Mary, still haunted by her rape, left York University to join Jock Krieger’s newly formed Synergy Group. But on a return trip to Toronto, Ponter identified Mary’s rapist; Cornelius Ruskin, it turned out, had also raped Qaiser Remtulla, Mary’s department head at York.
“An amazing few months indeed,” said Mary. She smiled at Reuben and then at Louise; they were sucha good-looking couple. Ponter was seated next to her; she would have taken his hand if it weren’t wrapped in a bloody glove. But Reuben and Louise had no such impediment; Reuben squeezed Louise’s hand, and beamed at her, the love obvious on his face.
The four of them chatted animatedly, first over their main courses, then over a dessert of fruit cocktail, and finally over coffee (for the three Homo sapiens) and Coca-Cola (for Ponter). Mary was enjoying every minute of it—but also feeling a little sadness, regretting that evenings like these, having dinner with Ponter and their friends, would be few and far between; Ponter’s culture just didn’t work that way.
“Oh, by the way,” said Reuben, taking a sip of his coffee, “a friend of mine at Laurentian has been bugging me to introduce you to her.” Laurentian University, in Sudbury, was where Mary had done her studies on Ponter’s DNA, proving he was a Neanderthal.
Ponter lifted his one continuous eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Her name’s Veronica Shannon, and she’s a postdoc in the Neuroscience Research Group there.”
Ponter clearly expected Reuben to say more, but when he didn’t, he prodded with the Neanderthal word for yes. “ Ka?”
“Sorry,” said Reuben. “I’m just not quite sure how to phrase all this. I don’t suppose you know who Michael Persinger is?”
“I do,” said Louise. “I read the article about him in Saturday Night.”
Reuben nodded. “Yeah, there was a cover story about him there. And he’s also been written up in Wiredand The Skeptical Inquirerand Maclean’sand Scientific Americanand Discover.”
“Who is he?” asked Ponter.
Reuben put down his fork. “Persinger’s an American draft dodger—from the good old days when the cross-border brain drain flowed in the other direction. He’s been at Laurentian for years, and invented a device there that can induce religious experiences in people, through magnetic stimulation of their brains.”
“Oh, thatguy,” said Mary, rolling her eyes.
“You sound dubious,” said Reuben.
“I amdubious,” said Mary. “What a load of hooey.”
“I’ve done it myself,” said Reuben. “Not with Persinger—but with my friend Veronica, who has developed a second-generation system, based on Persinger’s research.”
“And did you see God?” asked Mary derisively.
“You might say that, yes. They’ve really got something there.” He looked at Ponter. “And that’s where you come in, big fella. Veronica wants to try her equipment on you.”
“Why?” asked Ponter.
“Why?” repeated Reuben, as if the answer were obvious. “Because our world is abuzz over this notion that your people never developed religion. Not just that you had it and then outgrew it, but that in your whole history no one ever even conceived of the notions of God or an afterlife.”
“Such notions would—how do you phrase it?—‘fly in the face’ of observed reality,” said Ponter. He looked over at Mary. “Forgive me, Mare. I know you believe in these things, but…”
Mary nodded. “But you don’t.”
“Well,” continued Reuben, “Persinger’s group believes they’ve found the neurological reason why Homo sapienshave religious beliefs. So, my friend Veronica wants to see if she can induce a religious experience in Neanderthals. If she can, then they’ve got some ’splainin’ to do, since you guys don’t have religious thoughts. But Veronica suspects that the technique that works on us won’t work on you. She thinks your brains must be wired differently on some fundamental level.”
“A fascinating premise,” said Ponter. “Is there any danger in the procedure?”
Reuben shook his head. “None at all. In fact, I had to certify that.” He smiled. “The big problem with most psychological studies is that all the guinea pigs are psych under-grads—people who have self-selected to study psychology. We know an enormous amount about the brains of such people, who may or may not be typical, but very little about the brains of the general population. I first met Veronica last year; she approached me about getting some of the miners to be test subjects—a completely different demographic than she usually gets to work with.” Reuben was the mine-site physician at Inco’s Creighton nickel mine, where the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory was located. “She was offering the miners a few bucks, but Inco wanted me to okay the procedure before letting them do it. I read up on Persinger’s work, looked at Veronica’s modifications, and underwent the procedure myself. The magnetic fields are minuscule compared to those in MRIs, and I routinely recommend thosefor my patients. It’s completely safe.”
“So she will pay me a few bucks?” asked Ponter.
Reuben looked shocked.
“Hey, a fellow has to eat,” said Ponter. But he couldn’t keep up the facade; a giant grin crossed his face. “No, no, you are right, Reuben, I do not care about compensation.” He looked at Mary. “What I docare about is understanding this aspect of you, Mare—this thing that is so important a part of your life but that I find incomprehensible.”
“If you want to learn more about my religion, come to Mass with me,” said Mary.
“Gladly,” said Ponter. “But I would also like to meet this friend of Reuben.”
“We have to get over to your world,” said Mary, sounding a bit petulant. “Two will soon be One.”
Ponter nodded. “Oh, indeed—and we don’t want to miss a moment of that.” He looked at Reuben. “Your friend would need to make time for us tomorrow. Can she do that?”
“I’ll give her a call right now,” said Reuben, getting up. “I’m sure she’ll move heaven and Earth to accommodate you.”
Chapter Six
“Jack Kennedy was right: it was time then for us to take longer strides. And it’s that time again. For the greatest strength weHomo sapiens have always had, since the dawn of our consciousness 40,000 years ago, is our desire to go places, to make journeys, to see what’s beyond the next hill, to expand our territories, and—if I may borrow a phrase coined just four years after JFK’s speech—to boldly go where no man has gone before…”
Ponter and Mary had spent the night at Reuben’s place, sleeping together on the foldout couch. Early the next morning, they headed over to the small campus of Laurentian University and found room C002B, one of the labs used by the tiny Neuroscience Research Group.
Veronica Shannon turned out to be a skinny white woman in her late twenties with red hair and a nose that until she’d met female Neanderthals, Mary would have called large. She was wearing a white lab coat. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Boddit,” she said, pumping Ponter’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming.”
He smiled. “You may call me Ponter. And it is my pleasure. I am intrigued by your research.”
“And Mary—may I call you Mary?—it is sucha treat to meet you!” She shook Mary’s hand. “I was so sorry I didn’t have a chance when you were on the campus earlier, but I was back home in Halifax for the summer.” She smiled, then looked away, seeming almost embarrassed to go on. “You’re a bit of a hero of mine,” she said.
Mary blinked. “Me?”
“There aren’t that many female Canadian scientists who really make it big, but you have. Even before Ponter came along, you’d really put us on the map. The work you did with ancient DNA! First-rate! Absolutely first-rate! Who says that Canadian women can’t take the world by storm?”