Hominids

Ponter moved in the dark and made his way up onto the hood as well, the metal groaning as it took his weight. He leaned back against the glass next to Mary.

“We used to do this when I was a kid,” Mary said. “When my father took us camping.”

“It is a great way to look at the sky,” said Ponter.

“Isn’t it, though?” said Mary. She let out a long contented sigh. “Look at the Milky Way! I’ve never seen it like that!”

“Milky Way?” said Ponter. “Oh, I see, yes. We call it the Night River.”

“It’s lovely,” said Mary. She looked to her right. Ursa Major sprawled across the sky above the trees.

Ponter turned his head as well. “That pattern there,” he said. “What do you call it?”

“The Big Dipper,” said Mary. “Well, at least that part—those seven bright stars. That’s what we call it here in North America. The Brits call it ‘The Plow.’”

Bleep.

“A farming implement.”

Ponter laughed. “I should have known. We call it the Head of the Mammoth. See? It is a profile. That is his trunk arching out from the block-shaped head.”

“Oh, yeah—I see it. What about that one there? The zigzag shape?”

“We call it the Cracked Ice,” said Ponter.

“Yeah. I can see that. We call it Cassiopeia; that’s the name of an ancient queen. The shape is supposed to represent her throne.”

“Umm, does not that pointy part in the middle hurt her bum?”

Mary laughed. “Now that you mention it …” She continued to look at the constellation. “Say, what’s that smudge just below it?”

“That is—I do not know what name you give it; it is the closest large galaxy to ours.”

“Andromeda!” declared Mary. “I’ve always wanted to see Andromeda!” She sighed again and continued to look up at the stars. There were more than she’d ever seen in her life. “It’s so beautiful,” she said, “and—oh, my. Oh, my! What’s that?”

Ponter’s face was now slightly illuminated. “The night lights,” he said.

“Night lights? You mean the northern lights?”

“They are associated with the pole, yes.”

“Wow,” said Mary. “The northern lights! I’ve never seen them before, either.”

There was surprise in Ponter’s voice. “You haven’t?”

“No. I mean, I live in Toronto. That’s farther south than Portland, Oregon.” It was a factoid that often astonished Americans, but probably didn’t mean a thing to Ponter.

“I have seen them thousands of times,” said Ponter. “But I never tire of them.” They were both quiet for a time, enjoying the rippling curtains of light. “Is it common for your people to have not seen them?”

“I guess,” said Mary. “I mean, there’re not many of us who live in the extreme north—or south, for that matter.”

“Perhaps that explains it,” said Ponter.

“What?”

“Your people’s unawareness of the electromagnetic filaments that shape the universe; Lou and I spoke of this. It was in the night lights that we first identified such filaments; they, rather than this big bang of yours, are our way of explaining the structure of the universe.”

“Well,” said Mary. “I don’t think you’re going to convince many people that the big bang didn’t happen.”

“That is fine. Feeling a need to convince others that you are right also is something that comes from religion, I think; I am simply content to know that I am right, even if others do not know it.”

Mary smiled in the darkness. A man who cried openly, a man who didn’t always have to prove he was right, a man who treated women with respect and as equals. Quite a find, as her sister Christine would say.

And, thought Mary, it was clear that Ponter liked her—and, of course, it had to be for her mind; she must appear as, well, as homely to him as he did to—no, not to her, not anymore, but to others here on this Earth. Imagine that: a man who really did like her for who she was, not what she looked like.

Quite a find, indeed, but—

Mary’s heart skipped a beat. Ponter’s left hand had found her right one in the dark, and had begun gently stroking it.

And suddenly she felt every muscle in her body tense up. Yes, she could be alone with a man; yes, she could hug and comfort a man; but—

But, no, it was too soon for that. Too soon. Mary retrieved her hand, hopped off the hood of the car, and opened the door, the dome light stinging her eyes. She got into the driver’s seat, and, a moment later, Ponter entered from the passenger’s side, his head downcast.

They drove the rest of the way back to Sudbury in silence.

Chapter 42

Keyword(s): Neanderthal

The environmental group Emerald Dawn has claimed responsibility for the bombing of the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory. SNO Director Bo

X-rays of Ponter Boddit’s skull were put up for sale on eBay this morning. Bidding reached $355 before the online auction site pulled the offer, after a spokesperson for the Sudbury Regional Hospital said on CBC Radio that they must be fake …

The Canadian dollar dropped more than two-thirds of a cent yesterday as relationships between Canada and the United States continued to show signs of strain over the question of who should be controlling the fate of the interloping caveman …

Indications from the Montego encampment in Northern Ontario are that Neanderthals don’t share all our scientific beliefs. Indeed, in what’s sure to be a boon to creationists, the Neanderthals apparently reject the big bang, science’s favorite explanation for the origin of the universe …

Unconfirmed rumors today that Russia has targeted Northern Ontario with ICBMs carrying nuclear weapons. “If a plague has entered our world, somebody needs to stand ready to sterilize the infected area, for the greater good of all mankind,” said a person signing himself as Yuri A. Petrov in an Internet newsgroup devoted to crossborder health issues …

Ponter Boddit has agreed to throw the first pitch at SkyDome next Thursday, when the Blue Jays face the New York Yankees …

“According to our CNN online poll, the top three questions people would like to ask the Neanderthal are: What are women like in your world? What happened to our kind of human in your world? And do you believe in Jesus Christ?”

Lurt, Adikor’s woman-mate, had every right to view her own alibi archive whenever she wished. Indeed, she’d had cause to access it just a few months earlier, when a formula she’d written on the wallboard had accidentally been erased by an apprentice. Rather than trying to re-create it, she’d simply come to the archive building, accessed her alibi recording, found a good, clear view of the wallboard, and jotted down the string of symbols.

Because of this recent visit, Lurt knew that her alibi cube was plugged into receptacle 13,997; she told the Keeper of Alibis that, rather than having her look it up on the computer. The keeper accompanied Lurt to the correct niche, and Lurt faced her Companion toward the blue eye. “I, Lurt Fradlo, wish to access my own alibi archive for reasons of personal curiosity. Timestamp.”

The eye turned yellow; the cube agreed that Lurt was indeed who she claimed to be.

The archivist held up her Companion. “I, Mabla Dabdalb, Keeper of Alibis, hereby certify that Lurt Fradlo’s identity has been confirmed in my presence. Timestamp.” The eye went bloodshot, and a tone emanated from the speaker.