Hominids (40 page)

“Oh,” said Ponter. “I haven’t even looked myself. Let’s see …”

Ponter reached into the pocket of his strange, alien pant, and pulled out a wad of white tissue. He carefully opened it up. Inside was a gold chain, and attached to it were two simple, perpendicular bars of unequal length, intersecting each other about one-third of the way down the longer of the two pieces.

“It’s beautiful!” said Jasmel. “What is it?”

Ponter’s eyebrow went up. “It’s the symbol of a belief system some of them subscribe to.”

“Who was that female?” asked Adikor.

“My friend,” said Ponter softly. “Her name—well, I can only say the first syllable of her name: ‘Mare.’”

Adikor laughed; “mare” was, of course, the word in their language for “beloved.”

“I know I told you to find yourself a new woman,” he said, his tone joking, “but I didn’t think you’d have to go that far to meet one who would put up with you.”

Ponter smiled, but it was a forced smile. “She was very kind,” he said.

Adikor knew his partner well enough to understand that whatever story there was to tell would come out in its own good time. Still …

“Speaking of women,” said Adikor. “I, ah, have had some dealings with Klast’s woman-mate while you’ve been away.”

“Daklar!” said Ponter. “How is she?”

“Actually,” said Adikor, looking now at Jasmel, “she’s become rather famous in your absence.”

“Really?” said Ponter. “Whatever for?”

“For making and pursuing a murder accusation.”

“Murder!” exclaimed Ponter. “Who was killed?”

“You were,” said Adikor, deadpan.

Ponter’s jaw dropped.

“You went missing, you see,” said Adikor, “and Bolbay thought …”

“She thought you had
murdered
me?” declared Ponter incredulously.

“Well,” said Adikor, “you
had
disappeared, and the mine here is so deep within the rocks that the alibi-archive pavilion couldn’t pick up the signals from our Companions. Bolbay made it sound like the perfect crime.”

“Incredible,” said Ponter, shaking his head. “Who spoke on your behalf?”

“I did,” said Jasmel.

“Good girl!” said Ponter, sweeping her up in another hug. He spoke over his daughter’s shoulder. “Adikor, I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

“Me too, but—” He shrugged. “You’ll doubtless hear it soon enough. Bolbay said I resented you; she said that I felt like merely an adjunct to your work.”

“Nonsense,” said Ponter, releasing Jasmel. “I could have accomplished nothing without you.”

Adikor tipped his head. “That’s generous of you to say, but …” He paused, then spread his arms, palms up. “But there was truth in her words.”

Ponter put an arm around Adikor’s shoulders. “Perhaps the theories were indeed more mine than yours—but it was you who designed and built the quantum computer, and it is that computer that has opened up a new world to us. Your contribution exceeds mine a hundredfold because of that.”

Adikor smiled. “Thank you.”

“So what happened?” said Ponter. He grinned. “Your voice doesn’t sound any higher, so I assume she didn’t succeed.”

“Actually,” said Jasmel, “the case will be heard by a tribunal, starting tomorrow.”

Ponter shook his head in wonder. “Well, obviously, we must have the accusation expunged.”

Adikor smiled. “If you’d be so kind,” he said.

The next morning, Adjudicator Sard was joined by a wizened male and an even more wizened female, one sitting on each side of her. The Gray Council chamber was packed with spectators and ten or so silver-clad Exhibitionists. Daklar Bolbay was still wearing orange, the color of accusation. But there was considerable whispering among the crowd when Adikor entered, for instead of the accused’s blue, he had on a rather jaunty shirt with a floral print, and a light green pant. He made his way to the stool he’d gotten to know so well.

“Scholar Huld,” said Adjudicator Sard, “we have traditions, and I expect you to observe them. I think by now you’ve learned how little patience I have for wasting time, so I won’t send you home to change today, but tomorrow, I’ll expect you to be wearing blue.”

“Of course, Adjudicator,” said Adikor. “Forgive me.”

