Robert J. Sawyer - Neanderthal Parallax 3 - Hybrids

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The belief in God has often been advanced as not only the greatest, but the most complete of all the
distinctions between man and the lower animals.
CHARLESDARWIN - The Descent of Man
And let me tell you, God is not so infinite as the Catholics assert. He is about six hundred meters in
diameter, and even then is weak towards the edges.
KARELCAPEK - The Absolute at Large
Mankind was still divided into two species: The few who had “speculation” in their souls, and the many
who had none, with a belt of hybrids in the middle.
JOHNGALSWORTHY - To Let
Chapter One
“My fellow Americans-and all other human beings on this version of Earth-it gives me great pleasure to
address you this evening, my first major speech as your new president. I wish to talk about the future of
our kind of hominid, of the species known as Homo sapiens:people of wisdom...”
“Mare,” said Ponter Boddit, “it is my honor to introduce you to Lonwis Trob.”
Mary was used to thinking of Neanderthals as robust-“Squat Schwarzeneggers” was the phrase the
Toronto Star had coined, referring to their short stature and massive musculature. So it was quite a shock
to behold Lonwis Trob, especially since he was now standing next to Ponter Boddit.
Ponter was a member of what the Neanderthals called “generation 145,” meaning he was thirty-eight
years old. He stood about five-eight, making him on the tall side for a male of his kind, and he had
muscles most bodybuilders would envy.
But Lonwis Trob was one of the very few surviving members of generation 138, and that made him a
staggering one hundred and eight years old. He was scrawny, although still broad-shouldered. All
Neanderthals had light skin-they were a northern-adapted people-but Lonwis’s was virtually transparent,
as was what little body hair he had. And although his head showed all the standard Neanderthal
traits-low forehead; doubly arched browridge; massive nose; square, chinless jaw-it was completely
devoid of hair. Ponter, by comparison, had lots of blond hair (parted in the center, like most
Neanderthals) and a full blond beard.
Still, the eyes were the most arresting features of the two Neanderthals now facing Mary Vaughan.
Ponter’s irises were golden; Mary had found she could stare into them endlessly. And Lonwis’s irises
weresegmented , mechanical: his eyeballs were polished spheres of blue metal, with a blue-green glow
emanating from behind the central lenses.
“Healthy day, Scholar Trob,” said Mary. She didn’t take his hand; that wasn’t a Neanderthal custom.
“It’s an honor to meet you.”
“No doubt it is,” said Lonwis. Of course, he was speaking in the Neanderthal tongue-there was only one,
so the language had no name-but his Companion implant was translating what he said, pumping
synthesized English words out of its external speaker.
And what a Companion it was! Mary knew that Lonwis Trob had invented this technology when he was
a young man, back in the year Mary’s people had known as 1923. In honor of all that the Companions
had done for the Neanderthals, Lonwis had been presented with one that had a solid-gold faceplate. It
was installed on the inside of his left forearm; there were few Neanderthal southpaws. In contrast,
Ponter’s Companion, named Hak, had a plain steel faceplate; it looked positively chintzy in comparison.
“Mare is a geneticist,” said Ponter. “She is the one who proved during my first visit to this version of
Earth that I was genetically what they call a Neanderthal.” He reached over and took Mary’s small hand
in his own, massive, shortfingered one. “More than that, though, she is the woman I love. We intend to
bond shortly.”
Lonwis’s mechanical eyes fell on Mary, their expression impossible to read. Mary found herself turning to
look out the window of her office, here on the second floor of the old mansion that housed Synergy
Group headquarters in Rochester, New York. The gray bulk of Lake Ontario spread to the horizon.
“Well,” said Lonwis, or at least that was how his gold Companion translated the sharp syllable he
uttered. But then his tone lightened and his gaze shifted to Ponter. “And I thought I was doing a lot for
cross-cultural contact.”
