Hybrids

“Here comes Daddy!” shouted little Mega, pointing. Mary looked up. Off to the west, Ponter had appeared on the horizon. He was carrying things in each of his hands, although Mary couldn’t yet make out what they were.

“And here comes Mother!” said Hapnar, pointing to the east. Sure enough, Bandra was approaching from that direction.

Ponter had said that double ceremonies were rare, but Mary had thought it so very appropriate: to be bonded to her man-mate Ponter and her woman-mate Bandra simultaneously. The sky overhead was cloudless, and the air was warm and dry. Mary felt wonderful—in love, loved, loving life.

Ponter and Bandra had equal distances to go, but the terrain was rougher to the west, and Bandra arrived at the clearing first. She hugged her daughters, then greeted Ponter’s parents—her own lived far away, but, Mary knew, were watching transmissions being sent by Bandra’s Companion. She came over to Mary and kissed and licked her face.

Bandra looked so happy, it made Mary’s heart want to burst. It had been ages since Bandra had seen Harb; her man-mate knew Bandra had moved to the other world, but Bandra had taken no steps to dissolve her bond to him—because, she said, if she did, he’d just seek another woman-mate. Perhaps, at some point, he’d dissolve their union himself—but enough about Harb, Mary thought. Today was a day for making, not breaking, bonds.

Bandra was wearing a backpack, which she lowered to the ground. It contained her offering of food for Mary. Mary had brought twice as much, but only half was for Bandra; the rest was for Ponter.

Soon—finally!—Ponter arrived. Mary was surprised. When she’d attended Jasmel and Tryon’s bonding, Tryon had shown up with a freshly killed deer slung over his shoulders; the blood streaming from its many spear wounds had turned Mary’s stomach. But Ponter was holding two large cubical containers—Mary recognized them as thermal storage units. She looked at him questioningly, but he just set them down out of the way. Then he hugged Mary, holding her for a wonderfully long time.

No officials were needed for the ceremony, of course; the whole thing, after all, was being recorded from multiple Companion viewpoints at the alibi archives. And so the three of them simply began, with Ponter standing on one side of Mary and Bandra on the other.

Mary turned to Ponter and spoke—in the Neanderthal tongue, which she’d spent the last half year learning, patiently taught by Bandra. “I promise, dear Ponter, to hold you in my heart twenty-nine days a month, and to hold you in my arms whenever Two become One.”

Ponter took one of Mary’s hands. She continued: “I promise that your health and your happiness will be as important to me as my own. If, at any time, you tire of me, I promise to release you without acrimony, and with the best interests of our children as my highest priority.”

Ponter’s golden eyes were beaming. Mary turned to Bandra. “I promise, dear Bandra, to hold you in my heart twenty-nine days a month, and to hold you in my arms whenever Two are not One. I promise that your health and your happiness will be as important to me as my own, and if, at any time, you tire of me, I promise to release you without acrimony.”

Bandra, who for her part, had been becoming fluent in English—at least those words that she could pronounce—said softly in that language, “Grow tired of you? Never in a million years.”

Mary smiled, then turned back to Ponter. It was his turn to speak now, and he did so: “I promise,” he said in his wonderfully deep, resonant voice, “to hold you in my heart twenty-nine days a month, and to hold you in my arms whenever Two become One. I promise that your happiness and well-being will be as important to me as my own. If you ever tire of me, I promise to release you without pain, and with the best interests of our child—our very special hybrid child—as my highest priority.”

Mary squeezed Ponter’s hand, and turned back to Bandra, who repeated the same vows Mary had made to her, then added, again in English, “I love you.”

Mary kissed Bandra again. “I love you, too,” she said. And then she turned and kissed Ponter, long and hard. “And you know I love you, big fella.”

“They’re bonded!” said little Mega, clapping her hands together.

Adikor moved in and hugged Ponter. “Congratulations!”

And Louise hugged Mary. “Félicitations, mon amie! ”

“And now,” exclaimed Ponter, “it’s time for the feast!” He went over to the cubical containers he’d brought with him and opened them up. The lids were lined with reflective foil. Ponter pulled out large paper bags from one, and then the other, and Mary saw on them the familiar drawing of a white-haired Gliksin with glasses and a goatee.

“Astonishment!” exclaimed Mary, in good Barast fashion. “Kentucky Fried Chicken!”

Ponter was gri

Mary smiled back at him. “Oh, yes, indeed, my love,” she said. “The very best—of both worlds.”

About the Author

Robert J. Sawyer lives in Mississauga, Ontario, Canada, and is Writer in Residence at the Toronto Public Library’s Merril Collection of Science Fiction, Speculation and Fantasy.

Rob has a bachelor’s degree in Radio and Television Arts from Toronto’s Ryerson University—so it’s no surprise that he keeps turning up on both those media. He’s got 200 television appearances under his belt (including Rivera Live with Geraldo Rivera) and almost as many radio interviews (including National Public Radio’s Talk of the Nation ). In addition, he’s hosted programs for CBC Radio and Discovery Cha

Rob’s other honors include a Nebula Award from the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America for Best Novel of the Year (for The Terminal Experiment ); six best-novel Hugo Award nominations (for The Terminal Experiment, Starplex, Frameshift, Factoring Humanity, Calculating God, and Hominids ); SF awards in France, Japan, and Spain; seven Aurora Awards (Canada’s top honor in speculative fiction); the Science Fiction Chronicle Reader Award for Best Short Story of the Year; and an Arthur Ellis Award from the Crime Writers of Canada.

Since graduating in 1982, Rob has had all of two jobs: four months working at Bakka, Toronto’s SF specialty store, immediately followed by eight months back at Ryerson, demonstrating TV studio-production techniques.

Ever since, he’s been a full-time freelance writer, although he spent most of the 1980s doing over 200 articles for magazines and newspapers (usually about computers or personal finance), and writing brochures, newsletters, and other materials for corporations and government offices.

Rob’s first novel, Golden Fleece, came out in 1990, and by 1992 he had given up nonfiction work to concentrate exclusively on SF. In 1997, his wife, Carolyn Clink, left her job in the printing industry to come work full-time as Rob’s assistant, and in 2002 they started their own corporation, SFWRITER.COM Inc., named in honor of Rob’s massive, award-wi