Some more spelunking took him to the Geocities page of a person born male who underwent castration, with no hormonal treatments before or for years after. He reported: “Four days after my castration…it seemed that waiting for traffic lights and other little annoyances did not bother me so much…
“Six days post castration I returned to work. This workday was unusually hectic…and yet I still felt so calm when the day was all over. I was definitely feeling the effects of castration and most certainly felt better all the time without testosterone.
“Ten days post castration I felt as a feather floating around everywhere. I just kept feeling better and better. For me the serenity was the strongest of the castration effects, followed by the decrease in libido.”
Immediate change.
Overnight change.
Change in a matter of days.
Cornelius knew—knew! —he should be furious about what Ponter had done to him.
But he was finding it difficult to be furious about anything …
Chapter Ten
“It was that questing spirit that caused others to bravely sail boats over the horizon, finding new lands in Australia and Polynesia…”
There was a very good reason for wanting to establish a new interuniversal portal at United Nations headquarters. The existing portal was located two kilometers underground, 1.2 kilometers horizontally from the nearest elevator on the Gliksin side, and three kilometers from the nearest elevator on the Barast side.
It would take Mary and Ponter a couple of hours to get from the surface in her world to the surface in his. They began by donning hardhats and safety boots, and riding down the mining elevator at Inco’s Creighton Mine. The hardhats had built-in lamps, and hearing-protection cups that could be swung over the ears if needed.
Mary had brought two suitcases, and Ponter was effortlessly carrying them for her, one in each hand.
Five miners rode most of the way down with them, getting off one level above where Mary and Ponter were to exit. That was just fine by Mary; she was always uncomfortable in this lift. It reminded her of the awkward journey she’d had in it once before with Ponter, explaining why, back then, despite his obvious attraction to her, and hers to him, she’d been unable to respond to his touch.
Once on the 6800-foot level, they began the long trudge out to the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory site. Mary was never a great one for exercise, but it was actually even worse for Ponter, since the temperature this far below the Earth’s surface was a constant forty-one degrees Celsius, much too warm for him.
“I will be glad to be back home,” said Ponter. “Back to air I can breathe!”
Mary knew he wasn’t referring to the oppressive air here in the mine. Rather, he was looking forward to being in a world that didn’t burn fossil fuels, the smell of which had assaulted his massive nose most places he went here, although Reuben’s place, out in the country, had been quite tolerable, he’d said.
Mary was reminded of the theme song to one of her favorite shows when she was a kid:
She hoped she would fit in on Ponter’s world better than Lisa Douglas had in Hooterville. But it was more than just leaving the hustle and bustle of a world of six billion souls for one of just a hundred and eighty-five million…million people; you couldn’t use the word “souls” when tallying Barasts, since they didn’t believe they had any.
The day before they’d left Rochester, Ponter had been interviewed on the radio; the Neanderthals were very much in demand as guests wherever they happened to be. Mary had listened with interest as Bob Smith had questioned Ponter about Neanderthal beliefs on WXXI, the local PBS station. Smith had spent a fair bit of time on the Neanderthal practice of sterilizing criminals. As they walked down the long muddy tunnel, the topic of the interview came up.
“Yes,” said Mary, in response to Ponter’s question, “you were fine, but…”
“But what?”
“Well, those things you said—about sterilizing people. I…”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry, Ponter, but I really can’t condone that.”
Ponter looked at her. He was wearing a special orange hardhat that the nickel mine had put together for him, shaped to accommodate his Neanderthal head. “Why not?”
“It’s…it’s inhuman. And I guess I am using that word advisedly. It’s just not a suitable thing for human beings to do.”
Ponter was quiet for a time, looking at the drift’s walls, which were covered with wire mesh to prevent rock bursts. “I know there are many on this version of Earth who do not believe in evolution,” he said at last, “but those who do must understand that human evolution has—how would you say it?—ground to a halt. Since medical techniques allow almost every human to live to reproductive age, there is no longer any…any…I am not sure what your phrase is.”
“‘Natural selection,’ ” said Mary. “Sure, I understand that; without selective survival of genes, no evolution can occur.”
“Exactly,” said Ponter. “And yet evolution made us what we are, turning the four basic, original lifeforms into the complex, diverse varieties exhibited today.”
Mary looked over at Ponter. “The four original lifeforms?”
He blinked. “Yes, of course.”
“What four?” said Mary, thinking perhaps she’d at last detected a hint of creationism underlying Ponter’s worldview. Could it be Neander-Adam, Neander-Eve, Neander-Adam’s man-mate, and Neander-Eve’s woman-mate?
“The original plant, animal, fungi, and—I do not know your name—the group that includes slime molds and some algae.”
“Protists or protoctists,” said Mary, “depending on who you ask.”
“Yes. Well, each emerged separately from the primordial prebiologic world.”
“You have proof of that?” said Mary. “We generally hold that life only emerged once on this world, some four billion years ago.”
“But the four types of life are so different…” said Ponter. And then he shrugged. “Well, you are the geneticist, notI. The point of this trip is to meet our experts in such matters, so you should ask one of them about this. One of you—I do not know which—has a lot to learn from the other.”
Mary never ceased to be amazed at how Neanderthal science and her own brand of the stuff differed on so many fundamental matters. But she didn’t want to lose track of the more important issue that—
The more important issue. Interesting, thought Mary, that she considered a moral conundrum more important than a basic scientific truth. “We were talking about the end of evolution. You’re saying that your kind continues to evolve because it consciously weeds out bad genes.”
“‘Weeds out’?” repeated Ponter, frowning. “Ah—an agricultural metaphor. I think I understand. Yes, you are right. We continue to improve our gene pool by getting rid of undesirable traits.”
Mary stepped over a large muddy puddle. “I could almost buy that—but you do it not just by sterilizing criminals, but also their close relatives, too.”
“Of course. Otherwise, the genes might persist.”
Mary shook her head. “And I just can’t abide that.” Hak bleeped. “Abide, ” repeated Mary. “Tolerate. Stand.”
“Why not?”
“Because…because it’s wrong. Individuals have rights.”