Hominids (21 page)

Adikor nodded; this recording was made long enough ago that the new resolution enhancements weren’t available. Still, it was eminently watchable.

Bolbay was evidently operating more controls. The bubble spun around so that everyone could see the face of the person being depicted. It was Ponter Boddit. Adikor had forgotten how young Ponter had looked back then. He glanced at Jasmel, sitting next to him. Her eyes were wide in wonder. It probably wasn’t lost on her that here was her father at just about the age she was now; indeed, Klast had already been pregnant with Jasmel at the time these images were recorded.

“That, of course, is Ponter Boddit,” said Bolbay. “At half his current age—or what would be his current age, if he were still alive.” She quickly pushed on before the adjudicator could berate her. “Now, I’m going to fast-forward …”

The image of Ponter walked, sat, stood, puttered around the room, consulted a datapad, shimmied against a scratching pole, all at frenetic speed. And then the airlock door to the room opened—the positive pressure kept out pheromones that might distract one’s studying—and a young Adikor Huld entered.

“Pause,” said Adjudicator Sard. Bolbay froze the image. “Scholar Huld, will you confirm that that is indeed you?”

Adikor was somewhat mortified to see his own face; he’d forgotten that for a brief time he’d adopted the affectation of shaving off his beard. Ah, but if that were the only folly from his youth that had been recorded … “Yes, Adjudicator,” said Adikor, softly. “That’s me.”

“All right,” said Sard. “Continue.”

The image in the bubble started running forward again at high speed. Adikor moved around the room, as did Ponter—although the image of Ponter always stayed in the center of the sphere; it was the space around him that shifted.

Adikor and Ponter seemed to be talking amiably …

And then talking less amiably …

Bolbay slowed the playback to normal speed.

Ponter and Adikor were arguing by this point.

And then—

And then—

And then—

Adikor wanted to close his eyes. His own memories of this event were vivid enough. But he’d never seen it from this perspective, never seen the expression that had been on his face …

And so he watched.

Watched as he clenched his fingers …

Watched as he pulled back his arm, biceps bulging …

Watched as he propelled his arm forward …

Watched as Ponter lifted his head just in time …

Watched as his fist connected with Ponter’s jaw ….

Watched as Ponter’s jaw snapped sideways …

Watched as Ponter staggered backward, blood spurting from his mouth …

Watched as Ponter spit out teeth.

Bolbay froze the image again. Yes, to his credit, the expression now on the young Adikor’s face was one of shock and great remorse. Yes, he was bending over to help Ponter up. Yes, he clearly regretted what he’d done, which of course had been …

… had been coming within a hair’s-breadth of killing Ponter Boddit, staving in the front of his skull with a punch backed by all of Adikor’s strength.

Megameg was crying now. Jasmel had shifted in her chair, moving away from Adikor. Adjudicator Sard was shaking her head slowly back and forth in disbelief. And Bolbay-

Bolbay was standing, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“So, Adikor,” said Bolbay, “should I play the whole thing back with the sound on, or would you like to save us all some time and tell us what you and Ponter were fighting about?”

Adikor felt nauseous. “This isn’t fair,” he said softly. “This isn’t fair. I’ve undergone treatments to help me control my temper—adjustments to neurotransmitter levels; my personality sculptor will confirm that. I’d never hit anyone before in my life, and I never have since.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Bolbay. “What were you fighting about?”

Adikor was silent, slowly shaking his head back and forth.

“Well, Scholar Huld?” demanded the adjudicator.

“It was trivial,” said Adikor, looking down at the moss-covered floor now. “It was …” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It was a philosophical point, related to quantum physics. There have been many interpretations of quantum phenomena, but Ponter was clinging to what he knew full well was an incorrect model. I—I know now he was just goading me, but …”

“But it proved too much for you,” said Bolbay. “You let a simple discussion of science—
science!
—get out of hand, and you got so angry that you lashed out in a way that might have cost Ponter his life had you hit him just a fraction of a handspan higher.”

