Humans

Chapter Seventeen

Mary came running down the curving staircase to the United Nations lobby. Ponter and Tukana were leaving the General Assembly hall, surrounded by a quartet of uniformed police officers, obviously serving as bodyguards. Mary hurried toward the two Neanderthals, but one of the cops moved to block her way. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said.

Mary shouted out Ponter’s name, and Ponter looked up at her. “Mare!” he responded in his own voice, then, through his translator, “It is acceptable for her to pass, Officer. She is my friend.”

The cop nodded and stood aside. Mary surged in, closing the distance between her and Ponter. “How do you think it went?” asked Ponter.

“Brilliantly,” said Mary. “Whose idea was it to get a cast of your version of Lucy’s skull?”

“One of the Inco geologists.”

Mary shook her head in wonder. “A perfect choice.”

Ambassador Prat turned to Mary. “We are about to leave this facility in order to eat. Will you please join us?”

Mary smiled. The older Neanderthal might not be the most practiced diplomat, but she certainly was gracious. “I’d love to,” said Mary.

“Come then,” said Tukana. “There is a—how do you phrase it?—a reservation for us at an eatery a short walk away.”

Mary was glad to have a coat with her, although Ponter and Tukana seemed quite comfortable in their indoor clothes. They were both wearing the kind of pants Mary had seen Ponter wear before, which ended in pouches covering the feet. Ponter’s were dark green, and Tukana’s were maroon. And they both had on shirts that closed at the shoulders.

Mary took a second to look up at the United Nations tower, a great Kubrickian slab silhouetted against the sun. Besides Mary, the two Neanderthals were accompanied by two American diplomats, and two Canadian ones. The four cops surrounded the little group as it moved across the mall.

Tukana was talking with the diplomats. Ponter and Mary were trailing a little bit behind, chatting.

“How is your family?” asked Mary.

“They are well,” said Ponter. “But you would be astonished to learn what happened in my absence. My man-mate, Adikor, was accused of murdering me.”

“Really?” said Mary. “But why?”

“A long story, as you might say. Fortunately, though, I returned to my world in time to exonerate him.”

“So he’s okay now?”

“Yes, he is fine. I hope you can meet him at some point. He is—”

Three sounds, virtually simultaneous: Ponter going “oof,” one of the police officers shouting, and a loud crack, like a bolt of thunder.

As Ponter crumpled to the ground, Mary realized what had happened. She dropped to her knees next to him, probing his blood-soaked shirt for any sign of the entrance wound so she could stanch the flow of blood.

Thunder? thought Tukana. But no, that was impossible. The sky, although smelly, was clear and cloudless.

She turned and looked at Ponter, who—astonishment!—was prone on the pavement, blood pouring from him. That sound—a projectile weapon—a gun, that was the English term—had been fired, and—

And suddenly Tukana herself was pitching forward, slamming face first into the ground, her giant nose smashing against the pavement.

One of the Gliksin enforcers had jumped on Tukana’s back, propelling her to the ground, using his body to shield hers. Noble, yes, but Tukana would have none of it. She reached back, grabbed the enforcer by the upper arm, and flipped him up and forward, so that he landed in front of her on his back, dazed. Tukana surged to her feet, and, despite the blood pouring from her nostrils, she had no trouble picking up the scent of the chemical explosion from the gun. She swung her head left and right, and—

There. A figure running away, and in his hand—

The stinking weapon.

Tukana took off after him, her massive legs pounding into the ground.

“Ponter has been shot in the right shoulder,” said Hak through his external speaker to Mary. “His pulse is rapid, but weak. His blood pressure is falling, as is his body temperature.”

“Shock,” said Mary. Continuing to probe Ponter’s shoulder, she found where the bullet had hit, her finger slipping into the wound up to the second knuckle. “Do you know if the bullet has left his body?”

One of the other cops was hovering over Mary; another was using a radio transceiver clipped to his chest to call for an ambulance. The third cop was hustling the American and Canadian diplomats back indoors.

“I am not sure,” said Hak. “I did not detect its departure.” A pause. “He is losing too much blood. There is a cauterizing laser scalpel in his medical kit. Open the third pouch on the right-hand side.”

Mary extracted a device that looked like a fat green pen. “Is this it?”

“Yes. Rotate the scalpel’s lower body until the symbol with two dots and a bar is lined up with the reference triangle.”

Mary peered at the device, and did as Hak said. “How’s that?” she said, holding the scalpel up to the Companion’s lens.