Sard nodded. “The final investigation of Adikor Huld of Saldak Rim for the murder of Ponter Boddit of the same locale now begins. Presiding tribunal consists of Farba Dond”—the elderly man nodded—“as well as Kab Jodler, and myself, Komel Sard. The accuser is Daklar Bolbay, on behalf of her late woman-mate’s minor child, Megameg Bek.” Sard looked around the packed room, and a self-satisfied frown creased Sard’s face; she clearly knew this was a case that would be talked about for countless months to come. “We will begin with the initial statement of the accuser. Daklar Bolbay, you may begin.”

“With respect, Adjudicator,” said Adikor, rising, “I was wondering if the person speaking for me might present my defense first?”

“Scholar Huld,” said Dond, sharply, “Adjudicator Sard has already warned you about ignoring traditions. The accuser always goes first, and—”

“Oh, I understand that,” said Adikor. “But, well, I
do
know of Adjudicator Sard’s desire to speed things along, and I thought this might help.”

Bolbay rose, perhaps sensing an opportunity. After all, if she went
after
the defense, she’d be able to pull it apart during her initial statement. “As accuser, I have no problem with the defense being presented first.”

“Thank you,” said Adikor, bowing magnanimously. “Now, if it—”

“Scholar Huld!” snapped Sard. “It is not up to the accuser to determine protocol. We will proceed as tradition dictates, with Daklar Bolbay speaking first, and—”

“I only thought—” said Adikor.

“Silence!” Sard was getting quite red in the face. “You shouldn’t be talking at all.” She faced Jasmel. “Jasmel Ket, only you should speak on Scholar Huld’s behalf; please make sure he understands this.”

Jasmel rose. “With great respect, Worthy Adjudicator, I am not speaking for Adikor this time. You did, after all, suggest that he find a more appropriate defender.”

Sard nodded curtly. “I’m glad to see he can listen at least some of the time.” She scanned the crowd. “All right. Who is speaking on Adikor Huld’s behalf?”

Ponter Boddit, who had been standing just outside the Council-chamber doors, walked in. “I am,” he said.

Some spectators gasped.

“Very well,” said Sard, looking down, preparing to make a note. “And your name is?”

“Boddit,” said Ponter. Sard’s head snapped up. “Ponter Boddit.”

Ponter looked across the room. Jasmel had been restraining Megameg, but now she let her younger sister go. Megameg ran across the Council-chamber floor, and Ponter swept her up off the ground, hugging her.

“Order!” shouted Sard. “There will be order!”

Ponter was grinning from ear to ear. Part of him had worried that the authorities might try to keep the existence of the other Earth a secret. After all, it was only at the last moment that Doctors Montego and Singh had prevented Ponter from being taken away by the Gliksin authorities, possibly never to be seen again. But right now, thousands were using their Voyeurs at home to look in on what the Exhibitionists here were seeing, and a room full of regular Companions were transmitting signals to their owners’ alibi cubes. The whole world—
this
whole world—would soon hear the truth.

Bolbay was on her feet. “Ponter!”

“Your eagerness to avenge me is laudable, dear Daklar,” he said, “but, as you can see, it was premature.”

“Where have you been?” Bolbay demanded. Adikor thought she looked more angry than relieved.

“Where have I been?” repeated Ponter, looking out at the silver suits in the audience. “I must say I’m flattered that the trifling matter of the possible murder of an undistinguished physicist has attracted so many Exhibitionists. And, with them all here and with a hundred other Companions sending signals to the archive pavilion, I will be glad to explain.” He surveyed the faces—broad, flat faces; faces with proper-sized noses, not those pinched things the Gliksins had; hairy male faces and less-hairy female ones; faces with prominent browridges and streamlined jaws; handsome faces, beautiful faces, the faces of his people, his friends, his species. “But first,” he said, “let me just say that there’s no place like home.”

Adikor and Ponter arrived at the home of Dern, the robotics engineer. Dern ushered them inside, then turned off his Voyeur—he was a fellow Lulasm fan, Ponter saw.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” said Dern, “it’s good to see you.” He pointed at the now-black square of the Voyeur. “Did you look in on Lulasm’s visit to the Economics Academy this morning?”

Ponter shook his head; so did Adikor.

“Your friend Sard has stepped down from being an adjudicator. Apparently, her colleagues thought she looked somewhat less than impartial, given the way your trial turned out.”

“Somewhat?”
said Adikor, astonished. “There’s an understatement.”

