Hybrids (25 page)

To Mary’s astonishment, Jock grinned. “Well, well, well. Three brave Canadians, come to save the Neanderthals.” He shook his head. “You people have always made me laugh, with your silly socialism and misguided bleeding hearts. But you know what strikes me as the funniest thing about Canadians?” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a semiautomatic pistol. “You don’t carry guns.” He aimed the weapon squarely at Mary. “Now, my dear, how was it again that you were going to stop me?”

Ponter and the three adjudicators were in the largest viewing room at the alibi-archive pavilion, watching everything unfold from multiple points of view. Not only had the adjudicators switched Jock Krieger’s Companion over to judicial scrutiny, they had also done the same for Mary Vaughan’s, Louise Benoît’s, and Reuben Montego’s. Four meter-wide holographic bubbles floated in the room, each one showing the surroundings of one of the four Companions on the scene.

Ponter and the three adjudicators were at risk, too, of course. Although the archive pavilion was located on the periphery of the Center, it was still far too close to where the standoff was occurring. “The female Gliksin with the dark hair was right,” said Adjudicator Mykalro, a chunky 142. “You must leave, Scholar Boddit. We all must.”

“The three of you go,” said Ponter, folding his arms in front of his chest. “I’m staying.”

And then Ponter saw Jock pull his gun. His whole spine stiffened; Ponter hadn’t seen a gun since he’d been shot by that would-be assassin outside United Nations headquarters. He relived the moment of the bullet tearing into him, hot and piercing and—

And he couldn’t let that happen to Mare.

“What sort of weapons are stored here?” demanded Ponter.

Mykalro’s white eyebrow went up. “Here? At the archive pavilion?”

“Or next door,” said Ponter, “at the Council chamber.”

The Neanderthal woman shook her head. “None.”

“What about the tranquilizer guns enforcers use?”

“They’re kept in the enforcement station, in Dobronyal Square.”

“Don’t enforcers carry them?”

“Not normally,” said another one of the adjudicators. “There’s no need. Saldak’s Gray Council only authorized the acquisition of six such units; I suspect they’re all in storage right now.”

“Is there any way to stop him?” asked Ponter, pointing at one of the floating images of Jock.

“Not that any of those puny Gliksins could manage,” said Adjudicator Mykalro.

Ponter nodded, understanding. “I’m going to help them. How far away are they?”

The second adjudicator squinted at a status display. “About 7200 armspans.”

He could easily run that. “Hak, have you got the exact location noted?”

“Yes, sir,” said the Companion.

“All right, Adjudicators,” said Ponter, “get to safety. And wish me luck.”

“You can’t just shoot us,” said Mary, trying to keep her voice from quavering, unable to take her eyes off the gun. “There will be a record at the alibi archives.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Jock said. “A fascinating system they’ve got here, I must say: remote black boxes for every man, woman, and child. Of course, it’ll be easy enough to find the archive blocks for the four of us, and once all the Neanderthals are dead, there will be no one to stop me from waltzing into the pavilion and destroying those blocks.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw that Reuben was inching away from her. There was a tree a few meters beyond him; he might be able to get behind it, meaning Jock wouldn’t be able to shoot him without changing position. Mary could hardly blame Reuben for trying to protect himself. Louise, meanwhile, was somewhere behind her and presumably off to her right.

“You can’t expect your virus to have a worldwide effect from one deployment,” said Mary. “The Neanderthals don’t have the population density to support a plague. It’ll never get past Saldak Center.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Jock, hefting the metal box. “In fact, I have you to thank, Dr. Vaughan: it was your earlier research that made this possible. We’ve changed the natural reservoir for this version of Ebola from African shoe-bills to passenger pigeons. Those birds will carry the virus all over this continent.”

“The Neanderthals are peaceful—” said Louise’s voice.

“Yes,” said Jock. As his eyes shifted to Louise so did his gun. “And that will be their downfall—here, now, just as it was 27,000 years ago, the last time we defeated them.”

Mary was thinking about making a run for it, and—

And Reuben did just that, bursting into motion. Jock swung toward him and squeezed off a round. The report startled a flock of birds—passenger pigeons, Mary saw—into flight, but Jock missed, and Reuben was now behind the tree, safe at least for the moment.

When Reuben had made his break to Mary’s left, Louise had seized the moment and torn off to the right. Like most of Northern Ontario in either universe, the ground here was strewn with erratics: boulders deposited by glaciers that had receded at the end of the Ice Age. Louise ran, then dove, making it behind a lichen-covered boulder barely big enough to conceal her body.