Lonwis was one of ten highly distinguished Neanderthals-great scientists, gifted artists-who had marched
through the portal from their world to this one, preventing the Neanderthal government from severing the
link between the two realities.
“I want to thank you for that,” said Mary. “We all do-all of us here at Synergy. To come to an alien
world-“
“Was the last thing I thought I would be doing at my age,” said Lonwis. “But those short-headed fools on
the High Gray Council!” He shook his ancient head in disgust.
“Scholar Trob is going to work with Lou,” said Ponter, “on seeing if a quantum computer, like the one
Adikor and I built, can be made using equipment that exists-how do you phrase it?-‘off the shelf’ here.”
“Lou” was Dr. Louise Benoît, by training a particle physicist; Neanderthals couldn’t pronounce the
longee phoneme, although their Companions supplied it as necessary when translating Neanderthal words
into English.
Louise had saved Ponter’s life when he’d first arrived here, months ago, accidentally transferred from his
own subterranean quantum-computing chamber into the corresponding location on this version of
Earth-which happened to be smack-dab in the middle of the heavy-water containment sphere at the
Sudbury Neutrino Observatory, where Louise had then been working.
Because she’d been quarantined with Ponter and Mary, as well as physician Reuben Montego, when
Ponter had fallen sick during his initial visit, Louise had had a chance to learn all about Neanderthal
quantum computing from Ponter, making her the natural choice to head the replication effort here. And
that effort was a high priority, since sufficiently large quantum computers were the key to bridging
between universes.
“And when will I get to meet Scholar Benoît?” asked Lonwis.
“Right now,” said an accented female voice. Mary turned. Louise Benoît-beautiful, brunette,
twenty-eight, all legs and white teeth and perfect curves-was standing in the doorway. “Sorry to be late.
Traffic was murder.”
Lonwis tipped his ancient head, obviously listening to his Companion’s translation of those last three
words, but, just as obviously, completely baffled by them.
Louise came into the room, and she did extend her pale hand. “Hello, Scholar Trob!” she said. “It’s a
pleasure to meet you.”
Ponter leaned close to Lonwis and whispered something to him. Lonwis’s brow undulated-it was a weird
sight when a Neanderthal who still had eyebrow hair did it; it was downright surreal, Mary thought, when
this centenarian did it. But he reached out and took Louise’s hand, grasping it as though he were picking
up a distasteful object.
Louise smiled that radiant smile of hers, although it seemed to have no effect on Lonwis. “This is a real
honor,” she said. She looked at Mary. “I haven’t been this excited since I met Hawking!” Stephen
Hawking had taken a tour of the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory-quite the logistics exercise, given that
the detector chamber was located two kilometers underground, and 1.2 kilometers horizontally along a
mining drift from the nearest elevator.
“My time is extremely valuable,” said Lonwis. “Can we get to work?”
“Of course,” said Louise, still smiling. “Our lab is down the hall.”
Louise started walking, and Lonwis followed. Ponter moved close to Mary and gave her face an
affectionate lick, but Lonwis spoke up without looking back. “Come along, Boddit.”
Ponter smiled ruefully at Mary, gave a what-can-you-do shrug of his massive shoulders, and followed
Louise and the great inventor, closing the heavy, dark wooden door behind himself.
Mary walked over to her desk and started sorting the mess of papers on it. She used to be-what?
Nervous? Jealous? She wasn’t sure, but certainly it had originally made her uneasy when Ponter spent
time with Louise Benoît. After all, as Mary had discovered, the maleHomo sapiens here at Synergy often
referred to Louise behind her back as “LL.” Mary had finally asked Frank, one of the imaging guys, what
that meant. He’d been embarrassed, but had ultimately revealed it stood for “Luscious Louise.” And
Mary had to admit Louise was just that.
But it no longer bothered Mary when Ponter was with Louise. After all, it was Mary, not the
French-Canadian, that the Neanderthal loved, and big boobs and full lips didn’t seem to be high on the
Barast list of favored traits.
