging hard-on, but this time his groin didn’t stir at all.

The walls were covered with graffiti. For the same reason Cornelius chose this spot, spray-paint artists liked it, as did lovers who wanted to immortalize their youthful commitment, just as…

He’d long since obliterated it, but, once upon a time, eons ago, his initials and Melody’s had shared a cartoon heart here.

Cornelius blinked that thought away, looked once again at this place, then turned his back on it.

It was much too nice a day to go to work, he thought, heading back home, the day seeming even brighter still.

“ It was that questing spirit that lifted the wings of Orville and Wilbur Wright, of Amelia Earhart, of Chuck Yeager…”

As Mary and Ponter emerged from the elevator building at the Debral nickel mine, Mary was astonished to find it was dark, given that it should only be the middle of the afternoon. She looked up and gasped.

“My God. I’ve never seen so many birds!” A great cloud of them was flying overhead, virtually obliterating the sun. Many were making a kek-kek-kek call.

“Really?” said Ponter. “They are a common type.”

“Apparently so!” exclaimed Mary. She continued to look up. “Good Christ,” she said, noting the pinkish bodies and the blue-gray heads. “They’re passenger pigeons!”

“I doubt they could carry a passenger,” said Ponter.

“No, no, no. But that’s what we called them. That, or Ectopistes migratorius. I know them well; I’d been working on recovering DNA from them.”

“I noticed the absence of these birds when I first visited your world. They are extinct there, are they not?”

“Yes.”

“Through the fault of Gliksins?”

Mary nodded. “Yes.” She shrugged. “We hunted them to death.”

Ponter shook his head. “No wonder you had to adopt this thing you call agriculture. Our name for this bird is-Hak, do not translate the next word- quidrat. They are delicious, and we eat them often.”

“Really?” said Mary.

Ponter nodded. “Yes. I am sure you will have some during your stay here.”

As soon as Hak had regained access to the planetary information network, Ponter had had him request a travel cube. That vehicle was now barreling toward them. It was about the size of an SUV, but it worked by large fans mounted on its base and rear, plus a trio of smaller ones for steering. The cube was mostly transparent, and contained four saddle-seats, one of which was occupied by the male driver, a trim member of generation 146.

The travel cube slowed, then settled to the ground, and most of one side flipped up, providing access to the interior. Ponter clambered in, taking the far rear seat. Mary followed him, taking the other rear seat. Ponter spoke briefly to the driver, and the cube rose. Mary watched the driver operate the two main control levers, rotating the cube and setting it on its way toward Ponter’s home.

Mary had strapped on a temporary Companion before leaving the elevator building; all Gliksins who visited the Neanderthal world were required to wear them, constantly monitoring their activities, and transmitting information to the alibi archives. But the damned things itched. Mary found herself sticking a ballpoint pen she’d brought with her underneath the Companion, trying to scratch with it. “Are the permanent ones this uncomfortable?” she asked, looking at Ponter.

“I am not aware of Hak’s physical presence at all,” said Ponter. He paused. “But, on this subject…”

“Yes?”

“These temporary Companions expire after twenty days or so-they are battery-powered, after all, instead of drawing power from your bodily processes. Of course, given who you are, we could certainly get you another one.”

Mary smiled. She wasn’t used to this notion that just being Mary Vaughan entitled her to special treatment. “No,” she said. “No, I should get a permanent one, I think.”

Ponter smiled broadly. “Thank you,” he said. And then, presumably just to be sure, he added, “You do know that permanent means permanent. To remove it later will be very difficult, and might seriously damage your forearm muscles and nerves.”

Mary nodded. “I understand that. But I also understand that if I don’t get a permanent Companion, I’ll always be an outsider here.”

“Thank you,” said Ponter warmly. “What kind do you want?”

Mary had been looking out at the pristine landscape-old-growth forest mixed with shield rocks. “Pardon me?”

“Well, you could get the standard sort of Companion. Or”-and here Ponter raised his left arm and faced its inner surface toward Mary-“you could opt for one like mine, with a true artificial intelligence installed.”

Mary lifted her eyebrows. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Few people have intelligent Companions,” said Ponter, “although I expect they will become very common in times to come. You will certainly want the processing capability that goes with an advanced unit; you will need that for real-time language translation. But it is up to you what features you get beyond that.”

Mary looked at Ponter’s Companion. Externally, it seemed no different from the dozens of others she’d now seen-except, of course, the gold one Lonwis Trob had. But inside, she knew, dwelt Hak. “What’s it like,” asked Mary, “having an intelligent Companion?”

“Oh, it is not so bad,” said Hak’s voice, coming from the implant’s external speaker. “I have gotten used to the big guy.”

Mary laughed, half in amusement and half in surprise.

Ponter rolled his eyes, a facial expression he’d picked up from Mary. “It is a lot like that,” he said.

“I’m not sure I could take it,” said Mary, “having someone with me all the time.” Mary frowned. “Is Hak really…conscious?”

“How do you mean?” asked Ponter.

“Well, I know you don’t believe in souls; I know that you think your own mind is just utterly predictable software running on the hardware of your brain. But, I mean, does Hak really think? Is he self-aware?”

“An interesting question,” said Ponter. “Hak, what do you say?”

“I am aware of my existence.”

Mary lifted her shoulders. “But…but, I don’t know, I mean, do you have wants and desires of your own?”

“I want to be of use to Ponter.”

“And that’s it?”

“That is it.”

Wow, thought Mary. Colm should have married one of these. “What will happen to you-forgive me, Ponter-but what will happen to you when Ponter dies?”