“We exempt recognized foreign ambassadors from most laws; it’s called ‘diplomatic immunity,’ and Tukana has it, since she was appearing at the UN under the umbrella of being a Canadian diplomat.”

“What do you mean?”

Mary frowned, looking for an example. “In 2001, Andrei Kneyazev, a Russian diplomat in Canada, got drunk and ran into two pedestrians with his car. He faced no charges in Canada because he was the representative of a recognized foreign government, even though one of the people he hit died. That’s diplomatic immunity.”

Ponter’s deep-set eyes were wide.

“And, in any event, hundreds of people apparently saw this guy shoot you, and shoot at Tukana, before she…um, reacted …the way she did. As I say, it will probably be considered selfdefense.”

“Nonetheless,” said Ponter, softly, “Tukana is a person of good character. It will weigh heavily on her mind.” A beat. “Are you sure there is no danger now to her?” He tilted his head. “After what happened to Adikor when I disappeared, I guess I am a bit wary of legal systems.”

“Ponter, she’s already gone back home—to your world. She said she needed to speak to…what do you call it? The Gray Council.”

“The High Gray Council,” said Ponter, “if you are referring to the world government.” A beat. “What about the dead man?”

Mary frowned. “His name was Cole—Rufus Cole. They’re still trying to figure out who he was, and exactly what he had against you and Tukana.”

“What are the options?”

Mary was momentarily confused. “Sorry?”

“The options,” repeated Ponter. “The possible reasons he might have had for trying to kill us.”

Mary lifted her shoulders slightly. “He could have been a religious fanatic: someone opposed to your atheistic stance, or even to your very existence, since it contradicts the biblical account of creation.”

Ponter’s eyes went wide. “Killing me would not have erased the fact that I had existed.”

“Granted. But, well—I’m just guessing here—Cole might have thought you an instrument of Satan—”

Mary cringed as she heard the bleep.

“The Devil. The Evil One. God’s opponent.”

Ponter was agog. “God has an opponent?”

“Yes—well, I mean, that’s what the Bible says. But except for Fundamentalists—those who take every word of the Bible as literally true—most people don’t really believe in Satan anymore.”

“Why not?” asked Ponter.

“Well, I guess because it’s a ridiculous belief. You know, only a fool could take the concept seriously.”

Ponter opened his mouth to say something, apparently thought better of it, and closed his mouth again.

“Anyway,” said Mary, speaking quickly; she really didn’t want to get mired in this. “He might also have been an agent of a foreign government or terrorist group. Or…”

Ponter raised his eyebrow, inviting her to go on.

Mary shrugged again. “Or he might just have been crazy.”

“You let crazy people possess weapons?” asked Ponter.

Mary’s natural Canadian thought was that they were the only ones who wanted them, but she kept that to herself. “That’s actually the best thing to hope for,” she said. “If he was crazy, acting alone, then there’s no special reason to worry about something like this happening again. But if he’s part of some terrorist group…”

Ponter looked down—and, of course, his gaze fell on his bandaged chest. “I had hoped that it would be safe for my daughters to visit this world.”

“I would so much like to meet them,” said Mary.

“What would have happened to this—this Rufus Cole…” Ponter frowned. “Imagine that! A Gliksin name I can say without difficulty, and it belonged to someone who wanted me dead! In any event, what would have happened to this Rufus Cole had he not been killed?”

“A trial,” said Mary. “If he had been found guilty, he would probably have gone to jail.”

Hak bleeped again.

“Umm, a secure institution, where criminals are kept separate from the general population.”

“You say, ‘if he had been found guilty.’ He did shoot me.”

“Yes, but…well, if he were crazy, that would be a defense. He might be found not guilty by reason of insanity.”

Ponter lifted his eyebrow again. “Would it not make more sense to determine if someone is insane before you let them have the gun, rather than after they have used it?”

Mary nodded. “I couldn’t agree with you more. But, nonetheless, there it is.”

“What if…if I had been killed? Or Tukana had? What would have happened to this man then?”

“Here? In the States? He might have been executed.”

The inevitable bleep.

“Put to death. Killed, as punishment for his crime, and as a deterrent to others who might contemplate the same thing.”

Ponter moved his head left and right, his blond-brown hair making a whooshing sound against his pillow. “I would not have wanted that,” he said. “No one deserves a premature death, not even one who would wish it on others.”

“Come on, Ponter,” said Mary, surprising herself with the sharpness of her tone. “Can you really be that…that Christlike? The bloody guy tried to kill you. Are you really worried about what would have happened to him?”

Ponter was quiet for a time. He didn’t say, although Mary knew he could have, that someone had tried to kill him once before; during his first visit, he’d told Mary that his jaw had been shattered in his youth by a furious blow. Rather, he simply lifted his eyebrow and said, “It is moot, in any event. This Rufus Cole is no more.”

But Mary wasn’t ready to let it pass. “When you were hit, all those—all those months ago—the person who did it had not premeditated it, and he was immediately filled with regret; you told me so yourself. But Rufus Cole had clearly planned in advance to kill you. Surely that makes a difference.”

Ponter shifted slightly on the hospital bed. “I will live,” he said. “Beyond that, nothing after the fact could erase the scar I will bear until my dying day.”

Mary shook her head, but she managed a good-humored tone. “Sometimes you’re just too good to be true, Ponter.”

“I have no response for that,” said Ponter.

Mary smiled. “Which just proves my point.”

“But I do have a question.”

“Yes?”

“What will happen now?”

“I don’t know,” said Mary. “The doctor told me a diplomatic pouch was flown here for you from Sudbury. I guess that’s it over there, on the table.”

Ponter rolled his head. “Ah. Would you get it for me, please?”

Mary did so. Ponter opened the pouch and extracted a large thing like an envelope but of Neanderthal design, perfectly square. He opened that up—it unfolded like a flower blooming—and removed a tiny ruby-colored sphere from within it.

“What’s that?” said Mary.

“A memory bead,” replied Ponter. He touched his Companion, and Mary was surprised to see it pop open, revealing an interior compartment with a small cluster of additional control buds and a recessed hole about the diameter of a pencil. “It fits in here,” he said, slipping it into place. “If you will…”

“I’ll go,” said Mary. “I know you need privacy.”

“No, no. Do not leave. But please forgive me for a moment. Hak will play the recording into my cochlear implants.”

Mary nodded, and she saw Ponter tip his head as was his habit when listening to Hak. A giant frown creased his face. After a few more moments, Ponter popped Hak open again and removed the bead.

“What did it say?” asked Mary.

“The High Gray Council wants me to return home at once.”

Mary felt her heart sinking. “Oh…”

“I will not,” said Ponter, simply.

“What? Why?”

“If I went back, they would close the portal between our worlds.”

“Did they say that?”

“Not directly—but I know the Council. My people are aware that we are mortal, Mare—we know there is no afterlife. And so we do not take unnecessary risks. Continued contact with your people is something the Council would think is unnecessary, after what has happened. There were already many who were against reopening the portal, and this will provide new meat for them.”