Mary decided to try it out on Bandra; since it happened to be a hunting joke, she thought the Neanderthal might enjoy it. She slipped a few appropriate references into their conversation, so that Bandra would have the required background, and then, around 9:00P.M.—late in the sixth daytenth—she trotted it out:
“Okay, okay. So, there are these two guys, see, and they’re out hunting, right? And one of them suddenly collapses—just falls to the ground. He doesn’t seem to be breathing, and his eyes are glazed over. So the other guy, he calls 9-1-1. That’s our emergency telephone number, since we don’t have Companions. And the guy—he’s on a cell phone, see?—he’s all panicky, and he says, ‘Hey, I’m out here hunting with my friend Bob, and he just keeled over. I’m afraid he’s dead. What should I do? What should I do?’
“And the emergency operator says, ‘Calm down, sir. Take a deep breath; let’s take this one step at a time. First, let’s make sure that Bob is really dead.’
“So the guy says, ‘Okay,’ and the operator hears him put down the phone and walk away. And then—blam! —there’s a gunshot. And the guy comes back on the phone and says, ‘Okay. Now what?’ ”
Bandra exploded with laughter. She’d been drinking pine tea; the way the Neanderthal throat was hooked up prevented it from spurting out her nostrils, but if she’d been a Gliksin, doubtless it would have, given how hard she was laughing. “That’s awful! ” she declared, wiping away tears.
Mary was grinning, probably wide enough to rival Ponter. “Isn’t it, though?”
They spent the rest of the evening talking about their families, telling jokes, listening to recorded Neanderthal music pumped simultaneously into their cochlear implants, and just generally having a wonderful time. Mary had had several close female friends before she’d married Colm, but had drifted away from all of them during the marriage, and hadn’t really acquired any new ones since the split. One of the nice things about the Neanderthal system, Mary mused, was that it would leave plenty of time for her friendships with other women.
And, despite them coming literally from different worlds, Bandra was certainly the kind of friend she would choose: warm, witty, giving, and brilliant—someone she could share a silly joke with, as well as discuss the latest breakthroughs in science.
After a bit, Bandra brought out a partanlar set—the same game Mary had played with Ponter. Ponter’s board had been made of polished wood, with the alternating squares stained either light or dark. As befitted a geologist, Bandra’s was made of polished stone, the squares black or white.
“Oh, good!” said Mary. “I know this game! Ponter taught me.”
In chess and checkers, players sat opposite each other, each trying to move their armies of pieces toward the other’s side of the board. But partanlar didn’t have that directionality of play—there was no advancing or retreating. And so Bandra set the board up on a little table in front of one of the couches, and then sat on the couch, leaving plenty of room for Mary to sit beside her.
They played for about an hour—but it was the pleasant something-to-do kind of play that Mary liked, not the competitive let’s-see-who’s-better competition Colm favored. Neither Mary nor Bandra really seemed to care who won, and they each took delight in the other’s clever moves.
“It’s fun having you around,” said Bandra.
“It’s fun being here,” said Mary.
“You know,” Bandra said, “there are those of my kind who don’t approve of the contact between our worlds. Councilor Bedros—remember him from the Voyeur?—is one such. But even if there are—another phrase of yours I like—even if there are a few bad apples, they do not spoil the bunch. He is wrong, Mare. He is wrong about your people. You are proof of that.”
Mary smiled again. “Thank you.”
Bandra hesitated for a long moment, her eyes shifting from Mary’s left to her right and back again. And then she leaned in and made a long, slow lick up Mary’s left cheek.
Mary felt her entire spine tighten. “Bandra…”
Bandra dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry…” she said softly. “I know it’s not your way…”
Mary placed her hand under Bandra’s long jaw, and slowly lifted her face until she was facing Mary.
“No,” Mary said. “It’s not.” She looked into Bandra’s wheat-colored eyes. Her heart was racing.
Carpe diem.
Mary leaned in closer, and, as she brought her lips into contact with Bandra’s, she said, “This is.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
“And although our Neanderthal cousins will be welcome to join us in this grand Mars adventure, should they so choose, it is something it seems few of them will desire…”
Cornelius Ruskin knocked on the office door. “Come in,” called the familiar female voice with its slight Pakistani accent.
Cornelius took a deep breath, then opened the door. “Hi, Qaiser,” he said, waking into the office.
Professor Qaiser Remtulla’s metal desk was at right angles to the doorway, the long edge against one wall, the left short edge underneath her window. She was wearing a dark green jacket and black pants. “Cornelius!” she declared. “We were getting quite worried about you.”
Cornelius couldn’t manage a smile, but he did say, “That’s very kind.”
But Qaiser’s round face creased into a small frown. “I wish you’d called to let me know you’d be in today, though. Dave Olsen has already come in to teach your afternoon class.”
Cornelius shook his head a bit. “That’s fine. In fact, that’s what I want to talk to you about.”
Qaiser did what just about every academic has to do when a visitor comes: she got up from her own swivel chair and took the pile of books and papers off the one other chair in the room. In her case, it was a metal-framed stacking chair with orange vinyl cushions. “Have a seat,” she said.
Cornelius did just that, crossing his legs at the ankles and—
He shook his head again, wondering if he’d ever get used to the sensation. He’d spent his whole life subtly aware of the pressure on his testicles whenever he sat like this, but there was no such feeling anymore.
“What can I do for you?” prodded Qaiser.
Cornelius looked at her face: brown eyes, brown skin, brown hair, a trio of chocolate shades. She looked to be about forty-five, ten years older than he was. He’d seen her crying in anguish, seen her begging him not to hurt her. He didn’t regret it; she had deserved it, but…
But.
“Qaiser,” he said, “I’d like to take a leave of absence.”
“There are no paid leaves for sessional instructors,” she replied.
Cornelius nodded. “I know that. I—” He’d rehearsed all this, but now hesitated, wondering if it was really the right approach. “You know I’ve been sick. My doctor says I should take a…a rest leave. You know, some time off.”
Qaiser’s features shifted to concern. “Is it something serious? Is there anything I can do to help?”
Cornelius shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine, I’m sure. But I—I just don’t feel up to being in the classroom anymore.”
“Well, the Christmas break is coming up in a few weeks. If you could just stick it out until then…”
“I’m sorry, Qaiser. I really don’t think I should.”