A moment later there was a knock on her door. Mary looked up. “Come in,” she called.
The door swung open, revealing Jock Krieger, tall, thin, with a gray pompadour that always made Mary
think of Ronald Reagan. She wasn’t alone in that; Jock’s secret nickname among the same people who
called Louise “LL” was “the Gipper.” Mary supposed they had a name for her, too, but she’d yet to
overhear it.
“Hi, Mary,” said Jock in his deep, rough voice. “Do you have a moment?”
Mary blew out air. “I’ve gotlots of them,” she said.
Jock nodded. “That’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He came in and helped himself to a
chair. “You’ve finished the work I hired you to do here: find an infallible method for distinguishing a
Neanderthal from one of us.” Indeed she had-and it had turned out to be pig-simple:Homo sapiens had
twenty-three pairs of chromosomes, whileHomo neanderthalensis had twenty-four.
Mary felt her pulse accelerating. She’d known this dream job, with its hefty consulting fee, was too good
to last. “A victim of my own genius,” she said, trying to make a joke of it. “But, you know, I can’t go
back to York University-not this academic year. A couple of sessional instructors”-one of whom is an
absolute bloody monster-“have taken over my course work.”
Jock raised a hand. “Oh, I don’t want you to go back to York. But Ido want you to leave here. Ponter’s
heading home soon, isn’t he?”
Mary nodded. “He only came over to attend some meetings at the UN, and, of course, to bring Lonwis
up here to Rochester.”
“Well, why don’t you accompany him when he goes back? The Neanderthals are being very generous
about sharing what they know about genetics and biotechnology, but there’s always more to learn. I’d
like you to make an extended trip to the Neanderthal world-maybe a month-and learn as much as you
can about their biotechnology.”
Mary felt her heart pounding with excitement. “I’dlove to do that.”
“Good. I’m not sure what you’ll do about living arrangements over there, but...”
“I’ve been staying with Ponter’s man-mate’s woman-mate.”
“Ponter’s man-mate’s woman-mate...” repeated Jock.
“That’s right. Ponter is bonded to a man named Adikor-you know, the guy who co-created their
quantum computer with him. Adikor, meanwhile, is simultaneously bonded to a woman, a chemist named
Lurt. And when Two aren’t One-when the male and female Neanderthals are living separate lives-it’s
Lurt that I stay with.”
“Ah,” said Jock, shaking his head. “And I thought theY&R had confusing family relationships.”
“Oh, those areeasy ,” said Mary with a smile. “Jack Abbott used to be married to Nikki, who was born
Nikki Reed. That was after she was married to Victor Newman-for the first two times, that is, but before
the third time. But now Jack is married to...”
Jock held up a hand. “Okay, okay!”
“Anyway, like I said, Ponter’s man-mate’s woman-mate is a chemist named Lurt-and the Neanderthals
consider genetics to be a branch of chemistry, which, of course, it really is, if you think about it. So she’ll
be able to introduce me to all the right people.”
“Excellent. If you’re willing to head over to the other side, we could certainly use this information.”
“Willing?” said Mary, trying to contain her excitement. “Is the Pope Catholic?”
“Last time I checked,” said Jock with a small smile.
Chapter Two
“And, as you will see, it is onlyourfuture-the future of Homo sapiens-that I will be addressing tonight.
And not just because I can only speak as the American president. No, there is more to it than that. For,
in this matter, our future and that of the Neanderthals arenotintertwined...”
Cornelius Ruskin was afraid the vivid nightmares would never end: that goddamned caveman coming at
him, throwing him down, mutilating him. He awoke each morning soaked with sweat.
Cornelius had spent most of the day after the horrid discovery painfully lying in bed, hugging himself. The
phone had rung on several occasions, at least one of which was doubtless somebody calling from York
University to find out where the hell he was. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak to anyone then.
Late that night, he’d called the genetics department and left a message on Qaiser Remtulla’s voice mail.
