“That much is certain,” said Dor Farrer, the poet, grinning.

Tukana nodded. “I want to thank you all again for agreeing to come with me here. I assume no one wants to heed Councilor Bedros’s request?”

“Are you kidding?” said Lonwis Trob, his blue mechanical eyes turning to Tukana. “I haven’t had so much fun in ten months.”

Tukana smiled. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go over our schedules for tomorrow. Krik, you are to perform in the morning on a video program called Good Morning America; they’re covering the expenses to have an ice-horn flown down overnight from the portal, and, yes, they understand that it has to be kept frozen. Jalsk, the U.S. track team for something called ‘the Olympics’ is coming to New York to meet you tomorrow; that will take place at the New York University athletics center. Dor, a Gliksin named Ralph Vicinanza, who is what they call a literary agent, wants to take you out for a midday meal. Adjudicator Harbron and Scholar Klimilk, you’re lecturing at the Columbia Law School tomorrow afternoon. Borl, you and a UN official are to appear on something called The Late Show with David Letterman, which will be recorded in the afternoon. Lonwis, you and I are scheduled to speak tomorrow night at the Rose Center for Earth and Space. And, of course, there are a slew of meetings we have to attend here at the United Nations.”

Kobast Gant, the AI expert, smiled. “I bet my old buddy Ponter Boddit is glad we’re here. It must be taking some of the pressure off him; I know how he hates to be the center of attention.”

Tukana nodded. “Yes, I’m sure he can use some rest, after what happened to him…”

Ponter, Mary, and the ever-present FBI man finally left the hotel bar and headed toward the bank of elevators. They were alone; no one else was waiting for a ride, and the night clerk at the front desk, dozens of meters away, was seated, quietly reading a copy of USA Today while munching on one of the free Granny Smith apples the hotel provided.

“It’s past the end of my shift, ma’am,” said Carlos. “Agent Burstein is on duty on your floor, and he’ll keep an eye on you up there.”

“Thank you, Carlos,” said Mary.

He nodded, and spoke into a small communications device. “Foxy Lady and Beef cake are on their way up.” Mary smiled. When told they were to be assigned code names by the FBI—which was so cool—she’d asked if she could choose them. Carlos turned his attention back to Mary and Ponter. “Good night, ma’am. Good night, sir.” But of course he didn’t leave the hotel; he just stepped a discreet distance away and waited until the elevator arrived.

Mary suddenly felt a bit flush, although she knew it was actually less warm here than it had been in the bar. And, no, it wasn’t that she was nervous about the fact that she’d be alone with Ponter in the elevator. A strange man—yes, that would probably creep her out for the rest of her life. But Ponter? No. Never.

Still, Mary did feel warm. She found her eyes searching for anything other than Ponter’s golden brown irises. She looked at the LEDs indicating what floors the five elevators were on; she looked at the framed notice above the call button advertising the hotel’s Sunday brunch; she looked at the emergency notice for firefighters.

One of the elevators arrived, and its doors opened with an interesting drumroll sound. Ponter made a gallant after you gesture with his arm, and Mary entered the lift, waving goodbye to Carlos, who nodded solemnly. Ponter followed her in and looked at the control panel. He was fine at reading numerals—the Neanderthals might never have developed an alphabet, but they did have a decimal counting system, including a place holder sign for zero. He reached over and tapped the square labeled 12, and smiled as it illuminated.

Mary wished her room wasn’t also on the twelfth floor. She’d already had the conversation with Ponter about why there was no thirteenth floor. But if there had been a thirteenth floor, maybe she would have been on that one instead. It didn’t matter; she wasn’t superstitious—although, she reflected, Ponter would say she was. By his definition, everyone who believed in God was superstitious.

Still, if she’d been on another floor—any other floor—then their good night would be short and sweet. Just a jaunty wave and a “See you tomorrow” from whichever of them happened to get out first.

The boxy LED 8 above the doors lost a segment, becoming a 9.

But this way, thought Mary, there would have to be more.

She felt the elevator come to a stop, and the doors shuddered open. Waiting there was Agent Burstein. Mary nodded at him. She half hoped he would fall in beside Ponter and walk along the corridor with them, but he seemed content to stay by the elevator station.

And so, Ponter and Mary headed down the corridor, past the alcove with the ice machine, past room after room, until…

“Well,” said Mary, heart pounding. She fished in her purse for her card key, “this one is mine.”

She looked at Ponter. Ponter looked at her. He never got his key out early; it was always the last thing he thought of, coming from a world where few doors had locks, and those that did opened to signals from Companions.

Ponter said nothing. “So,” she said, awkwardly, “I guess this is good night.”

Ponter was still silent as he reached over and touched her hand, deftly extracting the card key. He pressed it into the lock and waited for the LED to flash. He then reached for the handle and opened the door, letting it swing wide.

Mary found herself looking over her shoulder, checking to see if the corridor was empty. Of course, there was the ever-present FBI man. She was hardly comfortable about that, but at least it wasn’t one of the paleoanthropologists…

Ponter’s hand now slid up Mary’s arm, slowly, gently, and reached her shoulder. He then moved it oh so gently to the side of her face, sweeping her hair behind her ear.

And then, it finally happened.

His face came in toward hers, and his mouth touched her mouth, and Mary felt a wave of pleasure sweep over her body. His arms were around her now, and hers around him, and—

And Mary couldn’t really say who was leading, but they danced sideways together, still embracing, through the door, and Ponter gently kicked it shut with his foot.

Suddenly, Ponter reached down and swept Mary up in his arms, carrying her, as if she were no heavier than a child, past the bathroom and over to the queen-sized bed, where he gently laid her down on top of the sheets.

Mary’s heart was pounding even harder than before. She hadn’t felt this way for twenty years, not since her very first time with Donny when his parents were away for the weekend.

Ponter hovered over her for a second, his eyebrow lifted questioningly, giving her a chance to stop things from going further. Mary smiled a little and reached up, slipping her arms around his massive neck, pulling him down toward her.

For a moment, Mary expected them to act out one of those scenes she’d seen so many times in movies but had never had the chance to play in real life, clothes magically melting off them as they rolled over and over on the sheets.

But that was not to be. Mary realized that Ponter really had no idea about undoing buttons, and was fumbling horribly, although she did enjoy the feeling of his knuckles bouncing against her breasts as he tried.

For her part, Mary had hoped to do a little better, having been instructed by Hak after the shooting in how to open the shoulder seals on a Neanderthal shirt. But the last time she’d done that, it had been broad daylight. Now, though, she and Ponter were mostly in the dark. Neither of them had turned on the room lights when they’d come in; the only illumination was what spilled in through the windows, whose heavy brown curtains weren’t drawn.