Mary was still caught in the center, both the tree on her left and the boulder on her right too far to reach without being picked off by Jock Krieger.

“Ah, well,” said Jock, shrugging to convey that he felt Louise’s and Reuben’s temporary shelters were nothing but a minor inconvenience. He aimed the pistol back at Mary. “Say your prayers, Dr. Vaughan.”

Ponter ran faster than he ever had before, legs pounding up and down. Although there was a lot of snow on the ground, there were many walking paths that had been cleared, and he was making good progress. He took care to breathe solely through his nose, letting his vast nasal cavities humidify and warm the crisp air before it was drawn into his lungs.

“How far away am I?” Ponter asked.

Hak replied into his cochlear implants. “Assuming they haven’t moved, they’re just over the next rise.” A beat. “You should take pains to be silent,” continued the Companion. “You don’t want to alert Jock to your presence.”

Ponter frowned.
You don’t have to tell an old hunter how to sneak up on his prey.

Mary’s Companion spoke into her cochlear implants. “Ponter is only fifty meters away now. If you can keep Jock talking a little longer…”

Mary nodded just enough for Christine to detect the movement. “Wait!” said Mary. “Wait! There’s something you don’t know!”

Jock’s aim didn’t waver. “What?”

Mary thought as fast as she could. “The—the Neanderthals…they’re…they’re psychic!”

“Oh, come on!” said Jock.

“No, no—it’s true!” Suddenly Ponter appeared from over a ridge, behind Jock, silhouetted against the lowering sun. Mary fought to keep her expression neutral. “That’s why we have religious feelings, and they don’t. Our brains are trying to contact other minds, but can’t; something’s wrong with the neural wiring—it makes us think there’s some higher presence that we can’t quite connect with. But in them, the mechanism works properly. They don’t have religious experiences”—Christ, she wasn’t buying this herself; how could she expect him to?—“they don’t have religious experiences because they are
always
in contact with other minds!”

Ponter was moving his splayed legs in an exaggerated fashion, carefully stepping across the snow, making barely any sound. Jock was downwind of Ponter; if he’d been a Neanderthal, he’d doubtless have detected him by now, but he wasn’t a Neanderthal, thank God…

“Think of the value of telepathy in covert operations!” said Mary, raising her voice without making it obvious that she was trying to cover what little sound Ponter was making. “And I’m on the trail of the genetic cause of it! You kill me and the Barasts, and the secret is gone for good!”

“Why, Dr. Vaughan!” exclaimed Jock. “An exercise in dis-information. I’m most impressed.” Ponter was now as close as he could get to Jock without his own long shadow—damn the low winter sun!—falling into Jock’s field of view. Ponter interlocked his fists, ready to smash them down on Jock’s head, and—

Jock must have heard something. He began to wheel around a fraction of a second before Ponter’s hands came crashing down. Instead of staving in Jock’s skull, the fists connected with Jock’s left shoulder. Mary heard the sound of cracking bone, and Jock let out a yowl of pain and dropped the bomb box. But he still had the gun in his right hand and he squeezed off a shot. Jock didn’t have a Neanderthal’s shielding browridge, and when he’d turned toward the sun, the glare had blinded him for an instant; the shot went wide.

There was no way Mary could reach Ponter safely, so she did the next best thing: she ran to her left, joining Reuben behind the tree. Ponter let out a great bellowing roar and swung again, a roundhouse that sent Jock sprawling face-down in a snowbank. The Neanderthal moved quickly, yanking Jock’s right arm back, pulling it in a direction it was not meant to go, splitting the air with another hideous
craaack!
Jock screamed, and, in a blur of motion, Ponter had the gun. He tossed it away with such force that it made a whizzing sound as it sliced through the cold, dry air. Ponter then swung Jock around so that he was facing him, and Ponter hauled back his own right arm, its massive fist balled.

Jock rolled to the right, and using his one good arm, he clutched at the silver box, drawing it closer to him. He did something to it, and white gas started pouring out of the box. Ponter was only intermittently visible through the cloud, but Mary saw him grab Jock by the throat and haul back with his other arm, aiming his fist for the center of Jock’s face.

“Ponter, no!” shouted Louise, running out from behind the boulder. “We need to know—”

Ponter was already committed to his punch, but must have backed off slightly in response to Louise’s words. Still, he connected with an impact that made a sound like a hundred pounds of leather dropping to the floor. Jock’s head snapped back, and he slumped to the snow-covered ground, eyes closed.