He’d always hated that woman, and hated her even more now thatthis had been done to him. But he
managed to keep his tone calm, saying that he was ill and wouldn’t be back in for several days.
Cornelius watched carefully for blood in his urine. Every morning, he felt around the wound for seepage,
and took his own temperature repeatedly, to assure himself that he didn’t have a fever-which he didn’t,
despite his frequent hot flashes.
He still had trouble believing it, was still overwhelmed by the very idea. There was pain, but it diminished
day by day, and codeine tablets helped-thank God they were available over the counter here in Canada;
he always had some 222s on hand, and had initially been taking five at a time, but now had himself down
to the normal dose of two.
Beyond taking painkillers, though, Cornelius had no idea what to do. He certainly couldn’t go see his
doctor-or any doctor, for that matter. There was no way his injury could be kept secret if he did that;
someone would be bound to talk. And Ponter Boddit had been right: Cornelius couldn’t risk that.
Finally, when he at last managed to summon enough energy, Cornelius went to his computer. It was an
old no-name 90 MHz Pentium that he’d had since his grad-student days. The machine was adequate for
word processing and e-mail, but he usually saved web surfing for when he was at work: York had
high-speed lines, while all he could afford for home was a dial-up account with a local ISP. But he
needed answers now, and so he suffered through the maddeningly slow page-loading.
It took twenty minutes, but he finally found what he was looking for. Ponter had returned to this Earth
wearing a medical belt that included among its tools a cauterizing laser scalpel. That device had been
used to save the Neanderthal’s life when he’d been shot outside the United Nations. Surely that was how
he had-
Cornelius felt all his muscles contracting as he thought yet again of what had been done to him.
His scrotum had been slit open, presumably by the laser, and-
Cornelius closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying to keep stomach acid from climbing his esophagus
again.
Somehow-possibly even with his bare hands-Ponter had then wrenched Cornelius’s testicles from his
body. And then the laser must have been used again, searing his flesh shut.
Cornelius had frantically searched his entire apartment for his balls, in hopes that they could be
reimplanted. But after a couple of hours, tears of anger and frustration streaming down his face, he’d had
to face reality. Ponter had either flushed them down the toilet, or had disappeared into the night with
them. Either way, they were gone for good.
Cornelius was furious. What he’d done had been so wonderfully appropriate: those women-Mary
Vaughan and Qaiser Remtulla-had stood in his way. They’d gotten their positions, and their tenure,
simply because they were female.He was the one with a Ph.D. from Oxford, for God’s sake, but he’d
been passed over for promotion as York “corrected historical gender imbalances” among its various
faculties. He’d been shafted by that, so he’d shown them-the department head, that Paki bitch; and
Vaughan, who had the jobhe should have had-what it was really like to get the shaft.
Damn it, thought Cornelius, feeling once more between his legs. His scrotum was badly swollen-but
empty.
God damn it.
Jock Krieger went back to his office, which was on the ground floor of the Synergy Group mansion. His
large window faced south toward the marina, instead of north toward Lake Ontario; the mansion was on
an east-west spit of land in the Rochester community of Seabreeze.
Jock’s Ph.D. was in game theory; he’d studied under John Nash at Princeton, and had spent three
decades at the RAND Corporation. RAND had been the perfect place for Jock. Funded by the Air
Force, it had been the principal U.S.-government think tank in the Cold War, carrying out studies of
nuclear conflict. To this day, when Jock heard the initialsM.D., he thought of amegadeath -one million
civilian casualties-rather than a medical doctor.
The Pentagon had been furious about the way the initial encounter with Neanderthal Prime-the first
Neanderthal to slip intothis reality fromthat one-had gone. The story of a modern caveman appearing in a
nickel mine in Northern Ontario had seemed pure tabloid stuff, akin to alien encounters, Bigfoot sightings,
and so on. By the time the U.S. government-or the Canadian one, for that matter-was taking things
seriously, Neanderthal Prime was out and about among the general public, making it impossible to
contain and control the situation.
