“I’ll answer all your questions,” Reuben shouted back. “But not like this. Move away!”
“ONE!”
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—robert_matthews@grc.gc.ca. 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?”
“A grad student who was working with me,” said Louise. “Paul Kiriyama.”
“Dr. Mah, of course,” said Mary, “and—my God—she’s already on her way back to Ottawa. We better stop her from meeting with the Prime Minister tonight!”
“There were also a bunch of people from St. Joseph’s,” said Reuben. “Ambulance attendants, Dr. Singh, a radiologist, nurses …”
They continued to draw up the list.
Ponter was still lying on Reuben’s champagne-colored carpet through all this. He seemed to be unconscious now; Mary could see his massive chest rising and falling. His sloped brow was still slick with sweat, and his eyes were moving beneath their lids, subterranean animals at the bottoms of burrows.
“All right,” said Reuben. “I think that’s everyone.” He looked at Mary, then at Louise, then at the ailing Ponter. “I’ve got to write up a list of drugs I need to treat Ponter. If we’re lucky …”
Mary nodded, and looked at Ponter, too. If we’re lucky, she thought, none of us are going to die.
Chapter 26
Keyword(s): Neanderthal
“Did Ponter Boddit gain legal entry into Canada? That question continues to bother immigration experts at home and abroad. Our guest tonight is Professor Simon Cohen, who teaches citizenship law at McGill University in Montreal…”
Top Ten reasons why we know that Ponter Boddit must be a real Neanderthal…
• Number ten: When he met his first human female, he hit her with a club and dragged her away by her hair.
• Number nine: Mistaken in dim light for Leonid Brezhnev.
• Number eight: When Arnold Schwarzenegger dropped by for a visit, Boddit said, “Who’s the scrawny kid?”
• Number seven: Watches nothing but Fox.
• Number six: McDonald’s sign now says, “Billions and billions of Homo sapiens served—plus one Neanderthal.”
• Number five: Called Tom Arnold “a hunk.”
• Number four: When shown rare rock specimen at the Smithsonian, chipped it into a perfect spearhead.
• Number three: Wears Fossil watch and drinks Really, Really, Really Old Milwaukee.
• Number two: Now collecting royalties on fire.
• And the number one reason we know that Ponter Boddit must be a Neanderthal? Hairy cheeks—all four of them.
John Pearce, director of international acquisitions for Random House Canada, has offered Ponter Boddit the largest advance in Canadian publishing history for world rights to his authorized biography, reports the trade journal Quill & Quire…
The Pentagon is rumored to be interested in speaking with Ponter Boddit. The military implications of the way in which he supposedly arrived here have caught the attention of at least one five-star general…
Now, thought Adikor Huld, as he took his seat on the stool in the Council chamber, we’ll see if I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.
“Who speaks on behalf of the accused?” asked Adjudicator Sard.
Nobody moved. Adikor’s heart jumped. Had Jasmel Ket decided to forsake him? After all, who could blame her? She’d seen yesterday with her own eyes that once—granted, a long time ago—Adikor had apparently tried to kill her father.
The room was quiet, although one of the spectators, presumably making the same assumption Bolbay had earlier, let out a short, derisive laugh: no one was going to speak on behalf of Adikor.
But then, at last, Jasmel did rise to her feet. “I do,” she said. “I speak for Adikor Huld.”
There were gasps from many in the audience.
Daklar Bolbay, who was sitting on the sidelines, rose as well, her face agog. “Adjudicator, this isn’t right. The girl is one of the accusers.”
Adjudicator Sard tipped her wrinkled head forward, looking out at Jasmel from under her browridge. “Is this true?”
“No,” said Jasmel. “Daklar Bolbay was my mother’s woman-mate; she was appointed my tabant when my mother died. But I have now seen 250 moons, and I claim the rights of majority.”
“You’re a 147?” asked Sard.
“Yes, Adjudicator.”
Sard turned to Bolbay, who was still standing. “All 147s gained personal responsibility two months ago. Unless you are contending that your ward is mentally incompetent, your guardianship of her ended automatically. Is she, in fact, mentally incompetent?”