The cloud continued to expand. Mary ran forward, going straight for the box. Gas continued to pour from it, obscuring her vision. She searched with her hands for some sort of cutoff valve, but found nothing.

Reuben had also run forward, but he’d headed for Jock. He was now crouching down, taking the man’s pulse. “He’s unconscious, but alive,” he said, looking up at Ponter.

Mary took off her coat, trying to wrap up the bomb. She seemed to be managing to contain the box, but then it exploded, the coat shredding, Mary’s skin being sliced in a dozen places, and the cloud expanding more and more. It was like being in a super-dense London fog; Mary could only see a meter or two ahead.

Louise was now bending over Jock. “How long will he be out?”

Reuben looked up and shrugged a little. “You heard the sound of Ponter’s fist connecting. Jock’s got a concussion at least, and probably a skull fracture. It’ll be hours, anyway.”

“But we need to know!” said Mary.

“Know what?” asked Reuben.

Mary’s heart was pounding erratically, her stomach was roiling, acid was clawing up her gullet. “Which version of the virus he used!”

Reuben was completely lost. “What?” he said, getting up.

“Mary modified the virus design last night,” said Louise. “If Jock made his stock of it this morning, then…”

Mary wasn’t listening. Her head was swimming, pounding. She wanted to scream. If Jock had used the codon writer to run off the virus that morning, then he had produced Mary’s modified Surfer Joe. But if he’d made it earlier, then the cloud they were standing in was the original Wipeout version, meaning—

Mary’s eyes were stinging, and she was having trouble keeping her balance.

—meaning that goddamned Gliksin bastard lying there in the snow had just killed the man she loved.

At the moment, Ponter looked fine; no virus worked
that
fast. He ripped strips of mammoth hide off Reuben’s coat, and Louise and Reuben used them to tie up the unconscious Jock’s arms and legs. As soon as he was trussed up, Reuben and Ponter carried Jock into the nearest building—probably the one Dekant Dorst had gone into, although hopefully she had long since left. The sun had set, and it was getting bitterly cold, but, despite everything, they wouldn’t leave him out at the mercy of the elements.

Reuben closed the building’s door, then he and Ponter returned to where Mary and Louise were. “Come on, big fella,” Reuben said. “Let’s get you to the mine—we can try the decontaminating lasers there.”

Ponter looked up, his blond-brown eyebrow climbing his browridge; like Mary, he clearly hadn’t thought of that.

“Do you think there’s a chance?” said Mary, looking now at Reuben, her eyes bloodshot, her face so desperate for a miracle.

“I don’t see why not,” said Reuben. “I mean, if those lasers work the way you said they do, they should zap the virus molecules, no? It will be a solution for Ponter, at least—although perhaps there’s a better decontamination facility here in the Center.” He looked at Ponter. “Isn’t that where your hospitals are?”

Ponter shook his head. “Yes, but the most sophisticated decontamination unit ever built is the one at the portal.”

“Then let’s get you there,” said Reuben.

“We must clear everyone out of the mine and the quantum-computing chamber first,” said Ponter. “We can’t risk me infecting anyone else.”

“Let me call a travel cube,” said Mary, and she began speaking into her Companion.

But Reuben touched her arm. “Who would fly it here? We can’t risk exposing other Neanderthals.”

“Then—then we’ll carry him there!” said Mary.

“
Ce n’est pas possible,
” said Louise. “It’s kilometers away.”

“I can still walk there,” said Ponter.

But Reuben shook his head. “I want to get you processed as fast as possible. We don’t have the hours it would take.”

“God damn it!” said Mary, her fists clenched. “This is ridiculous! There
has
to be a way to get him there in time!” And then, suddenly, she hit upon it. “Hak, you’re the most experienced Companion here. Surely you can talk Ponter through driving a travel cube?”

“I can access the procedures and explain them, yes,” said the voice from Ponter’s forearm.

“Well, hell!” said Mary. “We passed a stack of them on our way here. Let’s go!”

They quickly reached the stack of stored travel cubes. There was a cylindrical control unit next to the stack, and Ponter did something to it that made a forkliftlike affair lift up the top cube and place it on the ground. The cube’s transparent sides swung upward.

Ponter straddled the right-front saddle-seat, and Mary took the one beside him; Reuben and Louise scrambled into the back. “All right,” said Ponter, “Hak, tell me how to drive this contraption.”

“To activate system power, pull out the amber control bud,” said Hak through his external speaker.