And so money had suddenly appeared-some from the INS, but most from the DoD-to create the
Synergy Group. That had been some politician’s name for it; Jock would have called it “Barast
Encounter-Repetition Emergency Task-force,” or BERET. But the name-and that silly
two-worlds-uniting logo-had been set before he was tapped to lead the organization.
Still, it had been no accident that a game theorist had been selected. It was clear that if contact ever did
reopen, the Neanderthals and the humans-Jock still reserved that word, at least privately, forreal
people-would have different interests, and figuring out the most advantageous outcome that could be
reasonably expected in such situations was what game theory was all about.
“Jock?”
Jock usually kept his door open-that was good management, wasn’t it? An open-door policy? Still, he
was startled to see a Neanderthal face-broad, browridged, bearded-peeking around the jamb. “Yes,
Ponter?”
“Lonwis Trob brought along some communiqués from New York City.” Lonwis and the nine other
famous Neanderthals, plus the Neanderthal ambassador, Tukana Prat, had been spending most of their
time at the United Nations. “Are you aware of the Corresponding-Points trip?”
Jock shook his head.
“Well,” said Ponter, “you know there are plans to open a bigger, permanent, ground-level portal
between our worlds. Apparently your United Nations has taken the decision that the portal should be
between United Nations headquarters and the corresponding point on my world.”
Jock frowned. Why the hell was he getting intelligence reports from a bloody Neanderthal? Then again,
he hadn’t yet checked his own e-mail today; maybe it was there. Of course, he’d known that the New
York City option was being considered. It was a no-brainer, as far as Jock was concerned: obviously
the new portal should be on U.S. soil, and putting it at United Nations Plaza-technically international
territory-would appease the rest of the world.
“Lonwis says,” continued Ponter, “that they are planning to take a group of United Nations officials over
to the other side-myside. Adikor and I are going to go down to Donakat Island-our version of
Manhattan-with them, to survey the site; there are considerable issues related to shielding any large-size
quantum computer from solar, cosmic, and terrestrial radiation, lest decoherence occur.”
“Yes? So?”
“Well, so, I thought perhaps you might like to come along? You run this institute devoted to establishing
good relations with my world, but you have not yet seen it.”
Jock was taken aback. He found having two Neanderthals here at Synergy just now rather creepy; they
looked so much like trolls. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go somewhere where he’d be surrounded by
them. “When’s this trip happening?”
“After the next Two becoming One.”
“Ah, yes,” said Jock, trying to keep up a pleasant facade. “I believe our Louise’s phrase for that is,
‘Par-tay!’ “
“There is much more to it than that,” said Ponter, “although you will not get to see it on this proposed
trip. Anyway, will you join us?”
“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” said Jock.
Ponter smiled that sickening foot-wide smile of his. “It is my kind that is supposed to lack the desire to
see beyond the next hill, not yours. You should visit the world you are dealing with.”
Ponter came up to Mary’s office and closed the door behind him. He took Mary in his massive arms,
and they hugged tightly. Then he licked her face, and she kissed his. But at last they let each other go,
and Ponter’s voice was heavy. “You know I have to return to my world soon.”
Mary tried to nod solemnly, but she apparently was unable to completely suppress her grin. “Why are
you smiling?” asked Ponter.
“Jock has asked me to go with you!”
“Really?” said Ponter. “That is wonderful!” He paused. “But of course...”
Mary nodded and raised a hand. “I know, I know. We will only see each other four days a month.”
Males and females lived largely separate lives on Ponter’s world, with females inhabiting the city centers,
and males making their homes out at the rims. “But at least we’ll be in the same world-and I’ll have
something useful to do. Jock wants me to study Neanderthal biotechnology for a month, learn all that I
can.”
