Tukana continued, nodding in Ponter’s direction: “The first time one of us came here, it was an unexpected accident. This time, it is deliberate and with great anticipation on the part of my people. We look forward to establishing ongoing peaceful relations with every one of the nations represented here…”
She went on in that vein for some time, saying little of substance. But the Gliksins, Ponter noted, were hanging on her every word, although some of those closest to him were discreetly examining Ponter, apparently fascinated by his appearance.
“And now,” said Tukana, it apparently being time to get down to the marrow, “it is my pleasure to undertake the first-ever trade between our two peoples.” She turned to the dark-skinned man, who was standing at the side of the stage. “If you would, please…?”
The amanuensis-high-warrior returned to the stage, carrying a small wooden box of his own. Tukana opened her box, which had recently been sent over from the other side.
“In this box,” said Tukana, “is an exact cast of the skull from our world of the anthropological specimen whose counterpart on this version of Earth is dubbed AL 288-1, an individual of what you call Australopithecus afarensis known here as Lucy”—Tukana had told her Companion to add the ee phoneme to the proper noun.
There was a murmur through the chamber. The significance had been explained to Ponter. On the two versions of Earth, originals of this particular adult female’s skeleton had eroded out of the ground—in what the Gliksins called Hadar, Ethiopia, on this Earth, and the corresponding spot in northeast Kakarana on Ponter’s version. But the weather patterns had not been identical. On this version, the one of New York and Toronto and Sudbury, the cranium of this fossil had been badly damaged by erosion before Donald Johanson found it in the year the Gliksins called 1974. But on Tukana and Ponter’s version, the skeleton had been found before much erosion damage had occurred. It was a clever offering, Ponter knew, underscoring that all the same mineral and fossil deposits existed on both worlds, and that a swapping of identified locations would doubtless be mutually beneficial.
“I accept this with gratitude on behalf of all the peoples of this Earth,” said the dark-skinned man. “And, in exchange, please accept this gift from us.” He handed his box to Tukana. She opened it, and lifted out what appeared to be a rock encased in clear plastic. “This specimen of breccia was collected by James Irwin at Hadley Rille.” He paused dramatically, obviously enjoying Tukana’s lack of comprehension. “Hadley Rille,” explained the amanuensis-high-warrior, “is on the moon.”
Tukana’s eyes went wide. Ponter was equally astounded. A piece of the moon! How could he have doubted that they were doing the right thing having relations with these humans!
Chapter Seventeen
Mary came running down the curving staircase to the United Nations lobby. Ponter and Tukana were leaving the General Assembly hall, surrounded by a quartet of uniformed police officers, obviously serving as bodyguards. Mary hurried toward the two Neanderthals, but one of the cops moved to block her way. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said.
Mary shouted out Ponter’s name, and Ponter looked up at her. “Mare!” he responded in his own voice, then, through his translator, “It is acceptable for her to pass, Officer. She is my friend.”
The cop nodded and stood aside. Mary surged in, closing the distance between her and Ponter. “How do you think it went?” asked Ponter.
“Brilliantly,” said Mary. “Whose idea was it to get a cast of your version of Lucy’s skull?”
“One of the Inco geologists.”
Mary shook her head in wonder. “A perfect choice.”
Ambassador Prat turned to Mary. “We are about to leave this facility in order to eat. Will you please join us?”
Mary smiled. The older Neanderthal might not be the most practiced diplomat, but she certainly was gracious. “I’d love to,” said Mary.
“Come then,” said Tukana. “There is a—how do you phrase it?—a reservation for us at an eatery a short walk away.”
Mary was glad to have a coat with her, although Ponter and Tukana seemed quite comfortable in their indoor clothes. They were both wearing the kind of pants Mary had seen Ponter wear before, which ended in pouches covering the feet. Ponter’s were dark green, and Tukana’s were maroon. And they both had on shirts that closed at the shoulders.
Mary took a second to look up at the United Nations tower, a great Kubrickian slab silhouetted against the sun. Besides Mary, the two Neanderthals were accompanied by two American diplomats, and two Canadian ones. The four cops surrounded the little group as it moved across the mall.
Tukana was talking with the diplomats. Ponter and Mary were trailing a little bit behind, chatting.
“How is your family?” asked Mary.
“They are well,” said Ponter. “But you would be astonished to learn what happened in my absence. My man-mate, Adikor, was accused of murdering me.”
“Really?” said Mary. “But why?”
“A long story, as you might say. Fortunately, though, I returned to my world in time to exonerate him.”
“So he’s okay now?”
“Yes, he is fine. I hope you can meet him at some point. He is—”
Three sounds, virtually simultaneous: Ponter going “oof,” one of the police officers shouting, and a loud crack, like a bolt of thunder.
As Ponter crumpled to the ground, Mary realized what had happened. She dropped to her knees next to him, probing his blood-soaked shirt for any sign of the entrance wound so she could stanch the flow of blood.
Thunder? thought Tukana. But no, that was impossible. The sky, although smelly, was clear and cloudless.
She turned and looked at Ponter, who—astonishment!—was prone on the pavement, blood pouring from him. That sound—a projectile weapon—a gun, that was the English term—had been fired, and—
And suddenly Tukana herself was pitching forward, slamming face first into the ground, her giant nose smashing against the pavement.
One of the Gliksin enforcers had jumped on Tukana’s back, propelling her to the ground, using his body to shield hers. Noble, yes, but Tukana would have none of it. She reached back, grabbed the enforcer by the upper arm, and flipped him up and forward, so that he landed in front of her on his back, dazed. Tukana surged to her feet, and, despite the blood pouring from her nostrils, she had no trouble picking up the scent of the chemical explosion from the gun. She swung her head left and right, and—
There. A figure running away, and in his hand—
The stinking weapon.
Tukana took off after him, her massive legs pounding into the ground.
“Ponter has been shot in the right shoulder,” said Hak through his external speaker to Mary. “His pulse is rapid, but weak. His blood pressure is falling, as is his body temperature.”
“Shock,” said Mary. Continuing to probe Ponter’s shoulder, she found where the bullet had hit, her finger slipping into the wound up to the second knuckle. “Do you know if the bullet has left his body?”
One of the other cops was hovering over Mary; another was using a radio transceiver clipped to his chest to call for an ambulance. The third cop was hustling the American and Canadian diplomats back indoors.
“I am not sure,” said Hak. “I did not detect its departure.” A pause. “He is losing too much blood. There is a cauterizing laser scalpel in his medical kit. Open the third pouch on the right-hand side.”
Mary extracted a device that looked like a fat green pen. “Is this it?”
“Yes. Rotate the scalpel’s lower body until the symbol with two dots and a bar is lined up with the reference triangle.”
Mary peered at the device, and did as Hak said. “How’s that?” she said, holding the scalpel up to the Companion’s lens.