Mary looked at the control cluster in front of Ponter. It was actually much less cluttered than the dashboard of her own car; the travel cubes had far fewer convenience features. “There!” she said. Ponter reached forward and pulled out the bud.

“The right-hand lever controls vertical movement,” continued Hak. “The left-hand lever controls horizontal movement.”

“But they’re both up-and-down levers,” said Reuben, confused.

“Exactly,” said Hak. “It is much easier on the driver’s shoulder joint. Now, to operate the ground-effect motors, you use the cluster of controls between the levers—see them there?”

Ponter nodded.

“The big control sets the rotational velocity for the main fan. Now…”

“Hak!” snapped Reuben from the back. “We don’t have much time. Just tell him what buttons to push!”

“All right, Ponter,” said Hak. “Clear your mind, and try not to think. Just do precisely what I say. Pull out the green control bud. Now the blue. Grasp the two levers. Yes, good. When I say ‘go,’ pull the right-hand lever fifteen percent of a circle toward you and simultaneously move the left-hand lever five percent. All right?”

Ponter nodded.

“Ready?” said Hak.

Ponter nodded again.

“Go!”

The travel cube lurched violently, but it did rise from the ground.

“Now, push in the green bud,” said Hak. “Yes. Move the right-hand lever back as far as it will go.”

The cube sped forward, although it was listing badly to one side. “We’re not level,” said Mary.

“Do not worry about it,” said Hak. “Ponter, pull the right lever back one-eighth of a turn. Yes, now…”

It only took a few minutes to get out of Saldak Center, but it was still a long way to the mine—and it was bloody complicated operating a vehicle that could fly. Mary had never believed it on TV shows when ground controllers were able to talk passengers into landing planes after the pilots had passed out, and—

“No, Ponter!” said Hak, his volume high. “The other way!”

Ponter pulled the horizontal control toward him, but it was too late. The right side of the travel cube slammed into a tree. Ponter and Mary pitched forward. The control sticks collapsed into the dashboard, like telescopes being put away, apparently a safety feature to prevent them from impaling the driver. The cube tumbled over onto its side.

“Anybody hurt?” shouted Mary.

“No,” said Reuben. And, “No,” agreed Louise.

“Ponter?”

There was no reply. Mary turned to face him. “
Ponter?
”

Ponter was looking down at the Companion implant on his left forearm. It had obviously smashed into something. He opened Hak’s faceplate, which clearly took some force to do; it had been deformed by the crash.

Ponter looked up, his deep-set golden eyes moist. “Hak is badly hurt,” he said—Christine providing the translation.

“We’ve got to get going,” said Mary gently.

Ponter looked for a few more seconds at his damaged Companion, then nodded. He twisted, then pushed the starfish-shaped door control, and the side of the travel cube popped open. Reuben hauled himself up and out, then dropped to the ground. Louise climbed out next. Ponter easily lifted himself out of the front compartment, then he gave Mary a hand exiting. Then Ponter turned his attention to the exposed underbelly of the travel cube. Mary followed his gaze and could see that the twin fan assemblies were horribly mangled. “It’s not going to fly again, is it?” she asked.

Ponter shook his head and made a rueful “look at it” gesture with his right arm.

“How far are we from the Debral mine?” asked Mary.

“Twenty-one kilometers,” said Christine.

“And where is the nearest working travel cube?”

“A moment,” said Christine. “Seven kilometers to the west.”

“
Merde,
” said Louise.

“All right,” said Mary. “Let’s start walking.”

It was getting quite dark—and they were out in the middle of the countryside. Mary had seen enough big animals here during the day; she was terrified to think of what creatures might come out at night. They trudged through the snow for perhaps ten kilometers—five hours of walking in these difficult conditions. Louise’s long legs tending to put her out in front.

Overhead, the stars were out—the circumpolar constellations that the Barasts called the Cracked Ice, and the Head of the Mammoth. They continued on, farther and farther, Mary’s ears feeling numb from the cold, until—

“Gristle!” said Ponter. Mary turned. He was leaning against Reuben. Ponter held up his hands, and—

Mary felt her heart flutter, and she heard Louise let out a horrified sound. There was blood on Ponter’s hands, looking black in the moonlight. It was too late; the hemorrhagic fever, with its artificially accelerated incubation time, had taken hold. Mary looked at Ponter’s face, wincing in expectation of what she’d see, but, except for a startled expression, he looked fine.

