Adikor headed down a long corridor, its walls lined with square portraits of great adjudicators of the past, men and women who had developed the principles of modern law. Had this—this travesty–really been what they’d had in mind? He continued along, not paying much attention to the other people he occasionally passed … until a flash of orange caught his eye.
Bolbay, still wearing the color of the accuser, down at the end of the corridor. She’d tarried in the Council building, perhaps to avoid Exhibitionists, and was now making her own way outside.
Before he’d really given it any thought, Adikor found himself running down the corridor toward her, the moss carpet cushioning his footfalls. Just as she stepped out through the door at the end, exiting into the afternoon sun, he caught up with her. “Daklar!”
Daklar Bolbay turned, startled. “Adikor!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. She raised her voice. “Whoever is monitoring Adikor Huld for his judicial scrutiny, pay attention! He is now confronting me, his accuser!”
Adikor shook his head slowly. “I’m not here to harm you.”
“I have seen,” said Bolbay, “that your deeds do not always match your intentions.”
“That was years ago,” said Adikor, deliberately using the noun that most emphasized the length of time. “I’d never hit anyone before that, and I’ve never hit anyone since.”
“But you did do it then,” said Bolbay. “You lost your temper. You lashed out. You tried to kill.”
“No! No, I never wanted to hurt Ponter.”
“It’s inappropriate for us to be speaking,” said Bolbay. “You must excuse me.” She turned.
Adikor’s hand reached out, grabbing hold of Bolbay’s shoulder. “No, wait!”
Her face showed panic as it swung back to look at him, but she quickly changed her expression, staring meaningfully at his hand. Adikor removed it. “Please,” he said. “Please, just tell me why. Why are you going after me with such … such vindictiveness? In all the time we’ve known each other, I’ve never wronged you. You must know that I loved Ponter, and that he loved me. He wouldn’t possibly want you to pursue me like this.”
“Don’t play the innocent with me,” said Bolbay.
“But I am innocent! Why are you doing this?”
She simply shook her head, turned around, and began walking away.
“Why?” Adikor called after her. “Why?”
“Maybe we can talk about your people,” Mary said to Ponter. “Until now, we’ve only had Neanderthal fossils to study. There’s been a lot of debate over various things, like, well, for instance, what your prominent browridges are for.”
Ponter blinked. “They shield my eyes from the sun.”
“Really?” said Mary. “I guess that makes sense. But then why don’t my people have them? I mean, Neanderthals evolved in Europe; my ancestors come from Africa, where it’s much sunnier.”
“We wondered that, too,” said Ponter, “when we looked at Gliksin fossils.”
“Gliksin?” repeated Mary.
“The type of fossil hominid from my world you most closely resemble. Gliksins didn’t have browridges, so we had assumed that they were nocturnal.”
Mary smiled. “I guess a lot of what people conclude from looking just at bones is wrong. Tell me: what do you make of this?” She tapped her index finger against her chin.
Ponter looked uncomfortable. “I know now that it is wrong, but …”
“Yes?” said Mary.
Ponter used an open hand to smooth down his beard, showing his chinless jaw. “We do not have such projections, so we assumed …”
“What?” said Mary.
“We assumed it was a drool guard. You have such tiny mouth cavities, we thought saliva was constantly dribbling out. Also, you do have smaller brains than we do, and, well, idiots often drool …”
Mary laughed. “Good grief,” she said. “But, say, speaking of jaws, what happened to yours?”
“Nothing,” said Ponter. “It is the same as it was before.”
“I saw the x-rays that were taken of you at the hospital,” said Mary. “Your mandible—your jawbone—shows extensive reconstruction.”
“Oh, that,” said Ponter, sounding apologetic. “I got hit in the face a couple of hundred months ago.”
“What were you hit with?” asked Mary. “A brick?”
“With a fist,” Ponter said.
Mary’s own jaw dropped. “I knew Neanderthals were strong, but—wow. One punch did that?”
Ponter nodded.
“You’re lucky you weren’t killed,” said Mary.
“We are both lucky—the punchee, as you might say, and the puncher.”
“Why did someone hit you?”
“A stupid argument,” said Ponter. “Certainly, he never should have done it, and he apologized profusely. I chose not to pursue the matter; if I had, he would have been tried for attempted murder.”
“Could he have really killed you with one punch?”
“Oh, yes. I had reacted in time and lifted my head; that is why he connected with my jaw instead of the center of my face. Had he punched me there, he could well have caved in my skull.”
“Oh, my,” said Mary.
“He was angry, but I had provoked him. It was as much my fault as his.”
“Could—could you kill someone with your bare hands?” asked Mary.
“Certainly,” said Ponter. “Especially if I approached them from the rear.” He intertwined his fingers, lifted his arms, then pantomimed smashing his interlocked fists down. “I could smash in a person’s skull by doing that from behind. From the front, if I could get a good punch or kick into the center of someone’s chest, I might crush their heart.”
“But … but … no offense, but apes are very strong, too, and they rarely kill each other in fights.”
“That is because in battles within a troop for dominance, ape fighting is ritualized and instinctive, and they simply slap each other—really just a display behavior. But chimpanzees do kill other chimpanzees, although they do it mostly with their teeth. Clenching the fingers into a fist is something only humans can do.”
“Oh … my.” Mary realized she was repeating herself, but couldn’t think of anything better to sum up her feelings. “Humans here get into fights all the time. Some even make a sport of it: boxing, wrestling.”
“Madness,” said Ponter.
“Well, I agree, yes,” said Mary. “But they almost never kill each other. I mean, it’s almost impossible for a human to kill another human with his bare hands. We just aren’t strong enough, I guess.”
“In my world,” said Ponter, “to hit is to kill. And so we never hit each other. Because any violence can be fatal, we simply cannot allow it.”
“But you were hit,” said Mary.
Ponter nodded. “It happened long ago, while I was a student at the Science Academy. I was arguing as only a youth can, as if winning mattered. I could see that the person I was arguing with was growing angry, but I continued to press my point. And he reacted in an … unfortunate manner. But I forgave him.”
Mary looked at Ponter, imagining him turning the other long, angular cheek toward the person who had hit him.
Adikor had had his Companion summon a travel cube to take him home, and he now was sitting out back, on the deck, alone, researching legal procedures. Someone might indeed be monitoring his Companion’s transmissions, but he could still use it to tap into the world’s accumulated knowledge, transferring the results to a datapad for easier viewing.