“Actually, Jasmel has been dilatory. It will soon be time for Generation 149 to be conceived. Jasmel still has not selected a woman-mate, but that is not as time-sensitive an issue.”

“Have you met this—this Tryon?”

“Yes, several times. He is a fine young man.”

“Umm, Ponter, are you sure this isn’t a trick? You know, to lure you back to the other side?”

“It is no trick. The message was really from Jasmel, and she would never lie to me.”

“Well, we better get you back to Sudbury, then,” said Mary.

“Thank you.” Ponter was quiet for a moment, as if thinking, then: “Would you…would you like to accompany me to the bonding ceremony? It is customary for the children’s parents to go, but…”

But Jasmel’s mother Klast was dead. Mary found herself smiling. “I’d love to,” she said. “But…do we have time to stay for the presentation of my paper? It’s at two-thirty this afternoon. Not to use a military metaphor, but I’d really like to drop that bomb.”

“Pardon?” said Ponter.

“It’s going to be explosive.”

“Ah,” said Ponter, getting it. “Yes, of course, we can stay for that.”

Mary’s paper was indeed the hit of the conference—she was, after all, resolving one of the great ongoing debates of anthropology by declaring Homo neanderthalensis definitively a species in its own right. Normally, she would have had to have published an abstract in advance, which would have tipped her hand, but she’d been a last-minute addition to the programming, and her paper’s title—“Neanderthal Nuclear DNA and a Resolution of Neanderthal Taxonomy Issues”—had been enough to ensure a packed meeting room.

And, of course, the room had erupted into great debates the moment she put up the overhead transparency of Ponter’s karyotype. In the end, Mary was delighted that she and Ponter had to leave for Sudbury as soon as her fifteen minutes were up. Indeed, noting the length of the presentation slot, Ponter amazed her by saying, “That guy who painted soup cans would be proud of you.”

Just before they left the hotel, Mary called Jock Krieger at the Synergy Group. Jock seemed delighted that Mary was enjoying her time with Ponter, and thrilled that she was going to get a chance to visit the Neanderthal world. Still, he did have one request. “I want you to do a simple experiment for me while you’re there.”

“Yes?” said Mary.

“Get a compass—a regular magnetic compass—and when you arrive in the other world, orient yourself by some other method so that you’re sure you’re facing north. Use the North Star if it’s at night, or the rising or setting sun to find east or west if it’s day. Okay? Then check to see what direction the colored part of the compass needle points.”

“It should point north,” said Mary. “Shouldn’t it?”

“That’s what you get for missing staff meetings,” said Jock. “The Neanderthals claim that their world has already undergone the pole reversal that’s just beginning here. I want to find out if that’s true.”

“Why would they lie about something like that?”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t. But they might be mistaken. Remember, they don’t have satellites; most of our studies of Earth’s magnetic field have been done from orbit.”

“Okay,” said Mary.

She paused, and Joke took it upon himself to wrap up the conversation. “All right then, Mary. Have a great trip.”

She put down the phone. Just then, Ponter arrived at her room, to see if she was ready to leave.

“I’ve arranged to drop off the rental car in Rochester, which isn’t too much out of our way” said Mary. “We can pick up my car there, and head on up to Sudbury, but…”

“Yes?”

“But, well, I’d like to stop over in Toronto on the way up to Sudbury,” Mary said. “It’s not really out of our way either, and, well, it’s not like you can share the driving.”

“That would be fine,” said Ponter.

But Mary didn’t let the matter drop. “I have a few…errands I need to run.”

Ponter looked perplexed at her need to justify herself. “As your people would say, ‘No problem.’”

Mary and Ponter arrived at York University. There really was no disguising who Ponter was. In winter, he could perhaps wear a toque pulled down over his browridge, and wraparound ski goggles, but he’d be just as conspicuous doing that this autumn day as he would be walking around with his face exposed. Besides—Mary shuddered—she didn’t want to see Ponter in anything resembling a ski mask; she didn’t ever want to confuse those two people in her mind.

They parked in a visitors’ lot, and Mary and Ponter started walking across the campus. “I do not require security here?” asked Ponter.

“Handguns are banned in Canada,” Mary said. “That’s not to say there aren’t some around, but…” She shrugged. “It’s a different place than where we were. The last assassination in Canada was in 1970, and that had to do with Quebec separation. I honestly don’t think you have any more to worry about than does any other celebrity in Canada. According to the Star, Julia Roberts and George Clooney are both in town making movies. Believe me, they’ll be attracting more gawkers than either of us.”

“Good,” said Ponter. They passed the low edifice of York Lanes and continued on toward—

It was inevitable. Mary had known it from the start; the vicissitudes of visitors’ parking. She and Ponter were about to pass the spot where the two concrete retaining walls intersected, the spot where…

Mary reached out, found Ponter’s massive hand, and, splaying her own fingers wide, interlaced hers with his. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at the wall, just walked, eyes straight ahead.

Ponter was looking around, though. Mary had never told him exactly where the rape occurred, but she could see him taking note of the enclosed space, of the shielding trees, of how far away the nearest lighting standard was. If he had figured it out, he didn’t say anything, but Mary was grateful for the comforting pressure of his grip.

They headed on. The sun was playing hide-and-seek behind billowing white clouds. The campus was crowded with young people, one or two still in shorts, most in jeans, a few of the law students in jackets and ties.

“This is much bigger than Laurentian,” said Ponter, swiveling his head left and right. Laurentian University, near where Ponter had first arrived in Sudbury, was where Mary had done her DNA studies to show that he really was a Neanderthal.

“Oh, yes indeed,” she said. “And this is only one of the two—well, three—universities here in Toronto. If you want to see something truly huge, I’ll show you U of T someday.”

As Ponter looked around, people were looking at him. Indeed, at one point, a woman came up to Mary as though she were a long-lost friend, but Mary couldn’t even remember the woman’s name, and she’d passed by her hundreds of times before without either of them ever acknowledging the other’s presence. But the woman, although limply shaking Mary’s hand, was clearly using the opportunity to get a close look at the Neanderthal.

They finally got rid of her and continued on. “That’s the building I work in,” said Mary, pointing. “It’s called the Farquharson Life Sciences Building.”

Ponter looked around some more. “Of all the places I’ve been on your world, I think university campuses are the nicest. Open spaces! Lots of trees and grass.”

Mary thought about it. “It is a good life,” she said. “More civilized in a lot of ways than the real world.” They reached Farquharson and headed up the stairs to the second floor. As she entered the corridor, Mary caught sight of someone she did know well at the other end. “Cornelius!” she called out.

The man turned around and looked. He squinted; apparently his eyesight wasn’t as good as Mary’s. But after a moment his face showed recognition. “Hello, Mary,” he called, walking toward them.