“In any event,” said Dern, “the Grays decided she’d make a more meaningful contribution by teaching advanced mediation to 146s.”

“It probably won’t catch any Exhibitionist’s eye,” said Ponter, “but Daklar Bolbay is getting help now, too. Therapy for grief management, anger management, and so on.”

Adikor smiled. “I introduced her to my old personality sculptor, and he’s gotten her hooked up with the right people.”

“That’s good,” said Dern. “Are you going to demand a public apology from her?”

Adikor shook his head. “I have Ponter back,” he said simply. “There’s nothing else I need.”

Dern smiled and told one of his many household robots to fetch beverages. “I thank you both for coming over,” he said, lying down on a long couch, ankles crossed, fingers interlaced behind his head, his round belly rising up and down as he breathed.

Ponter and Adikor straddled saddle-seats. “You said you had something important to talk about,” said Ponter, prodding gently.

“I do,” said Dern, lolling his head so that he could look at them. “I think we need to find a way to make the gateway between the two versions of Earth stay open permanently.”

“It seemed to stay open as long as there was a physical object passing through the gateway,” said Ponter.

“Well, yes, on short time scales,” said Adikor. “We really don’t know if it can be maintained indefinitely.”

“If it can,” said Ponter, “the possibilities are staggering. Tourism. Trade. Cultural and scientific exchange.”

“Exactly,” said Dern. “Have a look at this.” He swung his feet to the floor and placed an object on the polished wooden table. It was a hollow tube, made of wire mesh, a little longer than his longest finger and no thicker than the diameter of his shortest one. “This is a Berkers tube,” he said. He used the ends of two fingers to pull on the mouth of the tube, and the tube’s opening expanded and expanded, its mesh with an elastic membrane stretched across it growing larger and larger, until it was as wide as Dern’s handspan.

He handed the tube to Ponter. “Try to crush it,” Dern said.

Ponter wrapped one hand around it as far as it would go, and brought in his other hand and encircled more of the tube. He then squeezed, lightly at first, and then with all his strength. The tube did not collapse.

“That’s just a little one,” said Dern, “but we’ve got them here at the mine that expand to three armspans in diameter. We use them to secure tunnels when a cave-in seems likely. Can’t afford to lose those mining robots, after all.”

“How does it work?” asked Ponter.

“The mesh is actually a series of articulated metal segments, each with ratcheting ends. Once you open it up, the only way to collapse it is to actually go in with tools and undo the locking mechanisms on each piece.”

“So you’re suggesting,” said Ponter, “that we should reopen the gateway to the other universe, and then shove one of these—what did you call it? A ‘Derkers tube’? Shove one of these Derkers tubes through the opening, and expand it to its full diameter?”

“That’s right,” said Dern. “Then people could just walk through from this universe to that one.”

“They’d have to build a platform and stairs on the other side, leading up to the tube,” said Ponter.

“Easily enough done, I’m sure,” said Dern.

“What happens if the gate doesn’t stay open indefinitely?” asked Adikor.

“I wouldn’t suggest anyone linger in the tunnel,” said Dern, “but presumably if the gate did shut down, it would simply sever the tunnel, cutting it into two parts. Either that, or it would draw the tunnel fully into one side or the other.”

“There are issues to be concerned about,” said Ponter. “I got very sick when I was over there; germs exist on the other side to which we have no immunity.”

Adikor nodded. “We’d have to exercise caution. We certainly wouldn’t want pathogens moving freely from their universe into ours, and travelers headed there would presumably require a series of immunizations.”

“It could be worked out, I’m sure,” said Dern. “Although I don’t know exactly what the procedures should be.”

There was silence between them for a time. Finally, Ponter spoke. “Who makes the decision?” he asked. “Who decides if we should establish permanent contact—or even reestablish temporary contact—with the other world?”

“I’m sure there are no procedures in place,” said Adikor. “I doubt anyone has even considered the possibility of a bridge to another Earth.”

“If it weren’t for the danger of germs traveling here,” said Ponter, “I’d say we should just go ahead and open up the gateway, but …”

They were all silent, until Adikor spoke. “Are they—are they good people, Ponter?
Should we
be in contact with them?”