Robert Sawyer - Hybrids

The others in the delegation were chatting among themselves; those who were speaking English seemed to be echoing Jock’s thoughts.

Ponter began walking, heading toward the shore of the East River. It was closer than it should have been-but, then again, much of modern Manhattan was recovered land. The Neanderthal knelt by the shore and dipped curved hands into the river, splashing water repeatedly against his broad face.

Jock noted that a few of the others wore bland expressions, the significance lost on them. But it wasn’t lost on him.

Ponter Boddit had just washed his face with raw, untreated, unprocessed, unfiltered, unpolluted water from the East River.

Jock shook his head, hating what his people had done to their world, and wishing there was some way they could start over, with a fresh, clean slate.

“ I believe we, the humans of this Earth, should commit ourselves, before another decade has gone by, to launching an international team of women and men to the red planet…”

Mary and Bandra had watched the transmissions from the Exhibitionists on Donakat Island. It was fun seeing Ponter on what amounted to Neanderthal TV, and certainly the project to establish another portal was fascinating.

Ponter had spent some time describing the difficulties with building a portal on the surface; his original quantum computer had been buried deep underground to shield it from solar radiation that might promote decoherence of the quantum registers. But even when Ponter and Adikor had made their breakthrough-literally breaking through into another universe-a second group of Barast researchers in Europe had been attempting to factor similarly large numbers. The members of that team had been female, and they apparently were en route to Donakat by ocean ship to provide their expertise in shielding techniques.

“It looks like you’ve got yourself a good man there,” said Bandra.

Mary smiled. “Thanks.”

“How long have you known him?”

Mary looked away from Bandra’s wheat-colored eyes. “Only since August 3rd.”

Bandra tipped her head, listening to her own Companion translate the date. Mary thought Bandra was going to say something scolding about how short a period of time it was; after all, Mary had never lost an opportunity to tell her sister Christine that she was moving too fast, falling head over heels for one “real find” after another. But instead Bandra said, “You are very lucky to have found him.”

Mary nodded. She was lucky. And, besides, she knew lots of people who had had whirlwind romances before. Yes, she’d known Colm a lot longer than she’d known Ponter by the time Colm proposed and she accepted, but she’d had doubts back then.

She had no doubts now.

When something felt this right, there was no reason to delay.

“ Carpe diem, ” said Mary.

Bandra’s translator bleeped.

“Sorry,” said Mary. “That’s Latin-another language. It means ‘seize the day.’ Don’t spend your whole life fretting; just grab the moment, and go for it.”

“A good philosophy,” said Bandra. She got up from the couch. “We should attend to the evening meal.”

Mary nodded, rose, and followed Bandra into the food-preparation area. Bandra had a large vacuum box that stored food without refrigeration, and a laser cooker, which employed the same sort of tunable-laser technology used in the decontamination chambers.

The top of the vacuum box had a square screen set into it, displaying an inventory of the contents so that the seal didn’t have to be broken to determine what was inside. “Mammoth?” said Bandra, looking at the list.

“My goodness, yes!” said Mary. “I’ve been dying to try some.”

Bandra smiled, opened the vacuum box-which hissed when she did so-and selected a pair of chops. She transferred them to the laser cooker and spoke some instructions to it.

“It must be hard, hunting mammoth,” said Mary.

“I’ve never done it myself,” replied Bandra. “Those whose contribution it is to do so say there’s a simple technique.” She shrugged a little. “But, as you would say, the putative evil one lurks in minutiae.”

Mary blinked, trying to decipher Christine’s translation of what Bandra had just said. “‘The devil is in the details,’ you mean.”

“Exactamundo!” said Bandra.

Mary laughed. “I’m going to miss you when I leave.”

Bandra smiled. “I’m going to miss you, too. Whenever you need a place to stay in this world, you’re welcome here.”

“Thank you, but…”

Bandra raised one of her large hands. “Oh, I know. You only plan to come to visit when Two are One, and then you’ll be spending time with Ponter. And I will…”

“I’m so sorry, Bandra. There must be something we can do.”

“Let’s not dwell on it. Let’s just enjoy the time we’ve got before you have to leave.”

“ Carpe diem? ” said Mary.

Bandra smiled. “Exactamundo.”

The dinner was excellent; mammoth had a rich, complex flavor, and the maple-sugar salad dressing Bandra prepared was to-die-for.

Mary leaned back in the saddle-seat and sighed contentedly. “It’s a pity you people don’t have wine.”

“Wine,” repeated Bandra. “What is that?”

“A beverage. Alcohol. Fermented grapes.”

“Is it delicious?”

“Well, um, that’s not the point-or, at least, it’s only part of the point. Alcohol affects the central nervous system, at least in Gliksins. It makes us feel mellow, relaxed.”

“I am relaxed,” said Bandra.

Mary smiled. “Actually, so am I.”

The Globe and Mail Ponter had brought Mary had reported the results of a study to determine the funniest joke in the world. That didn’t mean the one that made people laugh the hardest-it wasn’t an attempt to replicate Monty Python’s secret-weapon joke, which would cause anyone who heard it to die laughing. Rather, it was a project to find a joke that cut across cultural lines so that almost all human beings found it funny.

Mary decided to try it out on Bandra; since it happened to be a hunting joke, she thought the Neanderthal might enjoy it. She slipped a few appropriate references into their conversation, so that Bandra would have the required background, and then, around 9:00 P.M. -late in the sixth daytenth-she trotted it out:

“Okay, okay. So, there are these two guys, see, and they’re out hunting, right? And one of them suddenly collapses-just falls to the ground. He doesn’t seem to be breathing, and his eyes are glazed over. So the other guy, he calls 9-1-1. That’s our emergency telephone number, since we don’t have Companions. And the guy-he’s on a cell phone, see? — he’s all panicky, and he says, ‘Hey, I’m out here hunting with my friend Bob, and he just keeled over. I’m afraid he’s dead. What should I do? What should I do?’

“And the emergency operator says, ‘Calm down, sir. Take a deep breath; let’s take this one step at a time. First, let’s make sure that Bob is really dead.’

“So the guy says, ‘Okay,’ and the operator hears him put down the phone and walk away. And then- blam! — there’s a gunshot. And the guy comes back on the phone and says, ‘Okay. Now what?’ ”

Bandra exploded with laughter. She’d been drinking pine tea; the way the Neanderthal throat was hooked up prevented it from spurting out her nostrils, but if she’d been a Gliksin, doubtless it would have, given how hard she was laughing. “That’s awful! ” she declared, wiping away tears.

Mary was grinning, probably wide enough to rival Ponter. “Isn’t it, though?”

They spent the rest of the evening talking about their families, telling jokes, listening to recorded Neanderthal music pumped simultaneously into their cochlear implants, and just generally having a wonderful time. Mary had had several close female friends before she’d married Colm, but had drifted away from all of them during the marriage, and hadn’t really acquired any new ones since the split. One of the nice things about the Neanderthal system, Mary mused, was that it would leave plenty of time for her friendships with other women.