“Excellent,” said Ponter. “The more cultural exchange, the better.” He looked briefly out the window at
Lake Ontario, perhaps envisioning the trip he would soon have to take. “We must head up to Sudbury,
then.”
“It’s still ten days until Two become One, isn’t it?”
Ponter didn’t have to check his Companion; of course he knew the figure. His own woman-mate, Klast,
had succumbed to leukemia two years ago, but it was only when Two were One that he got to see his
daughters. He nodded. “And after that, I am to head down south again, but in my world-to the site that
corresponds to United Nations headquarters.” Ponter never said “UN”; the Neanderthals had never
developed a phonetic alphabet, and so the notion of referring to something by initials was completely
foreign to them. “The new portal is to be built there.”
“Ah,” said Mary.
Ponter raised a hand. “I won’t leave for Donakat until this next Two becoming One is over, of course,
and I’ll be back long before Two become One once again.”
Mary felt some of her enthusiasm draining from her. She’d known intellectually that even if she was in the
Neanderthal world, twenty-five days would normally pass between times when she could be in Ponter’s
arms, but it was a hard concept to get used to. She wished there was a solution, somewhere, in some
world, that would see her and Ponter always together.
“If you are going back,” said Ponter, “then we can travel to the portal together. I was going to get a lift
with Lou, but...”
“Louise? Is she going over, too?”
“No, no. But sheis going to Sudbury the day after tomorrow to visit Reuben.” Louise Benoît and Reuben
Montego had become lovers while they were quarantined together, and their relationship had continued
afterward. “Say,” said Ponter, “if all four of us are going to be in Sudbury at the same time, perhaps we
can have a meal together. I have been craving Reuben’s barbecues...”
Mary Vaughan currently had two homes on her version of Earth: she had been renting a unit at Bristol
Harbour Village here in upstate New York, and she owned a condominium apartment in Richmond Hill,
just north of Toronto. It was to that latter home that she and Ponter were now heading-a
three-and-a-half-hour drive from Synergy Group headquarters. Along the way, once they’d gotten off
the New York State Thruway in Buffalo, they’d stopped for KFC-Kentucky Fried Chicken. Ponter
thought it was the greatest food ever-a sentiment Mary didn’t disagree with, much to her waistline’s
detriment. Spices were a product of warm climates, designed to mask the taste of meat that was off;
Ponter’s people, who lived in high latitudes, didn’t use much in the way of seasonings, and the
combination of eleven different herbs and spices was unlike anything he’d ever had before.
Mary played CDs on the long drive; it beat constantly hunting for different stations as they moved along.
They’d started with Martina McBride’sGreatest Hits , and were now listening to Shania Twain’sCome
On Over . Mary liked most of Shania’s songs, but couldn’t stand “The Woman In Me,” which seemed to
lack the signature Twain oomph. She supposed she could get ambitious someday and burn her own CD
of the album, leaving that song out.
As they drove along, the music playing, the sun setting-as it did so early at this time of year-Mary’s
thoughts wandered. Editing CDs was easy. Editing a life was hard. Granted, there were only a few things
in her past that she wished she could edit out. The rape, certainly-had it really only been three months
ago? Some financial blunders, to be sure. Plus a handful of misspoken remarks.
But what about her marriage to Colm O’Casey?
She knew what Colm wanted: for her to declare, in front of her Church and God, that their marriage had
never really existed. That’s what an annulment was, after all: a refutation of the marriage, a denying that it
had even happened.
Surely someday the Roman Catholic Church would end its ban on divorce. Until Mary had met Ponter,
there’d been no particular reason to wrap up her relationship with Colm, but now shedid want to get it
over with. And her choices were either hypocrisy-seeking an annulment-or excommunication, the penalty
for getting a divorce.
Ironic, that: Catholics could get off the hook for any venial sin just by confessing it. But if you’d by
chance married the wrong person, there was no easy recourse. The Church wanted it to be until death do
you part-unless you were willing to lie about the very fact of the marriage.