“This isn’t fair,” Adikor repeated, looking now at the adjudicator. “Ponter forgave me. He never brought a public accusation; without a victim’s accusation, by definition no crime has been committed.” His tone was pleading now.
“That’s the law.”

“We saw this morning in the Council chamber just how well Adikor Huld controls his temper these days,” said Bolbay. “And you’ve now seen that he tried once before to kill Ponter Boddit. He failed that time, but I believe there’s every reason to think he recently succeeded, down in the quantum-computing facility deep beneath the Earth.” Bolbay paused, then looked at Sard. “I think,” she said, her voice smug, “we’ve established the facts sufficiently to merit you sending this matter on to a full tribunal.”

Mary went to the front window of Reuben’s house and looked outside. Even though it was after 6:00 P.M., there would still be light for another couple of hours at this time of year, and—

Good God! The producer for Discovery Channel wasn’t the only one who had figured out where they were. Two TV vans with microwave antennas on their roofs, and three cars decorated with radio-station logos were outside as well, plus a beat-up Honda with one fender a different color than the rest of the car; it presumably belonged to a print journalist. Once the wire-service piece had gone out about her authenticating Ponter’s DNA, apparently everyone had started taking this seemingly impossible story seriously.

Reuben finally got off the phone. Mary turned to look at him.

“I’m not really set up for guests,” said the doctor, “but …”

“What?” said Louise, surprised.

But Mary had already figured it out. “We’re not going anywhere, are we?” she said.

Reuben shook his head. “The LCDC has ordered a quarantine on this building. Nobody goes in or out.”

“For how long?” said Louise, her brown eyes wide.

“That’s up to the government,” replied Reuben. “Several days, at least.”

“Days!” exclaimed Louise. “But … but …”

Reuben spread his hands. “I’m sorry, but there’s no telling what’s floating around in Ponter’s bloodstream.”

“What was it that wiped out the Aztecs?” asked Mary.

“Smallpox, mostly,” said Reuben.

“But smallpox …” said Louise. “If he had that, shouldn’t he have lesions on his face?”

“Those come two days after the onset of fever,” said Reuben.

“But, anyway,” said Louise, “smallpox has been eradicated.”

“In this universe, yes,” said Mary. “And so we don’t vaccinate for it anymore. But it’s possible—”

Louise nodded, getting it. “It’s possible it hasn’t been wiped out in
his
universe.”

“Exactly,” said Reuben. “And, even if it has been, there could be countless pathogens that have evolved in his world to which we have no immunity.”

Louise took a deep breath, presumably trying to stay calm. “But I feel fine,” she said.

“So do I,” said Reuben. “Mary?”

“Fine, yes.”

Reuben shook his head. “We can’t take any chances, though. They’ve got samples of Ponter’s blood over at St. Joseph’s; the woman I’m dealing with at the LCDC says she’ll speak to their head of pathology and run smears for everything they can think of.”

“Do we have enough food?” asked Louise.

“No,” said Reuben. “But they’ll bring us more, and—”

“Oh, Kee-ryst!” said Reuben.

“There’s somebody at the door!” declared Louise, looking out the front window.

“A reporter,” said Mary, seeing the man.

Reuben ran upstairs. For half a second, Mary thought he was going to get a shotgun, but then she heard him shouting, presumably through a window he’d opened up there. “Go away! This house is quarantined!”

Mary saw the reporter step back a few paces and tip his head up, looking at Reuben. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, Dr. Montego,” he called.

“Go away!” Reuben shouted back. “The Neanderthal is sick, and this place has been quarantined by the order of Health Canada.” Mary became aware of more vehicles arriving on the country road, and red-and-yellow lights starting to sweep across the scene.

“Come on, Doctor,” the reporter replied. “Just a few questions.”

“I’m serious,” Reuben called. “We are containing an infectious disease here.”

“I understand Professor Vaughan is in there, as well,” shouted the reporter. “Can she comment on the Neanderthal’s DNA?”

“Go away! For God’s sake, man, go away!”

“Professor Vaughan, are you in there? Stan Tinbergen,
Sudbury Star
. I’d like—”

“Mon dieu!”
exclaimed Louise, pointing out toward the street. “That man has a rifle!”

