“And who decides?” said Selgan. “Oh, wait. I get it. This God decides, right?”

“Yes. That’s what they believe.”

“But why? Why would they believe something so outlandish?”

Ponter lifted his shoulders slightly. “Supposed historical accounts of those who have communicated with this God.”

“Historical accounts?” said Selgan. “Does anyone currently communicate with this God?”

“Some claim to. But I gather it has not been substantiated.”

“And this God, he serves as judge of every individual?”

“Supposedly.”

“But there are 185 million people in the world, with many thousands dying every day.”

“That’s in this world. In the other world, there are over six billion people.”

“Six billion!” Selgan shook his head. “And each one is assigned, somehow, at death, to one of the two possible further existences you mentioned?”

“Yes. They are judged.”

Ponter saw Selgan make a face. The personality sculptor was clearly intrigued by the details of Gliksin belief, but his real interest was in Ponter’s thoughts. “‘Judged,’” he repeated, as if the word were a choice piece of meat worth savoring.

“Yes, judged,” said Ponter. “Don’t you see? They don’t have Companion implants. They don’t have alibi archives. They don’t keep perfect records of every action they take in their lives. They don’t have any of that, because they don’t believe they need it. They think this God is watching over all, seeing all—even looking out for them, protecting them. And they think that it’s impossible to get away—to really, ultimately—get away with an evil act.”

“But you did something terrible, you said?”

Ponter looked out the window, out at his world. “Yes.”

“Over there? In the other world?”

“Yes.”

“And you do not accept the existence of this God of theirs?”

Ponter made a derisive sound. “Of course not.”

“And so you believe that you will not ever be judged for this bad thing you feel you did?”

“Exactly. I won’t say it’s the perfect crime. But there is no reason why suspicion will ever fall on me in that world, and no reason why anyone here would ever have cause to demand to see that portion of my alibi archive.”

“You called it a crime. Was it a crime by the standards of this other world you were in?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And would we have considered it a crime, had you done it here?”

Ponter nodded.

“What did you do?”

“I—I am ashamed to say,” said Ponter.

“I told you, I will not judge you.”

Ponter found himself surging to his feet. “That’s the whole point!” he shouted. “No one will judge me—not here, not there. I have committed a crime. I enjoyed committing the crime. And, yes, to indulge in your thought experiment, I would do it again if I had the opportunity to relive the event.”

Selgan said nothing for a time, apparently waiting for Ponter to calm down. “I can help you, Ponter, if you’ll let me. But you have to talk to me. You have to tell me what happened. Why did you commit this crime? What led up to it?”

Ponter sat back down, swinging his legs over the saddle-seat. “It began on my first trip to the other Earth,” said Ponter. “I met a woman there, named Mare Vaughan…”

It was Mary Vaughan’s final evening in Sudbury, and she was experiencing decidedly mixed feelings.

She had no doubt that getting out of Toronto had done her good. After what had happened down there—My God, she thought, had it really only been two weeks ago?—leaving town, getting away from all the things that would have reminded her of that horrible night, was surely the right course. And although it had ended on a melancholy note, she wouldn’t have traded her time here with Ponter Boddit for anything.

There was an unreal quality to her recollections; it all seemed so fantastic. And yet there were countless photographs and videos and even some X rays to prove that it had really happened. A modern Neanderthal from a parallel version of Earth had somehow slipped into this universe. Now that he was gone, Mary hardly believed it herself.

But it had happened. Ponter had really been here, and she had indeed…

Was she overstating it? Magnifying it in her mind?

No. No, it was indeed what had occurred.

She had come to love Ponter, maybe even to be in love with him.

If only she’d been whole, complete, unviolated, untraumatized, perhaps things would have been different. Oh, she’d still have fallen for the big guy—of that she was sure—but when he’d reached out and touched her hand that night while they were looking up at the stars, she wouldn’t have frozen.

It had been too soon, she’d told him the next day. Too soon after…

She hated the word; hated to think it, to say it.

Too soon after the rape.

And tomorrow she had to go back home, back to where that rape had occurred, back to the campus of Toronto’s York University, and her old life of teaching genetics.

Her old life of being alone.

She’d miss many things about Sudbury. She’d miss the lack of traffic congestion. She’d miss the friends she’d made here, including Reuben Montego and, yes, even Louise Benoît. She’d miss the relaxed atmosphere of tiny Laurentian University, where she’d done her mitochondrial DNA studies that had proven Ponter Boddit was indeed a Neanderthal.

But, most of all, she realized, as she stood at the side of the country road looking up at the clear night sky, she’d miss this. She’d miss seeing stars in a profusion beyond counting. She’d miss seeing the Andromeda galaxy, which Ponter had identified for her. She’d miss seeing the Milky Way, arching overhead.

And—

Yes!

Yes!

She’d especially miss this: the aurora borealis, flickering and weaving across the northern sky, pale green sheets of light, ghostly curtains.

Mary had indeed hoped to catch another glimpse of the aurora tonight. She’d been on her way back from Reuben Montego’s place out in Lively (hah!), where she’d had a final barbecue dinner with him and Louise, and she’d pulled over at the side of the road specifically to look up at the night sky.

The heavens were cooperating. The aurora was breathtaking.

She’d forever associate the northern lights with Ponter. The only other time she’d seen them had been with him. She felt an odd sensation in her chest, the expanding feeling that went with awe battling the contracting sensation that accompanied sadness.

The lights were beautiful.

He was gone.

A cool green glow bathed the landscape as the aurora continued to flicker and dance, aspens and birches silhouetted in front of the spectacle, their branches waving slightly in the gentle August breeze.

Ponter had said he often saw the aurora. Partly that was because his cold-adapted people preferred more northerly latitudes than did the humans of this world.

Partly, too, it was because the phenomenal Neanderthal sense of smell and their ever-vigilant Companion implants made it safe to be out even in the dark; Ponter’s hometown of Saldak, located at the same place in his world as Sudbury was in this world, didn’t illuminate its streets at night.

And partly it was because the Neanderthals used clean solar power for most of their energy needs, rendering their skies far less polluted than the ones here.

Mary had made it to her current age of thirty-eight before seeing the aurora, and she didn’t anticipate any reason to come back to Northern Ontario, so tonight, she knew, might well be the last time she’d ever see the undulating northern lights.