And, damn it all, her marriage to Colm didn’t deserve to be wiped out, to be expunged, to be eradicated
from the records.
Oh, she hadn’t been 100 percent sure when she’d accepted his proposal, and she hadn’t been
completely confident when she’d walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. But the marriagehad been a
good one for its first few years, and when it had gone bad it had only done so through changing interests
and goals.
There had been much talk of late about the Great Leap Forward, when true consciousness had first
emerged on this world, 40,000 years ago. Well, Mary had had her own Great Leap Forward, realizing
that her desires and career ambitions didn’t have to take a back seat to those of her lawfully wedded
husband. And, from that moment on, their lives had diverged-and now they were worlds apart.
No, she would not deny the marriage.
And that meant...
That meant getting a divorce, not an annulment. Yes, there was no law that said a Gliksin-the
Neanderthals’ term for aHomo sapiens -who was still legally married to another Gliksin couldn’t undergo
the bonding ceremony with a Barast of the opposite sex, but someday, doubtless, there would be such
laws. Mary wanted to commit wholeheartedly to Ponter as his woman-mate, and doing that meant
bringing a final resolution to her relationship with Colm.
Mary passed a car, then looked over at Ponter. “Honey?” she said.
Ponter frowned ever so slightly. It was an endearment that Mary used naturally, but he didn’t like
it-because it contained theee phoneme that his mouth was incapable of making. “Yes?” he said.
“You know we’re going to spend the night at my place in Richmond Hill, right?”
Ponter nodded.
“And, well, you also know that I’m still legally bonded to my...my man-mate here, in this world.”
Ponter nodded again.
“I-I would like to see him, if I can, before we head off from Richmond Hill to Sudbury. Maybe have
breakfast with him, or an early lunch.”
“I am curious to meet him,” said Ponter. “To know what sort of Gliksin you chose...”
The CD changed to a new track: “Is There Life After Love?”
“No,” said Mary. “I mean, I need to see him alone.”
She looked over and saw Ponter’s one continuous eyebrow rolling up his browridge. “Oh,” he said,
using the English word directly.
Mary returned her gaze to the road ahead. “It’s time I settled things with him.”
Chapter Three
“I said it during my campaign, and I say it again now: a president should be forward-thinking, looking not
just to the next election but to decades and generations to come. It is with that longer view in mind that I
speak to you tonight...”
Cornelius Ruskin lay in his sweat-soaked bed. He lived in a top-floor apartment in Toronto’s seedy
Driftwood district-his “penthouse in the slums,” as he’d called it back when he’d been in the mood to
make jokes. Sunlight was streaming in around the edges of the frayed curtains. Cornelius hadn’t set an
alarm-not for the last several days-and he didn’t feel energetic enough to roll over and look at his clock.
But the real world would soon intrude. He couldn’t remember the exact details of the sick benefits he
was entitled to as a sessional instructor-but whatever they were, doubtless, after a certain number of
days, the university, the union, the union’s insurer, or all three of them, would require a doctor’s
certificate. So, if he didn’t go back to teaching, he wouldn’t get paid, and if he didn’t get paid...
Well, he had enough to cover the rent for next month, and, of course, he’d had to pay the first and last
months’ rent in advance, so he could stay here until the end of the year.
Cornelius forced himself not to reach down and feel for his balls once more. They were gone; he knew
they were gone. He was coming toaccept that they were gone.
Of course, there were treatments: men lost testicles because of cancer all the time. Cornelius could go on
testosterone supplements. No one-in his public life at least-would ever have to know that he was taking
them.
And his private life? He didn’t have one-not anymore, not since Melody had broken up with him two
years ago. He’d been devastated, even suicidal for a few days. But she’d graduated from Osgoode
Hall-York University’s lawschool-finished articling, and was sliding into a $180,000-a-year associate’s
position at Cooper Jaeger. He could never have been the kind of power-husband she needed, and
now...