Mary moved quickly over to Ponter, and braced his other arm, helping to hold him up. And that’s when she realized that it wasn’t Reuben who was helping Ponter stand; it was Ponter who was helping Reuben.

In the dim light, and against his dark skin, Mary had missed it at first: blood on Reuben’s face. She hurried over to him, and almost threw up. Blood was seeping out from around Reuben’s eyeballs and ears and running from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth.

Louise was over to her boyfriend in two long strides, and started wiping the blood away, first with her coat’s sleeve, then with her bare hands, but it was now coming in such profusion that she couldn’t keep up with it. Ponter helped Reuben down onto the snow, and the blood splashed loudly against the whiteness, seeping deeply into it.

“God,” said Mary softly.

“Reuben,
mon cher…”
said Louise, crouching in the snow next to him. She placed a hand gently on the back of his head, no doubt feeling the stubble that had grown today.

“Lou…eese,” he said softly. “Darling, I—” He coughed, and blood welled out of his mouth. And then, as Mary knew he always did when he said the magic words, Reuben switched to French: “
Je t’aime.
”

Tears began dripping from Louise’s eyes as the weight of Reuben’s head fell backward against her hand. Mary was searching for a pulse on Reuben’s right arm; Ponter was doing the same with his left. They exchanged shakes of their heads.

Louise’s face contorted, and she cried and cried. Mary moved over to her, kneeling in the snow, an arm around the younger woman, pulling her close. “I’m sorry,” Mary said, over and over again, stroking Louise’s hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

After a few moments, Ponter touched Louise’s shoulder gently, and she looked up. “We can’t stay here,” he said, again with Christine translating.

Mary said, “Ponter’s right, Louise. It’s getting way too cold. We’ve got to start walking.”

But Louise was still crying, her fists balled tightly. “That bastard,” she said, her whole body shaking. “That bloody monster!”

“Louise,” said Mary gently. “I—”

“Don’t you see?” said Louise, looking up at Mary. “Don’t you see what Krieger did? He wasn’t content to kill Neanderthals! He made his virus kill black people, too!” She shook her head. “But…but I didn’t know a virus could work that fast.”

Mary shrugged. “Most viral infections are caused by just a few individual virus particles, introduced at a single point on the body. Much of the incubation period is spent just amplifying those initial few particles into a large enough population of viruses to do their dirty work. But we were all literally soaked in a fog of virus, inhaling and absorbing billions of virus particles.” She looked at the darkening sky, then back at Louise. “We have to find shelter.”

“What about Reuben?” asked Louise. “We can’t leave him here.”

Mary looked at Ponter, pleading with her eyes for him to stay silent. The last thing Louise needed to hear just now was,
Reuben is no more.

“We’ll come back for him tomorrow,” said Mary, “but we’ve got to get indoors.”

Louise hesitated for several seconds, and Mary had the good sense not to prod her further. Finally, the younger woman nodded, and Mary helped her to her feet.

A bitter wind was blowing, causing the snow to drift. Still, they could see the tracks they’d made coming out this way. “Christine,” said Mary, “is there any shelter around here?”

“Let me check,” said Christine, then, a moment later: “According to the central map database, there is a hunting lodge not far from where our travel cube crashed. It’ll be easier to reach than the City Center.”

“You two head there,” said Ponter. “I’m going to try to make it out to the decontamination facility. Forgive me, but the two of you would just hold me back.”

Mary’s heart jumped. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but—

“I will be fine,” said Ponter. “Don’t worry.”

Mary took a deep breath, nodded, and let Ponter draw her into a farewell hug, her body shaking. He released her, then headed off into the cold night. Mary fell in next to Louise, and they trudged ahead, taking directions from Christine.

After a time, though, Louise stumbled, falling face first into the snow. “Are you okay?” Mary asked, helping her up.

“
Oui,
” said Louise. “I—my mind keeps wandering. He was such a wonderful man…”

It took most of an hour to get to the hunting lodge, Mary shivering all the way, but finally they came to it. The lodge looked much like Vissan’s cabin, but larger. They went inside, and activated the lighting ribs, filling the interior with a cold green glow. There was a small heating unit, which they eventually figured out how to turn on. Mary looked at her watch and shook her head. Even Ponter couldn’t have made it to the mine’s decontamination facility yet.

They were both exhausted—physically and emotionally. Louise lay on the one couch, hugging herself, crying softly. Mary lay down on a cushioned part of the floor, and found herself crying as well, heartsick, despondent, overwhelmed by grief and guilt, haunted by the image of a good man weeping blood.