Robert Sawyer - Hybrids

Mary, Ponter, and Adikor then drove down to Mary’s condo in Richmond Hill, Adikor looking out at the highway and all the other cars in absolute amazement.

When they reached Mary’s home, she picked up her huge stack of accumulated mail from the concierge’s desk in the lobby, and then they went up the elevator to her unit.

There, Adikor went out on the balcony, amazed by the view. He seemed content to just keep looking, so Mary ordered up a dinner she knew Ponter would like: Kentucky Fried Chicken, coleslaw, french fries, and twelve cans of Coke.

While they waited for it to arrive, Mary turned on her TV, hoping to catch up on the news, and before long, she found herself glued to her set.

“ Habemus papam! ” said the news anchor, a white woman with auburn hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “That was the word today from Vatican City in Rome: we have a Pope.”

The image changed to show the plume of white smoke emerging from the chimney on the Sistine Chapel, indicating the burning of ballots after a candidate had received the required majority of two-thirds plus one. Mary felt her heart pounding.

Then a still image appeared: a white man of perhaps fifty-five, with salt-and-pepper hair and a narrow, pinched face. “The new Pontiff is Franco, Cardinal DiChario, of Florence, and we are told that he is taking the name of Mark II.”

A two-shot now, of the anchor and a black woman of about forty, wearing a smart business suit. “Joining us here at the CBC Broadcasting Centre is Susan Doncaster, professor of religious studies at the University of Toronto. Thank you for coming in, Professor.”

“My pleasure, Samantha.”

“What can you tell us about the man born Franco DiChario? What sort of changes can we expect him to make in the Roman Catholic Church?”

Doncaster spread her arms a bit. “Many of us were hoping for a breath of fresh air with the appointment of a new Pope, perhaps a relaxation of some of the Church’s more conservative stances. But already wags are noting that his chosen name sounds like he’s just the latest iteration of what’s already been established: the Pope, Mark II. You’ll note we’re back to having an Italian on St. Peter’s Throne, and as a cardinal, Franco DiChario was very much a conservative.”

“So we won’t see a lightening up of policies on, for instance, birth control?”

“Almost certainly not,” said Doncaster, shaking her head. “DiChario is on record calling Pope Paul’s Humanae Vitae the most important encyclical of the second millennium, and one whose tenants he believes should guide the Church throughout the third millennium.”

“What about the celibacy of the clergy?” asked Samantha.

“Again, Franco DiChario spoke frequently about how important the standard vows-poverty, chastity, and obedience-were to the taking of Orders. I can’t see any possibility of Mark II reversing Rome’s stance on that.”

“I get the impression,” said the anchor, smiling slightly, “that there’s no point in asking about the ordination of women, then.”

“Not on Franco DiChario’s watch, that’s for sure,” said Doncaster. “This is a Church under siege, and it is fortifying its traditional barricades, not tearing them down.”

“So no likelihood of a softening of rules about divorce, then, either?”

Mary held her breath, even though she knew what the answer must be.

“Not a chance,” said Doncaster.

Mary had put her TV remote control away in a drawer back at the beginning of the summer; she was trying to lose weight, and that had seemed a simple enough way to force herself to move around more. She got up off the couch, crossed over to the fourteen-inch RCA set, and touched the button that turned it off.

When she turned back around, she saw that Ponter was looking at her. “You’re not pleased by the choice of new Pope,” he said.

“No, I’m not. And a lot of other people won’t be, either.” She lifted her shoulders slightly, a philosophical shrug. “But, then again, I suppose there’s rejoicing going on in many places, too.” She sighed.

“What will you do?” said Ponter.

“I–I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I’m about to be excommunicated; I did promise Colm that I’d agree to an annulment rather than a divorce, but…”

“But what?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Mary. “I am glad that our child will have the God organ. But I am getting tired of all these ridiculous restrictions. It’s the twenty-first century, for Christ’s sake!”

“This new Pope may surprise you,” said Ponter. “As I understand it, he has made no announcements of his own since being named to the office. All we have heard is speculation.”

Mary sat back down on the couch. “I know that. But if the cardinals had wanted a real change, they would have elected somebody different.” She laughed. “Listen to me! That’s the secular view, of course. The choice of Pope is supposed to be divinely inspired. So what I should be saying is if God had wanted a real change, he would have selected somebody different.”

“Regardless, as that woman said, you have a Pope-and he looks young enough to serve for many tenmonths to come.”

Mary nodded. “I will get an annulment. I owe that to Colm. I’m the one who left the marriage, and he doesn’t want to be excommunicated. But even if an annulment means I could stay in the Catholic Church, I’m not going to. There are lots of other Christian denominations, after all-it hardly means giving up my faith.”

“This sounds like a big decision,” said Ponter.

Mary smiled. “I’ve been making a lot of those lately. And I can’t stay Catholic.” She was surprised at how easily the words came. “I can’t.”

“ We-the kind of humanity called Homo sapiens, the kind our Neanderthal cousins call Gliksins-have a drive unique among all primates, a drive singular in the realm of conscious beings…”

“Hello, Jock,” said Mary Vaughan as she came into his office at the Synergy Group.

“Mary!” Jock exclaimed. “Welcome back!” He got up out of his Aeron chair, crossed in front of his desk, and shook her hand. “Welcome back.”

“It’s good to see you.” She motioned outside the door, and her two traveling companions stepped into view. “Jock, you remember Envoy Ponter Boddit. And this is Scholar Adikor Huld.”

Jock’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up toward his pompadour. “My goodness!” he said. “This is a surprise.”

“You didn’t know we were coming?”

Jock shook his head. “I’ve been wrapped up with…other matters. I get reports on all Neanderthal comings and goings, but I’m behind in looking at them.”

Mary thought briefly of an old joke: the bad news is that the CIA reads all your e-mail; the good news is that the CIA reads all your e-mail.

“Anyway,” said Jock, moving in and shaking Ponter’s hand, “welcome back.” He then shook Adikor’s hand. “Welcome, Dr. Huld, to the United States of America.”

“Thank you,” said Adikor. “It is…overwhelming.”

Jock managed a thin smile. “That it is.”

Mary indicated the two Barasts. “Lonwis Trob asked for Ponter to return, and this time to bring Adikor with him.”

Ponter smiled. “I’m sure that I’m too much of a theoretician for Lonwis’s tastes. But Adikor actually knows how to build things.”

“Speaking of Neanderthal ingenuity,” said Mary, pointing at a worktable that had been set up in a corner of Jock’s office, “I see you’ve been examining the codon writer.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Jock. “It’s an astonishing piece of equipment.”

“That it is,” said Mary. She looked at Jock, wondering whether to tell him. Then, too excited not to, she said, “It’s going to allow Ponter and me to have a baby, despite our differing chromosome counts.”