Hominids

“Well,” said Reuben, “if you keep spending so much time with Ponter, maybe you’ll answer that one for us someday.”

Reuben was close enough that she was able to swat him on the arm with an open hand. “Stop that!” she said. She looked into the living room, so that Reuben wouldn’t see the grin growing across her face.

Jasmel Ket showed up at Adikor’s house around noon. Adikor was surprised but pleased to see her. “Healthy day,” he said.

“The same to you,” replied Jasmel, bending down to scratch Pabo’s head.

“Will you have food?” asked Adikor. “Meat? Juice?”

“No, I’m fine,” said Jasmel. “But I’ve been reading more of the law. Have you considered a counterclaim?”

“A counterclaim?” repeated Adikor. “Against whom?”

“Daklar Bolbay.”

Adikor ushered Jasmel into the living room. He took a chair, and she took another. “On what possible charge?” said Adikor. “She has done nothing to me.”

“She has interfered with your grieving for the loss of your man-mate …”

“Yes,” said Adikor. “But surely that is not a crime.”

“Isn’t it?” said Jasmel. “What does the Code of Civilization say about disturbing the life of another?”

“It says a lot of things,” said Adikor.

“The part I’m thinking of is, ‘Frivolous actions against another ca

“Well, she’s accused me of murder. There’s no more egregious crime.”

“But she has no real evidence against you,” said Jasmel. “That makes her action frivolous—or, at least, it might in the eyes of an adjudicator.”

Adikor shook his head. “I can’t see Sard being impressed by that argument.”

“Ah, but Sard ca

“Really? Maybe it is worth trying. But … but my goal isn’t to prolong these proceedings. It’s to get them over with, to get this rotting judicial scrutiny lifted so I can get back down to the lab.”

“Oh, I agree you shouldn’t really pursue a counterclaim. But the suggestion that you might could perhaps help you get your answer.”

“Answer? About what?”

“About why Daklar is pursuing you like this.”

“Do you know why?” asked Adikor.

Jasmel looked down. “I didn’t, not until today, but …”

“But what?”

“It’s not for me to say. If you’re going to hear it at all, it will have to be directly from Daklar.”

Chapter 36

Reuben, Louise, Ponter, and Mary sat around the table in Reuben’s kitchen. Everyone but Louise was eating hamburgers; Louise was picking at a plate of salad.

Apparently, in Ponter’s world, people ate with gloved hands. Ponter didn’t like using cutlery, but the hamburger seemed a good compromise. He didn’t eat the bun, but instead used it to manipulate the meat, constantly squeezing the patty forward and biting off the part that protruded from the disks of bread.

“So, Ponter,” said Louise, making conversation, “do you live alone? Back in your world, I mean.”

Ponter shook his head. “No. I lived with Adikor.”

“Adikor,” repeated Mary. “I thought he was the person you worked with?”

“Yes,” said Ponter. “But he is also my partner.”

“Your business partner, you mean,” said Mary.

“Well, that too, I suppose. But he is my ‘partner’; that is the word we use. We share a home.”

“Ah,” said Mary. “A roommate.”

“Yes.”

“You share household expenses and chores.”

“Yes. And meals and a bed and …”

Mary was angry with herself for the way her heart fluttered. She knew lots of gay men; she was just used to them coming out of the closet, not popping through a transdimensional portal.

“You’re gay!” said Louise. “How cool is that!”

“Actually, I was happier at home,” said Ponter.

“No, no, no,” said Louise. “Not happy. Gay. Homosexual.” Bleep. “Having sexual relations with one’s own gender: men who have sex with other men, or women who have sex with other women.”

Ponter looked more confused than ever. “It is impossible to have sex with a member of the same gender. Sex is the act of potential procreation and it requires a male and a female.”

“Well, all right, not sex as in sexual intercourse,” said Louise. “Sex as in intimate contact, as in—you know—um, affectionate touching of … of the genitals.”

“Oh,” said Ponter. “Yes, Adikor and I did that.”

“That’s what we call being homosexual,” supplied Reuben. “Having such contact only with members of your own gender.”

“Only?” said Ponter, startled. “You mean exclusively? No, no, no. Adikor and I kept each other company when Two were separate, but when Two became One, we of course had—what did you call it, Lou?—‘affectionate touching of the genitals’ with our respective females … or, at least I did until Klast, my woman-mate, died.”

“Ah,” said Mary. “You’re bisexual.” Bleep. “You have genital contact with men and women.”

“Yes.”

“Is everyone like that in your world?” asked Louise, stabbing some lettuce with her fork. “Bisexual?”

“Just about.” Ponter blinked, getting it at last. “You mean it is different here?”

“Oh, yes,” said Reuben. “Well, for most people, anyway. I mean, sure, there are some bisexual people, and lots and lots of gay—homosexual—people. But the vast majority are heterosexual. That means they have affectionate contact only with members of the opposite gender.”

“How boring,” said Ponter.

Louise actually giggled. Then, composing herself, she said, “So, do you have any children?”

“Two daughters,” said Ponter, nodding. “Jasmel and Megameg.”

“Lovely names,” said Louise.

Ponter looked sad, obviously thinking of the fact that he’d likely never see them again.

Reuben clearly saw this, too, and sought to move the conversation to something less personal. “So, um, so what’s this ‘Two become One’ you mentioned? What’s that all about?”

“Well, on my world, males and females live mostly apart, so—”

“Binford!” exclaimed Mary.

“No, it is true,” said Ponter.

“That wasn’t a swear word,” said Mary. “It’s a man’s name. Lewis Binford is an anthropologist who argues the same thing: that Neanderthal men and women lived largely separate lives on this Earth. He bases it on sites at Combe Grenal, in France.”

“He is correct,” said Ponter. “Women live in the Centers of our territories; males at the Rims. But once a month, we males come into the Center and spend four days with the females; we say that ‘Two become One’ during this time.”

“Par-tay!” said Louise, gri

“Fascinating,” said Mary.

“It is necessary. We do not produce food the way you do, so the population size must be kept in check.”

Reuben frowned. “So this ‘Two becoming One’ business is for birth control?”

Ponter nodded. “In part. The High Gray Council—the governing body of elders—sets the dates on which we come together, and Two normally become One when the women are incapable of conceiving. But if it is time to produce a new generation, then the dates are changed, and we come together when the women are most fertile.”

“Goodness,” said Mary. “A whole planet on the rhythm method. The Pope would like you guys. But—but how can that work? I mean, surely your women don’t all have their periods—undergo menstruation—at once?”

Ponter blinked. “Of course they do.”

“But how could—oh, wait. I see.” Mary smiled. “That nose of yours: it’s very sensitive, isn’t it?”

“I do not think of it as being so.”

“But it is—compared to ours I mean. Compared to the noses we have.”

“Well, your noses are very small,” said Ponter. “They are, ah, rather disconcerting to look at. I keep thinking you will suffocate—although I have noticed many of you breathe through your mouths, presumably to avoid that.”