Mary looked where Louise was pointing. There was indeed someone there, aiming a long gun right at the house from maybe thirty meters away. A second later, a man standing next to him raised a megaphone to his mouth.
“This is the RCMP,”
said the man’s amplified, reverberating voice.
“Move away from the house.”

Tinbergen turned around. “This is private property,” he shouted back. “No one has committed a crime, and—

“
Move away
,”
bellowed the Mountie, who was clad in plain clothes, although Mary saw that his white car was indeed marked with the letters RCMP and the French equivalent, GRC.

“If Dr. Montego or Professor Vaughan will just answer a few questions,” said Tinbergen, “I’ll—”

“Last warning!” said the Mountie through the bullhorn. “My partner will try only to wound you, but …”

Tinbergen obviously wanted his story. “I’ve got a right to ask questions!”

“Five seconds,”
thundered the RCMP officer’s voice.

Tinbergen stood his ground.

“The public has a right to know!” the reporter shouted.

Tinbergen turned around again, apparently determined to get in at least one question. “Dr. Montego,” he shouted, looking up, “does this disease pose any risk to the public?”

“I’ll answer all your questions,” Reuben shouted back. “But not like this. Move away!”

Tinbergen swiveled around, holding his hands up at midchest height. “All right already!” He began walking slowly away from the house.

No sooner had the reporter reached the far end of the driveway than the telephone rang inside Reuben’s house. Mary moved across the living room and picked up the teal one-piece, but Reuben must have already answered on an extension upstairs. “Dr. Montego,” she heard a man’s voice say, “this is Inspector Matthews, RCMP.”

Normally, Mary would have put down the phone, but she was dying of curiosity.

“Hello, Inspector,” said Reuben’s voice.

“Doctor, we’ve been asked by Health Canada to render any assistance you might require.” The man’s voice sounded thin; Mary presumed he was calling from a cellular phone. She craned her neck to see out the front window; the man who’d been using the bullhorn earlier was indeed now standing next to his white car and talking into a cell phone. “How many people are inside your house?”

“Four,” said Reuben. “Myself, the Neanderthal, and two women: Professor Mary Vaughan from York University, and Louise Benoit, a physics postdoctoral student associated with the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory.”

“I understand one of them is sick,” said Matthews.

“Yes, the Neanderthal. He’s running a high fever.”

“Let me give you my cell-phone number,” said the Mountie. He read off a string of digits.

“Got it,” said Reuben.

“I’m going to be out here until my relief arrives at 2300,” said Matthews. “The relief will be on the same phone; call if you need anything.”

“I need antibiotics for Ponter. Penicillin, erythromycin—a slew of others.”

“Do you have e-mail access in there?” asked Matthews.

“Yes.”

“Do up the list. Send it to Robert Matthews—two T’s—at rcmp-grc.gc.ca—
[email protected]
. Got that?”

“Yes,” said Reuben. “I’ll need those as soon as humanly possible.”

“We’ll get them here tonight, if they are things a regular pharmacy or St. Joseph’s will have on hand.”

“We’re going to need more food, too,” said Reuben.

“We’ll get you whatever you want. E-mail me a list of food, toiletries, clothes, whatever you need.”

“Great,” said Reuben. “And I should collect blood samples from all of us, and have you get them over to St. Joseph’s and other labs.”

“Fine,” said Matthews.

They agreed to call each other immediately if there were any changes in circumstances, and Reuben clicked off. Mary heard him coming down the stairs.

“Well?” said Louise—giving away that Mary had been listening, Mary thought, by looking in equal turns at her and at Reuben.

Reuben summarized the call, then: “I’m sorry about this; I really am.”

“What about the others?” said Mary. “The other people who were exposed to Ponter?”

Reuben nodded. “I’ll get Inspector Matthews to have the RCMP round them up; they’ll probably quarantine them at St. Joseph’s rather than here.” He went into the kitchen and returned with a pad and a stubby pencil that looked like they were normally used for recording shopping lists. “All right, who else was exposed to Ponter?”