Speaking of animals, there would be a mammoth hunt this afternoon, providing fresh meat for tomorrow’s feast. Perhaps Ponter would join the hunting party. It had been a long time since he’d taken spear in hand and brought down prey in the old-fashioned way. At least it would give him—him, and the other men who had no one to spend time with—something to do.
“Daddy!”
Ponter turned around. Jasmel was running toward him, accompanied by her boyfriend, Tryon. Ponter felt a grin splitting his features. “Healthy day, sweetheart,” he said, as they came up to him. “Healthy day, Tryon.”
Jasmel hugged her father. Tryon stood awkwardly at one side. When Jasmel released Ponter, Tryon said, “It’s good to see you, sir. I understand you’ve had quite an adventure.”
“That I have,” said Ponter. He supposed he possessed the same ambivalence toward this young man that any father of a young woman had. Yes, Jasmel had said nothing but good about Tryon—he listened to her when she spoke, he was kind during sex, he was studying to be a leather worker and so was going to make a valuable contribution to society. Still, Jasmel was his daughter, and he wanted nothing but the best for her.
“Sorry we were late,” said Jasmel.
“That’s all right,” replied Ponter. “Where is Megameg?”
“She’s decided she doesn’t really like being called that anymore,” said Jasmel. “She wants to be just Mega.”
Mega was her real name; Megameg was a diminutive form. Ponter felt a wave of sadness washing over him. His big girl was all grown up, and his little girl was growing up fast. “Ah,” he said. “Where’s Mega, then?”
“Playing with friends,” said Jasmel. “You’ll see her later.”
Ponter nodded. “And what have you two got in mind for this morning?”
“We thought we’d all play a game of ladatsa,” offered Tryon.
Ponter looked at the young man. He was handsome, Ponter supposed, with wide shoulders, a wonderfully prominent browridge, a sharply defined nose, and deep purple eyes. But he’d adopted some of the affectations of youth. Instead of letting his reddish blond hair part naturally down the center, he was forcing it all to his left side, presumably holding it in place with some sort of goop.
Ponter was about to say yes to the offer of ladatsa—it had been many ten months since he’d kicked a ball—but he thought back to himself at this age, twenty years ago, when he’d been courting Klast. The last thing he’d have wanted was Klast’s father hanging around.
“No,” he said. “You two run along. I’ll see you this evening for dinner.”
Jasmel looked at her father, and he could see that she knew it wasn’t what he really wanted. But Tryon was no fool; he immediately thanked Ponter, took Jasmel’s hand, and started her walking away.
Ponter watched them go. Jasmel would presumably give birth to her first the year after next, when generation 149 was scheduled to be born. Things would change then, Ponter thought. He’d at least have a grandchild to look after when Two became One.
The hover-bus had long since departed, going back to the Rim to fetch another load of men. Ponter turned and started heading into town. Perhaps he’d get a bite to eat, and—
His heart jumped. This was the last person he’d expected to see, but—
But there she stood, as if waiting for him.
Daklar Bolbay.
“Healthy day, Ponter,” she said.
He’d known Daklar for a long time, of course. She had been Klast’s woman-mate. Indeed, if anyone could understand what the loss of Klast had meant to Ponter, it was Daklar. But…
But she’d made things miserable for Adikor in Ponter’s absence. Accusing him of murder! Why, Adikor could no more have killed Ponter—or anyone, for that matter—than Ponter himself could have.
“Daklar,” said Ponter, forgoing the usual pleasantry.
Daklar nodded, understanding. “I can’t blame you for being displeased with me,” she said. “I know I hurt Adikor, and to hurt one’s mate is to hurt oneself.” She locked her eyes onto Ponter’s own. “I apologize, Ponter, fully and completely. I’d hoped to get here in time to say the same thing to Adikor, but I see he’s already gone.”
“You say you’re sorry,” said Ponter. “But what you did—”
“What I did was horrible,” interjected Daklar, looking down at her feet, encased in the fabric pouches at the ends of her black pant. “But I’m seeing a personality sculptor, and I’m taking medication. The treatment has only just begun, but I already feel less…angry.”
Ponter had some inkling of what Daklar had gone through. Not only had she lost the woman they had shared, dear Klast, but before that she’d lost her man-mate, Pelbon, who’d been whisked away one morning by enforcers. Oh, he’d been returned, but not whole. He had been castrated, and their relationship had crumbled.
Ponter had been enormously sad when Klast had died, but at least he’d had Adikor and Jasmel and Megameg to help him get through it. How much worse it must have been for Daklar, who had no man-mate and, because of what had been done to Pelbon, no children.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” said Ponter.
“I am,” confirmed Daklar, nodding again. “I know I’ve got a long way to go, but, yes, I am feeling better, and…”
Ponter waited for her to go on. Finally, he prodded her. “Yes?”
“Well,” she said, now avoiding his eyes, “it’s just that I’m by myself, and…” She paused again, but this time continued of her own volition. “And you’re by yourself, too. And, well, Two becoming One can be so very lonely when you have no one to spend the time with.” She briefly glanced at his face, but then looked away, perhaps afraid of what she might see there.
Ponter was startled. But…
But Daklar was intelligent, and that did appeal to Ponter. And her hair was showing wonderful streaks of gray mixed in with the brown. And—
But no. No. It was madness. After what she’d done to Adikor…
Ponter’s jaw twinged. It did that occasionally, but usually only on cold mornings. He brought up a hand to rub it through his beard.
His jaw had been broken, some 229 moons ago, by Adikor, during a stupid fight. Had Ponter not lifted his head in time, Adikor’s blow would have killed him.
But Ponter had lifted his head quickly enough, and, although almost half his mandible and seven teeth had needed to be replaced with synthetic duplicates, he had lived.
And he’d forgiven Adikor. Ponter had made no accusation; Adikor had been spared from the enforcers’ scalpel. Adikor had undergone treatment for anger management, and in all the months since, he’d never so much as threatened to hit Ponter or anyone else.
Forgiveness.
He’d talked a lot with Mare, over in the other world, about her belief in God, and about the putative human son of God, who had tried to inculcate forgiveness in Mare’s people. Mare had been an adherent of that man’s teachings.
And, after all, Ponter was alone. There was no telling what the High Gray Council would decide about reopening the portal to Mare’s world, and, even if they did choose to allow it, Ponter wasn’t absolutely sure that the gateway could be reestablished.
Forgiveness.
It was what he’d given Adikor half a lifetime ago.
It was what Mare’s belief system held as the highest virtue.
It was what Daklar seemed to need from him now.
Forgiveness.
“All right,” said Ponter. “You must make your peace with Adikor, but contingent on that, I dispel any animosity between us over recent events.”
Daklar smiled. “Thank you.” She paused, though, and the smile faded. “Do you wish my company—until your children are free, that is? I may be Mega’s tabant, and she and I and Jasmel still share a house, but I know you need time alone with them, and I will not interfere with that. But until then…”