Robert Sawyer - Hybrids

Adikor shook his head. “It’s a complex ritual.”

“It sounds delightful!” said Bandra. “I think we-astonishment! Astonishment!”

“What?” said Mary.

Bandra pointed. “It’s us!”

Mary turned. One of the giant video screens was showing Bandra and Mary. As Mary watched-it was quite a thrill! — the image panned left, catching Ponter and Adikor. After a moment, though, the picture switched to New York’s mayor, waving at the crowd. Mary turned back to the others.

“Our presence has not gone unnoticed,” she said, smiling.

Ponter laughed. “Oh, we are used to that!”

“You come here every year?” asked Adikor.

A light snow was falling, and Mary’s breath was visible as she spoke. “Me? I’ve never been here before-but I watch it on TV each year, along with about 300 million other people worldwide. It’s quite the tradition.”

“What time is it now?” asked Ponter.

Mary looked at her watch; there was plenty of neon light to see the display by. “Just past 11:30,” she said.

“Oooh!” said Bandra, pointing again. “Now it’s Lou’s turn!”

The giant screen had a tight close-up on Louise’s beautiful face, and she smiled enchantingly at seeing herself on the big screen. There were howls of appreciation from tens of thousands of males. Well, Pamela Anderson Lee had gotten her start on a Jumbotron, too…

The monitor changed to show Dick Clark, in a black silk jacket, standing on a wide stage, surrounded by hundreds of pink and clear balloons. “Hello, world!” he shouted, and then, amending himself with a giant, perfect grin: “Hello, worlds! ”

The crowd cheered. Mary clapped her mittened hands together.

“Welcome back to Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve! ”

More cheering. All around them, people were waving little American flags that had been given out along with the confetti bags.

“It’s been an amazing year,” said Clark. “A year that saw us meet up with our long-lost cousins, the Neanderthals.” The screen changed to show a close-up of Ponter, who took a second to spot the camera, then waved gamely, Hak’s nice new faceplate sparkling in the neon rainbow.

A chant went up from the crowd. “Pon- ter! ” “Pon- ter! ” “Ponter! ”

Mary felt as though her heart were going to burst with pride. Dick Clark kept things moving along, though. “Tonight, in addition to the biggest bands from this world, Krik Donalt is going to perform his number-one hit ‘Two Becoming One’ live in our Hollywood studio. But, right now, we’ll-sir, sir, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave.”

Mary looked at the giant screen, baffled. Clark was alone on the stage.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re on the air here,” said Clark to empty space. He turned and shouted, “Matt, can we get this clown out of here?”

There was a murmur through the crowd. Whatever bit Clark was trying clearly wasn’t working. Indeed, Bandra leaned in to Mary and said, “He’s bombing…”

Suddenly, a man whose back had been to them turned-a tricky feat, given that the crowd was packed like cord-wood-and looking right at Ponter, he said, “My God, it’s you! It’s you!”

Ponter smiled politely. “Yes, I-”

But the man, eyes wide, pushed Ponter aside, and said again, “It’s you! It’s you!” He seemed intent on making his way through the crowd, and, for the most part, it was parting to allow him to do so.

“Jesus!” shouted a woman beside Bandra, but Mary couldn’t see what had upset her so. She turned back to look at the man who had pushed past Ponter and, to her astonishment, she saw him go to his knees.

Dick Clark’s voice emanated from the speakers again, sounding panicky. “I can’t do this with him here!”

Mary felt her throat go dry. She reached out with her left hand, hoping to steady herself. Bandra grabbed her arm. “Mare, are you okay?”

Mary forced a small nod.

“Jesus!” shouted the woman again.

But Mary shook her head.

“No,” she said, ever so softly.

No, it wasn’t Jesus.

It was Mary.

It was the blessed Virgin Mary!

“Ponter,” said Mary, her voice shaking. “Ponter, do you see her? Do you see her?”

“Who?” said Ponter.

“She’s right there,” said Mary, pointing-and then, almost at once, she drew her hand back and used it to cross herself. “She’s right there!”

“Mare, there are half a million people here…”

“But she’s glowing,” said Mary softly.

Ponter turned to Louise, and Mary forced herself to look in that direction for a second. Louise’s brown eyes were wide and she was whispering over and over again, too softly for Mary to hear, but she could read Louise’s lips: “ Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, mon Dieu… ”

“See!” said Mary. “Louise sees her, too!” But even as she said that, Mary had her doubts; the Virgin was indeed holy, but one did not greet her with “My God, my God, my God…”

Mary found her gaze drawn back to the perfect illuminated form in front of her, flanked by towering buildings.

Bandra was still holding on to Mary’s arm. The woman on the other side of Bandra had dropped to her knees. “Mary!” she exclaimed. “The Blessed Virgin Mary!” But she was facing in completely the wrong direction…

“Look,” shouted a voice-just one of tens of thousands of shouts going up now, but one that Mary happened to pick out from the background. “The mothership!”

Mary tilted her head up. Searchlights were crisscrossing the black, empty sky.

“Mare!” It was Ponter’s voice. “Mare, are you okay? What’s happening?”

A man in front of Mary had turned around and was reaching into his coat. For half a second Mary thought he was going for a gun, but what he brought out was a fat wallet, filled with cash. He opened it. “Here,” he said, shoving some bills at Mary. “Here, take it! Take it!” He turned to Ponter and shoved some money at him, too. “Take it! Take it! I’ve got too much…”

From behind Mary came a loud cry of “ Allah-o-akbar! Allah-o-akbar! ”

And from in front: “ The Messiah! At last! ”

And off to her left: “ Yes, yes! Take me, Lord! ”

And to her right, someone singing: “ Hallelujah! ”

Mary wished she had her rosary. The Virgin was here-right here! — beckoning her to come forward.

“Mare!” shouted Ponter. “Mare!”

Behind Mary, someone was weeping. In front of her, someone else was laughing uncontrollably. Others were burying their faces in their hands, or clapping their hands together, or raising their hands to heaven.

A man was shouting, “Who’s that? Who’s there?”

And a woman was shouting, “Go away! Go away!”

And yet another person was shouting, “Welcome to Planet Earth!”

A few feet away, Mary saw a man faint, but the crowd was too closely packed for him to fall over.

“It’s judgment day!” shouted a voice.

“It’s first contact!” shouted another.

“ Mahdi! Mahdi! ” shouted a third.

Nearby, a woman was intoning, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name…”

And next to her a man was saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry…”

And somebody else was shouting emphatically, “This cannot be happening! This cannot be real!”

“Mare!” said Ponter, taking her by the shoulders and swinging her around, away from the Blessed Virgin. “Mare!”

“No,” Mary managed to say. “No, let me go. She’s here…”

“Mare, the crowd is going wild. We have to get out of here!”

Mary twisted away, finding strength she never knew she had. She’d do anything to be with the Virgin…

“Adikor, Bandra, hurry!” Ponter’s voice, translated, bursting into her brain, drowning out the words of Our Lady. Mary reached up her hands, bending her fingers into claws, trying to tear out the cochlear implants. Ponter continued: “We’ve got to get Mare and Lou out of here!”