And now.
Cornelius looked up at the ceiling, feeling numb all over.
Mary hadn’t seen Colm O’Casey for many months, but he looked perhaps five years older than she
remembered him. Of course, she usually thought of him as he’d been back when they were living
together, when they’d been planning jointly for eventual retirement, already having set their hearts on a
country house on B.C.’s Salt Spring Island...
Colm rose as Mary approached, and he leaned in to kiss her. She turned her head, offering only her
cheek.
“Hello, Mary,” he said, sitting back down. There was something surreal about a steakhouse at lunchtime:
the dark wood, the imitation Tiffany lamps, and the lack of windows all made it seem like night. Colm
had already ordered wine-L’ambiance, their favorite. He poured some in the waiting glass for Mary.
She made herself comfortable-as comfortable as she could-and sat in the chair across the table from
Colm, a candle in a glass container flickering between them. Colm, like Mary, was a bit on the pudgy
side. His hairline had continued its retreat, and his temples were gray. He had a small mouth and a small
nose-even by Gliksin standards.
“You’ve certainly been in the news a lot lately,” said Colm. Mary was on the defensive already, and
opened her mouth to reply curtly but before she could, Colm raised a hand, palm out, and said, “I’m
happy for you.”
Mary tried to remain calm. This was going to be difficult enough without her getting emotional. “Thanks.”
“So what’s it like?” Colm asked. “The Neanderthal world, I mean?”
Mary lifted her shoulders a bit. “Like they say on TV. Cleaner than ours. Less crowded.”
“I’d like to visit it someday,” said Colm. But then he frowned and added, “Although I don’t suppose I’ll
ever get the chance. I can’t quite see them inviting anyone with my academic specialty there.”
That much was probably true. Colm taught English at the University of Toronto; his research was on
those plays putatively by Shakespeare for which authorship was disputed. “You never know,” said
Mary. He’d spent six months of their marriage on sabbatical in China, and she’d never have expected the
Chinese to care about Shakespeare.
Colm was almost as distinguished in his field as Mary was in hers-nobody wrote aboutThe Two Noble
Kinsmen without citing him. But, despite their ivory-tower lives, real-world concerns had intruded early
on. Both York and U of T compensated professors on a market-value basis: law professors were paid a
lot more than history professors because they had many other job opportunities. Likewise, these
days-especiallythese days-a geneticist was a hot commodity, whereas there were few employment
prospects outside academe for English-literature experts. Indeed, one of Mary’s friends used this tag at
the end of his e-mails:
The graduate with a science degree asks, “Why does it work?” The graduate with an engineering degree
asks, “How does it work?” The graduate with an accounting degree asks, “How much will it cost?” The
graduate with an English degree asks, “Do you want fries with that?”
That Mary had been the real breadwinner had been only one of the sources of friction in their marriage.
Still, she shuddered to think how he’d react if she told him how much the Synergy Group was paying her.
A female server came, and they ordered: steakfrites for Colm; perch for Mary.
“How are you liking New York?” asked Colm.
For half a second, Mary thought he meant New YorkCity , where Ponter had been shot in the shoulder
back in September by a would-be assassin. But, no, of course he meant Rochester, New York-Mary’s
supposed home now that she was working for the Synergy Group. “It’s nice,” she said. “My office is
right on Lake Ontario, and I’ve got a great condo on one of the Finger Lakes.”
“Good,” said Colm. “That’s good.” He took a sip of wine, and looked at her expectantly.
摘要：

 ThebeliefinGodhasoftenbeenadvancedasnotonlythegreatest,butthemostcompleteofallthedistinctionsbetweenmanandtheloweranimals.CHARLESDARWIN-TheDescentofMan Andletmetellyou,GodisnotsoinfiniteastheCatholicsassert.Heisaboutsixhundredmetersindiameter,andeventhenisweaktowardstheedges.KARELCAPEK-TheAbsolutea...

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