So: a large volume of air and one man had disappeared from this universe, and an identical mass, but much smaller volume, of heavy water had come through to replace it from from the other side; it was the phraseology that kept coming to Adikors mind.
But
But then that meant that there was heavy water at this location in the other universe. And pure heavy water did not occur naturally.
Which meant the the portal, another word that came unbidden must have opened into a storage tank for heavy water. And if heavy water was transferred from there to here, then Ponter was transferred from here to there, meaning
Meaning hed quite likely drowned.
Tears filled Adikors deep eye sockets, like rainwater gathering in wells.
Ponter shifted on the couch and looked again at Mary. The alibi archives do not just solve crimes, he said. They have many other uses. For instance, I saw on television yesterday that two campers were lost in Algonquin Park.
Mary nodded.
Being lost like that is impossible in my world. Your Companion triangulates on signals from various mountain-top transmitters to pinpoint your position, and if you are injured or trapped by a rockfall or something, it is easy for the rescue teams to home in on your Companion. He raised a hand, copying what Mary had done earlier, forestalling the objection he presumably saw coming. Of course, only an adjudicator can order that you be tracked like that, and only when you request it by sending an emergency signal, or when a family member asks for it.
Headlines shed seen all too frequently swirled through Marys mind. Police abandon search.
Hunt for missing girl called off.
Avalanche victims presumed dead.
I guess an emergency signal like that would be useful, Mary said.
It is, replied Ponter firmly. And the Companion can issue the signal automatically, if you yourself are unable to. It monitors vital signs, and if you have a heart attackor even are about to have a heart attackit can summon aid.
Mary felt a twinge. Her own father had died of a heart attack, alone, when Mary had been eighteen. Shed found his body upon arriving home from school one day.
Ponter evidently mistook the sadness on Marys face for continuing dubiousness. And just a month before I came here, I misplaced a rain shield that I was very fond of; it had been a gift from Jasmel. I would have beenbleep; devastated?had it been lost for good. But I simply visited the archive pavilion where my recordings are stored, and reviewed the last days events. I saw exactly where I lost the shield and was able to retrieve it.
Mary certainly resented the countless hours shed spent looking for misplaced books and student papers and business cards and house keys and coupons that were about to expire. Maybe youd resent that even more if you were sure your existence was finite; maybe that knowledge would drive you to do something to avoid such wastes of time. A personal black box, Mary said, really to herself, but Ponter responded.
Actually, the recording material is mostly pink. We use reprocessed granite.
Mary smiled. No, no. A black box is what we call a flight recorder: a device aboard an airplane that keeps track of telemetry and cockpit chatter, in case theres a crash. But the idea of having my own black box had never occurred to me. She paused. How are the pictures taken, then? Mary glanced down at Ponters wrist. Is there a lens on your Companion?
Yes, but it is only used to zoom in on things outside the Companions normal recording space. The Companion uses sensor fields to record everything surrounding the person, and the person himself, as well. Ponter made the deep sound that was his chuckle. After all, it would not be much good if we only recorded what was visible from the Companions lens: lots of images of my left thigh or the inside of my hip pouch. This way, when playing back my archive, I can actually view myself from a short distance away.
Amazing, said Mary. We have nothing like that.
But I have seen products of your science, your industry, said Ponter. Surely, if you had made it a priority to develop such technology
Mary frowned. Well, I suppose. I mean, we went from putting the first object in space to the first man on the moon in less than twelve years, and
Say that again.
I said, when we wanted badly enough to put somebody on the moon
The moon, repeated Ponter. You mean Earths moon?
Mary blinked. Uh-huh.
But but that is fantastic, Ponter said. We have never done such a thing.
Youve never been to the moon? I dont mean you personally; I mean your people. No Neanderthal has ever been to the moon?
Ponters eyes were wide. No.
What about Mars or the other planets?
No.
Do you have satellites?
No, just one, like here.
No, I mean artificial satellites. Unmanned mechanisms you put into orbit, you know, to help in predicting the weather, for communications, and so on.
No, said Ponter. We have nothing like that.
Mary thought for a moment. Without the legacy of the V-2, without the missiles of the Second World War, would humans here have been able to send anything into orbit? Weve launchedwell, I dont knowmany hundreds of things into space.
Ponter looked up, as if trying to visualize Lunas scowling face through the ceiling of Reubens house. How many live on the moon now?
None, said Mary, surprised.
You do not have a permanent settlement there?
No.
So people simply go to see the moon, then return to Earth. How many go each month? Is it a popular thing to do?
Umm, nobody goes. Nobody has gone forwell, I guess its thirty years now. We only ever sent twelve people to the moons surface. Six groups of two.
Why did you stop?
Well, its complicated. Money was certainly one factor.
I can imagine, said Ponter.
And, well, there was the political situation. See, we She paused for a moment. Gee, this is hard to explain. We called it The Cold War. There was no actual fighting going on, but the United States and another large nation, the Soviet Union, were in a severe ideological conflict.
Over what?
Umm, over economic systems, I suppose.
Hardly sounds worth fighting about, said Ponter.
It seemed very important at the time. But, anyway, the president of the United States, he set the goal inwhen was it?in 1961, I guess, to put a man on the moon by the end of that decade. See, the Russiansthe people from the Soviet Uniontheyd put the first artificial satellite in space, and then the first man in space, and the U.S. was lagging behind, so, well, it set out to beat them.
And did it?
Oh, yes. The Russians never managed to put anyone on the moon. But, well, once wed beaten the Russians, the public pretty much lost interest.
That is ridiculous began Ponter, but then he stopped. No, I must apologize. Going to the moon is a magnificent feat, and whether you did it once or a thousand times, it is still praiseworthy. He paused. I guess it is simply a question of different priorities.
Chapter 35
Mary and Ponter headed downstairs, looking for something to eat. Just after they got to the kitchen, Reuben Montego and Louise Benoit finally emerged from the basement. Reuben grinned at Ponter. More barbecue?