Hybrids

Chapter Thirty-two

It had been almost three weeks since the United Nations contingent, including Jock, had returned home. Ponter and Adikor were working down in their quantum-computing facility, a thousand armspans below the surface, when the message came through: a courier envelope, passed along the Derkers tube by a Canadian Forces officer.

Ponter himself happened to open the package. The interior envelope bore the bisected-globe logo of the Synergy Group, and so Ponter at first assumed it was for Mare. But it wasn’t. To his astonishment, the inner envelope was addressed to him, in both English letters and Neanderthal glyphs.

Ponter opened the envelope, with his beloved Adikor looking over his shoulder. Inside was a memory bead. Ponter popped it into the player on his control console, and a three-dimensional image of Lonwis Trob appeared, his mechanical blue eyes shining from within. The image was about a third of life-size, and it floated a handspan above the console.

“Healthy day, Scholar Boddit,” said Lonwis. “I need you to return to the Synergy Group headquarters, here on the south side of Lake Jorlant—what the Gliksins still insist on calling Lake Ontario, despite me having corrected them repeatedly. As you know, I am working here with Dr. Benoît on quantum-computing issues, and I have a new idea about preventing decoherence even in surface-level systems, but I require your expertise in quantum computing. Bring your research partner, Scholar Adikor Huld; his expertise would be of considerable utility, too. Be here within three days.”

The image froze, meaning the playback had come to an end. Ponter looked at Adikor. “Would you like to come along?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Adikor. “A chance to meet Lonwis Trob! I’d love to come.”

Ponter smiled. Gliksins said that Barasts lacked the desire to explore new places. Maybe they were right: until now, despite it being his hardware that had made the portal possible, Adikor hadn’t shown any interest in seeing the Gliksin world. But now he was going to go over—so he could meet one of his Barast heroes.

“Three days gives us plenty of time to pack,” said Ponter. “It’s not far from here—the here that is there, I mean—to the Synergy Group headquarters.”

“I wonder what Lonwis has behind his ridge?” asked Adikor. “Who knows? But I’m sure it’s brilliant.”

The control room was empty except for Ponter and Adikor, although a Neanderthal technician was working on the computing floor, and a Neanderthal enforcer was seated by the mouth of the portal, just in case.

“I must invite Mare to join us,” said Ponter.

Adikor’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not yet time for Two to become One.”

Ponter nodded. “I know. But that rule doesn’t apply in her world, and she would never forgive me if I went over there and didn’t bring her.”

“Scholar Trob did not ask for her,” said Adikor.

Ponter reached out and touched Adikor’s arm. “I know this has been difficult for you. I’ve spent far too much time with Mare, and far too little with you. You know how much I love you.”

Adikor nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m trying—I really am—not to be petty about Mare and you. I mean, I want you to have a woman-mate; you know that. But I never thought you’d find a woman-mate who would intrude on our time together.”

“It has been…complex,” said Ponter. “I apologize for that. But shortly your son Dab will come to live with us—and then you will have less time for me.”

As soon as he’d said those words, Ponter regretted them. The hurt was obvious on Adikor’s face. “We will raise Dab together,” Adikor said. “That is the way; you know that.”

“I do know. I’m sorry. It’s just that…”

“That this is so rotted awkward,” said Adikor.

“We will resolve it all soon,” said Ponter. “I promise.”

“How?”

“Mare will move to the other side of the portal and live there, in her world, except when Two become One. Things will go back to being normal between you and me, Adikor.”

“When?”

“Soon. I promise.”

“But you want her to come on this trip—come with us to the Synergy Group, come with us to see Lonwis.”

“Well, her current contribution is as a researcher at the Synergy Group. Surely it makes sense for her to return there from time to time.”

Adikor’s broad mouth was frowning. Ponter used the back of his hand to gently rub Adikor’s cheek, feeling his whiskers. “I do love you, Adikor. Nothing will ever come between us.”

Adikor nodded slowly, and then, taking the initiative himself, he spoke into his Companion. “Please connect me to Mare Vaughan.”

After a moment, Christine’s imitation of Mare’s voice emerged from Adikor’s Companion’s external speaker, a translation of what Mare had said in her language: “Healthy day.”

“Healthy day, Mare. This is Adikor. How would you like to take a trip with Ponter and me?”

“This is astonishing!” said Adikor as they drove through Sudbury, Ontario. “Buildings everywhere! And all these people! Men and women together!”

“And this is just a small city,” said Ponter. “Wait till you see Toronto or Manhattan.”

“Incredible,” said Adikor. Ponter had taken the back seat so that Adikor could ride up front. “Incredible!”

Before heading out on the long trip to Rochester, they stopped first at Laurentian University to inquire about employment opportunities for Mary and Bandra. Ponter had been absolutely right: the meeting started with the head of the genetics and geology departments, but soon the university’s president and its chancellor had shown up as well. Laurentian very much wanted to hire them both, and was more than happy to work out a schedule that would accommodate four consecutive days’ leave per month for Mary.

Since they were at Laurentian, they went down to the basement lair of Veronica Shannon. Adikor went into “Veronica’s Closet,” wearing a newly built test helmet that easily accommodated Neanderthal skulls.

Mary had hoped that Adikor might experience something when the left-hemisphere part of his parietal lobe was stimulated, but he didn’t. On the off-chance that Neanderthal brains were mirror images of Gliksin ones (unlikely, given the prevalence of right-handedness in Neanderthals), Veronica tried a second run, stimulating the right-hemisphere part of Adikor’s parietal lobe, but that also produced no response.

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.”