“Correct,” said Hak. “Now, follow my instructions precisely. Open Ponter’s shirt.”

“How?” said Mary.

“There are closures along the shoulder. They split apart when squeezed simultaneously from both sides.”

Mary tried one, and it did indeed pop open. She continued until she had Ponter’s entire left shoulder and arm exposed. The entrance wound was surrounded by terraces of bright red blood, filling the declivities of his musculature.

“The scalpel is activated by pressing on the blue square—do you see it?”

Mary nodded. “Yes.”

“If you depress the square halfway, the laser will come on, but at low energy, so you can see where its beam is directed. Pressing in all the way will fire the laser at full strength, and it should sear shut the clipped artery.”

“I understand,” said Mary. She used her fingers to open the wound so that she could see within.

“Do you see the artery?” asked Hak.

There was so much blood. “No.”

“Press the activation square halfway in.”

A bright blue dot appeared in the middle of the gore.

“All right,” said Hak. “The damage to the artery is eleven millimeters away from where you are pointing, on a line between your current position and Ponter’s left nipple.”

Mary repositioned the beam, marveling at the perspective Hak’s sensing field gave him.

“A little farther,” said Hak. “There! Stop. Now, use full power.”

The dot flared in brightness, and Mary saw a whiff of smoke go up from the wound.

“Again!” said Hak.

She pressed the square in once more.

“And two millimeters farther along—no, the other way. There! Again!”

She fired the laser.

“Now move an equal distance farther along. Yes. Again!”

She pressed hard on the blue square, and more vaporized tissue assaulted Mary’s nose.

“That should be enough,” said Hak, “until he can be treated by a doctor.”

Ponter’s golden eyes fluttered open. “Hold on,” Mary said, staring into them, and taking his hand. “Help is on its way.” She took off her coat, and placed it over him.

Tukana Prat continued to run after the man. One of the Gliksin enforcers was shouting “Stop!” and it was only belatedly that Tukana realized the imperative was directed at her, not the escaping man. But none of the enforcers could run as fast as Tukana; if she gave up her pursuit, the man with the gun would get away.

Part of Tukana’s mind was trying to analyze the situation. Guns, she was given to understand, could be deadly, but the element of surprise was gone now; it was unlikely the… assailant—that was the word—would turn and fire again. Indeed, he seemed intent solely on getting away, and, given that he was Gliksin, it probably didn’t occur to him that as long as he held on to the recently fired gun, Tukana would have no trouble tracking him.

The street was crowded, but Tukana had little difficulty making her way through the throngs; indeed, these humans seemed quite interested in clearing out of the way of the charging Neanderthal as fast as possible.

The man she was chasing—and it was a man, a male Gliksin—seemed shorter than most of his breed. Tukana was devouring the distance between them rapidly; she could almost reach out and grab him.

The man must have heard the thunderous footfalls behind him. He chanced a look over his shoulder, and swung the arm holding his gun back. “He is aiming at us,” said Tukana’s Companion through her cochlear implants.

Tukana hadn’t even thought about the blood in her nose; the airways were more than big enough to accommodate the huge intake that went with running. Indeed, she could feel the strength surging within her as her muscles became more, not less, oxygenated. She brought her legs down on the ground side by side, then pushed off, leaping forward, crossing the gap between her and the Gliksin. The man did fire, but the projectile went wide, although screams came from the crowd. Tukana fervently hoped they were only screams of terror, not that the bullet intended for her had hit someone else.

Tukana slammed into the man, knocking him forward onto the pavement, the two of them skidding ahead several paces. Tukana could hear the footfalls of the enforcers closing up the distance from the rear. The man beneath her tried to twist his spine around and get another shot off. Tukana seized the back of his strangely angular, narrow head in her massive hand, and—

It was her only choice. Surely, it was…

And smashed the man’s head forward, into the artificial stone covering the ground, the skull shattering, the front of his head breaking open like a ripe melon.

Tukana could feel her heart pounding, and she took a moment just to breathe.

Suddenly, she became aware that three of the four enforcers had caught up with them, and were now deployed in front of her, guns out, each held in two hands, aimed at the downed man.

But, as Tukana rose to her feet, she saw the look of horror on one of the Gliksins’ faces.

The enforcer in the middle doubled over and vomited.

And the third enforcer, wide-eyed, said, “Jesus Christ.”

And Tukana looked down at the dead, dead, dead man who had shot Ponter.

And, as she stood there, the sound of sirens grew nearer.