“Blue eyes are recessive in Gliksins,” said Mary.
“As are delint here. So we can either take both your alleles, and make your daughter blue-eyed, both of Ponter’s and make her golden-eyed, or throw in one of each and be surprised by the outcome…”
They continued on in that vein for quite some time, interrupted only by Mary, then Ponter, having to take bathroom breaks—meaning using a wooden chamber pot.
“And now,” said Vissan, “we come to an interesting neurological item. I’d be very reluctant to take one of Mare’s alleles and one of Ponter’s at this point, since we just don’t know what effect mixing them at this site will have. I think it would be much safer for the child to go all one way or all the other, rather than try to blend the characteristics. In a Barast, this gene is well known for governing development of the part of the brain’s parietal lobe that is located in the left hemisphere. You surely don’t want to risk brain damage, and—”
“Did you say the parietal lobe?” said Mary, leaning forward. Her heart was pounding.
“Yes,” said Vissan. “Now, if that doesn’t form properly, aphasia can result, as can difficulties with motor function, so—”
Mary turned on Ponter. “Did you put her up to this?”
“I beg your pardon?” said Ponter.
“Come on, Ponter. The part of the parietal lobe in the left hemisphere!”
Ponter frowned. “Yes?”
“It’s what Veronica Shannon said is responsible for religious thinking in my kind of people. The out-of-body experience; the sense of being at one with the universe. All of that is rooted there.”
“Oh,” said Ponter. “Right.”
“You mean to say you didn’t know this was going to come up?”
“Honestly, Mare, I had no idea.”
Mary looked away. “You’ve been talking about a ‘cure’ for religion, for Pete’s sake. And now, lo and behold, we have one.”
“Mare,” said Vissan, “Ponter and I did not discuss this in advance.”
“No? You were alone together hunting long enough…”
“Really, Mare,” said Vissan, “I am not aware of the research you mentioned.”
Mary took a deep breath, then let it out very slowly. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I should know better. Ponter would never blindside me.”
Ponter’s Companion bleeped, but he didn’t ask for an explanation.
Mary reached out with her left hand. “Ponter, you are my man-mate, even if we haven’t yet undergone the bonding ceremony. I know you would never deceive me.”
Ponter said nothing.
Mary shook her head. “I didn’t expect to have to face this issue. I mean, eye color and hair color, sure. But atheist or believer? Who’d have thought that that would be a genetic choice?”
Ponter squeezed Mary’s hand. “This issue is far more significant to you than it is to me. I understand that much, at least. We will do whatever you wish.”
Mary took another deep breath. She could talk it over with Father Caldicott, she supposed—but, geez, a Roman Catholic priest wouldn’t approve of any part of this process. “I’m not blind, you know,” said Mary. “I’ve seen how peaceful this world of yours is, at least most of the time. And I’ve seen how…” She trailed off, thought for a moment, then shrugged, finding no better word than the one that had first occurred to her “…how spiritual your people are. And I keep thinking about all the things you’ve said, Ponter—back at Reuben’s place, when we watched that Roman Catholic Mass together on TV, and at the Vietnam veterans’ wall, and…” She shrugged again. “I have been listening, but…”
“But you’re not convinced,” said Ponter gently. “I don’t blame you. After all, I am no sociologist. My musings about the”—he, too, paused, clearly aware that this was a most delicate topic right now, but then he went on, also, apparently, unable to find a better word—“evil that religion has caused in your world are just that: musings, philosophical ramblings. I can’t prove my case; I doubt anyone could.”
Mary closed her eyes. She wanted to pray, to ask for guidance. But none had ever come in the past; there was no reason to think this time would be different. “Maybe,” she said at last, “we should simply leave it up to fate; let the genes fall where they may.”
Vissan’s voice was soft. “If this involved any other part of the body, I might agree with you, Mare. But we’re talking about a component of the brain that is demonstrably different between the two species of humanity. To simply throw together one allele from a Gliksin and another from a Barast, then just hope for the best hardly seems prudent.”
Mary frowned, but Vissan was right. If they were going to go ahead with having a hybrid child, a decision had to be made, one way or the other.
Ponter let go of Mary’s hand, but then started stroking its back. “It’s not,” he said, “as if we are choosing whether or not our daughter will have a soul. At most, we’re choosing whether or not she will believe she has a soul.”
“You do not have to decide this today,” said Vissan. “My intent, as I said, is only to walk you through the process of using the codon writer. You won’t want to produce the diploid chromosome set until it is time for it to be implanted in you, anyway, Mare.” She folded her hands. “But when that time comes, you will have to make this choice.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“So, yes, indeed, now is the time to take longer strides. But it’s not just time for a great new American enterprise. Rather, it’s time, if I may echo another speech, for black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics—and Hindus and Muslims and Buddhists, and men and women of all faiths, and men and women of none—for individuals from every one of our 191 united nat ions, for members of every race and religion that make up our unique, varied brand of humanity—to go forward together, in peace and harmony, with mutual respect and friendship, continuing the journey we Homo sapiens had briefly interrupted…”
“I think,” said Vissan, “that the two of you have some things to discuss. Perhaps I will take Mega, and we will go look at the stars.” Mega had roused from her nap. “Would you like that, Mega?”
“Sure!” said Mega.
Vissan got up from her chair, found her fur coat, wrapped Mega in a couple of oversized shirts, and they headed for the door.
Mary felt a cold wind on her face as the door swung open. She watched Vissan and Mega leave, the wooden door closing behind them.
“Mare…” said Ponter.
“No, no, let me think,” said Mary. “Just let me think for a few minutes.”
Ponter shrugged amiably, headed over to Vissan’s stone fireplace, and set about making a fire.
Mary got up off the vacuum box, and took Vissan’s vacated seat, resting her chin on her hand.
Herchin…
A Homo sapiens trait.
But a trivial one, completely unimportant.
Mary sighed. Except for the question of living arrangements, she didn’t care if they had a boy or a girl.
And she certainly didn’t care where their child parted her hair. Or what color her eyes were. Or whether she was muscled like a Neanderthal. Or what sort of sense of smell she had.
As long as she’s healthy…
That had been the mantra of parents for millennia.